“Yeah. A lifeless statue.”
But his face told her he didn’t believe her. He knew what had happened. Or at least he knew more about what had happened than she did.
“Don’t you have a job to do?” she asked irritably.
Whatever retort he might have made was interrupted when Claude came to stand beside them and admire the statue. “Her flame illuminates the path to knowledge,” he told them.
“It’s lovely,” said Mae automatically. But that was all it was: a nicely carved piece of stone. There was no life force in it, certainly not one with divine powers.
“It’s new,” said Justin. He gave Mae one last searching look and then turned toward Claude with his we’re pals smile. The servitor was back. “It’s not on last year’s inventory. I’m not an art appraiser, but this doesn’t seem to match up with your income—unless you’ve completely neglected all other operations.” Justin glanced meaningfully around. “Which it appears you haven’t.”
“Oh, no,” said Claude. “The temple didn’t purchase it. It was a gift. One of the wealthier members of our congregation was kind enough to donate it.”
“Ah, I understand. That’s lucky.” Justin made a note and continued his visual assessment of the facilities. When he finished, he and Claude sat down opposite each other at a desk in the temple’s back office. Mae had recovered from her earlier disorientation and took up a spot that was close enough to observe Justin and Claude—and intervene, if the seemingly docile priest surprised her—but otherwise stay out of their way.
“So.” Justin settled into the tilting leather desk chair he’d been given. He set his reader aside, projecting the ease and friendliness of someone who’d merely come to chat. “You want to renew your license for worship of a fictitious entity.”
Claude, who had almost started to relax in the face of Justin’s casualness, flushed. “She’s not fictitious, Dr. March.”
“I know you think that, but if you can’t prove her existence to the government, we have to classify her as fictitious.” Justin’s tone wasn’t unkind, but he spoke in a way that told Mae he’d had to explain this point many, many times. He waved a dismissive hand at his reader. “Now, I’ve got all the official jargon here, but I’d love to hear about your group in your own words. What you believe. How you operate.”
He’d put on that friendly air again, and Claude lit up at the chance to explain his beliefs. “We worship the Goddess of Nine Faces in her scholarly guise. She gives us understanding and insight into the world, allowing us to pursue all sorts of knowledge.”
“And wisdom,” added Justin.
Claude gave him a gentle smile, and now it was his turn to explain one of his well-worn fields of expertise. “Knowledge is not the same as wisdom, as I’m sure you can understand. A scholar who is always learning and striving to excel in their field possesses knowledge. A ninety-year-old-man who has lived a fulfilling life possesses wisdom. Wisdom is pursued by those who worship our goddess as the Lady of Keys. Despite our different paths, we do have much in common with them, however, and we’ve been trying to forge connections between our groups. There’s a Lady of Keys congregation a hundred kilometers from here that we’ve begun to be in contact with.”
“Ah,” said Justin, smiling and nodding along in understanding. “Now I see.”
There was no way a servitor wouldn’t know every established religion inside and out, especially one as widespread as the Nine-Faced Goddess. Justin most certainly understood the difference between the Lady of the Book and the Lady of Keys. He was still the perfect picture of pleasantness and amiability, but as Mae watched, she could see a cunningness in his dark eyes as Claude spoke. Justin was taking in every intonation, every gesture, and every turn of phrase. Coaxing Claude to talk about the goddess he loved simply allowed Justin to gather more data. It was his technique in action: Find out what means the most to someone and exploit it. Like, for example, the blue mood of a woman visiting Panama.
When prompted, the priest was equally happy to explain how they worshipped. “Many of our meetings simply involve being together and reading whatever we like. Afterward, we share our knowledge and try to learn more from each other through enlightened discussions. Our main weekly service usually focuses on a book the entire group is reading. I write my sermons based on lessons learned from the reading, but of course, all opinions are welcomed, and we urge respectful analysis. Worship of the Lady herself is present too. We sing songs and prayers to her, bedeck her with flowers, and give our blessings to scholars seeking her aid. We read stories and myths of her many guises, as well as those of the other gods. There’s enlightenment in learning about the truth of others.”
