Sir! That’s enough! English will do the trick. No need for the high octane.” Latin! That was the risk of the scientific enclaves—you might run into a Jesuit education.
The man continued his prayer, but the woman, who had remained scientifically calm, tugged on his sleeve. “Dennis, I think it’s okay. You hurt him.”
Dennis surged to his feet. “Then go away!”
“In a moment, in a moment.” Merchari regarded the woman. Dennis was off limits because he had prayed, and he believed in what he was saying. But the woman hadn’t done the same. Merchari leaned toward her and sniffed. Yep, that definite metallic scent. “You’re an atheist, aren’t you?”
“Don’t answer him, Christine,” the man said, putting his arm around her shoulders. “I can keep him away from you.”
“Only if she believes what you’re saying.” Merchari returned his attention to the woman. “Well?”
Christine cocked her head to one side. “Yes, I’m an atheist. Is that a problem? I guess you can’t take me if I don’t believe in you or your supposed origin.”
“That’s a bit of a contradiction, isn’t it? I’m standing right here.”
“I’d say so, but there was incense burning in the restaurant. And all these people”—she gestured at the moderate crowds passing them on the sidewalk—“don’t seem to see you. I’d say hallucinations are a high likelihood.”
“Would you.” Merchari leaned in and inhaled her bouquet. A magnificent sample, probably lapsed Catholic. “Ooh, you are quality.” Her eyes flashed with irritation. “The important point is that you don’t have any prayers to protect you. If it makes it easier, you can pretend the fires are just hallucinations.”
Dennis started in with the Pater Noster again. Merchari jolted from his appreciation of the woman. “Sir, you’re done. Your exemption has been proven. But your prayers can’t help an unbeliever.” Merchari extended his hand. “Come along, girlie. You’re fair game.”
“Because I don’t have prayers.”
“That’s right. Don’t you logical types study the classics anymore? If you’d followed Pascal’s Wager, you’d at least hedge your bets. Too late now.”
The warm wind rose again, and a few tattered pages of an abandoned New York Times skittered down the sidewalk and clung to Christine’s calves. She kicked at them in vexation until the wind reclaimed them. “Which is Pascal’s Wager again?”
“Tell her, Catholic boy. They must have covered that at Fordham.”
“Manhattan College, actually.” Dennis still hovered protectively near the woman, but had calmed a bit. “You remember it from Grening’s class, don’t you, Chris? The one about how it won’t hurt to believe in God if there isn’t one, but not believing will get you sent to hell, so you may as well play it safe and believe.”
“Oh yeah, that one.” Christine flicked her fingers dismissively. “A false dichotomy. For it to make any sense, one must already believe the premise that there’s a deity who desires human faith, as opposed to, say, the sacrifice of animals. You might as easily suggest I hedge my bets by offering hecatombs to Zeus and Athena.”
Hmmmm.
The woman ran fingers through her short, blonde curls. “Look, I’ll take it as a given that you’re real, that you’re a demon, and that you’re here to take me to Hell. So let’s get back to the point. Do any holy words work? Like, if a Buddhist recited a koan, would that keep you off?”
Merchari narrowed his eyes. They didn’t usually converse. Usually they were too busy gibbering or running. “What’s with the questions?”
“Just the natural curiosity of a scientist.” The woman shrugged. “If you’re going to drag me off to Hell, the least you can do is show me the full error of my ways. Should I have listened to the nuns, or would any religion do?”
Ah, a theological discussion. It had been a while. “I don’t know. Someone recited from the Koran once—that worked. I know the… prayer your friend said works when recited in Chinese, although Latin is more effective.”
“Interesting.”
Dennis took her arm again. “Christine, what are you doing?”
“It’s okay, Dennis. Just relax.”
“That’s right, Dennis,” Merchari said. The man started at hearing his name from demonic lips. “Let me just conclude my business.”
Christine eased a step closer. “You got a name, demon?”
“That doesn’t work.”
“Huh?”
“The name thing. It doesn’t work.”
“I’m not a fricking wizard, I’m a biochemist.” Christine huffed her annoyance. Merchari smiled inwardly. They always got testy when they were losing. Christine continued: “If I don’t believe in you, I certainly don’t believe in that mystical crap. I just want to know what to call you.”