Dead Man Walking (The Fallen Men #6) - Giana Darling Page 0,107
comforting as an old blanket. “But dwelling on it separates old friends. Let us remember this when we pray for Natalie Ashley’s soul. She was a good woman, no matter her past misdeeds. There is no need to memorialize her sin. Instead, we will remember how she was always eager to help her neighbour and support our youth in her well-taught high school classes. She will be missed by her family, friends, and certainly by this parish.”
“She was a slut,” someone muttered loudly enough to disturb the peaceful air. “Shouldn’t have been allowed through the doors.”
Shock rippled through the pews.
No one spoke like that in First Light. Not only because it was a heavenly place, but because Grandpa had created an atmosphere of love and tolerance.
We were not hateful, and we were certainly not rude. Especially when the woman in question was murdered by a serial killer for the lowly sin of sleeping with a man out of wedlock.
Grandpa’s mouth fell flat, but he continued calmly as if the man hadn’t spoken. “Natalie’s service will be held this Wednesday in the cemetery with a service at the community center. I hope I’ll see you all there ready to pay your respects to a woman who was wrenched from this life far too soon by a violent, hateful act.”
“Won’t find me there,” someone else, a woman this time, whispered behind me.
I cranked my neck around to attempt to find the woman, but only blank faces stared back at me, all watching Grandpa.
A shudder rolled fiercely down my spine. My teeth were set on edge, gritted against some promise of attack.
This wasn’t right.
Nothing had been since we’d walked through the door, the parishioners whispering as they saw Bat with all his tattoos reluctantly dragged behind his wife, as they saw Loulou holding my hand in solidarity for the first time in church since she’d married Zeus.
There was animosity strong in the air like the stench of booze and smoke left over from a party we hadn’t been invited to. I wondered wildly what I’d missed, what could have happened to turn the tide of the townsfolk against some of their own.
There were no more outcries as Grandpa tidily wrapped up his sermon and dismissed everyone with a blessing, but as soon as they stood, there were rumblings of discontent in the air.
Loulou squeezed my hand too hard and kept Phillipa close at her other side. “Is it usually like this, or do I just bring it out in them?”
“No,” Phillipa said softly, her beautifully aged face creased further in concern. “This isn’t natural.”
“Why do I feel like the angry villagers are ’bout to come at us with fuckin’ pitchforks and torches?” Bat muttered as we grouped together by the altar, both his hands protectively clasping his son’s shoulders.
“You’re being ridiculous,” Amelia chastised, brushing back her strawberry blond hair. “It’s the club. After so many years of looking over your shoulder, you’re suspicious of everyone.”
Loulou and I exchanged a look that was half-wince, but Bat took a deep breath to calm himself and just shook his head at his wife.
“It does feel a little hostile here today,” Tempest admitted.
Amelia looked at the redhead in her fairly form-fitting deep red cropped sweater, black skirt, and knee-high boots with critical eyes. “Yes, well, you’d know all about hostile environments, I suppose.”
“Amy,” Bat snapped. “Do not take out your frustration on her.”
Amelia sniffed but turned her head, pretending to catch the eye of someone in the crowd. “I’m going to go speak with Judy.”
Bat grunted in affirmation, but the moment she was gone, he started to usher the twins down the center of the pews. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
I agreed with him even though First Light had always been a haven for me. I followed them down the center, flicking a wave at Grandpa in farewell because he was engaged in a heated conversation with Bill Huxley’s mother, Margaret.
Bat tried the double doors, then frowned when they didn’t part. He shot a look over his shoulder at us, then took his shoulder to the door.
It didn’t budge.
The clamour drew the attention of the rest of our community, and soon a little half-moon of spectators surrounded us.
The door wouldn’t move even when Bat slammed his full weight against it.
“This isn’t right,” I muttered, my gut roiling as the atmosphere shifted and crackled like the air before a storm descended.
“No,” Loulou agreed. “Let’s go out the side entrance.”