Justin had his reader in hand again and proceeded to go over operating, financial, and tax paperwork with Claude. Mae couldn’t see the screen but followed along with it as best she could. It gave her a new appreciation for the many facets of a servitor’s job: scholar, psychologist, detective, accountant. She found herself drawn in by the intensity in his already captivating features. It was a single-minded focus she understood.
“I don’t even have to study these records to see how well you’re doing,” said Justin. He paused to look around and admire the room before returning to his reader. “Your congregation’s at…one hundred and fifty?”
Claude’s head bobbed up and down. He was clearly delighted at how well this was going. “Yes, yes. It’s quite wonderful. We were only around seventy-five at our last licensing.”
The speed at which Justin looked up was Mae’s only indication that he was shocked. “You’ve doubled in a year?” He turned back to the reader and scanned a list. “There it is. You certainly have.”
They talked about ten minutes more, and at last, Justin stood up and shook Claude’s hand again. “Well, it’s been very nice speaking with you.”
“Likewise,” said Claude. The priest was beaming. “I’m so pleased you were able to see all the wonderful things we do here.”
“Me too,” said Justin. “And I’m sorry I can’t renew your license.”
Claude froze mid-handshake. “I…I beg your pardon?”
Justin shook his head in sympathy but amazingly still managed to have that upbeat look on his face. “I’m not renewing your license. You’ll have to suspend all operations immediately.”
Claude’s mouth hung open, and he said nothing for almost thirty seconds. “But…but we aren’t dangerous! We aren’t violating any of the country’s religious dictates.”
“You’re violating our tax dictates. That statue may have been a gift, but it’s an expensive one and still has to be reported as an asset and filed under your income. As income, it would be subject to taxes—which you haven’t paid.”
“We were never told of anything like that!”
“It’s the law, Mr. Diaz, which you’re responsible for knowing. Ignorance is not an excuse.”
Justin began moving toward the doorway, and Claude was fast on his heels. Mae moved swiftly after them, just in case the priest surprised her.
“Then give us a chance to rectify the situation! We’ll appraise the statue and pay whatever back taxes are necessary—and any penalties.” Claude wrung his hands. “Please, Dr. March. Our goddess is the center of my life and the lives of many others. Please don’t take this away.”
“I don’t have a choice,” said Justin. “Our government has very strict laws for groups like yours, and I have to follow them, no matter how much I hate to see it happen.” The cheery attitude was gone.
“Please,” begged Claude. “Please. There must be something.”
They emerged outside. Justin stopped by the door and took a moment to enter something on his ego. He scanned it over the licensing screen. Immediately, the square turned red, and the date and signature vanished. Justin’s signature appeared instead, along with a new date one year from that day.
Justin turned to face Claude and put on a formal expression. “Mr. Diaz, the Republic of United North America is suspending
your license to worship. All practices will cease immediately. You have twenty-four hours to remove any belongings from this facility, after which it will be shut down and abandoned. Your organization’s financial assets will be seized and held in a federal account. You may not assemble with more than three members of your former congregation in any other place. You may communicate with them via written message, but all correspondence must be copied to the Division of Sect and Cult Investigation. In one year, you may apply for a new license. Failure to comply with any of these edicts will result in your arrest and that of any other accomplices. Do you understand?”
Claude’s jaw was on the ground. “Dr. March…this can’t be possible.”
Justin handed over his reader. “Sign here, please.”
Mae tensed, wondering if Claude would comply. This, no doubt, was the point at which zealots reacted badly. But as she studied the sad man further, she knew he wasn’t going to break out any stones or torches. Mostly, he looked like he was on the verge of tears. With great resignation, he signed the order.
And with that, the job was done, and Justin and Mae left for the day’s real attraction. She would’ve expected him to be pleased with himself, but as the car ride progressed, it became obvious his mood had plummeted.
