by J. R. Mabry
Sarah lowered her bouquet and cocked her head, thinking. “Do you think that’s really true?” She seemed to really see Richard for the first time.
Richard seized on that. “I’m a priest. I’m kind of an expert on such things.”
“You’re a priest who was ready to fuck me.”
“I didn’t say I was a good priest…just a knowledgeable one.”
“Why would God bless my belly if you aren’t a good priest?”
“Because Catholicism doesn’t work that way,” Richard said, adopting an intentionally pedantic tone. “Catholic sacraments function ex opere operato, which means that the sacraments are efficacious—they work—regardless of the moral state of the priest performing them. As long as the priest is valid—and I am—then his sacraments are valid. It doesn’t matter if I’m good or…not so good.” He smiled weakly.
“Is that for real?” she asked.
“Swear to God and cross my heart,” Richard said. He intentionally skipped “hope to die.” He hoped she hadn’t noticed. She didn’t seem to. Her face was folded up in thought. Finally, she snapped into action. She walked swiftly toward the door, grabbing at Gabe’s sleeve as she passed him.
“Where we goin’?” Gabe asked, perplexed.
“We’re going to keep him,” Sarah said.
“Like a puppy?” Gabe brightened.
“You killed the puppies, Gabe,” she said sweetly.
“That was fun,” he said.
“But you can’t kill him. He’s going to work for us. He’s gonna be the new reverend.”
“You mean I don’t get to watch him get naked with you today?” His shoulders sagged.
She threw her arms around him and hugged him close. “Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry. Did you want to see him naked?” Gabe looked like he was about to cry. He nodded. Sarah reached up and touched his cheek tenderly. Then she turned and faced Richard. “Well, he was ready to fuck me. I don’t see why you shouldn’t fuck him.”
She walked back to Richard and leaned down so that her face nearly touched his. “Since you’re a priest, you won’t mind bein’ buggered, will you?”
Richard did not blink.
She straightened up and walked back to her brother. “You can do more than just see him naked, Gaby my darling. His butthole is yours anytime you want it.”
65
It took Brian and Terry working together to get Dylan up the stairs. Finally getting him settled and comfortable, Brian returned to the kitchen to finish preparing breakfast. Susan sat on the bed next to her husband, and Terry hovered nervously, stooping occasionally to straighten something in the room or to make sure that objects were at right angles to each other.
Dylan’s voice was thick but aware. “Dude, yer making me crazy. Can yah just sit down?”
Terry straightened up and stared at him. Then he straightened a picture.
“Guess not.” Dylan turned to Susan. “Thanks for staying with me, Darlin’.”
She squeezed his hand.
“Thing is, Ah’m in a lot of pain, here. Ah know, Ah know, me and Mary Jane are on the outs, but you gotta give me something.”
“I’m sorry, Honey, but the doctor said you had a terrible allergic reaction to the pain medication they gave you. We’re going to have to take this slow. You’re going to have to ride it out for now.”
“Thet’s just cruel,” he said, looking down. The mane of his red beard radiated from his face like a miniature sun. But it was a sad sun.
Terry finally lit next to Susan. He reached out and touched Dylan’s knee. “Tell us what happened,” he said.
Dylan shifted uncomfortably. “Waal, I wuz mad. I went out to score.”
Susan looked away, but Terry just nodded. “We figured as much.”
“But then I saw Larch.”
Terry and Susan sat bolt upright as if Dylan had just pricked them with a pin. Dylan continued. “He was leadin’ them possessed folks away from our house, so I followed ’em.”
“Where did they go?” Terry asked.
“To the Jewish museum, down by the campus.”
“The Maccabee?” Terry asked.
“Yup. Same one Brian speaks at.”
“They just got robbed,” Terry said.
“Right. I was there. Larch is behind it. Ah don’t know how he’s commandin’ all them possessed folk, but he is.”
Terry’s eyebrows furrowed as he thought about this.
“And then?” Susan asked.
“Uh…and then Ah scored.” Dylan looked down at his pudgy hands. “And then Ah had to pee. Thet’s it, really.”
