Now, I wished I was still there. In Rome. In those dorms. Back before I truly understood how what truly fragile creatures we are. I wished I could look into his eyes, and see that reassuring gaze look back at me.
Tonight, his voice would have to do.
“Don’t discount your fear,” he said. “But also do not forget that sometimes a dream is just a dream.”
“But what does it mean?”
He chuckled. “You always were a terrible listener, my child.”
I rolled my eyes. That was true enough. “You’re saying I shouldn’t be worried?”
“As her mother, part of your job is to worry. But we know that God has a plan, and I do not think that Allie closed the gates of hell for nothing. I believe in her, Katherine. What do you believe in?”
I closed my eyes. I believed in the power of good. I believed in my faith. How could I not? Hadn’t I been raised, literally, in the bowels of the Church. I believed in my family, as crazy and as mixed-up as it was, and I believed that this kind, brilliant, gentle-hearted priest loved me like a daughter.
But I also knew that bad things happen. That evil fights hard. And if it was now fighting for my daughter, then as much as I wanted to believe that we would win, I couldn’t know that for sure.
“Then you must arm yourself with what you have left,” Father Corletti said when I told him as much.
“My faith.”
“Si. Believe in the power of good. Believe that Alison is the sweet, wonderful child you have always known her to be. Believe that she has a higher purpose to serve. Most of all, have faith that somehow you and Allie and your family will get through this together.”
I nodded. No matter what, Allie was my daughter. I loved her. And at the end of the day, that had to be good enough.
Didn’t it?
By the time I was ready for Mass the next morning, Allie was already up and waiting impatiently downstairs.
“Is Stuart still getting dressed?” she asked. “We’re going to be late!”
I stared at this kid. On any other day, I’d be wondering what was up to make her so eager to get to the Cathedral. Today, my heart broke a little because I already knew—Lilith. The demons who’d attacked me. And that demonic essence hiding deep inside her.
I went over and gave her a hug, and was actually relieved when she shrugged out of it with a typical teenage, “Mom.”
“We have plenty of time,” I told her. “And Stuart’s got Timmy duty this morning. He’s getting him dressed, and he’ll be down. Did you eat already?”
She nodded, then pointed at the table where a half-empty bowl of Kashi sat, along with a box of Frosted Flakes and Timmy’s cartoon emblazoned bowl. “Do you want me to make something for you or Stuart?”
“No thanks. But go bring in the paper while I make myself a bagel.” I glanced at the clock, relieved to see that we still had plenty of time, then shouted up the stairs to urge Stuart and Timmy to move faster.
Since things never go as planned with a toddler in the house, thatplenty of timefantasy went poof quickly. My plan to arrive at the Cathedral with plenty of time to drop Timmy in the children’s center before heading to Mass, ended up all shot to, well, hell.
Instead, we arrived with only five minutes to spare, and I was feeling sweaty and rumpled by the time we crossed the thresholdand took our places on one of the pews. I fell into mine with a sigh, happy to be back in the sanctuary for this Sunday instead of the Bishop’s Hall.
San Diablo is a charming small town tucked in among the hills and the California coastline. Its origins date back to well-before California was a state—or the US was a country, for that matter. Pagan rituals took place here for centuries before the town became part of the mission trail. One of those missions, in fact, stood right where the Cathedral stands now, like a shining star atop one of the highest hills, a focal point for our artsy and seemingly sleepy town.
I, of course, am one of the few who understand that while the town may seem sleepy, there are monsters lying dormant.
Not that long ago, I’d believed the opposite. The Cathedral is special in that the very mortar is infused with holy relics. For years, Eric and I had believed that was the reason the town had such a low demon population, making it the perfect place for us to retire.
Now, despite those relics, it seems that the Cathedral—or at least the town itself—is a demon magnet. And damned if I know why.
Renovations to the Cathedral had been going on for what seemed like forever, and that meant the beautiful sanctuary often went unused and services were regularly held in the Bishop’s Hall. Today, I’d been thrilled to see that the sanctuary was open, though much of the stained glass was covered and many of the pews were roped off.
The rumor is that the project would be complete by Christmas, and I fervently hoped that was the case. The Bishop’s Hall is designed more for potlucks than reverence, and I miss being in this awe-inspiring sanctuary.
Beside me, Stuart turned so that he was looking my direction. “What?” I whispered.
