Blood Heir (Aurelia Ryder, #1)(24)

The woman held her hand out. “Hazel Chao. I’m the Methodist Bishop of North Georgia.”

I shook her hand. She had a firm, dry handshake. “Aurelia Ryder, knight of the Order.”

“A pleasure to meet you, although I wish it was under better circumstances. Why don’t we talk in the garden?”

I followed her through the side door, down a hallway, and through another door that led outside. We emerged into a large courtyard garden, with the cathedral directly behind us and auxiliary buildings on the three sides, each rising three stories high and topped by turrets on the corners.

“A good place to weather a siege,” I noted.

“‘The old world is dying, and the new world struggles to be born: now is the time of monsters,’” she quoted.

“And monsters necessitate castles,” I said. “Although I doubt Antonio Gramsci had our kind of monsters in mind.”

There were two translations of that quote, and as it often was, the least accurate one sounded the best.

She gave me a surprised look and smiled. “And I just showed my own bias. I didn’t expect you to be well-read.”

“My family emphasizes education. Between stabbing people, of course.”

“Of course.” She glanced at the man. “It’s okay, Gerald. I don’t believe the knight will harm me, and if she tries, I’m not sure you could stop her anyway.”

Gerald gave me a suspicious look and went inside.

The bishop and I strolled down the path. On the right bees buzzed around delicate pink flowers of mountain laurel. On the left, rhododendron bushes were ablaze with bunches of raspberry-red blossoms. Blue-eyed grass and bluestar bordered the path, offering purple and blue flowers. They must’ve had beehives somewhere on the premises.

“I will be blunt,” Bishop Chao said. “The death of Pastor Haywood was a devastating blow. On a personal level, he was one of my dearest friends. His contribution to the Church and to the people of Atlanta cannot be overstated. Whoever killed him tore a gaping hole in our city. I will help you in any way I can.”

“Thank you.”

“In seeking answers, I have a responsibility to his congregation and to the city at large. He meant a great deal to a great many people. He was beloved, yet he was murdered with such shocking violence and for unknown reasons.”

She had put a lot of emphasis on that “unknown.” Atlanta viewed Pastor Haywood as a saint. She had just warned me that if I found out any unsavory secrets that led to his murder, the responsibility for ruining the memory of the holy man would rest on my shoulders. Interesting.

I had to stay in character, so it was my turn to reach for fancy quotes. “‘For each one will bear his own load.’”

Bishop Chao glanced at me. “Galatians 6:5.”

“My load is to discover who killed Pastor Haywood. His sins, whatever they were, are his load. Your load is to deal with the consequences of his loss. Think of me as a tool. I do not take sides. It’s not up to me what people do with my findings.”

“I see,” Bishop Chao said. “Perhaps this is a conversation I should have with the Knight-Protector.”

Oh, Nick would just love that. “Perhaps.”

If Pastor Haywood had done something sordid, the blow to the Church would be devastating. Questions would be asked. Did the bishop know, and if she didn’t, why not?

Bishop Chao sighed. “So how can I help you, Knight Ryder?”

“Shortly before his death, Pastor Haywood was approached by a man about a ‘holy artifact.’”

The bishop frowned. “Really? What kind of holy artifact?”

“My source isn’t sure. They were preoccupied with cookies at the time. I do know that Pastor Haywood left in a car the next day and returned several hours later.”

“Nathan?” Bishop Chao asked. “Are you sure?”

“Why is that unusual?”

“He got carsick. He preferred to walk or ride a horse. Also, many of the people he ministered to didn’t have a vehicle. He didn’t want to set himself apart.” She smiled a sad little smile. “He really did get terrible motion sickness though. He vomited twice on the way to his own ordination. We had to coax him back onto the bus, because he declared that since Jesus walked, so would he. And that was thirty years ago.”

Magic fell. Both of us paused, adjusting to the sudden absence of power. Technology had temporarily gained the upper hand. It wouldn’t last, but meanwhile I had fewer tools at my disposal.

“So this artifact must’ve been very important to him?”

“Yes. I can’t imagine what would make him get into a car, especially with someone he didn’t know. I don’t understand why he didn’t call me. He always called me about things like that.”

“Was it common for Pastor Haywood to authenticate artifacts?”

Bishop Chao sighed again. “It happened. Nobody likes to talk about it, but holy items are a big business. Especially Christian relics. Ninety nine percent of them are fake, but that one percent can perform miracles.”

Not all miracles were benign. A few years ago, the rod of Aaron was found in Egypt. When cast down, it created an enormous unkillable serpent that devoured several dozen people before the army finally managed to drown it.

“Nathan had the gift of discernment,” the bishop continued. “But he was selective with his expertise. Five years ago, the Catholics asked him to authenticate nail clippings from a saint, because they wanted an independent expert. Unfortunately, the clippings didn’t belong to a saint. They don’t know where they came from, but they induced madness in the devout. Nathan lost three days to delirium. After that, he was very careful.”