[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
down demons with nothing more than a plastic swizzle stick from Trader Vic's so, yeah, I'm a believer.
I even got roped into doing some committee work a few months ago. Of course, the project which was
supposed to have been finished during the summer is still dragging on. What's that saying about no
good deed going unpunished?
The cathedral is perched on San Diablo's highest point, the church grounds looking out over the Pacific
and the Channel Islands. Like any church, the worship hall is holy ground. But St. Mary's Cathedral has
an added little zing. Everything beyond the communion rail the sanctuary, the altar, even the basement
below and the ceiling above was built with a mortar that was heavily infused with the bones of saints.
It's pretty common to work a saint's bone into an altar (well, it's not as common now as it used to be),
but that much saintliness was unique even centuries ago.
Eric and I had believed that such a powerful sanctuary explained San Diablo's low demon quotient. Sure,
demons could still wander free in the town or on the nonconsecrated church grounds, for that
matter but we'd opined that the cathedral gave off a strong antidemon vibe. Apparently that bit of
conjecture was hogwash.
Anyway, I had no idea of the identity of my new alimentatore; according to tradition, a Hunter knows
nothing about his or her mentor until the two actually meet. I find that particular tradition to be not only
archaic, but also downright idiotic. Unfortunately, I'm not on the Rules Committee for Forza Scura, and
no one asked my opinion.
Even though I couldn't know whom I was supposed to meet, I dearly wished that I had asked Father
Corletti for more details on the exact location. For all I knew, my mentor might be sitting in Father Ben's
rectory office twiddling his thumbs and wondering where I was.
The thought sparked another my mentor might actually be Father Ben.
I rather liked that idea. Although Father Ben is only a few years out of seminary, he seems on the ball and
his homilies are never yawners. Still, the likelihood that I was intended to meet up with Father Ben was
slim. Father Corletti might have been vague, but he'd definitely said that Forza had "sent" an
alimentatore. Since Father Ben had taken the position of rector years ago, unless Forza had been
aware of Goramesh's interest in the cathedral far longer than Father Corletti let on, Ben wasn't my man.
I decided that the actual cathedral building was my best bet, and maneuvered the Infinity into one of the
nearby parking spaces. I confess to taking a devious pleasure in saddling Stuart with the more
kid-friendly van, and part of me wanted to just sit in the lot, engine running, as I basked in that clean car
smell that involved no hint of sour milk or spilled grape juice. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to wallow.
I shifted into park, killed the engine, and abandoned the air-conditioned comfort for the equally agreeable
Southern California weather.
I followed the stone path to the cathedral, letting my hand reach out to graze the birds-of-paradise that
lined the walkway like sentries. The double doors heavy wood with tarnished brass hardware were
closed but unlocked, and I tugged the door open and plowed on in, crossing first through the small foyer,
then slowing as I moved over the threshold into the worship area. The stone receptacles that usually held
the holy water at the entrance had been packed away as part of the renovation, replaced with simple
wooden stands topped with gold-plated bowls. The floor was still damp, probably from the earlier rain,
and I walked carefully so I wouldn't slip. I dabbed my finger in the basin of holy water, made the sign of
the cross, then genuflected toward the tabernacle.
The pews were empty, and I considered heading over to the hall to see if my rendezvous was there. But
I'd actually arrived a few minutes early, so it seemed silly not to wait.
I'd brought an empty glass vial, and I filled it with holy water, replenishing my stock. That errand
completed, I just stood there, idly flipping through a missal, and checking my watch about every
twenty-four seconds. At eleven-fifty-seven I heard the creak of a door, followed by footsteps. Because
the room's acoustics were designed more for singing hymns than pinpointing sound, I had no idea which
direction to look. I turned a full circle and was walking toward the communion rail when the mystery was
solved Father Ben passed through a velvet curtain to appear on the sanctuary in front of me.
He carried a clipboard and a pen and didn't seem to realize I was there.
I cleared my throat, and he looked up, startled. His face cleared almost immediately, though, and he
smiled broadly. "Kate Connor. What brings you here today?"
Okay. So he definitely wasn't my alimentatore. I let loose my preplanned excuse. "I'm picking up some
more inventories to type. But the message on my cell phone was garbled, so I'm not sure who called."
