The patron saint of necr.., p.19
The Patron Saint of Necromancers,
p.19
“Truth,” the man finally hushed out, prominent Adam’s apple bobbing. “I taste the truth and feel Michael’s confirmation.” He ripped the door open with suddenness and strength that amazed Heath. “Come in. Quickly. Please.”
“Look,” said Heath, “I just want—”
But the man grabbed Heath by the wrist and pulled him inside, Nariko and Colin following right behind him.
“This way,” the man said, and Heath realized the man was wearing a rough brown robe with a brown rope belt that together looked as though they belonged in the same century as this building – and it wasn’t this one.
But the man was strong and quick, and dragged Heath with him down a stone hall where torches in sconces lit up as they passed. Heath expected the smell of damp and must, but none of that here. Everything smelled clean and dry, with an undercurrent of baked bread and some kind of incense. He could hear the faint strains of some kind of singing or chanting, but nothing he could make out.
They passed two closed doors that looked like thinner versions of the front door – though each with a door handle and without the mini-door for looking out – before the man stopped.
This man, this monk – and Heath was sure this man was a monk – composed himself and knocked with five gentle raps.
“Enter,” said a firm voice from the inside.
“Brother Theodopolis,” said the monk as he opened the door, one hand still clutching Heath’s wrist with impressive strength. “Brother, this man has brought us The Black Book of Saint Cyprian!”
The chamber was clearly an office. Though smaller than Colin’s kitchen, its walls were lined with books that Heath would have sworn didn’t look like they were printed on any kind of press at all. Any more than the desk Brother Theodopolis sat at could have been made by machine, with its finely stained finish and smooth design.
Brother Theodopolis sat on a small stool, an actual quill and parchment on the desk before him, complete with ink well and blotter. Brother Theodopolis looked as thin as the first monk, but broader through the shoulders and jaw, and with an almost square head, which made the tonsure an odd stylistic choice. And Brother Theodopolis had a crooked nose, as though it had been broken several times and never quite set properly after any of them.
“Slow down, Brother Maynard,” said Brother Theodopolis. “You are certain he truly has…” Brother Theodopolis’ words trailed off as he looked over at what Heath had in his hands, twice wrapped in rosaries.
Brother Theodopolis cocked his head to one side. “Those rosaries were not blessed by a priest, but they do carry a blessing. Is this your work, sir?”
“Yes, they were blessed by me in the name of Damballah.”
“Syncretized with our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, I believe.”
“As you say.” Heath could feel the warmth of Nariko and Colin stepping up behind him.
“And that book.” Brother Theodopolis set down his quill and sat still with ramrod straight posture. “At a glance it appears to be the genuine article.”
“Considering the trouble it’s put us to it better be.”
“If you are a treasure hunter, you will be disappointed here.”
Heath felt his lips quirk high to the left. “Hardly. I’m just a root worker. A conjure man. I never wanted to own this thing and I want to get rid of it.”
“He wishes us to take it back into protective custody,” said Brother Maynard. “He said so under the light of the Archangel Michael. He would destroy it if he could.”
“I’m not sure it can be destroyed,” said Brother Theodopolis. “Despite what the movies may imply, not everything can be vanquished by casting it into a volcano.”
“Shoot,” said Colin, snapping his fingers.
Brother Theodopolis opened a drawer and pulled out a square of tan cloth, perhaps two feet across, and the softest looking thing Heath had seen in this place. But that wasn’t all. Heath could feel the power of that cloth. Protective. Sheltering.
Brother Theodopolis spread the cloth across both of his hands and reached out for the book.
“Two things,” said Heath, holding up the book. “First, I want those rosaries back.”
Brother Theodopolis nodded as though it had never been in question.
“Second, I want you to swear in the name of your God that you will get this book hidden away somewhere and protected so it doesn’t get out again in my lifetime.”
“By the oaths I have taken before my Lord to serve and protect his human race while blood flows in my veins and air passes my lips, I swear that I, Brother Theodopolis, shall take full responsibility and accountability for The Black Book of Saint Cyprian until it can be hidden away behind the walls of the Vatican where it shall be guarded by such angels as He will spare for the task.”
“Good enough,” said Heath with a nod. He placed the book on the cloth, and Brother Theodopolis folded the cloth to cover the grimoire completely. In that moment, Heath felt a snap, and realized that his connection to The Black Book of Saint Cyprian had finally broken.
He smiled with such a relaxed sigh that Brother Theodopolis smiled back at him.
“I have seen that look before, and if it helps, I can assure you that you are now free of it.” Brother Theodopolis patted it. “I should like to have the rosaries delivered to you later, if I may, to maintain their protections as well.”
Heath nodded.
“Excellent.” Brother Theodopolis set the enwrapped grimoire on his desk. “Then there’s another matter I’d like to discuss with you. You see, this is the first time anyone has ever brought a relic to us…”
Two hours later the three of them were riding through the twisting hills of Lake Oswego in Colin’s Saturn, on their way to a celebratory meal downtown. Colin behind the wheel, Heath riding shotgun, and Nariko in the back seat.
