Decker’s knowledge of the biblical supernatural came from Thomas and it was shrouded in years gone by. As for demons, he’d never met one.
“I need human blood to survive. The sun is deadly and holy things burn like fire. And I need permission to enter the church,” he said.
“You can’t touch the Bible,” Laurie whispered, as if the revelation horrified him. He paced the edges of the small bedroom. “I think I’ve met someone like you back at seminary. One of the bishops only taught at night and never read from the scripts like most teachers did.”
A man of God unable to hold the very thing he dedicated his life to. Decker almost felt sorry for the man. “I miss the sun more than the Bible,” Decker said dryly before Laurie thought too hard and hurt himself. He had little interest in the book aside from discovering what was so damning about loving a person the same as you.
Decker guessed the answer wouldn’t be found in the Bible, existing only in the minds of those who thought they knew the will of God.
“Have you…” Laurie trailed off, as if unsure he wanted the answer to the question that tumbled out of him. “You haven’t compelled me?”
A faint smile brushed against Decker’s lips. “Your lust is entirely your own, Laurie.”
He flushed, but pressed on, following him when Decker tied his hair back and stepped into the hall. “Is Safine like you?”
“Safine is her own breed. Her cures for ailments are as unusual as she is. You should have noticed when she was trying to fix the man Willa brought in.”
“I didn’t want to be rude,” Laurie said, hesitating for a moment. “Is anyone here…human?”
“Not many. The ones who are human used to see us how they wanted to. Things changed a while back. And Willa’s human. Usedto be,” Decker added thoughtfully. “She thinks Dr. Whitton has something to do with why she’s still around.”
Laurie followed him down the stairs at his heels.
The tables were empty, except for Cricket fast asleep, head pillowed on the crook of his arm, hand still wrapped around a half-drunk glass of whiskey. Decker shook his head as he went behind the bar, Laurie following.
“And what about him?” He nodded at Cricket.
A small smile tugged at Decker’s lips. “I’ll show you.” The pistol he pulled from under the bar was featherlight in his hands as he aimed it at Cricket and squeezed the trigger.
Laurie flinched.
Cricket shifted sleepily at the table.
The trigger clicked under Decker’s finger again before he smiled and slid it under the till. “Luck,” he said. “He’s survived this far from dumb luck—wasn’t even born with it, just won it in a damn faro game.”
Laurie gawped at him, as if expecting blood to start spilling from Cricket’s head.
“We don’t tell him about us,” Decker said, motioning for Laurie to follow him to the back room. He held a hand over the iron stove and found it blistering hot, flames licking at the door. Setting the coffee pot to boil, he glanced back at Laurie.
“You kept the stove lit.”
“And I poured drinks for some of the neighbors,” Laurie said faintly, eyes still round like he was waiting for a delayed shot to rip through the saloon.
Decker smiled.
The bartending preacher. That should go in the paper.
His smile faded, thinking of Nathan. He didn’t try hard enough to reason with him, help him. He’d been too careful to make sure Laurie wasn’t harmed.
“You…fed off Nathan,” Laurie said slowly. “Did you do the same to my uncle?”
Decker took a deep breath, the scent of fresh coffee beans warming the room as he ground them. “I don’t like to waste.”
Laurie turned pale again, unspeaking.
Shame buried itself fast and hard into Decker’s chest. He didn’t make it a habit to lie, but Laurie needed some comfort. “He died quickly. I can show you his resting place. When you’re ready.”
The water bubbled in the coffee pot and Decker sifted the grounds.
