Corruption

by Jennifer Blackstream

  Pale brown brick and dark brown shingles provided a humble backdrop to the beautiful circles of stained glass window that took up most of the building above the front doors. The Archangel Michael and his shining sword glinted in the sunlight, a representation of the divine being from whom St. Michael’s church had taken its name.

  “You’re never getting rid of that cat. You bought him a toy. You like him. And him summoning elephants to destroy Andy’s house!”

  “Rhinoceros.”

  I parked on the street and shoved the keys into the non-enchanted side pocket of the pouch, then grabbed the bottle of holy water and the blessed dagger. After a brief scan of the surrounding area, including the cafe to my left and the dozen skyscrapers in the background dwarfing the tiny church, I put the dagger in my pocket. No sense tearing across the street with a naked blade. The human police frowned on that sort of thing.

  “Peasblossom, do you feel the demon?”

  The pixie paused on my shoulder, holding still for all of two seconds. “I’m not sensing anything evil. Shall I fly ahead?”

  “Don’t you dare!” I slammed the car door. “Just because demons don’t bother with wee folk doesn’t mean you couldn’t get caught in the crossfire. We don’t know what happened, who’s involved, or even if it’s over. You stay with me and tell me if you feel anything.”

  “Right. So we’ll talk about the cat toy later?”

  “Not the time!”

  I jogged up the shallow church steps, taking brief note of the bright red and yellow Under Renovation signs on either side of the main door. The church sat on the corner of the block, almost hidden by the surrounding buildings. It wasn’t in the best area of Cleveland, and I spotted at least two alleys I wouldn’t want to walk down alone even in daylight. I paused at the entrance, listening for some sign of a struggle inside. No sound reached me, no hint of violence or chaos. Quiet as a church.

  I studied the thick chain looped through the door handles, and the heavy padlock that kept it secure. Someone had taken steps to lock the church from the outside. Locking someone—or something—in.

  Before I could dig into my pouch for my lockpicking tools, a man shouted from behind me.

  “Stop!”

  I held still. “Sense anything?” I whispered to Peasblossom.

  “A priest ran out of the cafe across the street.” She pulled up the collar of my red trench coat and hid behind it like a makeshift fort. “I’m not sensing any evil from him, and he seems human. Just cranky.”

  Still keeping a firm grip on the bottle of holy water, I turned and spotted a priest running across the street. He was young, mid-twenties at most, and wore the black shirt and pants of a Catholic priest, complete with the white clerical collar. His eyes were so dark a brown they matched his black hair, and his gaze seemed to bore straight through me, as if he could hold the door closed through force of will alone.

  And maybe he could.

  A second priest jogged out of the cafe behind the first. He was older, mid-sixties or early seventies. His clothing matched the first priest, though this man’s clerical uniform had faded with age and use. His Hispanic features betrayed concern along with a dose of grim determination as he followed his fellow priest to the front door of the church.

  “You can’t go in there.” The young priest planted a palm against the door. “We are closed for renovations. It is not safe.” He gave a pointed look to the Under Renovation sign.

  If I wasn’t worried about a demonic presence, I’d have taken the time to be subtle. Or to see if I could charm him despite the press of his faith against my aura. But needs must.

  “My name is Mother Shade Renard, and I’m a private investigator working with the FBI.” I gestured toward my neck where Peasblossom crouched under the fall of my hair. “And this is Peasblossom, my familiar.”

  “Father Thomas Capstone,” he responded without taking his hand from the door. He didn’t acknowledge Peasblossom at all. “And this is Father Matteo Salvatore. The church is closed, may I ask what you’re doing here?”

  Peasblossom crept around my neck to my shoulder so she could glare at the priest treading the line between brusque and rude. Her irritation pulsed over my thoughts through our empathic link, and I sent calming energy her way.

  “I received a call from a woman with an Italian accent saying two people had been murdered at this church,” I told him. “I have to go inside. Please go somewhere safe.”

  The older priest’s eyes widened. “Laurie. Thomas, move aside, son. We must get inside.” He fumbled at his pocket, withdrawing the key to the padlock.