Susan leaned in and kissed his forehead. “It’s okay, Honey. You’re okay. We’re okay. Just…heal.” She stood up. “I’ll bring you some breakfast when it’s ready.”
He nodded and shot her a chagrined smile. Then he winced, and the smile faded quickly. Susan left the room, and Terry followed her out. Once they were out of the room, Dylan swung his legs from the bed and scowled. He knew Susan had some Vicodin left over from her root canal last month. Where had she put that?
Morning prayer just ended, Kat put her prayer book on the shelf and turned toward the kitchen. The doorbell rang, so she dodged right instead of left. Looking through the peephole, she saw that it was Felicia Dunne, and a thrill of excitement stung her. She liked Felicia a lot. She opened the door with a cheery, “Welcome!”
Felicia’s face, which had been drawn up in a worried scowl, brightened. “Am I in the right place?”
“I think anyplace you are is the right place to be,” Kat said, grabbing her hand and pulling her in.
“Now that’s an extravagant welcome.” She laughed and drew off her jacket. Kat took it and hung it on a peg beside the door.
“I hope you haven’t had breakfast yet,” Kat said. “It’d be a shame to miss Brian’s cooking.”
“I was warned,” Felicia reminded her. “So, I’m famished.”
Kat gave her a bright smile and waved for her to follow, into the kitchen. “Felicia, you know Mikael, of course.” Mikael raised his coffee cup in greeting from his place at the table. She gestured toward Brian, who was just placing a tray of home-baked muffins on the lazy Susan. “This is Brian, Terry’s partner.” She leaned in and whispered, “He’s our Kabbalah guy.”
“Kabbalah guy!” repeated Mikael in a loud, television announcer voice. Brian struck a Superman pose then turned quickly back to the stove to turn the bacon.
Kat held her hands up to her mouth and said, “Okay, this is going to be a little weird.” She gestured toward a mirror hanging near the back door, overlooking the end of the table. “This is my brother, Randy. He was an asshole magickian, until he got involved with the avocado thing…oh, it’s complicated.”
Felicia leaned in to look at the mirror and then bolted upright when she saw Randy waving at her. “Shit!” she exclaimed.
“Yeah, it’s weird,” Kat said again. “He’s kind of trapped in there.”
“I’m trying to embrace the reflective life,” Randy’s voice came from the guitar amplifier sitting on the bench just under the mirror. He smiled. Then he walked over to the reflected stove, dodged Brian’s reflection, and grabbed a piece of bacon.
“Dude, that was reaching,” Mikael said, but he smiled anyway.
“My bar is pretty low these days,” Randy agreed.
“That’s freaky,” Felicia said, her eyes wide. “And you say he caused the whole avocado thing?”
“I’m ashamed to say it, but yes,” Kat answered.
“And the dogs?” Felicia asked, referring to an experiment in which Randy’s magickian friends had caused all the dogs to disappear simultaneously.
“His asshole friends,” Kat said, nodding. “Not him directly, but definitely guilty by association.”
Felicia nodded grimly, staring daggers at the mirror. Randy’s shoulders slunk under her withering gaze. “Did you lose your dog?” Kat asked. “Didn’t he come back?”
“It was my mama’s dog. And yeah, she
came back,” Felicia said. “But not until my mama died of grief over her. I mean, like, really died.”
Kat fumed in her brother’s direction. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “They were stupid. They had no idea what they were doing.”
Just then, Susan walked in. Kat, relieved to change the subject, waved toward her. “This is Susan. She’s completely kick-ass, and she’s my hero.”
Susan smiled weakly and shook Felicia’s hand. Then she sat in her spot at the table. “My husband won’t be joining us,” she said, patting the bench next to her. “Why don’t you take his seat?”
Felicia accepted gratefully and sat down. Terry walked in and gave Brian a kiss on the cheek. He greeted Felicia warmly and took his own place as Brian set a steaming platter of olive-and-Gruyère omelets on the lazy Susan. “Pray and eat,” he commanded.
“I haven’t got it in me to pray,” Susan said, looking deflated.
