reported any unusual activity to Dispatch, I doubt she is forting up—she may not be aware of what happened last night.
“However,” she looked around the table, “since we are going up against a supernatural breakthrough of unknown capabilities, we are going in hot. Riptide, The Harlequin, and Galatea are acting as field reserve, Rush, Astra, Seven, Artemis and I are taking point. Doctor Cornelius, will you accompany us?”
He nodded.
“Good.” Lei Zi brought up a projection of the house we were hitting, a mini-mansion in Norridge, and went over our approach. “We move out in ten minutes,” she finished. “As a last order of business, since we are engaging an unknown who seems to be dealing with the dark arts, I have taken the liberty of calling on Father Nolan. He intends to conduct a brief service in the chapel, and I recommend attendance by anyone who believes a higher power may be of help tonight.”
* * *
I lit three candles, for Atlas, Nimbus, and Ajax, and prayed for the peace of their souls. Mary of the Pagans stood watch over the memorial crypt in the east wall of the chapel, infant Jesus in one hand and love-struck parrot in the other. Responding to her rapt smile, I added a prayer of thanks for whatever had happened to us, and almost imagined a wink, the gentle closing of a white-jade eye, a deepening dimple. Think nothing of it, she seemed to say.
“Shaliah,” Dr. Cornelius said behind me, making me jump. He nodded to the Lady in her shrine.
“The aethyr of Phthenoth, the decan of cleansing, healing, and restoration of body and spirit. The personification of the second Word I spoke, tonight.” He smiled thinly. “If your theology is sufficiently liberal, you could call her one of the aspects of the Mother of God.”
He lit a fourth candle. “Gone now, along with the first. Ten years carrying the Words around, and now only one is left. At least now I’m pretty sure the last one won’t kill me.”
“You didn’t know what would happen?”
“No. I’m an Agrippan magus; preparation is everything and I wasn’t prepared for that. When you’re about to die, you take chances.”
“I felt…”
“I know.”
“He wouldn’t have given them to you for no reason,” I blurted. He gave me a patronizing smile, like I’d just declared my belief in Santa Clause.
“Children.”
I turned again and found that Father Nolan had joined us. The little round priest smiled benignly. Barely taller than I, the pastor of St. Christopher (and Team Chaplain, and hadn’t that come as a shock?) stood surrounded by the rest of the team. In the face of Father Nolan’s gentle smile, Dr. Cornelius slowly lost his.
“Brrr,” Shelly said, popping in beside me. His being able to see her still freaked her out, but she obviously felt safe with Father Nolan present. I didn’t dare laugh—nobody would understand.
The whole team doesn’t usually muster before going into action—normally any trouble involving everybody together starts with Dispatch calling us in from all over (Lei Zi calls them “meeting engagements” and purely hates them). Donning his stole, Father Nolan led us in a brief service, what he half-jokingly called a “hymn before action.” He kept it non-denominational, except for the ending when he led us in the Hero’s Prayer.
“St. Michael, defender of man, stand with us in the day of battle.
St. Jude, giver of hope, be with us in our desperate hour.
St. Christopher, bearer of burdens, lift us when we fall!”
I crossed myself, remembering iron claws and veils of rotting skin, and added a quick prayer of my own.
Chapter Fourteen
Supernatural (plural: supernaturals): literally, a phenomena departing from what is usual or normal, especially so as to appear to transcend the laws of nature. Modern connotation: a breakthrough patterned after elements of myth, folklore, and fantasy rather than fitting the superhero mold. Documented supernaturals include vampires, witches, fairies, ghosts, angels, devils, etc. It is often difficult to determine which supernaturals are breakthroughs and which are the projections of unknown breakthroughs.
Barlow’s Guide to Superhumans
* * *
Dr. Charlotte Millebrand, antiquarian, folklorist, and wicked witch, lived in a stone tower. Surrounded by nice but single-story subdivision homes, her house was all stone-faced angles and sharp peaks, with the front door set into a tower-like entryway. I imagined Disney on a tight budget; with no outside lights on, it looked spooky enough—kids probably dared each other to ring the doorbell on Halloween—but it wasn’t exactly a master-villain’s volcano lair.
Judges understand that approaching a hostile superhuman with unknown abilities can