figuring out what can cause this type of destruction. How do we debunk any of it?”
He shrugs. “I’ll do my part by coming up with some sort of logical explanation for the police, but the rest is up to you, May.”
“Maybe it’s time to bring Father Gabriel in on the case, too?” I mean it as a statement, but it comes out as a question.
Howlen turns to me and I see my doubts reflect in his eyes.
He says, “Well, if anyone’s going to bring up the controversial issues we’re pussy-footing around, it’s Father Gabriel.”
Chapter 9
Father Gabriel picks up a stick in the newly dubbed “Dead-Zone” while Howlen and I stand aside eagerly awaiting his assessment. The priest straightens after what feels like a lifetime, scratches at his salt and pepper beard and looks to the heavens. He grunts, his harrumph sounding indifferent.
He steps around a few randomly strewn rocks to reach the crown plover nest and investigates it in silence. He then uses the stick to push the bird onto its side, careful not to touch it. Father Gabriel peers underneath the crown plover, gently replaces it on the ground, and turns his attention to the nest.
The egg Howlen had cracked for my perusal lies amongst the others. The priest examines it at length.
He straightens and looks toward the sun before making his way to where Valentine’s unabsorbed blood is still visible. Father Gabriel tugs at his collarino shirt, turns toward us and reveals his disgust in a grimace.
I’m about to ask what his thoughts are when Howlen nudges me with an elbows in my ribs.
Father Gabriel walks toward the log where the traumatised teenagers sat during my initial investigation.
Howlen’s hand brushes against mine, a calming gesture, and the tip of his pinkie traces shapes in my cupped hand. The naughty smile hidden in the corner of Howlen’s mouth is disconcerting.
I appreciate his change in demeanour, but I cannot allow my focus to stray towards guilty indulgences.
Howlen crosses his arms and takes a pre-emptive step away before Father Gabriel can witness our minor flirtation.
When the priest turns around to face us, however, it’s clear we are the least of his worries.
He seems to have aged in the moments it takes to return to us. His shoulders sag as though he carries a heavy burden of bad news and the corners of his lips are downturned. This is not normal.
“We are amidst the remnants of an ancient evil trying to pass into our world,” Father Gabriel says. He waves a hand behind him before he swiftly crosses himself. “Whoever is responsible for channelling this dark power is either a complete idiot or an incredible sorcerer.”
“Are we in any danger by being here?” I ask.
Father Gabriel surveys our surroundings and pulls his shoulders up to his ears. “I bet you’ve been in danger since you got involved with this case. Fortunately, whatever was here got what it came for and left,” he says.
“The residual wickedness will persist for days,” says the priest, “if not weeks, but I’m going to bless the area and pray for nature’s speedy recovery anyway.”
My cell phone buzzes at the same time Howlen’s rings, loud enough to wake Mount Olympus’ sleeping gods.
Father Gabriel dismisses us both with a singular nod and turns away to do whatever he needs to do.
“Howlen speaking.” He takes a few steps in the direction of the Sasol garage.
“Hello,” I say following a few steps behind him.
“Esmé, Mosepi here.” Detective Mosepi’s voice is scratchy. It might be a bad connection or he’s spent the whole morning chain-smoking his Marlboro cigarettes, either way he sounds different. “Something strange is going on at the van Rooyen house.”
“Clarify what you mean with strange ?”
“Have you ever spent a night alone in a coroner’s office?” Detective Mosepi asks, but continues before I can utter an answer. “It feels like every horrible memory, each bad experience, and all of your worst nightmares
He shrugs. “I’ll do my part by coming up with some sort of logical explanation for the police, but the rest is up to you, May.”
“Maybe it’s time to bring Father Gabriel in on the case, too?” I mean it as a statement, but it comes out as a question.
Howlen turns to me and I see my doubts reflect in his eyes.
He says, “Well, if anyone’s going to bring up the controversial issues we’re pussy-footing around, it’s Father Gabriel.”
Chapter 9
Father Gabriel picks up a stick in the newly dubbed “Dead-Zone” while Howlen and I stand aside eagerly awaiting his assessment. The priest straightens after what feels like a lifetime, scratches at his salt and pepper beard and looks to the heavens. He grunts, his harrumph sounding indifferent.
He steps around a few randomly strewn rocks to reach the crown plover nest and investigates it in silence. He then uses the stick to push the bird onto its side, careful not to touch it. Father Gabriel peers underneath the crown plover, gently replaces it on the ground, and turns his attention to the nest.
The egg Howlen had cracked for my perusal lies amongst the others. The priest examines it at length.
He straightens and looks toward the sun before making his way to where Valentine’s unabsorbed blood is still visible. Father Gabriel tugs at his collarino shirt, turns toward us and reveals his disgust in a grimace.
I’m about to ask what his thoughts are when Howlen nudges me with an elbows in my ribs.
Father Gabriel walks toward the log where the traumatised teenagers sat during my initial investigation.
Howlen’s hand brushes against mine, a calming gesture, and the tip of his pinkie traces shapes in my cupped hand. The naughty smile hidden in the corner of Howlen’s mouth is disconcerting.
I appreciate his change in demeanour, but I cannot allow my focus to stray towards guilty indulgences.
Howlen crosses his arms and takes a pre-emptive step away before Father Gabriel can witness our minor flirtation.
When the priest turns around to face us, however, it’s clear we are the least of his worries.
He seems to have aged in the moments it takes to return to us. His shoulders sag as though he carries a heavy burden of bad news and the corners of his lips are downturned. This is not normal.
“We are amidst the remnants of an ancient evil trying to pass into our world,” Father Gabriel says. He waves a hand behind him before he swiftly crosses himself. “Whoever is responsible for channelling this dark power is either a complete idiot or an incredible sorcerer.”
“Are we in any danger by being here?” I ask.
Father Gabriel surveys our surroundings and pulls his shoulders up to his ears. “I bet you’ve been in danger since you got involved with this case. Fortunately, whatever was here got what it came for and left,” he says.
“The residual wickedness will persist for days,” says the priest, “if not weeks, but I’m going to bless the area and pray for nature’s speedy recovery anyway.”
My cell phone buzzes at the same time Howlen’s rings, loud enough to wake Mount Olympus’ sleeping gods.
Father Gabriel dismisses us both with a singular nod and turns away to do whatever he needs to do.
“Howlen speaking.” He takes a few steps in the direction of the Sasol garage.
“Hello,” I say following a few steps behind him.
“Esmé, Mosepi here.” Detective Mosepi’s voice is scratchy. It might be a bad connection or he’s spent the whole morning chain-smoking his Marlboro cigarettes, either way he sounds different. “Something strange is going on at the van Rooyen house.”
“Clarify what you mean with strange ?”
“Have you ever spent a night alone in a coroner’s office?” Detective Mosepi asks, but continues before I can utter an answer. “It feels like every horrible memory, each bad experience, and all of your worst nightmares
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