  “Who’s Laurie?” I asked.

  “There’s no time to explain,” Thomas snapped. He unfastened the button at the wrist of his shirt while Father Salvatore fought the padlock. I blinked as he rolled up his shirt sleeve, revealing a dagger strapped to his wrist. “And it is you who should get somewhere safe.”

  “I smell a paladin,” Peasblossom muttered. “And he’s a young one.”

  I reached into my pocket for the blessed dagger, feeling the cool tingle of purifying energy against my fingertips. With my left hand, I grasped the bottle of holy water, thumb pressed against the spongy cork, ready to pop it open and send the liquid into the face of any demonic presence that might dare to show itself.

  Heavy metal clanged against the church door as Father Salvatore worked the padlock free and let it fall to the cement. As soon as the door was open, he bolted through, moving much faster than I would have expected from a man his age.

  Thomas ran even faster, outpacing his elder to clear the foyer and enter the main room of the church first. I followed behind both priests, yielding to their initiative on their own property.

  Silence swallowed the church, making the priests’ footsteps seem too loud. The scent of the Catholic church closed around me in a cloud of incense, wood polish, and old books. A blue carpet ran through the nave and its rows of pews, over the crossing, and up to the altar. The rear wall held three massive stained glass windows, depicting more angels on the right and left, with an image of the Christian savior Jesus Christ in the center. Jesus gazed out at the congregation with a soft expression and a gentle smile. I imagined under normal circumstances, he would have appeared loving and happy to see his parishioners.

  Now he seemed sad.

  Father Salvatore came to a shuddering stop in front of the altar, a hiss of breath escaping him as he quickly made the sign of the cross. From my position behind him, I could make out two bodies lying on the floor, barely visible through the carved wooden screens that formed the short partial walls sectioning off the crossing from the nave. Even from my limited vantage point, I could see the bodies were large, much larger than most humans. I’d guess they were both seven feet tall, easily. The closer I got, the bigger they looked, and by the time I reached the crossing, I knew I wasn’t dealing with human victims. Peasblossom gasped a split second before I took the step that brought me close enough to see the bodies over the wooden barrier. My jaw dropped.

  “Blood and bone,” I breathed. “Minotaurs.”

  “Not just minotaurs,” Peasblossom said, her tone hushed with awe. “Twins.”

  I stared back and forth between the two bodies. Holy Goddess, she was right. The enormous humanoids with the bovine heads bore the same cream-colored markings on their brown fur, the same curve to the thick horns that curled forward from their temples. They wore matching white robes lined with gold trim. Blood spatter dotted the shining white linen, and a matching red splash on the wall to my left drew my focus. My stomach turned at the sight of blood and brain matter sticking to the paint in a glistening stain.

  The minotaur on the left had fallen forward to land on his broad chest, with his soft pink snout pointing toward the door. Wide, furry ears extended beneath the thick base of his vicious horns. Raised eyelids revealed eyes that were solid black, but for a thin crescent of white around the outer rim. Death shrouded his gaze with a pale film, his expression empty of all sig
ns of life. The bullet hole in the center of his forehead gaped at me like a third eye, dark and empty.

  Thomas tightened his grip on his dagger, searching the church for some sign of the twins’ attacker. I noted with respect that he scanned the ceiling, aware that not all danger comes from the ground. I circled around opposite the young priest, flanking the dead minotaurs as I searched for some sign of their killer.

  “I’m not sensing evil,” Peasblossom whispered. “There’s no demon here.”

  “There’s no woman either,” I answered, keeping my voice low. “Father Capstone,” I said, speaking louder. “How many entrances to the church?”

  “Two,” he answered without looking at me. “The front door and a side door to your right.”

  Father Salvatore finished the prayer he’d been murmuring since crossing himself, and sank to his knees beside the first victim. The way he put a hand against the minotaur’s thick furry neck with no hesitation, no shock, convinced me the priest was not only aware of the Otherworld, he was familiar with it. Even those who believed in the Otherworld, were open to its existence, would have hesitated at the sight of the half-bovine beast. Whatever had been going on here, the priest had known about it, and he’d known the people involved.

