The Kingdom Page 9

  “Yup,” Susan smiled. She had had this conversation many times, and knew where it was going.

  “But priests are supposed to be celibate, aren’t they?”

  “This order is Old Catholic, not Roman Catholic.”

  “I’ve never heard of ‘Old Catholic.’”

  “Yeah, not many people have. It’s the best-kept secret in Catholicism. But there are lots of Old Catholics around.”

  “And they’re allowed to be married? Or gay?”

  “Most of them. It depends upon the bishop. It’s a pretty chaotic movement in the States. The bishops make the rules. Some bishops are more conservative than Rome, and some are more liberal than Annie Sprinkle.”

  “Saint Annie!” Kat exclaimed.

  “Hey, I’d pray to her!” Susan announced. They had a good laugh. “Really, there are lots of different kinds of Catholics. Russian Orthodox, Greek Orthodox, Anglicans, Old Catholics, they’re all Catholic, just not Roman. And the Romans are the only Catholics in the world that require their clergy to be celibate. It’s a crazy rule, put into effect in the Middle Ages only to prevent the sons of priests from inheriting the church’s property.” The kettle began to squeal.

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “I shit you not.” Susan poured the hot water into their cups.

  Kat bobbed her teabag up and down considering this. “You keep saying, ‘them.’ So, does that mean you’re not Old Catholic?”

  “No. I’m Lutheran—cradle to grave.” She smiled. “I even did my master’s in theology at PLTS—that’s the Lutheran seminary up on the hill. That’s where Dylan and I met, actually.”

  “And the other spousal unit around here, Brian?”

  “He’s Jewish.”

  “But he lives here? He’s not a friar, is he?”

  “No. Jews don’t have friars. He’s just married to one.”

  Kat’s head swam but in a delightful, intoxicating way. “Okay, here’s what I don’t get. When I think of Christians, I don’t think of cool people who love gays and smoke doobies. I think of uptight assholes trying to hijack American politics.”

  “Yeah, so do we, actually. It’s kind of a shame.”

  “So why be Christian?”

  Susan squeezed out her teabag and set it down on the table, her face taut with careful consideration. “Okay, you’re Wiccan, right?”

  “Yeah. Although I mostly work with a Yoruban pantheon right now.”

  “Okay. Well, know any asshole Wiccans?”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  Susan laughed. “Got that right! Anyway, so what are you going to do? Just walk away and hand over your religion to the assholes? Or are you going to live it the way you think it’s supposed to be lived, even if you’re the only one doing it? If you have this beautiful thing that gives your life structure and meaning, why should you just walk away from it because some assholes are trying to hijack it? Are you going to do that?”

  “Fuck no, I’d fight like hell for it.”

  “Welcome to the front lines, babe.”

  Kat sipped at her tea and wondered at this. “Okay, so what about Jesus? I mean, okay, I can see how you can ignore all the horrible people doing all this evil shit in his name and all, but what’s so great about him?”

  “Let me tell you about Jesus—”

  Kat never thought she would ever hear those words in a way she would be receptive to, and it surprised her that she was genuinely curious about what Susan was going to say.

  “Jesus was a guy who really got it. He got that God loves everyone, no matter who they are, how much money they have—or don’t—how talented they are—or aren’t—or what wonderful or terrible things they’ve done in their lives. God loves everyone, period. And he lived in a society where everyone divided themselves by their ideas of who’s acceptable and who’s not—”

  “That sounds familiar.”

  “Yeah, except that he treated everyone the same. He sat down and ate dinner with rich people and poor people, with religious people and criminals, with high society ladies and prostitutes. And he loved every one of them, just like God does. And that changed people’s lives. The people who had been socialized to feel like nothings, he made them feel like something. The ones who felt like people should bow and scrape at their feet, he treated them as equals and pissed them off royally. In biblical language, he raised up the valleys and made the mountains low.”

  “Oh…is that what that means?”

  “The vision of Jesus is a simple one: to create the Community of God—or in traditional language, the Kingdom of God—where everyone is welcome, where none go hungry or homeless, where no one is lonely or afraid. Where there are no ‘have-nots,’ only ‘haves.’”