Since our project involved reviewing and indexing the extensive donations received by the cathedral's
sizable archives, I assumed there was a list somewhere waiting to be typed. Thus, I was not actually lying
to a priest.
Father Ben rubbed his chin. "Well, I'm afraid I can't help you. Delores would know, but she's not here
today," he added, referring to the committee chair.
"Oh. That's too bad." I frowned and tried to look suitably flummoxed. "I was hoping to get started on the
pages tonight." I turned a bit, looking around as if I expected someone to materialize in a pew. "You
haven't seen anyone else around, have you?"
"Sorry."
"I'll go check the Bishop's Hall. If someone is looking for me, would you let them know I'm there?"
"Of course."
I made polite good-bye noises and headed out the door. I popped into the Bishop's Hall, looked around,
and found no one except the janitor, who was mopping the floor. I backed out quickly, careful not to
muck up his work.
The adrenaline rush that had accompanied the thought of meeting my new mentor was being fast replaced
by annoyance. I had at least three loads of laundry piled up at home. Not to mention a body that was
going to get pretty ripe if it stayed in my shed much longer. I decided to head back to the cathedral in
case we'd been passing each other in a not-so-funny comedy-of-errors kind of way. I'd just stepped
onto the walkway when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned, but didn't see anyone. I called out, but no
one answered.
I reached the church doors at the same time Father Ben did. His face lit up instantly, and this time I could
tell that I was exactly who he wanted to see.
"Oh, Kate, I was just going to look for you. I bumped into a gentleman looking for you in the parking
lot."
"You did?" My gaze automatically shifted toward the lot. I saw five cars, but no people. "Who?"
"I'm afraid I don't know his name," Father said. "He said he'd just looked for you in the hall, but that the
floors were wet."
"They are. I was just there."
"He asked me to direct you to the courtyard if I saw you."
"Great. Thanks."
We parted ways, him entering the church, and me heading around the building toward the courtyard, a
small sitting area bordered by the cathedral, the rectory offices, and the Bishop's Hall. Primarily used by [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl szamanka888.keep.pl
down demons with nothing more than a plastic swizzle stick from Trader Vic's so, yeah, I'm a believer.
I even got roped into doing some committee work a few months ago. Of course, the project which was
supposed to have been finished during the summer is still dragging on. What's that saying about no
good deed going unpunished?
The cathedral is perched on San Diablo's highest point, the church grounds looking out over the Pacific
and the Channel Islands. Like any church, the worship hall is holy ground. But St. Mary's Cathedral has
an added little zing. Everything beyond the communion rail the sanctuary, the altar, even the basement
below and the ceiling above was built with a mortar that was heavily infused with the bones of saints.
It's pretty common to work a saint's bone into an altar (well, it's not as common now as it used to be),
but that much saintliness was unique even centuries ago.
Eric and I had believed that such a powerful sanctuary explained San Diablo's low demon quotient. Sure,
demons could still wander free in the town or on the nonconsecrated church grounds, for that
matter but we'd opined that the cathedral gave off a strong antidemon vibe. Apparently that bit of
conjecture was hogwash.
Anyway, I had no idea of the identity of my new alimentatore; according to tradition, a Hunter knows
nothing about his or her mentor until the two actually meet. I find that particular tradition to be not only
archaic, but also downright idiotic. Unfortunately, I'm not on the Rules Committee for Forza Scura, and
no one asked my opinion.
Even though I couldn't know whom I was supposed to meet, I dearly wished that I had asked Father
Corletti for more details on the exact location. For all I knew, my mentor might be sitting in Father Ben's
rectory office twiddling his thumbs and wondering where I was.
The thought sparked another my mentor might actually be Father Ben.
I rather liked that idea. Although Father Ben is only a few years out of seminary, he seems on the ball and
his homilies are never yawners. Still, the likelihood that I was intended to meet up with Father Ben was
slim. Father Corletti might have been vague, but he'd definitely said that Forza had "sent" an
alimentatore. Since Father Ben had taken the position of rector years ago, unless Forza had been
aware of Goramesh's interest in the cathedral far longer than Father Corletti let on, Ben wasn't my man.
