Nancy K. Duplechain - Dark Trilogy 02 - Dark Carnival by Nancy K. Duplechain Page B

through her
driver’s side window.  He was gone, his paper coffee cup left behind.
    “Never mind.”
    She looked at me
concerned.  “Everything okay?”
    “Yeah.  Ever get the
feeling you’re being followed?”
    She smiled at me.  “I’m
sure it’s nothing.”  She pulled out her phone and called Miles to tell him that
we had no luck finding the mask. He told her to bring me to the convent.
    On the way there, Nadia
and I had a long chat about everything from paladins to politics.  I was
surprised to find out that, for a nun, she was mostly socially liberal.
    “What made you
decide to be a nun?” I asked.  “No offense, but you really don’t fit
the nun type.”
    She laughed and said,
“I guess not.  But I’ve always felt the calling, even when I was a child.  I
went to a Catholic school, and there was a convent on campus.  I remember our
second grade class taking a tour of it and, as soon as I walked through those
ornate wood doors, I could smell fresh-baked bread.”  When Nadia spoke,
her eyes lit up at her fond memory.  “Our tour guide was this short,
round, little old lady named Sister Pearl.  She had granny glasses and a huge
smile and was delighted with all us kids.  After the tour, she gave us cookies
she had made.  That day, I knew I wanted to be a nun.  And, as I grew up, I
understood more about what they do, how they devote their lives to God.  When I
discovered my ability, I knew that it was a gift and the best place to use it
was with a convent.  Even though I’m not technically a nun, it’s pretty close.”
    “So, you never had
any doubts?”
    She paused for a
reflective moment, her dancing eyes stopped, and a sad smile worked the corners
of her mouth.  “Once.  In high school.  There was a boy, and it took a lot
of convincing, but he finally got me to go out with him.  We dated for awhile
and … well, he was the only one who ever made me have doubts.”
    “What happened?  Did
he break your heart or something?”
    “No.  I broke
his.”
    “You left him for
another guy?”
    She nodded.  “God.”
    “How’d he take
it?”
    “Angry at first.  But
he’s still my best friend to this day.”
    I smiled.  “Happy
endings are nice, aren’t they?”
    She laughed.  “Yes, they
are.”

6
 
Another Saturday Night
     
    There were about twenty-five of them, sick and
feeble alike, in line for some miracle.  They had blind faith, something that I
hadn’t had since I was thirteen when my mother died.  I had lost my faith soon
after that.  Now, it was something I still struggled with.
    The first to step forth
was an elderly man of about eighty.  He regarded me with kind, hopeful eyes.  “It’s
the cancer,” he said softly, steadying himself with one hand on his walker,
lifting his shirt with the other hand, placing it over his pancreas.  “They
said it’s spreading too fast.  Nothing they can do.”
    “I’m sorry,” I said,
unable to look him in the eyes.
    He whispered a chuckle.  “Don’t
be sorry.  Just take it away.”
    I nervously looked over
at Miles, who nodded his solemn approval.  The man came closer to me with his
shirt still lifted.  I placed one hand over his pancreas, closed my eyes and
concentrated all my energy on this one area of his body.  My hand began to
tingle, but would do no more.  I concentrated harder, picturing a healthy
pancreas, healing green light surrounding the area.  Still nothing more than a
tingle.
    “You’re not trying hard
enough,” Miles said to me, softly but sternly.  As soon as he said it, the
tingling went away, my concentration replaced with self-disappointment.
    I removed my hand.  “I’m
sorry,” I said to the old man.  He hung his head in defeat.  Miles then got up,
dipped his hand in the holy water he always kept with him, and placed a wet hand
over the man’s pancreas.  After a minute or two, he removed his hand and told
the man to return to the doctors, that the cancer had shrunk enough for