  “That’s a pretty rocking vision. But it’s pretty unrealistic.”

  “Sure it is, on a global scale. So, we do it in pockets. This house, to the best of our ability, is a little pocket of the Kingdom of God. If you got enough little pockets, then you can change the world. That’s what churches—or religious orders, or anywhere that people of faith try to live as if the Kingdom were already here—that’s what they are supposed to be about. Not getting people ‘saved,’ not coercing them to believe exactly like we do but embracing people just as they are and loving each other the way God loves.” She stared at her teacup for a moment. “So, yeah. We know this world is a long way from the Kingdom, from the way God wants it to be. But we believe we are faithful to the vision so long as we live as if it were already here.”

  “That’s kind of beautiful—and eccentrically quixotic!”

  Susan laughed. “It sure the hell is.”

  Kat looked down, and a reflective hush descended over the room. Susan blew on her tea and gave her the space she needed. Eventually, she cocked her head, looking at Susan through her hair with one eye. “Can I tell you something…well, kind of weird?”

  “My dear, I’ve been filling the air with weirdness for fifteen minutes. Don’t you think it’s your turn?”

  Kat smiled and looked down again. “I saw this place before I came here. I…dream things…”

  19

  When Terry got home, the others were just sitting down to lunch. His hands were shaking as he joined them and picked up his sandwich.

  “Hi, Baby,” Brian, bustling around the table, leaned in and kissed him. “You okay?”

  “I am physically unharmed, Honey, but I am not okay.”

  “What’s up, Terry?” asked Richard, taking a bite. Terry looked over at Kat. Her face was ashen, obviously desperate for news. “Your brother’s body is in the hospital, but your brother is not there.”

  Richard nodded gravely as if expecting this news.

  “But someone else is,” Terry finished.

  “What does that mean?” Kat asked.

  “Is he possessed?” asked Brian.

  “Yes, he’s possessed, but not by a demon.” Suddenly, Terry realized every eye in the place was on him. “I think there’s an angel in there.”

  “He’s possessed by an angel?” Dylan sputtered. “Is that even possible?”

  “The angel is not comfortable, and he’s certainly not there of his own free will. When I detected him, he wasn’t”—he searched for the words—“well, he wasn’t hooked up to Randall’s nervous system. So…I hooked him up.”

  Every eye was wide.

  “Was that a good idea?” asked Dylan.

  “I’m not sure, because he screamed bloody murder for about an hour.” Terry felt a little sick.

  “How do you know it’s an angel in there?” asked Richard.

  Terry pointed to the top of his head. “Purple lights. Very rare. Well, not rare for an angel, but you sure don’t see it very often.”

  Kat looked like she was about to cry. “So, he’s in pain? We have to stop it!”

  Susan reached out and grabbed her hand. “Kat, it’s not your brother in pain.” She turned to Terry. “What can we do?”

  “I disconnected it again before I left. The
doctors were not happy about the whole incident. They still want to hold him for observation.”

  “Is it—he—in any shape to communicate?” Richard asked.

  “Well, not when I left. They’d sedated him, and gave me a pretty nasty look, too, as if I’d done something to him.”

  “Well, dude, you did,” noted Dylan. Kat looked alarmed but bit her lips and kept silent.

  “How did you guys make out?” asked Susan, turning to Richard and Dylan.

  A twinkle came into Dylan’s eye. “Waal, he slipped me a little tongue, and we petted a bit,” he deadpanned. A collective groan rose from the table.

  “We actually did pretty well,” said Richard, refilling his iced tea. “We figured out what grimoire he was using—the Lesser Key of Solomon.”

  “Is that bad?” asked Kat.

  “Honey, they’re all bad,” said Terry with his mouth full.

  “And we found this—” Dylan set the cell phone on the table.

  “That’s Randall’s phone!” said Kat.

  “Yup, that’s what we figgered,” said Dylan. “Its controls are a little odd. You know how to work it?”

