by Khurt Khave
“Great,” Juliet grunted. “Little Miss Nympho, happy at last. A jury will love that part of your story. So will Goldsborough’s attorneys, for when they rip you apart on cross-examination,” she sighed. “Christ, I wish you’d mentioned this before Bob and I sent out the subpoena.”
“Well, it’s the truth,” Shitaki commented with a shrug. “I’m not gonna lie and pretend I walked into the Church of Starry Wisdom an impressionable virgin and came out of there an oversexed man-eater.”
“Not that anyone would believe it,” Juliet said. “So let me ask you something, then, because it’s sure to come up at some point: If you were having such a good time getting your freak on at a church that attracts every hedonist in the five boroughs, why did you leave? Because of this highpriestess thing?”
“Well, of course!” Shitaki replied bitterly. “I worked my ass off for the reverend. I performed as the living altar for the sacrificial rites, I ran the college recruitment tour, I overhauled the church’s Web site and acted as inhouse tech support for the rectory’s computer network—I even licked envelopes for all the gods-damned raffle tickets we mailed out to friends and families of the congregation around the holidays. I did everything he asked me to do, and never once complained.”
“Until he demanded that you put out for him,” Juliet commented.
“Well, yeah,” Shitaki slowly admitted. “And, yeah, I know according to church doctrine I was expected to, but; I mean, have you ever seen Martin Goldsborough naked?”
“Can’t really say as I have,” Juliet said drolly. “Thank God.”
Shitaki gave an overly dramatic shiver, “Not a pleasant experience, let me tell you. I mean his love handles have love handles. Not to mention I had to see that shriveled-up trouser snake of his wiggling around in full view at the black masses three times a week, and twice on Sundays.”
“A real tragedy. Except you would have found a way to make peace with his Johnson if he’d made you high priestess,” Juliet concluded, “right?”
Shitaki opened her mouth to reply, paused before the words could get past her lips, then ultimately shrugged, “Maybe. Probably.”
Juliet winced, as though in great pain, and sucked in a deep breath through clenched teeth, “Okay, that’s a problem. Makes it difficult to argue that the church’s sexually hostile environment was deleterious to you in particular if the only reason you object to it now is because Goldsborough wouldn’t put you in charge without getting laid first.”
Shitaki’s sharp, humorless laugh exploded like a gunshot, “So now it’s blame the victim, is it?”
Juliet sighed, “That’s not what I said. I’m merely pointing out that a jury might have a hard time empathizing because you appear bothered by the church’s sexist attitude toward women only when it gets in the way of your ambitions.”
“Uh-huh,” Shitaki coolly replied. “And is that how you feel about it?”
“My personal feelings are inconsequential,” Juliet commented. “They have no bearing on the case.”
It sounded good, but Shitaki noted how the attorney looked away while she said it. “Bullshit.”
Juliet shrugged, “Think what you like. It’s not my place to judge the motivations of my clients. All I’m interested in is winning the case.”
“And maybe grabbing a few headlines along the way?”
Another shrug, although now there was a pronounced spark of excitement in Juliet’s eyes, “Hey, sex scandals that could blow the lid off a major religion don’t come along every day, you know. Well, maybe with the Catholic Church they do, but that’s old hat now. And when it involves a crackpot organization like the followers of”—she wiggled her fingers in the air in a patronizing gesture meant to look spooky—“Narly Ho Tep and Doh Gon and the other Scooby Doo monster rejects?” The spark became a roaring fire. “Well, I think that’s worth a segment on The O’Reilly Factor or Nancy Grace, don’t you?”
Shitaki started, “Wait a minute. Crackpot organization?”
The question appeared to catch Juliet off guard, “Well, yes. Are you telling me you actually believe in that ‘space gods from planet X’ nonsense? I thought you only joined up to get laid.”
