“Ah. Then maybe you can tell me if there have been unexpected disturbances or anything out of the ordinary—”
“For god’s sake, Gatsby, just say it.” Exasperation bleeds through a third voice, a girl’s. “Look, priests, ministers, whatever you are—have you seen any weird supernatural shit? Wolves made out of sticks, clouds of black moths, apparitions, illusions? Signs that the god underneath the church is less than dormant?”
There’s a silence so thick, I swear I could cut it in slices.
Then Pastor Linton speaks, his voice so warm and gooey and reassuring it makes me want to puke. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but everything is quiet and peaceful here.”
“Really?” challenges the same girl. “Because when Dorian and I lived in Charleston, it was anything but quiet and peaceful. And we heard a rumor that there had been sightings here, too—maybe even deaths? They might look like animal attacks, but they’re not.”
In my mind’s eye, I see the church lobby—Pastor Linton’s anxious face and the worried, almost haunted expressions of the deacons.
Pastor Linton is lying to these strangers, whoever they are. Something badhashappened around here. He just doesn’t want totell them about it.
“We don’t associate much with the Charleston branch,” says Dad.
Pastor Linton makes a startled, reproachful sound, but Dad continues.
“They already know, Mark. It’s pointless to pretend we don’t understand what they’re talking about. As I was saying…the watchers in Charleston lost their faith. They stopped taking their mission as seriously as they should, and frankly, that’s their problem, not ours. But we have things well in hand here. Not that it’s any of your business.”
A fourth voice speaks, feminine and musical and so entrancing, I instinctively strain to catch every word. “You say it’s their problem, but if actual gods start to rise, wouldn’t that be everyone’s problem?”
“Well, I suppose…” begins Pastor Linton.
“Were you aware that the god Manannán was recently set free?” The girl’s voice is softly compelling, slithering through my ears into my brain and coiling there. “Tell me the truth.”
I want desperately to answer her, to have the information she needs, but I don’t, so I press my lips together and stay put. There’s a long pause before Pastor Linton speaks, slowly and reluctantly, as if the words are being forced out of him. “We heard something like that, yes. But there have been no sightings of him, no great works or terrible catastrophes.”
“And why do you think that is?” continues the girl in her gentle tones.
“Because the gods need each other,” Pastor grits out. “They function as a clan, as a family. No god can attain their true power without the active presence of others in the pantheon and withoutthe faith and worship of human beings.”
“Cathy?” Aunt Nellie’s raised voice travels across the store, and I startle. I guess I’m done eavesdropping for now.
“Sorry, just…had a problem with the app,” I call to her, and I push through the side door into the bright October afternoon.
“What can I get you?” I say breezily to the group.
“Not now, Cathy,” Dad snaps.
Pastor Linton notches a finger into his shirt collar, tugging as if it’s too tight. He and Dad are the only two standing; the rest are seated, relaxed.
Swiftly, I scan the group, trying to guess whose voices I heard. There’s a young woman my age, wearing shorts that show off her long, tattooed legs. Beside her lounges a tall blond man—stunningly pretty, like a twenty on a scale from one to ten. His blue eyes linger on the tattooed girl with such warmth that I instantly know they’re together.
Next, there’s a man with a serious, handsome face and brown hair. The fourth member of the group is a blond woman who turns to me, smiles, and says, in a light, bright tone, “Cathy.”
In her mouth, my name isn’t just a word—it’s a bell, a clarion call.Cathy, Cathy, Cathy… It echoes in my head, shivers in my bones, vibrates my blood louder, louder, until my entire skull is ringing with her voice.
Cathy, Cathy, Cathy…
I drop the tablet and clamp both hands to my head. “Stop,” I gasp. “Make it stop!”
“Cathy!” Dad snaps. He hustles in front of me, his bearded bulk serving as a wall between me and the strangers. “Don’t lose your shit. Not here,” he says, low and furious. “Go pull yourself together. Now.”
His voice cracks through the ringing in my head, and it stops. Igasp with relief. “I’m sorry.” I pick up the tablet, inwardly groaning at the cracks branching through the glass.
“Oh god, no, don’t be sorry,” says the blond woman in an entirely different tone. She rises, concern bending her delicate eyebrows. “I’msorry. I thought you were human. I didn’t realize my voice would have that effect. What kind of supernatural are you?”
“What are you talking about?” Dad scoffs at her loudly, desperately. “Cathy, go inside.”