“No problem,” Terry said, taking Felicia’s hand on one side and Kat’s on the other. “Gentle Jesus, you alone know what we’re up against. You alone know what we should do. You alone can give us the strength to do it. Help us to discern well and love better. Bless this food and everything we do today. Amen.”
Amens all around, the lazy Susan was set to spinning, and everyone dug in. “How is he?” Kat asked, her mouth full of omelet.
“Agitated. Scared.” Susan paused. “Ashamed…which makes two of us.” She put her hand over her eyes and lowered her elbow to the table. Brian came up behind her and kissed the back of her head.
Kat gave Felicia a look that said, “I’ll explain. Later.” Felicia nodded, obviously respectful of Susan’s grief.
They turned back to their breakfasts, and slowly the small talk returned to its normal, cheery level. Making sure everyone had seconds on coffee, Brian grabbed a mug himself and sat next to his husband. “What’s the plan?” he asked.
“Well, as you know, Felicia is the rector of Saint James’s, where the Spear of Destiny has been hidden for the last fifty years,” Terry began.
“Amazing,” Brian shook his head. “I mean, that it was so close to us, the whole time.”
“Felicia was extorted by that creepy Preston guy, the bishop,” added Kat, eyeing a last piece of bacon.
“I don’t know if I would say ‘extorted,’” Felicia said.
“I would. He threatened to out you to your Republo-fascist congregation, didn’t he?” Mikael asked.
“They’re not that bad,” Felicia complained.
“I get it,” Brian said. “No need to quibble over vocabulary.”
“So, we know how Preston got himself elected—through the power of the Spear,” Terry said.
“How does that work?” Susan asked. “I thought the Spear was just an unstoppable offensive weapon.”
“That’s a popular misconception,” Brian said, warming his hands on his mug. “But the way it works is more complicated. According to my research, it only has power against power.”
“Come again?” Kat asked, her eyebrows scrunching.
“Okay, let’s say this salt shaker was the Spear,” Brian said.
“Scariest damned salt shaker on the planet,” Mikael added.
“Right,” Brian smiled. “If I’m holding it, and you don’t oppose me, then it’s inert. It’s just a salt shaker. No power, no nothing.”
“Plenty of salt,” Randy called from the mirror.
“Exactly,” Brian affirmed. “It can only do what a normal salt shaker can do. But now let’s say Susan tries to hit me—”
“It could happen,” Mikael interjected. “She might be on a roll.”
Susan scowled across the table at him.
“That’s when the shaker’s power leaps out. It meets the force coming at it with superior force and repels it. Susan might try to hit me, but the blow is turned back on her, only it’s a little worse than what came at me,” Brian said.
“So, in effect, the Spear functions as an amplified reciprocation talisman,” Terry nodded, thinking hard.
“Only against opposition,” Brian clarified. “If Susan were to shower me with kisses—”
“It is a hypothetical,” Mikael added. Susan scowled harder.
“It wouldn’t amplify the love,” Brian said. “Motion toward, or affinity, or cooperation doesn’t activate it. Only opposition.”
“So, you’re saying that Preston won election precisely because he was being opposed by the other candidates,” Susan tapped at the table with her fingernails.
“Yes, the Spear exerted just enough power to beat them,” Brian said. He turned to Felicia. “It wasn’t a landslide, was it? The election, I mean.”
Felicia shook her head. “No, it was close.”
Brian nodded. “That’s what I thought. That’s how it works.”
“So, you’re saying the only way to beat Preston,” Mikael said, “is not to oppose him?”
Brian nodded again. “That’s the long and the short of it.”
“That sounds like suicide,” Kat said.
Felicia set down her coffee cup. “It’s the Gospel.” They all looked at her. “Well, it’s what Jesus did, right?” She explained. “He met the forces of evil head on, but he didn’t oppose them. He didn’t meet power with power. He just walked into the midst of those powers and got steamrollered by them.”
“He could have called ten thousand angels, to destroy the world and set him free…” Terry quoted the words of the old hymn.
“Right,” Felicia said. “But he didn’t. He let evil have its way.”
“But why?” Kat complained. “What good does that do?”
