Previously in The Hunt for Lilywhite:
In an extended flashback, we learn that the Hunter has chased a lead on Lilywhite to an Earthside portal on the edges of the Moon Road, but an operative from the Committee has literally snatched this person away. In the struggle, the Hunter has taken an unexpected plunge into the Betwixt and Between and ended up in the desert outside Soledad City.
Catch up on previous episodes here.
“A priest? Really?” The Hunter had asked, back at the start of this mess.
“Of course," said Major Simon Flescher. “They hear everything, they can be everywhere without question, and they’re above reproach.”
At the Hunter’s dismayed look, the Directorate’s director had smiled. “You’ll do fine.”
But riding through darkness pierced only by the headlights in this rickety truck, the Hunter could see the clusterfuck coming. He hadn’t had the chance to gather his gear - the backpack filled with weapons, bugs and messengers that would help him get things done. There was no way to contact the Directorate from here.
And now the biggest curveball of all.
“It was a terrible thing,” said the driver. “He went to hear confession in the middle of the night. And somebody shot him dead, right there in the confessional booth.”
Taking a deep drag on his little cigar, he continued. “Doing his duty to God right to the end. He was a good man, Father Louis.”
Well, maybe not. Directorate intel had suggested quite the opposite, which was why replacing Father Louis had seemed like a good move.
The truck rattled over a little hill. Across a swath of bare desert down below, the lights of the City spread like a glittering carpet, the Rio Verde stretching like a gleaming snake along its northwest side. The Hunter’s head began to swim again.
“Was he a friend? Did you need his help?” The driver asked. He glanced at his passenger. “What —?”
Ah, shit. The glamour was slipping a bit. The Hunter hauled himself upright and concentrated hard, but the man had already glimpsed the face beneath the illusion. His eyes widened.
“Oh,” he breathed. “I see now.” Taking one hand from the wheel, he crossed himself. “Dios mio, how I am blessed! Say no more, my friend. You are on a mission from heaven.”
Settling the blond man’s face more firmly over his own, the Hunter forced an angelic smile. “Just so,” he said smoothly. “His ways are mysterious indeed. And so they must remain. I’m sure you understand.”
The truck swung onto an offramp toward a maze of empty streets. The driver nodded earnestly. “Of course. But may I at least tell my wife? She prays for me, you know, the drinking and all. It would comfort her to know.”
“Does the Bible not say, pray in secret?” the Hunter said severely. “I think that goes for this kind of thing too. Just tell your wife you won’t do it anymore.”
Turning the truck down a street of shuttered shops and boarded up windows, the driver bobbed his head. “I will. Yes, I will.”
Beyond a single streetlamp on the corner stood a tall square building topped by a round tiled dome. Moonlight gleamed on the wide welcoming arms of a golden cross atop the dome, flanked by a pair of bell towers.
The truck pulled up in front of the Cathedral’s tall iron gates. Beyond, a tidy sidewalk ended at a pair of massive wooden doors.
“The church is always open,” the driver announced. He cast a last wondering glance at his passenger, now just a youngish guy with a sandy blond ponytail and a faded checkered shirt. “Not that it would ever be closed to you.”
Wincing, the Hunter eased himself out of the truck, which sped away down a cross street. He limped through the gate and up the low steps to the Cathedral doors. Always open? Yep, one stood slightly ajar. He reached for the handle.
From within came a jumble of angry voices. Frowning, the Hunter peered around the door. Midway into the nave, a struggle was in progress: a couple of young men in black hoodies and saggy jeans, shoving a slender man in a priest’s black robe against the back of a pew.
“All we want’s the money, Padre. Nobody gets hurt.”
“There’s no money here.” The priest spread his hands. “Please, go.”
“Aw, that’s bullshit. Father Louis always had it ready.” One of the intruders pressed close, raising a pistol under the priest’s chin. “He’s gone. You’re here. We still gonna do business. Right?”
The Hunter straightened, braced by a sudden surge of anger. Flinging the door wide, he stepped into the narthex, dropping the glamour as he went.
At the sound of his steps, the gunman turned. His partner, eyes wide, ducked behind the priest.
Frowning, the Hunter patted his pocket. But his gun had vanished into the Betwixt and Between along with the remnants of the Shadowborn informant.
The gunman, following his partner’s panicked stare, dropped his hand. In that frozen moment, the priest twisted away, sinking his elbow into the gunman’s belly.
The pistol clattered to the floor, skidding down the aisle. The Hunter stopped it with one foot and scooped it up. Willing his arm to steadiness, he aimed the little gun at its owner’s head.
“Out. Now.” His voice was the voice of a rider of the Wild Hunt, mercenary and assassin, and the two intruders scrambled out of the row of pews and down the aisle, making for the open door and the street beyond.
“Thank you.” The priest stepped into the aisle, drawing a quick sharp breath. “Ah - I - praise God.”
“Stop that.” The Hunter considered the gun, considered his mission. Considered the fact that he was exhausted and woozy and just might fold up at the feet of Father Teodoro, whom he really should shoot right now.
He decided to fold.
The priest was surprisingly strong for a smallish man. He hauled the Hunter to his feet, half dragging him down the aisle past the altar and sacristy, into a little storeroom with a cot. The Hunter made a half-hearted attempt to resist, but the mattress was soft and the room was warm, easing the residual chill of the Betwixt and Between.
