The chapel was small, though larger than the multi-casket tombs with their gated and locked doors. The chapel’s windows glowed softly with candlelight, bloodred, ruby red, wine, burgundy, the pink of watered blood. That candle flicker spoke to the old ones, a sign of all things good and safe. Inside, something moved past a window, a shadow only. “You need to stay here,” I said.

“I’m backup.” There was disagreement in his tone.

I shifted in my seat to Eli in the dark of the car, still brightened by the glowing dash lights. “She’ll assume I brought her a human to munch on.”

Eli grumped, giving in, by the scent. “Really like teleportation?”

“And really like mind-warping. You need to stay in the car.”

“So why am I here?”

“To tell the others and prepare for Peregrinus to attack tonight if she kills me.”

“You take all the fun out of a nice drive in the country.”

“I do, don’t I? I’ll be back in a bit.”

Eli stayed in the vehicle, watching as I took the steps to the front door, knocked, and entered.

CHAPTER 22

I Am a Far Worse Devil

The priestess was sitting in a rocking chair at the front of the chapel, wearing her nunlike white robes, her pale, once-olive-skinned face glowing in the light of the candles. She pushed with a toe, the chair rocking back and then forward, back and then forward, but no way did I think she was relaxed. If I said the wrong thing or did the wrong thing, she would be on me like white on rice and faster than the speed of light. To her side was a stone bier, like a sarcophagus, the lid too heavy for me to lift alone, even with Beast helping, though I could push it aside if the need arose. Inside were the treasures she guarded. No way did I think I knew everything she hid there. No way was I eager to go exploring. Again. I’d learned my lesson the first time.

I walked between the rows of wood pews, my feet loud in the quiet place, and paused about twelve feet away. I gave a nod of respect, the closest thing to a curtsy that I could do. In the silence, marred only by the sound of the rockers on the old floor, I waited.

Her black eyes glittered as she surveyed me, her hands clasped at her waist. Rocking. Rocking. And I waited.

“What do you want, skinwalker?”

I nearly jumped but managed to hold the startled reaction in. As if she saw it anyway, a faint smile crossed the priestess’ face.

I licked my lips, wondering when my mouth had gone so dry. “Joses Bar-Judas is chained in the lowest subbasement in the Mithran Council Chambers in the French Quarter. Tonight, a group of Mithrans kidnapped Katie and a wounded Leo, captured a juvenile arcenciel in a necklace that one wears around his neck, busted into HQ, and tried to set the Son of Darkness free, or kill him to get his power, or something. We got in the way.”

Sabina said nothing, did nothing except to rock, and I cleared my throat, feeling way worse than I did when I’d been called to the principal’s office as a kid.

“One Mithran and her blood-servant are dead. The dead are Batildis and the Devil.”

I could have sworn that Sabina tried to smile, though her lips didn’t move. “This is good. They have long been a pox on this Earth.”

“Okay. Ummm. Not so good. The lead Mithran, named Peregrinus, got away. With the arcenciel. And he’ll be back. Revenge and all. And unfinished business with Joses Bar-Judas.

“A onetime friend told me also that Peregrinus was coming for me, for the icons I have in safety. For the things Leo has, or might have in the safe on sub-four.”

Sabina gave a slow sigh that stank of old blood. Her breath, so seldom used, always had the scent of old death. I tried to ignore it. “L’arcenciel. Essendo luci. Titles I had thought never to hear again. Rainbow. Being of light or light-being in an archaic dialect of Latin,” she said. “With the arcenciel, Joses, and enough blood, Peregrinus will be strong enough to defeat all. This I understand.” Her brow wrinkled. “Knowledge and secrets are much harder to maintain, hidden, in this day and this age. Once, all one had to do to hide great secrets was to kill the humans who knew of it. No longer.”

All you had to do was kill the humans. Right. But I didn’t say it.

Sabina met my gaze. “What do you wish of me, she who walks in the skins of the beasts?”

“I’d kinda like to use the sliver of the Blood Cross.”

She rocked. And rocked. Beyond the windows, I could feel the sun starting to rise. The color of the windows was clearer, redder. The candles, oddly, seemed to cast less light, the shadows shrinking and becoming denser. It was nearly dawn. I knew Sabina was old, but I figured that she still needed to be out of the sunlight, probably sleeping in the huge stone sarcophagus in front of the chapel. The one with her likeness carved in the stone.

“Do you believe?” she asked. Reading my confused expression and maybe my scent patterns, she went on. “Do you believe in the cross? In the crucifixion? In the resurrection? That the Christ was transcended, ascended to heaven? Do you believe?”

I swallowed, buying the time to think, knowing that she would smell any dissembling, any lie. Knowing that my answer was important to her. History, if not religion, had always been important to this priestess. And, the more I learned about the origins of the vamps, maybe religion too. I took a shallow breath and held out my arms as if to display myself. I said, “I am human flesh, bone, and tendon. Yet I can change shape and form, like magic, and become an animal. I know that there is another place, maybe another universe of energy and matter, but in a different form. It may power my own . . . what we call magic.

“I have a soul, that lives inside this body, but isn’t caged by it. Even in another form, I can still maintain my identity, the sanctity of my spirit, of my soul.

“I live in a world with vampires and werewolves and Mercy Blades and les arcenciels,” I said, stumbling over the French, “who use a magic I can’t even begin to comprehend.” I frowned and dropped my arms. Her expression hadn’t changed, but she shook her head slowly, which didn’t seem like a good sign.

“My best friend is a witch. I’ve seen her do what looks like magic with her gift. I’ve been healed with the magic of Bethany, the priestess, once, by Leo once, and by Edmund Hartley more than once. I’ve seen Leo raise his magic in such power that it burned on the skin of my arms. If I believe in magic, in power that I can’t understand, how can I not believe in more, in stuff that’s supernatural and holy and even bigger than the power I’ve seen myself?