Lux (The Nocte Trilogy, #3)(63)

“It’s the Church of St. Thomas of Canterbury,” Jones tells me. “This is where Savages go.”

I know he means the family, but the irony isn’t lost on me because people seem savage to me right now, all people, particularly people who follow a God who takes away my brother.

“I’ll wait, miss,” Jones tells me, settling into the seat. I nod, and with my shoulders back, I walk straight to the doors.

Once inside, the demeanor of the church changes, from severe gothic, to lavishly decorated, firmly in line with Catholic tradition.

It feels reverent in here, holy and serene. And even if I’m not a religious person, I enjoy it.

The statues of saints and angels hanging on the walls are gilded and full of detail, including the crucifix of Christ at the front.

His face is pained, His hands and feet are bleeding.

I look away, because even still, it’s hard for me to imagine such a sacrifice, but at the same time, I can feel it. Because my brother is gone, and that’s the biggest sacrifice in the world.

“Are you here for confession, child?”

A low voice comes from behind and I turn to find a priest watching me. His eyes are kind above his white collar, and even though he doesn’t know me, this man, this priest, is kind simply to be kind.

I swallow.

“I’m not Catholic,” I tell him, trying to keep my words soft in this grand place. He smiles.

“I’ll try not to hold that against you,” he confides, and he holds his hand out. I take it, and it’s warm.

“I’m Father Thomas,” he introduces himself. “And this is my parish. Welcome.”

Even his hands are kind as he grasps mine, and I find myself instantly at ease for the first time in weeks.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

“Would you like a tour?” he suggests, and I nod.

“I’d love one.”

He doesn’t ask why I’m here or what I want, he just leads me around, pointing out this artifact and that, this architecture detail or that stained glass window. He chats with me for a long time, and makes me feel like I’m the only person in the world, and that he has no place else to be.

Finally, when he’s finished, he turns to me. “Would you like to sit?”

I do.

So he sits with me, and we’re quiet for a long time.

“My mother used to come here, I’m told,” I finally confide. “And I just wanted to feel like I’m near her.”

The priest studies me. “And do you?”

My shoulders slump. “Not really.”

“I’ve been here for a long time,” he says kindly. “I knew your mother. Laura Savage?”

I’m surprised and he laughs.

“Child, you could be her mirror image,” he chuckles. “It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

“You knew her?” I breathe, and somehow, I do feel closer to her, simply because he was.

He nods and looks toward Mary. “Laura is a beautiful soul,” he says gently. “And I can see her in your eyes.”

I swallow because of pain and the priest blinks.

“I’m so sorry. She’s with the Lord now, though. She’s at peace. Your brother is too.”

My breath leaves me. “Did you know my brother?”

Father Thomas shakes his head. “No. But I gave him the Last Rites at the hospital. And I’ll be coming to the family mausoleum this week for his funeral.”

My eyes burn and fill, and I twist and turn Finn’s medallion in my fingers.

“I cursed St. Michael,” I admit to him. “On the beach. Do you think that’s why we couldn’t save Finn?”

He’s surprised and his eyes widen. “Of course not, child. God and St. Michael knew your pain. You have to believe that. Everything happens for a reason.”

He stares at the medallion and it’s around my neck and I don’t know why I’m wearing it. I guess because it’s Finn’s.

“My mother gave it to my brother a long time ago,” I tell the priest. “But it didn’t work. It was supposed to protect him….”

Father Thomas nods. “It was Finn’s time. Keep wearing the medallion. You’ll feel close to your brother and St. Michael will protect you, Calla. You just have to trust.”

Trust.

That’s actually a bit laughable in my current circumstances.

“Let’s pray together, shall we?” he suggests, and I don’t argue because it can’t hurt.

Our voices are soft and uniform as they meld together in the sunlight,

In front of Christ on the Crucifix,

and the two Marys.

St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the Devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray, and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly hosts, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan, and all the evil spirits, who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.

“Do you believe in evil?” I whisper when we’re finished, and for some reason, my goose-bumps are back. I feel someone watching me, but when I open my eyes, Christ Himself stares at me. From his perch on the wall, his eyes are soft and forgiving while the blood drips from his feet.

“Of course,” the priest nods. “There is good in the world, and there is evil. They balance each other out, Calla.”