“A tax technicality,” he muttered. “A goddamned tax technicality.”
“It’s ingenious,” she admitted, hating to praise him out of principle and especially for manipulating someone. “A way to shut them down without making yourself personally responsible.”
Justin didn’t seem convinced. “He was a nice guy. They’re harmless right now.”
“Right now,” she repeated. “But would they stay that way? Their numbers are growing. They have a reasonable message. You said those were the most dangerous kind.”
On their plane ride here, Justin had given her a lesson on what warning signs servitors looked for. Groups who were disorganized and touted nonsensical messages were the ideal candidates for licensing. They made themselves (and religion in general) look bad. The really outlandish and dangerous ones were easy too because they were instant shutdowns. Quiet, friendly ones like Claude’s were trickier because they could initially attract followers with reasonable messages, and then eventually blow up in the RUNA’s face as dissent among themselves and against authority grew.
He looked over at her with a smile. “And here I thought you weren’t paying attention.”
“I’ve got to stay tuned for anything dangerous,” she explained.
His smile faded. “Yes. They could be dangerous someday. It’s better to stop them now.”
“Then why do you sound so unsure?” His behavior made no sense.
“It’s just sad, that’s all.” Justin stared out the window. “His beliefs mean a lot to him.”
“Beliefs in a fictitious entity,” she reminded him, drawing his attention back.
His eyes searched hers. “Do you really believe that?”
“Of course,” she said, puzzled that a servitor of all people would ask her about one of their country’s founding principles. And yet, as she spoke, she remembered her vision by the statue. No, not a vision. A hallucination. She really did need to own up and see a psychiatrist. But am I crazy if he saw it too? “Don’t you?”
“Of course,” Justin said, echoing her. His face still looked troubled as he turned away. “We did them a favor.”
CHAPTER 12
MIRACLES
“Welcome to the Church of Apollo and Artemis,” said Justin when they reached their next stop. The church was a small white building that had been built up to make it resemble a Greek temple. Faux pillars surrounded the doorway, and a Greek inscription was painted in gold about the door. “Know anything about them?”
“No,” said Mae. He obviously hadn’t expected her to. Religion and myth weren’t taught in schools.
“Apollo’s the Greek god of light, prophecy, music, and a few other things. Artemis is his twin, goddess of the hunt, the moon, virgins—” Justin came to a stop and frowned as he studied the Greek words. “She’s also not mentioned anymore. That’s just welcoming us to the Church of Apollo.” He took out his ego to pull up a file. “Hmm. I wonder if they dropped her. This place hasn’t been inspected in almost eight months. If so, this may be a dead end since she’s our moon connection. Shit. The priestess that used to operate here is a piece of work.”
“You think she’s responsible for the murders? Because she’s linked to the moon?”
“No,” he said swiftly. “Absolutely not. That’s not her style.”
Mae frowned. “Then why are we here?”
“Because she’s got connections to, uh, resources that might help us. Maybe her old partner can help us find her.” Justin looked over something else on his ego, the edges of his lips quirking into a smile.
“What is it?” Mae asked.
“There are reports of this place claiming miracles. That’s always a treat.” He slipped his ego back into his jacket. The two matched. “Another good reason to have someone like Leo on hand. These groups go to extremes to pull off their scams. Leo’s a pro at figuring out what they’re doing. Fortunately, I’m not half-bad myself.”
Mae rolled her eyes. “Now, now, no need for modesty.”
He grinned as the two of them headed inside. “If the same guy’s still here, he’s not really all that stable either. Actually has the balls to call himself Golden Arrow.”
Although Justin had an appointment, no one greeted them at the door, which was unusual. When they stepped inside the church’s foyer, they found a full-fledged ceremony going on within.
“Warning sign,” Justin murmured to her. He’d once taught university classes and often slipped into lecture mode without even realizing it. “They’re feeling cocky if they scheduled a service during a servitor inspection. Worse still that they’ve got this many people out on a weekday afternoon.” He checked his ego. “Looks like a quarter of their regular members are here. And there’s the man himself.”