  I didn’t tell him checking for a pulse was pointless. He would already know, and I understood the need to check anyway when you knew the victim. While he reassured himself there was nothing he could do for them, I walked down the length of the church, checking the pews, peering underneath the rows of smooth wooden seats for any sign of another victim. It was a small church, there didn’t seem to be many places for Laurie to hide, or—worst case scenario—for someone to hide her body.

  “Is Laurie a minotaur?” Peasblossom asked.

  I followed her voice to where she perched on the windowsill, staring out into the side yard of the church.

  “No,” Thomas answered. “She is human. But she is also a paladin, like me.”

  Paladins were warriors, trained not just in faith, and the ability to channel that faith into magic, but also educated on the use of a variety of weapons. Paladins didn’t preach, they fought.

  “Well, if she’s wearing robes like the twins, then she’s outside sitting on a bench.” Peasblossom’s tiny face pinched with concern. “I think she’s crying.”

  “I need to speak with her,” I said, moving toward the door Thomas had indicated.

  “Mother Renard, wait,” Father Salvatore said, hastening to his feet. “Let me talk to her first.”

  I paused at the wooden barrier. “Father, Laurie called me for help. She wants to speak to me.”

  The sunlight shining through the windows shone on the bald patch revealed by old priest’s receding hairline. “I understand, and you should speak with her.” He pushed his black-rimmed glasses farther up his nose and gestured at Peasblossom. “But your familiar says Laurie is upset. We are old friends, I believe it would be easier on her to see a friendly face before she tries to convey what happened here.”

  I hesitated, but only for a moment. Peasblossom would sense if Father Salvatore had a demon inside him, and I had no reason to think he meant Laurie harm. And if I wanted him to cooperate, it made sense to start out on the right foot. “I think that would be fine.”

  Father Salvatore relaxed, relief smoothing some of the lines from around his eyes. “I will be outside if you need me.”

  I watched as he retreated from the altar, seeming to make an effort not to stare at the bodies. As soon as his back was to me, I made eye contact with Peasblossom and inclined my head toward the priest. Peasblossom nodded, and when the priest left she followed him. I waited a few seconds, then went to the door and used a discarded doorstop to prop it open enough for the pixie to get inside if she needed to.

  “You don’t trust Father Salvatore?”

  I faced Thomas, noting that he’d slid the dagger back into the wrist sheath, though he hadn’t buttoned the shirt cuff. “With all due respect, Father, I don’t trust anyone at a murder scene. Not when I’ve just met them, and not when there’s a demon involved.”

  “A surprisingly wise sentiment,” he commented.

  I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to count to ten before responding. I was getting the strong feeling that Thomas and I weren’t going to be friends.

  “Do you have something against witches, Father?” I asked.

  “Not if you promise not to get in my way,” he answered.

  Nope, we would not be friends. Before I could respond to that, Thomas approached the first of the minotaurs. He knelt beside the fallen with the same reverence Father Salvatore had shown, and removed a circular tin from his pocket. I snapped my mouth shut as he began to pray, abandoning my intended warning about contaminating a crime scene.

  “Into your hands, O Lord, we humbly entrust our brothers. In this life you embraced them with your tender love; deliver them now from every evil and bid them eternal rest.”

  He unscrewed the top of the tin and pressed his thumb to a sponge inside. The scent of rosemary drifted through the air to tickle my nose. Still praying, he drew his thumb over the fallen minotaur’s forehead in the sign of the cross. Olive oil, I guessed. It soaked into the dead minotaur’s fur, painting it a darker brown.

  “The old order has passed away, welcome them into paradise where there will be no sorrow, no weeping or pain, but fullness of peace and joy with your Son and the Holy Spirit forever and ever. Amen.”

