He stares at the medallion and it’s around my neck and I don’t know why I’m wearing it. I guess because it’s Finn’s.
“My mother gave it to my brother a long time ago,” I tell the priest. “But it didn’t work. It was supposed to protect him….”
Father Thomas nods. “It was Finn’s time. Keep wearing the medallion. You’ll feel close to your brother and St. Michael will protect you, Calla. You just have to trust.”
Trust.
That’s actually a bit laughable in my current circumstances.
“Let’s pray together, shall we?” he suggests, and I don’t argue because it can’t hurt.
Our voices are soft and uniform as they meld together in the sunlight,
In front of Christ on the Crucifix,
and the two Marys.
St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the Devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray, and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly hosts, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan, and all the evil spirits, who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.
“Do you believe in evil?” I whisper when we’re finished, and for some reason, my goose-bumps are back. I feel someone watching me, but when I open my eyes, Christ Himself stares at me. From his perch on the wall, his eyes are soft and forgiving while the blood drips from his feet.
“Of course,” the priest nods. “There is good in the world, and there is evil. They balance each other out, Calla.”
Do they?
“Because energy can’t be destroyed?” I whisper. Because it goes from thing to thing to thing?’
The priest shakes his head. “I don’t know about energy. I only know that there is good and evil. And we must find our own balance in it. You will find yours.”
Will I?
The priest examines me for a moment. “Twins are such an interesting thing,” he tells me. “Did you know that some believe that Cain and Abel were twins?”
I shake my head.
“There are scholars who believe that,” the priest nods. “They feel like they were the first example of the darkness and light capable in people.”
“Cain killed his own brother,” I manage to say. “That’s pretty dark.”
“And Finn died thinking he was saving you,” Father Thomas says. “That is light.”
I don’t ask him how he knows that. I just thank him and stand up and he blesses me.
“Come back to see me,” he instructs. “I’ve enjoyed our chat. If you’re not Catholic, I can’t hear your confession, but I am a good listener.”
He is. I have to agree.
I make my way out of the church, out of the pristine glistening silence, and when I step into the sun, I know I’m being watched.
Every hair on my head feels it, and prickles.
I turn, and a boy is standing on the edge of the yard, just outside of the fence. He’s watching me, his hands in his pockets, but I can’t see his face. His hood is pulled up yet again.
With my breath in my throat, I hurry down the sidewalk to the car, practically diving inside and slamming the door behind me.
“Has that guy been standing there long?” I ask Jones breathlessly.
“What guy, miss?” he asks in confusion, hurrying to look out the window.
I look too, only to find that he’s gone.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Finn’s bedroom is still and quiet. Since Castor and Pollux are dead, not even the dogs keep me company. Yet somehow, I still feel Finn in here, as though if I spoke to him, he’d answer.
“Finn?”
I feel ridiculous, but God, I miss my brother. It’s only been a few days without him, but it feels like eternity.
There’s no answer, of course, and I press my forehead to the glass, watching the cars come and go. Finn is laid out in a room downstairs, for visitation. His funeral will be tomorrow and I can’t bear it.
I lay with my face on his pillow and I close my eyes and I rest.
“You don’t belong here, do you?”
The voice is quiet, yet cool.
Startled, I open my eyes and stare up at the boy in the hoodie. With a gasp, I sit straight up in bed, because the voice was feminine.