Through a doorway, she could see Golden Arrow standing at the front of a large room, wearing a white toga that wasn’t even accurate for Roman wear, let alone the Greek culture he was hearkening back to. He wore gold-painted laurel leaves in his dark hair and held his hands upward as he stood over a large smoking bowl sitting on a tripod. Two similarly clad women knelt nearby, one on either side of him. The walls were painted with murals of a blond man in various scenes: shooting a bow, driving a chariot across the sky, etc. Mae squinted at the pictures and then focused back on Golden Arrow.
“There’s a little facial resemblance,” she noted.
“There certainly is. Bad enough to claim to speak for a god, let alone liken yourself to one. Ah.” Justin pointed. “There’s Artemis, but significantly dwarfed. They really have dropped her from the act.”
The picture he indicated showed Apollo with a dark-haired woman carrying a silver bow. She wore a short gown and a crescent moon on her head. Mae studied the picture for a long time and felt chills down her back. When she dragged her gaze away, she found Justin watching her closely. “Ready to go in?”
“Of course,” she said, irritated for reasons she couldn’t explain.
He hesitated a few moments longer and then gave her a small nod as he walked toward the main sanctuary, where the ceremony had gone on uninterrupted. Golden Arrow continued chanting in Greek, with his hands and rapt face turned heavenward.
“What’s he saying?” she whispered as they started to step through the doorway.
Justin shook his head. “Nonsense, mostly the same stuff repeated over and over. It’s all about light and glory.”
Golden Arrow’s chanting suddenly stopped when he caught sight of Justin and Mae. All of those gathered turned around to stare as well.
“Friends, we have a special guest, Dr. March from the servitors’ office. So nice to see you again after all these years. Come, come. Take a seat and join us.” He had a good speaking voice, one that resonated. Mae coul
d see how people would be compelled by it.
“Thank you,” said Justin cordially. Mae had to give him points for looking perfectly at ease. He sat on a pew in the back and then beckoned her to join him. “Please, carry on,” he called.
Even she could see how contrived Golden Arrow’s simpering smile was. But after a melodramatic half bow, he returned to his ceremony. The Greek chanting gave way to English, in which Golden Arrow begged Apollo to grace his humble servants with his bliss. He began a refrain that the worshippers echoed as they stomped out a steady beat on the floor. The words grew faster and louder, filling the space with a buzz that set her teeth on edge. Then, through some unseen signal, the noise abruptly stopped. The congregation seemed to hold its breath as it watched Golden Arrow experience what seemed like a cross between a seizure and an orgasm. Maybe, in some cases, the two acts weren’t always that different.
Golden Arrow shook violently and fell to his knees, head tilted back and mouth open as he let out a low moan of joy. A rapture even greater than what he’d shown earlier lit his features, and it only seemed to grow more intense when he lay prone on the floor and continued to writhe around. He finally stilled and grew quiet, gasping in a way that made Mae wish she could offer him a cigarette. The two robed women helped Golden Arrow stand and face the congregation.
“Who will the god choose to share his ecstasy today?”
All of the worshippers dropped to their knees and stared upward with eager expressions. Golden Arrow walked among them, peering closely at each face. At last, he stopped in front of a middle-aged woman, murmuring, “Share in the union of our god.”
Her face shone, and she followed him back toward the front of the room. There, she fell on her knees, head lowered.
“Here we go,” Justin said.
Golden Arrow cupped the woman’s face with his hands, saying a quiet prayer Mae couldn’t hear. A few moments later, the woman had a startling reaction that mirrored his earlier one. She took on that same orgasmic look, complete with the uncontrollable writhing on the floor. Everyone watched in awe, and when the fit finally passed, Golden Arrow’s assistant helped her back to her seat. He then repeated the process with a young man who looked barely out of high school.
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