A rare blush of embarrassment colored Shitaki’s cheeks, “Well, yeah. Maybe. In the beginning. But after I’d attended a few services, heard some of Martin’s sermons and realized it wasn’t some kinda scam, that the church had a real message to convey, I started getting into it. The ceremonies, the words in the sacred texts, the camaraderie among the church members, even the Halloween bake sales, it all spoke to me in a way no other religion ever had. And believe me, I tried just about all of the major ones, in one form or another, before, during, and after college. You know—trying to find my place in the world; I guess everybody goes through that stage at some point in their life. But when I stepped into the Church of Starry Wisdom. . .I don’t know. I guess the best way to describe it is it really was like coming home.”
“And do you still feel that way?”
Shitaki considered it for a moment, then slowly nodded, “Yeah.”
Juliet snorted derisively, “Sounds like somebody’s still drinking the Kool-Aid Goldsborough hands out at the black masses.”
A deep frown contorted her client’s flawless features, “Have you ever been to one of our services, Juliet? Or are you just basing everything on hearsay and personal prejudices?”
“I’m basing it on the fact that we need to put distance between you and a church that’s been suspected in God knows how many disappearances in the tristate area almost from the day it opened its doors a hundred years ago,” Juliet replied sharply, “including that of the last person who managed to drag the ‘good’ reverend into a courtroom and take him for a settlement. If you’re going to act like some wild-eyed cult member pining for the good times she’s lost, this case is doomed from the start.” She eyed her client suspiciously. “Speaking of those disappearances, having been Goldsborough’s Girl Friday for the past few years, you wouldn’t know anything about those, would you?”
“Are you implying I’m part of some great conspiracy to silence the church’s critics?” Shitaki snorted this time. “How would I know anything at all about that? I’m just a ‘wild-eyed cult member.’”
“That’s not an answer,” Juliet said, frowning.
“That’s the only answer you’re getting from me.”
“Then you’re a fool. If you know something, get it out in the open, right here and now, so I can plan a strategy before it’s too late. It’s only a matter of time before the police find a direct link to the church from those legions of missing persons—or their probable remains. No reason for you to get caught in the undertow if you can jump out of the water now.” Juliet smiled. “Who knows? If what you have to say sounds good to the Manhattan district attorney—whom I know personally, I might add—we might be able to leverage that against the church and come out of it with a real windfall.”
Shitaki snarled, “I think we’re done here.”
“With this meeting . . . or this suit?” Juliet asked.
Shitaki paused, uncertain. The thought of Martin spending the rest of his life behind bars held a definite appeal, but it was countered by the realization of what his comeuppance would do to the church. It would be torn apart by endless investigations from countless agencies, never to recover. Everything she had come to love about it would be destroyed forever. Worse than that, she’d bring the wrath of the Great Old Ones down on her head, and their punishments would last an eternity. Was she really willing to go to such lengths just to make Martin hurt as much as she did right now?
“I’ll. . .let you know,” she said quietly, then rose from her seat and headed for the door.
“Misplaced loyalty is a terrible thing, Shitaki,” Juliet called out to her. “It often has a way of biting you in the ass.”
Shitaki looked back over her shoulder and flashed a sad little smile. “Yeah, well, it wouldn’t be the first time.”
From the w
indow of his darkened bedroom, Martin spotted her sitting on a bench in the graveyard behind the cathedral. Poured into black leather pants tight enough to have been spray-painted on, hands stuffed in the pockets of an unzipped leather jacket, Shitaki stared straight ahead, gaze locked on some distant point in the shadows between the headstones. In the pale glow of the security light under which she sat, the blood red color of her T-shirt caught his eye, and he noted the black logo printed across her chest: MI-GO/YU-GO/WE-ALL-GO DANCING. One of the promotional giveaways from the church mixer where they’d first met, he recalled. But why wear it now? More important, why come creeping back to the target of her lawsuit in the middle of the night?
Could be she’s coming to beg for my forgiveness, Martin wondered. Or is she just working up the nerve to kill me in my sleep? Picking up the telephone on his desk, he internally debated to whom he should place a call: Artie Mannix for legal advice? The police to report an intruder? Or Lester Dobson, the cathedral’s caretaker? It wouldn’t take Dobbie long to release a shoggoth from the pit in the basement; no doubt the beast would appreciate a late-night snack.