  “Yeah, I had one like it. I thought it was too bulky, and so I traded it in,” Kat said, examining it.

  “Good,” said Richard. “After lunch, you pull the numbers off it. We need everything you can find. Numbers in, numbers out, along with times and dates. Also, his whole phone book. Mikael on the road already? Good. Phone him with whatever addresses you can run down.”

  At first, Kat bristled at being given orders, but nobody else seemed to notice or mind. Then she got it. It was kind of like Star Trek. Under stress, the friars seemed to operate in a semi-military fashion, and Richard was like Captain Picard. He wasn’t being despotic, but someone had to call the shots or there would be chaos. She was in. “Aye-aye,” she saluted and gave him a tired smile.

  “So, what do we think is going on here?” asked Susan.

  Richard’s brow furrowed. “Dylan found a book detailing a ritual for taking a soul and putting it in another body. We’ve got a magickian with what appears to be an angel inhabiting his body, so that ritual appeared to work. And we’ve got a major Goetic working, so we know it was performed by demonic means.”

  “We’ve also know that Kat’s brother was trying to get the lay of the land in Heaven—we found a copy of Swedenborg’s Heaven and Hell opened to the description of a very specific neighborhood,” Dylan added. “So, if you want mah guess, and Ah reckon you do, what we got is an angel in a magickian’s body in the hospital, and a magickian in an angel’s body in Heaven.”

  For a moment, nobody said anything. It was simply too strange to take in all at once. “Why would Randy want to go to Heaven?” asked Kat, then realizing how that sounded, qualified it. “Well, who wouldn’t want to go to Heaven? But I mean, why work demon magick to do it?”

  “Good question, Honey,” said Terry. “Let’s say we do have a magickian who has snuck into Heaven wearing an angel’s body—what’s he up to?”

  “I think we need to see what he’s doing,” Richard said.

  “Can we do that?” asked Kat.

  “Well, call me crazy,” said Dylan, “but Ah think it has something to do with avocadas.”

  20

  Alan Dane watched the little girl closely as her mother scolded her. He couldn’t hear her words, but he recognized the rage, the hand raised in threat, the blood rising into her face. He remembered his own father’s abuse as if it were yesterday. If ever there were a child in need of rescue, this little girl was one.

  The girl looked poor, possibly Hispanic or Middle Eastern. Dane’s eyes darted from one end of the street to the other. The mother, still pontificating and gesticulating, went back inside an apartment building. The little girl sat on the steps, head in her hands, her face a hard mask determined not to cry.

  Dane’s heart went out to her. What could this sweet child have done to warrant such a response? It was criminal. He sat patiently, waiting for her to act.

  He had been on edge ever since he discovered those priests in his house attempting to subvert his justice. He normally wouldn’t need to liberate another child again, not for several weeks. But he had been so shaken by the exorcism that the itch had started early, and started big.

  He despaired that there was so little he could do. Saving one child hardly seemed worth the risk and effort when he thought about the statistics—about the millions of children every year that suffer from abuse. If only I could save them all, he thought. He shook his head and sighed. If only…

  The little girl got up and smoothed out her dress. It was olive green, accenting the color of her skin in a most appealing way, hanging almost long enough to reach her ankles. She turned and stuck her tongue out at the door of her house and began to pound defiantly down the street away from Dane’s car.

  Dane tapped on the glass separating himself from his driver. “When she gets to the corner, pull up, and keep her in sight.”

  He did enjoy the hunt, though. There was always the possibility of detection, of getting caught. It added spice to what was already a very satisfying dish.

  His cell phone rang, a sprightly reggae version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” He glanced at the screen—Sweeney. He flipped it open.

  “Dane here,” he said.

  “I got something here, Mr. Dane.”

  He had called Sweeney less than an hour after the aborted attempt to exorcise the demon from his father. He had been surprised by those priests, and he was damned if he were going to let it happen again. “What did you find?”

  “They’re real priests, all right. But they’re not Roman Catholic.” Sweeney’s voice betrayed his New York origins, rough from years of cigarettes and Giants games. “They’re called the Old Catholic Order of Saint Raphael. Even have a web page. They do exorcisms and shit for a living.”