I decided that the actual cathedral building was my best bet, and maneuvered the Infinity into one of the
nearby parking spaces. I confess to taking a devious pleasure in saddling Stuart with the more
kid-friendly van, and part of me wanted to just sit in the lot, engine running, as I basked in that clean car
smell that involved no hint of sour milk or spilled grape juice. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to wallow.
I shifted into park, killed the engine, and abandoned the air-conditioned comfort for the equally agreeable
Southern California weather.
I followed the stone path to the cathedral, letting my hand reach out to graze the birds-of-paradise that
lined the walkway like sentries. The double doors heavy wood with tarnished brass hardware were
closed but unlocked, and I tugged the door open and plowed on in, crossing first through the small foyer,
then slowing as I moved over the threshold into the worship area. The stone receptacles that usually held
the holy water at the entrance had been packed away as part of the renovation, replaced with simple
wooden stands topped with gold-plated bowls. The floor was still damp, probably from the earlier rain,
and I walked carefully so I wouldn't slip. I dabbed my finger in the basin of holy water, made the sign of
the cross, then genuflected toward the tabernacle.
The pews were empty, and I considered heading over to the hall to see if my rendezvous was there. But
I'd actually arrived a few minutes early, so it seemed silly not to wait.
I'd brought an empty glass vial, and I filled it with holy water, replenishing my stock. That errand
completed, I just stood there, idly flipping through a missal, and checking my watch about every
twenty-four seconds. At eleven-fifty-seven I heard the creak of a door, followed by footsteps. Because
the room's acoustics were designed more for singing hymns than pinpointing sound, I had no idea which
direction to look. I turned a full circle and was walking toward the communion rail when the mystery was
solved Father Ben passed through a velvet curtain to appear on the sanctuary in front of me.
He carried a clipboard and a pen and didn't seem to realize I was there.
I cleared my throat, and he looked up, startled. His face cleared almost immediately, though, and he
smiled broadly. "Kate Connor. What brings you here today?"
Okay. So he definitely wasn't my alimentatore. I let loose my preplanned excuse. "I'm picking up some
more inventories to type. But the message on my cell phone was garbled, so I'm not sure who called."
Since our project involved reviewing and indexing the extensive donations received by the cathedral's
sizable archives, I assumed there was a list somewhere waiting to be typed. Thus, I was not actually lying
to a priest.
Father Ben rubbed his chin. "Well, I'm afraid I can't help you. Delores would know, but she's not here
today," he added, referring to the committee chair.
"Oh. That's too bad." I frowned and tried to look suitably flummoxed. "I was hoping to get started on the
pages tonight." I turned a bit, looking around as if I expected someone to materialize in a pew. "You
haven't seen anyone else around, have you?"
"Sorry."
"I'll go check the Bishop's Hall. If someone is looking for me, would you let them know I'm there?"
"Of course."
I made polite good-bye noises and headed out the door. I popped into the Bishop's Hall, looked around,
and found no one except the janitor, who was mopping the floor. I backed out quickly, careful not to
muck up his work.
The adrenaline rush that had accompanied the thought of meeting my new mentor was being fast replaced
by annoyance. I had at least three loads of laundry piled up at home. Not to mention a body that was
going to get pretty ripe if it stayed in my shed much longer. I decided to head back to the cathedral in
case we'd been passing each other in a not-so-funny comedy-of-errors kind of way. I'd just stepped
onto the walkway when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned, but didn't see anyone. I called out, but no
one answered.
I reached the church doors at the same time Father Ben did. His face lit up instantly, and this time I could
tell that I was exactly who he wanted to see.
"Oh, Kate, I was just going to look for you. I bumped into a gentleman looking for you in the parking
lot."
"You did?" My gaze automatically shifted toward the lot. I saw five cars, but no people. "Who?"
"I'm afraid I don't know his name," Father said. "He said he'd just looked for you in the hall, but that the
floors were wet."
"They are. I was just there."
"He asked me to direct you to the courtyard if I saw you."
"Great. Thanks."
We parted ways, him entering the church, and me heading around the building toward the courtyard, a
small sitting area bordered by the cathedral, the rectory offices, and the Bishop's Hall. Primarily used by [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]