But the sky was clear blue above them, and Heath could hear the birds singing. He never quite appreciated the songbirds of the Pacific Northwest the way he did just then. Like a choir of tiny angels praising the joy of life.
“Seriously?” said Colin. “You’re going to work for the Catholics?”
“I may not go to church every Sunday, but I was raised Catholic. Besides, I’ll work for pretty much anyone who a) isn’t an asshole, and b) can pay me. But I never guaranteed I’d do any single job for them. I just agreed that I’d be willing to help out their order from time to time with their fighting-evil gig.”
“For better rates than you’ve been charging,” said Nariko from the back seat. “Please tell me you’re raising your rates.”
“After what I – what we – just pulled off? Hell yes.”
“Halle-fucking-luiah.”
“Heck, once Suit’s check clears I’m probably taking a vacation. In fact, I owe you guys, so if it’s a trip, I’ll pay tickets and hotel.”
“How many rooms?” said Colin. “I’m not sharing with you, Heath.”
Nariko quirked an eyebrow at Heath and twitched her lips in a way that suggested she might share a room with Heath on this vacation.
Maybe.
Heath smiled, and missed the next three things that Colin said. In fact, he felt so good at that moment that he missed everything Colin said about vacations until they pulled up to a stop sign.
At the stop sign, a scooter pulled up alongside and knocked on Colin’s window. In the blink of an eye, all three of them were back on guard, ready for an attack.
Colin rolled the window down. “Special delivery,” said a young Latin boy. Heath saw South America in the boy’s features but couldn’t be sure which country. The boy held up a distinctive pink box, the sort that everyone in the greater Portland area recognized on sight.
Voodoo Doughnuts. Bizarre and wonderful combinations of decoration and flavor in the name of deliciousness.
Colin reached for the box, but Heath grabbed his shoulder to stop him.
“Who’s it from?” he asked. “And who’s it for?”
“It’s for you, Mr. Cyr, and it’s from Vizinha. She gave me a message. She said to tell you she heard about how you handled both the Lammergeyer and your uncle. She says, ‘well done.’ She hopes you’ll consider this classic dozen an offering of peace between the two of you.”
“I assume she knows this isn’t enough to make us friends.”
“She said you’d say that, and she knows.”
“And did she swear the donuts, the box, all the contents, the delivery, and the deliverer are all clear and safe?”
“She swore in front of me. She said, ‘In the names of Oxalá and Iemanja I swear that everything about this offering and its delivery is clean and safe and untampered with by anyone.’”
“He’s telling the truth,” said Nariko from the backseat.
“Come on, Heath,” said Colin. “She even guaranteed that no one tampered with it after it was out of her hands.”
“All right,” said Heath, and he reached over to accept the box.
The delivery boy refused a tip from Colin and rode off.
“Is this the celebratory meal then?” said Nariko, eyebrow raised.
“Hell no,” said Heath. “I want steak. But these will make a great dessert.”
Nariko nodded approval while Colin laughed. But then Colin’s laugh cut short. “Heath, what about that flask? The one you—”
“I know, I know,” said Heath, with as much patience as he could muster. “But that, my friends, I’m going to deal with tomorrow.”
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About the Author
Stefon Mears might just have a copy of The Black Book of Saint Cyprian on his shelf. Stefon has more than twenty books to his credit, and he never stops writing. He earned his M.F.A. in Creative Writing from N.I.L.A., and his B.A. in Religious Studies (double emphasis in Ritual and Mythology) from U.C. Berkeley. He’s a lifelong gamer and fantasy fan. Stefon lives in Portland, Oregon, with his wife and three cats.
Look for Stefon online:
www.stefonmears.com
himself@stefonmears.com
Also by Stefon Mears
Power City Tales
Not Quite Bulletproof
No Money in Heroism
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Cavan Oltblood Series
Half a Wizard
The Ice Dagger
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Spells for Hire
Devil’s Shoestring
Zombie Powder
Spirit Trap (coming Summer 2018)
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The Rise of Magic
Magician’s Choice
Sleight of Mind
Lunar Alchemy
Three Fae Monte
The Sphinx Principle (coming Summer 2018)
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The Telepath Trilogy
Surviving Telepathy
Immoral Telepathy
Targeting Telepathy
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Edge of Humanity
Caught Between Monsters
The Right Kind of Stake
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With a Broken Sword
Twice Against the Dragon
The House on Cedar Street
Stealing from Pirates
Fade to Gold
Sudden Death
On the Edge of Faerie
Confronting Legends (Spells & Swords Vol. 1)
Uncle Stone Teeth and Other Macabre Poems
Published by Thousand Faces Publishing, Portland, Oregon
http://1kfaces.com
Copyright © 2018 by Stefon Mears
Front cover image © Dmitrijs Bindemanis | Dreamstime.com
All rights reserved.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book was originally published as The Patron Saint of Necromancers.
ISBN: 978-0692625125
Stefon Mears, The Patron Saint of Necromancers