  “Old Catholic?”

  “Yeah, some breakaway group, goes back a few hundred years, apparently. Anyhow, turns out there’s an FBI file on them, and not a little bit of dirt.”

  “An FBI file? How did you get—”

  “Mr. Dane, that is why you pay me the big bucks.”

  Alan Dane smiled grimly and watched as the little girl rounded another corner. He tapped on the glass and motioned the driver to pull up to the next corner.

  “Anything damning?”

  “Well, not legally. Not to you and me. Not to the cops. But…” Dane could almost hear an evil grin creep over the cell phone. “If you wanted to, you could probably cause these guys a shitload of trouble.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Their denomination is holding their annual meeting this weekend in Texas. If these FBI files ended up in the right hands…”

  “I think I see where you’re going with this, Sweeney. It’s payback, and I like it. Make it happen. What’s the score as far as keeping an eye on them? I don’t want any more surprises.”

  “They’re holed up in their place in Berkeley for the time being, except for the guy you referred to as Goth Boy. I got Jamison on him now.”

  “I wonder…”

  “What’s that, Mr. Dane?”

  “I’d like to talk to this Goth Boy. Think we could set that up?”

  “Ha! Nothin’ like nabbing a fella to put the fear of God into him. Yeah, I think we could arrange that.”

  “Good. Gotta go.” Dane flipped his cell phone closed and watched as the little girl walked into a park.

  “Mr. Pell,” Dane said, tapping on the glass. “Would that little girl like to help us look for our lost puppy?”

  The driver looked from side to side nervously. Dane noticed he was sweating. “I don’t know about this, Mr. Dane. I can’t do this again. I’ve had nightmares ever since…” He trailed off and made a vague whimpering sound.

  Dane closed his eyes and fought to maintain his temper. He checked to make sure all the windows were closed then spoke in as even a voice as possible. “Is the car in park, P
ell?”

  “Y-yes, sir. Yes, it is.”

  “Good.” Dane leveled the revolver at the back of the seat and pulled the trigger. He was amazed at how loud it was. He put one finger into his ear and wiggled it back and forth. Shit, he thought, that really hurt.

  He looked through the window to see Pell slumped over and unmoving. “I hate having to do things myself,” Dane said out loud to himself.

  It occurred to him that there were demons that could drive as well as humans, and they would have no qualms about his activities. Even if they did, they would have no choice in the matter. And he had to employ a new driver, anyway. Well then, a demon it was. He also realized that he could probably get them to do some of Sweeney’s surveillance work as well, and for free at that. He pursed his lips and gave a satisfied nod. Then he opened the door of the car and walked into the park, calling for his imaginary dog.

  21

  Mikael was beginning to think it was not such a bad assignment. He rolled into the Lower Haight at a leisurely pace. A scrap of paper in his lap bore a hastily scrawled address he had just received from Susan. Mornings were always chilly in San Francisco, especially in February, which he didn’t mind at all since it meant he could keep the windows up and blast a Black Flag album as loud as he wanted to with impunity to all but his future hearing.

  He followed the numbers on the buildings and realized he had another couple of blocks to go. His thoughts kept drifting to Kat, and as he played unconsciously with his long black hair, he imagined it was her fingers running through it. He was excited to discover she was Wiccan, since that was the tradition he practiced, albeit with a Christian spin, and he had found out the hard way that it was always best to date someone he could connect with spiritually.

  “Hmm, 2617…2619…there it is,” he said out loud to himself. He noticed a parking space on the street across from the target building, which was nothing short of a minor miracle in almost any part of San Francisco. He spun the wheel, completing an illegal Y turn in the middle of a business district and almost tossed a bicycle messenger in the process. “Ope…sorry, guy…” he said out loud again, completing his parallel park. He turned off the engine and surveyed the building. It was a grand but dilapidated Victorian that looked like it hadn’t been painted in fifty years. Black felt covered the windows, blocking out every possible scrap of light.