“Because force is the way of empire,” Felicia said. “Do this or we kill you. Coercion. Exploitation—”
“Extortion,” Mikael added.
Felicia nodded her agreement. “Yes, even that. But none of that is the way of God. The Paschal mystery—”
“The what now?” called Randy from the mirror.
“The mystery of Jesus’s death and resurrection,” Felicia backtracked, “is that evil can pull out the big guns and do its absolute worst, but in the end, it doesn’t win. It can’t. Love wins. That’s the message; that’s the promise of Easter. That’s the Good News of Jesus in a nutshell. Force, coercion, evil, and hate might seem like they have the upper hand in the moment, but they won’t have the last word. In the end, love will triumph.”
Mikael sipped at his coffee. “So, the Spear was plunged into Jesus’s side—it’s kind of a negative sacrament of coercive power, isn’t it?”
Terry sat up straighter. “That’s a great way to think of it.”
“I think you’re all nuts,” called Randy from the mirror. “Is this how you fight evil? You sit around and talk about it over crumb cake?”
“I don’t see any crumb cake,” Brian said.
Susan was staring hard at the table. “No, Randy’s asking a very important question.” She looked up and turned toward the mirror. “Short answer, Randy, yes, this is exactly how we do it. It’s not shoot ’em up exciting, but that’s partly why we’re still in one piece—well, mostly in one piece. And it’s not that evil can’t be opposed. We oppose it plenty—we just don’t meet it on its own terms. You can’t fight evil with evil; you can’t repel force with force. If you do, it wins. Instead, you have to dodge the blows—”
“Celestial aikido!” Mikael interjected.
“Kind of, yeah,” Susan agreed. “The only effective way to meet hate is with love. That’s what Jesus did. And if we’re going to follow him, that’s how we’ve got to do it, too.”
“That’s why we study magick, but don’t practice it,” Terry added.
“That’s just crazy,” Randy said.
“Lots of people have said so,” Susan agreed. “But let’s be careful about this. It’s a temptation to see not fighting back as capitulation. But it isn’t. It’s a kind of fighting. It’s not the same as being a doormat, or simply agreeing to be somebody’s property or their punching bag. It takes amaz
ing courage not to fight back in the face of evil.”
“Right,” said Terry. “Just look at the Civil Rights Movement, or Gandhi’s philosophy.”
“Both were philosophically rooted in the Gospel,” Felicia noted. “Gandhi wasn’t a Christian, but he was deeply influenced by the portrait of Jesus he found in the gospels.”
“That sounds hard to do—not fighting back,” Kat said. “I’m not sure I agree with that.”
“It’s counterintuitive, that’s for sure,” said Terry, draining his cup. “It requires a radical act of trust.”
“Trust in what?” asked Kat.
“In God. In Love,” Felicia answered. “That on the other side of the cross is the empty tomb. That if you walk straight into the mouth of evil—and don’t give in to the temptation to return evil for evil—you’ll come out the other side, scarred but victorious.”
“That’s a lot of trust,” Kat said.
“That’s a lot of trust,” agreed Susan.
For a few moments, no one said anything. Finally, Randy’s voice came from the guitar amplifier. “I think you’ve all got your heads up your asses.”
“Thank you for your helpful input, Randy,” Kat said, narrowing her eyes in her brother’s direction.
“Okay, so Preston’s got this Spear, which means that any form of opposition will be met with equal and greater force,” Mikael reasoned. “And we’ve seen how that can work in a democratic situation. This week is the Republican National Convention, and we know he’s pushing for Governor Ivory to be, basically, a write-in-candidate. If he can sway the Episcopal diocese, he can sway the Republican delegates.”
“And we know what kind of man Ivory is,” Susan continued. “He wiped out an entire American city because there were too many Muslims in it. He’s the real face of evil.”
“I got a text from Dicky yesterday,” Brian added. “He pointed out that both Saint James and Prester John were known as the Moor Hammer.”
“Add Ivory to that list,” Terry said.
“What’s a Moor Hammer?” asked Randy.
“Someone who hammers Moors,” Brian said.
“Oh thanks. That explains everything,” Randy returned.