And yet, seeing Shitaki there, her delicate features limned in moonlight, the haunted expression in her eyes making her appear extremely vulnerable and so very alone, Martin felt an unaccustomed warmth flow through him. True, the girl had brought him nothing but trouble of late, but he couldn’t deny that he still felt something for her beyond thoughts of sexual gratification. They’d grown fairly close in the years she had worked for him— as close as she’d allowed him to get, that is—and he had to admit he’d come to like this headstrong young woman. Willful, beautiful, and smart as hell—a potent combination in a high priestess, even one who’d refused to share his bed. The kind of woman who could make for either a powerful ally, or an incredibly dangerous enemy.
Thank Yog-Sothoth she doesn’t have her own following, he thought. And froze.
“Just a moment,” he whispered, eyes widening as a smile slowly lit his
features. “Wait just a moment.” He set down the phone, grabbed his robe, and headed for the library, where the sacred tomes were kept under lock and key. He had some research to do before he confronted his wayward follower.
If she noticed him enter the graveyard through the rectory’s fire exit a half hour later, Shitaki gave no sign of it. She remained seated, hands in pockets, legs extended straight out and crossed at the ankles, eyes staring into space. Even as Martin drew closer, the soles of his leather slippers crunching loudly on the gravel-covered path, she opted to remain silent. It was obvious he would have to be the one to break the ice.
“Climbed over the fence, did you?” he asked, stopping in front of her. Smiling gently, he wagged a disapproving finger. “That’s trespassing, you know.”
Shitaki grunted, but didn’t look up, “Gonna call the cops on me?” she asked with a sneer.
“Eh. Maybe later,” the reverend replied with a shrug, and took a seat beside her. “Where’s your lawyer? Off hunting down witches to burn?”
A hint of a smile dimpled the corners of her mouth. She glanced up at the illuminated clock set in the cathedral’s northern wall, just below the bell tower, “It’s four in the morning, Martin. Even witch hunters need their beauty sleep.”
“But no sleep for the wicked, eh?” he remarked. Shitaki only shrugged in response, so he nodded in agreement with himself. “Four in the morning,” he murmured after a few moments. “The hollow hour.”
Shitaki slowly turned her head and gave him an odd look, “Where’d you get that from?”
“A poem,” Martin replied. “‘Four in the Morning’ by Wislawa Szymborska. ‘The hour when winds blow from extinguished stars. The hour of and-what-if-nothing-remains-after-us.’”
“Sounds like something from one of the Mad Arab’s poems,” Shitaki commented with a wry smile. “Or one of your sermons.”
Martin chuckled, “Yes, I suppose it does.”
He fell silent and they quietly sat there, the arms of the slumbering metropolis wrapped around them. It was nice, he thought, the two of them sharing a moment like this, even with the palpable tension between them.
“It didn’t have to come to this,” she muttered sullenly. “I didn’t want it to come to this.”
“I know. You’re a devout follower of the Great Old Ones, Shitaki; I have no doubt the inner conflict must be tearing you apart. But, our relationship doesn’t have to remain an adversarial one.” Goldsborough smiled wickedly, and reached out to stroke her thigh. “You know I’m a firm believer in giving people second chances.”
Shitaki jerked her leg away, “I. . .can’t, Martin,” she said. “I just can’t. Maybe no one’s ever pointed this out to you before, but you’re overweight, unattractive, and old enough to be my father—and I have enough issues with him to last a lifetime.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but you just don’t appeal to me.”
He frowned, “Don’t hold back now, Shitaki,” he sniped. “Tell me how you really feel about me.”
She started to reply—he could see the anger flashing in her eyes as she prepared to launch into a vitriolic tirade—but then the words dissolved into a long, weary sigh. “Sorry,” she finally said, “that was a cheap shot.” She rose to her feet and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “But, gods damn it, this whole thing is your fault! If you weren’t so adamant about getting in my pants and had just promoted me, I never would’ve filed the damn lawsuit. And then you had the balls to give the job to that whack-job Eleanor Crowley. Thanks for the extra slap in the face, Martin.”
