“Oh, well that’s a very useful fairy skill, indeed,” Sister Agnes chimes in.
“I’m not a real fairy. It’s just a costume. I like your costume, too,” Noodle says, as she admires their black robes. “Do you have wands?”
“Afraid not,” Sister Agnes replies.
“I can make you one if you want. I can teach you my counting song, too.”
“That would be lovely. Let’s show you around, a private tour.”
I start to follow, but Miss Granger holds me back. For a second, I forgot why we’re really here.
Miss Granger leads me up the steps to the chapel. She opens the heavy carved door and my stomach coils up in knots. I peek in to see two grim-faced priests dressed in fancy robes and weird hats standing at the end of a very long aisle.
I glance back to give Noodle a reassuring wave, but she doesn’t need it. She’s skipping along with the nuns, holding their hands, her head held high.
Miss Granger pulls me inside the chapel and bolts the door behind me, shutting out all the natural light.
18
THIS PLACE is over the top—carved mahogany pews, frescoed ceilings, marble floors, a gold pipe organ. Hundreds of candles line the sides of the cathedral, casting an eerie red glow on the stained-glass windows.
This looks like a place God would live.
Nothing like Midland Baptist. All we’ve got are plain rickety oak benches, an upright piano, and dusty windows cluttered with decorations some kids slapped together at Sunday school.
As we walk down the center aisle toward the priests, I try to match my heartbeat to the steady sound of Miss Granger’s heels clacking against the marble floor, but the closer we get, the quicker her footsteps become.
She’s nervous, too.
“May I present Cardinal Machiovini and Archbishop Antonia.”
Their names and titles all blend together in my head.
“Hey, I’m Clay Tate.” I stretch my hand forward to greet them, but they don’t move a muscle. They just stare down at me from the altar like I’m some kind of disease.
They’re all decked out with massive rings on their fingers and heavy gold crosses around their necks—they’ve got more bling than any rapper I’ve ever seen. Reverend Devers, over at Midland Baptist, he always wears the same suits he got from Sears twenty years ago. The only jewelry he owns is the tarnished wedding band he still wears, even though his wife took off with an oil rigger a couple of years back.
Miss Granger stands up even straighter than usual. “As we’ve discussed, I believe Clay is a prophet. He had a vision of the golden calf. It appeared to him, freshly slaughtered, and then disappeared. He’s also had a vision of the rebirth ceremony of the dead.”
The priests begin to whisper in another language … Latin maybe.
“What’s going on?” I sidle next to her.
“They’re deciding how to proceed.”
“Don’t forget the cat,” I add.
Miss Granger shakes me off. “I believe he’s one of the six, but he’s been able to resist. He’s special.”
The priests continue to talk among themselves like I’m not even in the room. Their voices become more agitated with each pointed stare.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” I ask.
Her brow furrows. “They think it’s too risky.”
“Couldn’t agree more.”
Miss Granger shakes her head. “Not too risky for you … for us.”
The priest with the tallest hat says something final sounding and they turn their backs on us.
“I’m willing to stake my career on this.” Miss Granger steps forward.
The priests turn, eyes searching.
“He’s the one.” Miss Granger holds her ground. “He can save them all. We have a unique opportunity to study them from the inside. Clay can help us get the proof we need to sanction the exorcism before a single life has been taken.”
This seems to get their attention.
The priest with the reddish beard looks at me, and it’s like he’s staring straight into my soul. “Tu autem casus?”
“What?” I ask. I have no clue what he’s talking about, but he’s making me seriously uncomfortable. I look to Miss Granger for help.
“He’s asking if you’ve been chaste.” A deep blush creeps up over her collar. “If you’ve…”
“What … if I’ve had sex?” I drag my hands through my hair. “What does that have to do with anything?” They just stare at me stone-faced. “Wow … okay … that’s really personal, but no.”
As the priests begin to confer again, my eyes veer toward the exit. I had the same feeling in Miss Granger’s bedroom surrounded by all those crucifixes. I just want to get out of here.
They finally say something to Miss Granger. She nods, shooting me a tight smile.
“What’s happening?”
“They’ve agreed to baptize you.”
“I’m already baptized. They did it when I was a baby … in the river.”
“The Catholic Church doesn’t recognize a Presbyterian baptism.”
“I’m not a Presbyterian. I’m a Baptist.”
“In the eyes of the Catholic Church, it’s the same thing,” she says.
The priests crowd around what looks like a birdbath, murmuring some kind of prayer.