  I remained silent, allowing him to perform his rite. As he moved to the second victim, something on the floor caught my eye. I stepped closer. The minotaur’s robes bore a large embroidered golden cross, the glittering thread matching the trim that lined his wide skirts. Lying down as he was with the skirts of the robes flung about, I could see his knee-high brown leather boots. They were false boots, open at the bottom to fall around the minotaur’s hoof. To an outside observer, it would appear as if he had human legs and feet. Beside his open hand lay a sword.

  I recognized that blade. The hilt hand-wrapped with red leather, the high-carbon steel blade that ran parallel until tapering to a point. It was the standard weapon assigned by the Ministry of Deliverance, a specialized department of the Vanguard that dealt with possessions and hauntings. My stomach twisted.

  The church doors opened before I could say anything, and Andy strode down the aisle passing through the center of the church. He stopped beside me, and I waited for him to take in the scene. As was his way when confronted with something Other, his face shut down, becoming a blank mask as his brain worked to process everything.

  “They’re minotaurs,” I said.

  “Minotaurs. Like the labyrinth myth?”

  “Exactly.” I motioned at the bodies. “I’ve never seen one in person before. They’re rare.”

  “I’d imagine that makes twins even more rare.”

  I was impressed he’d noticed they were twins so quickly. The Otherworld was still new to him, I’d have thought it would take him awhile to get past the cow heads. “Very.” I gestured at the priest. “Agent Bradford, this is Father Thomas Capstone. Father Capstone, Agent Bradford.”

  “I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances,” Andy said, holding out his hand.

  Thomas stood, accepting the handshake as he used his free hand to replace the tin of oil in his pocket. “Agent Bradford. It’s a pleasure to meet you, but if you’ll forgive me, I have to ask why you’re here? This was an exorcism.” He glanced at me. “I don’t see the good of involving a witch, and it seems a human would be even more vulnerable.”

  Andy stared at Thomas with that same blank stare. “How old are you?”

  The priest narrowed his eyes. “Age doesn’t matter. Not here. Faith matters.” He took a step toward Andy, and it might have been more intimidating if he hadn’t had to tilt his head up to meet Andy’s gaze. “Do you have faith, Agent Bradford?”

  “Something tells me you already know the answer to that.” Andy’s tone betrayed no emotion, and he
didn’t step back when the young paladin crowded his personal space.

  “I do. And once again, I must question why you’re here? This is a church matter, not a police matter.”

  “That is a bullet wound,” Andy said, pointing to the hole in the minotaur’s forehead. “That makes this a police matter.”

  “You are not a man of faith. It is dangerous for you here. More dangerous than you could know. I can see your lack of faith. It hangs about you like a shroud.” Thomas addressed me next. “Perhaps you can explain to your friend how dangerous it is for a man with no faith to interfere with a demon.”

  Andy turned to me, a clear dismissal of young Father Capstone. “The woman who called you. Where is she?”

  “Outside.” I gestured toward the side door. “Father Salvatore is trying to calm her down.”

  “She’s the one who called for help. Let’s speak to her.” He gave Thomas a pointed look. “Then we’ll decide if our interference is called for.”

  I hesitated. Thomas was rubbing me the wrong way, but he was right about the danger. A lack of faith was a disadvantage against a demon. A deadly disadvantage.

  As soon as I opened my mouth to warn Andy, to suggest that perhaps he sit this one out, I snapped it closed. No. Arguing with him would only make him dig his heels in. “We’ll speak to Laurie first,” I agreed. “See what she has to say.”

  Thomas clenched his teeth, but he made no move to stop us as I led Andy toward the door. When the priest didn’t come with us, Andy paused. “This is an active crime scene. If you could come with us, Father? We wouldn’t want any accidental contamination.”

  “I don’t like your tone.” He straightened his spine. “But I have duties to attend to elsewhere. Tell Father Salvatore that I’ll return shortly.”

  He turned to leave, but Andy raised his voice. “I’m sorry, but I have to insist you stay here.”

  Thomas froze. “I’m sorry?”

  “I noticed the chains on the church doors, the under renovation signs. I assume whatever was happening here was not common knowledge?”