Now it was his turn to sigh, “Shitaki, you know church law as much as. . .”
“The hell with church law!” she barked, then froze. She looked almost as surprised at her outburst as he felt. Her panic-filled eyes turned heavenward. “I, I didn’t mean that,” she whispered hoarsely to the Elder Gods who lurked beyond the borders of time and space—and who might very well be listening to her blasphemy. “I, it was just the anger talking.”
“Why did you come here, Shitaki?” Martin asked.
“I, well, I don’t really know,” she quietly admitted. A precocious smile tugged at the right corner of her mouth. “Originally, I’d thought about breaking into the rectory and putting a knife in your skull while you slept.” She reached inside her leather jacket and came out with a foot-long silver dagger, its hilt encrusted with a variety of gems that sparkled brilliantly in the moonlight. Not one of the ceremonial implements from the cathedral’s sacristy, Martin noted. The jewels were too gaudy for his taste. “But then, once I got here . . .”
“You couldn’t go through with it,” he grunted pleasantly. “Guilty conscience, perhaps?”
Shitaki snorted derisively, “No, that wasn’t it. Trust me, Martin, shanking you like a prison stoolie in his bunk would not be a crisis of conscience for me.”
“Change of heart, then.”
A shrug as she slipped the dagger back into her jacket, “Something like that.” She eased back down onto the bench, then hunched forward, burying her face in her hands. “Shit,” she muttered. After a few moments, Shitaki lowered her hands and tilted her head to look at him, “I dropped the lawsuit.”
Martin’s eyebrows did a slow caterpillar climb up his forehead. “Mather and Standish turning down a high-profile case? From what Artie Mannix told me about those two shysters, I find that hard to believe. What happened—you stab one of them through the skull with your gaudy dagger?”
“No, we had. . .philosophical differences.”
Martin nodded sagely, “Ahhh. They thought your beliefs qualified you as a mental case. Typical. Well, what did you expect from atheist lawyers, anyway?” Shitaki didn’t respond. “Well, that’s all right,” Martin continued. “It’s that sort of attitude that allows us to do the Great Old Ones’ good work out in the open. The willful ignorance of others has always been our strongest weapon.”
“And an adherence to outdated notions, and outdated thinking, has always been our greatest
weakness,” she countered.
He grunted gently, “Back to the main topic, are we? Well, if you’re not suing me, and you’re not planning on stabbing me, what is your next move?”
Shitaki loosed a melodramatic groan and slumped back against the bench. Head resting on the top slat, she stared at the few stars visible through the city’s unrelenting light pollution, “I don’t know what to do next,” she said quietly. “I love the church, Martin, you know that. I love the services, the people, the sense of. . .”
“Superiority over the human cattle that the Great Old Ones will devour when they make their glorious return?”
She gave him the side-eye, “Family, Martin. The sense of family.”
He wrinkled his nose in distaste, “Oh. I suppose that, too.” He’d never given it much consideration.
“Family. That’s what the church means to me,” Shitaki continued, her voice soft. “My dad’s a total shit, and Mom is no better, but the church, the church didn’t judge me, didn’t shun me, didn’t hate me. For the first time in my life, I was able to be me.” Her teeth ground together as she gazed at Martin. “And now you’re taking it all away from me because you insist on putting your gods-damned dick first.” Her hand slid inside the jacket. “Maybe I’ll just stick to my original plan.”
Martin rolled his eyes and picked an imaginary piece of lint from his robe’s sleeve, “If you were serious about stabbing me, Shitaki, you’d have done it already. But you won’t, because you’re smarter than that. You know that killing me won’t change the situation—you’ll never be high priestess here. You’d only wind up promoting Eleanor to my position, and even though she’d be grateful for the salary increase, she’d bring the full force of the church down on your head, if only to ensure you wouldn’t have the opportunity to ‘shank’ her, too. You’ll find just how sharp the shards of that glass ceiling you’ve been bumping against are when Eleanor is dragging them across your throat.” He paused for dramatic effect, then smiled slyly, “But there may be a solution, if you’re willing to listen.”
