needles crackled beneath his unseen feet. “And we had better move quickly.”
“Why?”
“They are coming back.”
I didn’t need to ask who they were.
Chapter 5
W e stopped when we reached the stone wall—at least, I did. I hoped Ian hadn’t just charged on ahead. “You still here?” I half-whispered.
“No. I have gone to Starbucks.”
“Now’s a great time to develop sarcasm,” I shot back. “Any idea how close they are?”
“Close enough.”
“Well, that’s helpful.” I looked over the grounds for any sign of movement, and saw none. “We need a plan. We won’t be able to talk to each other in there. So … how long, and where are we going to meet?”
“Fifteen minutes. And there, by that statue.”
“What statue?”
“To your right.”
I looked. At the far corner of the wall stood St. Jude, patron saint of lost causes. I knew because this guy had been a big deal at the Catholic orphanage where I spent most of my childhood. That’s what we all were, lost causes—especially me, as the nuns reminded me daily. I had to wonder why a bunch of half-Morai thugs would want St. Jude hanging around.
Movement near the building caught my eye. A man in a dusky black robe emerged from a stand of trees at the corner of the walled property and headed for the building. Two more followed, dressed in the same fashion. Each of them sported a bowl haircut and a rope belt. I almost laughed. “Ian, I don’t think we’re going to find any evil djinn in here. It’s a monastery.”
“How can you be certain?”
“Because of the monks.”
It took him a minute to see what I meant. When he did, he made an agitated sound and said, “We should still investigate. This could be a … blanket.”
“A blanket.” I practically had to bite my tongue. “You mean a cover?”
“Whatever you call it. I have no trouble believing those snakes would feign human purity to hide themselves, if they are breeding.”
“Uh-huh. So, even though the rest of them go around flaunting their fangs and scales, this one might be posing as a monk.”
“Yes.”
“Right. And I’m Mary Poppins.”
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind.” If it’d get Ian to lay off the witch hunt long enough for us to make it home for a few days, I’d gladly spend a quarter hour poking around a monastery. Maybe the half-breeds on our trail would bypass this place and we’d lose them. “Fifteen minutes, at the statue. You want upstairs or down?”
“Up.”
“It’s yours. See you in fifteen.”
I clambered over the wall. Behind me, I heard Ian do the same, and then his footfalls picked up their pace and passed me. He was practically running for the place. I hoped that didn’tmean he’d sensed our pursuers closing in and had neglected to mention it to me.
Before I made half the distance to the monastery proper, a figure edged out from the shadows of an alcoved back door. Another monk, this one with shaggy blond hair and wearing a black robe. A beaded crucifix pendant hung around his neck—and his cane and dark glasses said I didn’t have to worry about whether or not I was visible.
Still, being blind didn’t mean he was deaf. I tried to walk quieter.
“Hello?” the blind monk called softly. His head turned in my direction. “Brother Justin? I thought you were working in the front gardens today. Is everything okay?”
I froze, hoping the monk would leave if he didn’t hear anything else. He stayed put. After a few minutes, I started walking again. His demeanor shifted to wariness with my first step. “Who’s there?” he said—not so softly this time.
Damn. I couldn’t stand out here all day playing freeze tag with this guy. While I debated the merits of making a run for the other side of the building, the sound of footsteps infiltrated the silence. They weren’t mine, or the monk’s. The sounds were behind me. And they were getting closer.
I glanced back, expecting to see nothing. My expectations were disappointed.
“Why?”
“They are coming back.”
I didn’t need to ask who they were.
Chapter 5
W e stopped when we reached the stone wall—at least, I did. I hoped Ian hadn’t just charged on ahead. “You still here?” I half-whispered.
“No. I have gone to Starbucks.”
“Now’s a great time to develop sarcasm,” I shot back. “Any idea how close they are?”
“Close enough.”
“Well, that’s helpful.” I looked over the grounds for any sign of movement, and saw none. “We need a plan. We won’t be able to talk to each other in there. So … how long, and where are we going to meet?”
“Fifteen minutes. And there, by that statue.”
“What statue?”
“To your right.”
I looked. At the far corner of the wall stood St. Jude, patron saint of lost causes. I knew because this guy had been a big deal at the Catholic orphanage where I spent most of my childhood. That’s what we all were, lost causes—especially me, as the nuns reminded me daily. I had to wonder why a bunch of half-Morai thugs would want St. Jude hanging around.
Movement near the building caught my eye. A man in a dusky black robe emerged from a stand of trees at the corner of the walled property and headed for the building. Two more followed, dressed in the same fashion. Each of them sported a bowl haircut and a rope belt. I almost laughed. “Ian, I don’t think we’re going to find any evil djinn in here. It’s a monastery.”
“How can you be certain?”
“Because of the monks.”
It took him a minute to see what I meant. When he did, he made an agitated sound and said, “We should still investigate. This could be a … blanket.”
“A blanket.” I practically had to bite my tongue. “You mean a cover?”
“Whatever you call it. I have no trouble believing those snakes would feign human purity to hide themselves, if they are breeding.”
“Uh-huh. So, even though the rest of them go around flaunting their fangs and scales, this one might be posing as a monk.”
“Yes.”
“Right. And I’m Mary Poppins.”
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind.” If it’d get Ian to lay off the witch hunt long enough for us to make it home for a few days, I’d gladly spend a quarter hour poking around a monastery. Maybe the half-breeds on our trail would bypass this place and we’d lose them. “Fifteen minutes, at the statue. You want upstairs or down?”
“Up.”
“It’s yours. See you in fifteen.”
I clambered over the wall. Behind me, I heard Ian do the same, and then his footfalls picked up their pace and passed me. He was practically running for the place. I hoped that didn’tmean he’d sensed our pursuers closing in and had neglected to mention it to me.
Before I made half the distance to the monastery proper, a figure edged out from the shadows of an alcoved back door. Another monk, this one with shaggy blond hair and wearing a black robe. A beaded crucifix pendant hung around his neck—and his cane and dark glasses said I didn’t have to worry about whether or not I was visible.
Still, being blind didn’t mean he was deaf. I tried to walk quieter.
“Hello?” the blind monk called softly. His head turned in my direction. “Brother Justin? I thought you were working in the front gardens today. Is everything okay?”
I froze, hoping the monk would leave if he didn’t hear anything else. He stayed put. After a few minutes, I started walking again. His demeanor shifted to wariness with my first step. “Who’s there?” he said—not so softly this time.
Damn. I couldn’t stand out here all day playing freeze tag with this guy. While I debated the merits of making a run for the other side of the building, the sound of footsteps infiltrated the silence. They weren’t mine, or the monk’s. The sounds were behind me. And they were getting closer.
I glanced back, expecting to see nothing. My expectations were disappointed.
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