The church was simple yet handsome. Small statues and stone engravings decorated the interior perimeter, stained-glass windows were set high in the walls beneath dark wooden beams. Polished cherry-wood pews lined the knave, while hanging lanterns gave the whole space a welcoming feel. Before we’d even been there for a minute, a small door opened to the side of the altar and a priest stepped out.
He looked us up and down. Lincoln paused, assuming a non-confrontational stance. I, on the other hand, took my dagger in my hand and stepped forwards, positioning myself between the priest and my injured partner.
‘Violet,’ Lincoln said calmly. ‘Relax.’
But my protective instincts had kicked in. Stubbornly, I held my position. I could already sense this priest was not human. Not only human, anyway.
I concentrated on what I was feeling. He was dressed in a black cassock, though his collar was open and the stiff white insert was missing. His hair was beginning to grey but his features remained young, and he had kind and knowing brown eyes. His physique, though hidden beneath robes, was obviously fit. I guessed he was no more than thirty, making him on the younger side for both the greying hair and to be a priest. I measured our new risk carefully, the priest remaining still while I did, but his eyes darted between us, intrigued.
‘Violet,’ Lincoln said again. ‘Father Peters is a friend.’
My eyes narrowed. ‘That’s not all he is,’ I said, keeping my eyes on the priest.
At my comment he smiled and bowed his head. ‘Very perceptive,’ he said, his gentle voice carrying through the room. I felt it move into me, reassuring me and instilling a sense of calm. ‘I was once Grigori, now retired.’
I blinked, realising that my senses weren’t playing tricks on me. The priest smiled, as if he could read me.
‘Stop using your power on us,’ I said, putting my dagger away and placing my hands on my hips.
His eyes widened.
Yeah, that’s right. I can feel you leaking your calm crap into me and I’ve had about enough of my emotions being messed with to last a lifetime.
He didn’t need telling twice. The trickle of his power moved away from us and he gestured to the front pew.
‘My apologies.’
I nodded. ‘Accepted.’
Lincoln sighed – probably relieved I hadn’t taken down a priest. He moved to the front pew trying to hide his weakness as he collapsed onto the bench.
I rolled my eyes at him. ‘Are you going to let me heal you now?’
‘In a minute,’ he said, dismissing me and then waving a hand between the priest and me. ‘Violet, meet Father Peters.
He’s an old friend of Griffin’s and, this church is one of the only places in Manhattan that we can hide from Josephine’s sources.’
‘And only for a short time,’ Father Peters added. ‘Griffin called ahead. He didn’t say much, but enough to know I could expect trouble.’ He put his hand out to shake mine and then to Lincoln.
Lincoln slumped a little further even as he took his hand. ‘I’m sure you don’t remember me–’ he began but Peters cut him off.
‘Lincoln Wood. I remember you. Griffin speaks highly of few and age is not thy enemy. Now, what are we expecting? And just how pissed off are they likely to be?’
Lincoln smiled. He liked Father Peters’ candour. So did I.
‘No company we hope, we didn’t spy any followers and we were careful. We just need a place to stay until Griffin arrives. We don’t want to bring trouble your way.’
Father Peters raised a knowing eyebrow. ‘But you had nowhere else to go, which says enough.’
Lincoln nodded. I sat beside him, desperate to reach out and help him, but knowing that he didn’t want my help. Not yet.
The priest looked around the quiet church. ‘Well, it’s times like these when the house of God puts it best, and most stubborn, foot forward. We’ll hope no trouble comes to us, but best we prepare for it anyway.’
Priest or not – he’s a fighter for sure.
Good.
Father Peters wasted no time. He gave Lincoln and me a quick tour of the areas in the church we could use for defence and attack, showing us all the entry points and possible weaknesses in the building’s structure. Finally, he took us down to his private chambers. Lincoln and I both took a moment to absorb the sight before us.
‘That’s a lot of weapons to have in a house of God,’ I said.
He shrugged. ‘It won’t be the first time Christians have needed them. Nor the last.’
He had a point.
‘And on top of that,’ he continued, ‘we’re in New York city and I’m trying to run an honest church – if I have to blow something up occasionally to get rid of some of the darkness … I’m not above it.’
I really liked him.
Lincoln snorted beside me and when I looked at him I realised it had been directed at me.
‘What?’
‘You didn’t trust him when he was just a priest, but now you know he’s willing to blow things up, you look like you’ve just confirmed him as a friend for life.’
I nodded, smiling. ‘I have.’
Father Peters laughed even as he shook his head. ‘Griffin always finds the good ones.’
When we returned to ground level, the priest flicked a switch and metal shields started rolling down over all of the upper-level windows, going far beyond standard church security.