“Here now,” said the priest. “I keep this bed for anyone who needs it. And you surely do. Let me see that.”
He reached for the Hunter’s arm. The Hunter summoned the image of the checkered shirt, but decided it didn’t matter anymore. He let Father Teodoro peel away the bloody black sleeve of his true shirt, watching the priest’s calm face as he took stock of the wound.
“You ought to keep that door locked.” At a gesture from the priest, the Hunter extended his arm. “Didn’t your predecessor end up dead?”
“But that’s the promise of this place.” Father Teodoro pulled a little first aid kit from a shelf over the Hunter’s head. “Sanctuary for all. I can’t deny anyone that comfort.”
Snapping open the kit, he eyed the Hunter keenly.
“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers.” Collecting up antibiotics and bandages from the kit, he began to clean the cut. “For in so doing, some have unknowingly entertained angels. Hebrews Thirteen, Twelve.”
The Hunter flinched at the cold sting of antiseptic. “I’m no fucking angel.”
“Demon, then?” Father Teodoro seemed remarkably unperturbed. “I doubt that. You saved my life tonight. But I’ve heard this place is something of a, what, a nexus? A gateway? To other worlds. Are you a traveler from those places? Here, hold this.”
“Doesn’t that go against Scripture?” Obediently, the Hunter braced the bandage with his free hand while the priest pulled tape from a roll.
Father Teodoro ripped a strip of tape with his teeth and slapped it across the new bandage. “God’s everywhere, my friend. Who am I to argue with his design?” He closed the first aid kit and crossed the room to a metal cabinet by the door.
Returning with a bottle of wine and two little communion glasses, he settled himself on the folding chair beside the cot.
“Now. Tell me everything.”
The Hunter took a glass. He could always kill Father Teodoro in the morning.
In the silvery time just before dawn, Father Teodoro yawned and stood stiffly up. On the cot next to his chair, the Hunter propped himself on one elbow and peered at the empty bottle in his hand.
They’d spent the remainder of the night drinking the cheap, warm communion wine and talking of many things. Before taking his vows, Teodoro had been a soldier, running dangerous and occasionally dirty missions in the Middle East — fertile, common ground for swapping stories. He’d asked plenty of questions, and the Hunter had answered when he could. He’d even talked a bit about this mission. Except for the part where he’d have to eliminate the Father to carry it out.
And he was beginning to rethink that part. An ally is never a bad thing to have.
Once, as Teodoro was pouring another round, the Hunter began to talk about the Old Gods and their bloody past. The priest considered this. “Genesis tells us ‘there were giants in the earth in those days.’ Were they —?”
The Hunter shrugged. “Maybe.”
Now, as sunlight began to fill the storeroom’s single window, Father Teodoro gathered up the glasses.
“I’ve got to see to a few things in the church. Then I’ll sleep a bit. You should, too. I’ll bring some food in a while.”
The Hunter nodded. The effects of an unplanned plunge into the Betwixt and Between and a good whack in the head were fading, and though he was tired, cranky and a little drunk, he felt way more like himself.
Yeah, get some rest, then figure out how to make this work.
The door closed behind the priest. The Hunter waited for the click of a lock, but it never came. So he curled up under a musty blanket and surrendered to sleep.
A while later, the Hunter jerked awake to the sound of a gunshot, followed quickly by another. Springing up from the cot, he yanked open the storeroom door, the little pistol at the ready.
Pushing through the wall of tapestries behind the altar, the Hunter came to a frozen stop. At the base of the altar, Father Teodoro sprawled motionless in a pool of blood. A few feet away, a thin man in a familiar black hoodie slumped over the back of a pew. Blood pattered gently on the creamy tiles beneath.
The Hunter stepped cautiously out, pocketing the gun as he met the violet eyes of a tall woman standing in the aisle. Dressed in the black fatigues of a Runner of the Moon Road, indigo hair caught back in a messy bun, she held a bulging backpack in one hand and her own pistol in the other.
“There you are. Directorate was getting worried.”
She waved the gun hand at the hoodie wearer. “Looks like this one did your job for you.” Thoughtfully, she nudged his dangling foot. “Little shit thought he’d get me too.”
“Unfinished business. From last night,” the Hunter said, struck by an unexpected flash of regret.
“Well then.” Stepping over the body of Father Teodoro, the Directorate’s agent dropped the backpack at the Hunter’s feet. “Here’s your gear. You’ve got work to do.”
Read next: The Hunt for Lilywhite, Episode 5
Behind the Scenes:
This flashback was much longer than I expected, but it seemed important that Father Teodoro have his due. Readers of “Looking for Ivory” and “Midnight Confession” will remember Father Louis and his very unpriestlike secret life, and this story hints at even more of his sins.
Next week, it’s back to the main storyline, in which Maddalena goes sleuthing and we learn more about Lilywhite’s life as a leading influencer of the manosphere and chief recruiter of soldiers for the Old Gods. And in between, I’ll keep fleshing out the world of the Moon Road.
Till next time-
JM
It's sad Fr Teodoro died, but I'm happy The Hunter didn't do it. I find myself wondering whether he would have in the end.
Loved reading this chapter.