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Shadow Riders: Adsum
(here am I)
by Maygra

Universe: Shadow Riders (open)
Rating: R for violence

Adsum (here am I)
 

Part one:

1943, Pollutri, Italy.

"I can't promise the veracity of these translations, Josiah."

Josiah Sanchez laid a large hand lightly on the shoulder of Father Peter, feeling the boney skeleton beneath the heavy wool. The white hair he recalled from years ago was nearly gone, only wisps of it remaining above the liver-spot darkened ears. The lines on the old man's face were deeper, looking more like scars than well-earned wrinkles.

"The church wouldn't authorize any further investigation." He was apologizing still for the interruption of his life's work. Work he'd given up for decades, only to return to it once he'd been retired from his position as assistant to the Cardinal. "Blasphemy makes them nervous," Father Peter said, then crossed himself. "As it should. I fear I've been unable to resist the temptation."

"The temptation may be less of the reason you were drawn back to it, Father," Sanchez said, taking in the small apartment; a pensioner's last home: sparsely furnished, the east wall taken up with a small home altar, vigil candle flickering, even though no air seemed to move in the room.

"They've locked away or moved most of the older texts. I don't have access any longer. They fear the Germans." Father Peter led him along the narrow, book-lined hallway in the small flat.

The last room was locked. Father Peter unlocked it and crossed himself once more. It had been meant for a guest bedroom, but no bed waited for visitors, only a large desk and a single chair. The walls and nearly every inch of floor space were covered by books and journals and boxes of loose paper.

The good Father adjusted the thin frames of his glasses, staring at the shelves just behind the door before pulling down several thick volumes and laying them on the desk, frail back bowed under the weight.

Dust filled the air and Josiah resisted the urge to sneeze, rubbing at his nose. Father Peter seemed not to notice, flipping open the first of the books, the hand-written scrawl crimped to cover as much of the once-bare page as possible. Josiah leaned over his shoulder, taking in the neat lines of script, recognizing the index of items. "Your letter said you particularly wanted the conversion of the Rom -- there weren't many. Most were killed."

Josiah knew it, but he knew the interrogations had come before the slaughter. Some word, somewhere. Hitler's fascination with the occult had caused more than one raised eyebrow among the faithful and Pope Pius had hardly seemed above the fray.

Unlikely that an excommunicate like himself could gain access to what the church was trying so hard to disavow. Especially a defrocked priest who should be fifty years in the grave.

"There and there,…" Father Peter said, showing Josiah on the page where he could find the references he sought while the priest hunted for another bit of information. A fourth book joined the other three and Father Peter gestured to the chair. "The proscriptions for demons from the inquisition," he murmured and eyed Josiah with a combination of fascination and fear. "Would you like some tea?"

"I would love a cup, Father," Josiah said, offering him a smile. The priest returned it nervously and left the room.

Josiah remembered to thank him when the proffered tea was brought, and Father Peter left him once more. The man was a scholar and a gifted linguist. His interest in Josiah's pursuit of the forbidden texts was far more academic than practical. His belief in the demons oft spoken of in other legends stopped at the language and phraseology and history of the texts. Father Peter had shown no desire, nor the fortitude, to meet a demon in the flesh, it seemed, but the rare and often forbidden texts -- excised bits of the Apocrypha, Gnostic texts, and the painstakingly transcribed oral traditions of the nomadic tribes of Europe -- held an allure the old man had never attempted to deny.

Most of his work had been limited to the vast libraries of the Vatican and only one small scholarly paper had ever found its way to the secular world. The paper had been overlooked and forgotten during the spiritualist movement when so many, far more famous, people were writing and lecturing. Josiah would have missed it as well, among the news articles and books he'd read. Father Peter had never lectured and only while attending  a séance at the turn of the century had any mention been made of the Catholic scholar's work.

It had taken years for Josiah to track the man down after reading his article on the renunciation of possession as proscribed during the inquisition and in earlier Catholic and pagan rituals. Correspondence had been their primary source of communication until some twenty years ago, when Josiah managed to meet the man briefly, to discover that he was entirely an academic. He'd have pursued it then, but the First World War had erupted and he lost contact, even though he and the others had spent a good amount of time on the continent during the conflict.

And now he was back, amid another conflict, with reasons no more pressing than they had been before. Aiding the resistance offered them a lot of freedom to move, but the past year had reminded all of them of the conflict they'd seen or been part of less than 75 years ago.

They had suspected the demon they hunted was involved in the First War, but despite two forays overseas, had been unable to confirm it. There was no doubt this time around, and it had been far easier to smuggle Chris and Buck into Europe this time than the last.

But the conflict had brought forth different manifestations of the demon within Vin than any of them had seen before, and finding some more secure way of binding the devils' spawn had become urgent. Either that or they'd have to split up and get Vin back to the States until the war was over -- which would leave Akmanna free to complete his coven of daespen.

They'd yet to allow that to happen, unsure what it would mean, or how badly Vin would be affected once Akmanna had managed to spread his power and influence among his twelve disciples. The more there were, the more difficult it became for Vin to resist, and the more violent he became when his resistance failed.

There was far too much at stake for any option to remain unexplored.

Some hours later the lights flickered and Josiah looked up, seeing darkness beyond the room's single window. Distantly he could hear the guns and the impact of mortars. He stood up, feeling an ache in his limbs that spoke of having sat for far too long.

Picking up the cold tea he moved back into the hallway and found Father Peter at his altar, reedy voice murmuring prayers. Setting the cup down, Josiah knelt as well and bowed his head, letting the priest's words, familiar as his own hands, wash over him.

"Dexterae Dei digitus, virtus Spiritalis, Nos defendat, eruat ab omnibus malis.Ut nobis non noceat daemon infernalis: Protegat, et nutriat, foveat sub alis." [1]

The voice fell silent and Josiah crossed himself, lifting his head to find the rheumy grey eyes watching him.

"Have you found what you sought?"

"Some, I believe. I'll need copies."

Father Peter nodded and rose to his feet, allowing Josiah to help him up before leading the way back to the small study. His fingers lifted the pages Josiah had marked and he frowned.. "There's not much here. I had hoped… hoped I could be more help."

"You've been help enough, Father, and I've made notes of other texts to search for."

Another small nod and Father Peter straightened up. "I can have these ready for you tomorrow, if you can return?" he asked and Josiah almost protested. He'd meant to remain and do the work himself. It would take most of the evening, maybe even until dawn.

But the man looked eager, trepidation only a faint echo on the lined face. "That would be a great help, Father," Josiah said at last and reminded himself to bring a bottle of good wine and perhaps some fresh bread and cheese. He doubted the good Father's pension covered more than the basics and with the rationing in the city… a few hours of company was likely to be welcome.

Father Peter looked pleased but he dropped his gaze after a moment. "I should not ask, but I fear my curiosity has not retired as easily as the rest of me. You have seen this demon you seek to bind?" he asked.

Josiah had told him as little as possible, not so much fearing he wouldn't be believed, but to spare the Father any involvement at all. And perhaps to spare himself and his companions any threat from too many who knew too much. "I have, Father. This isn't an idle pursuit."

"I didn't think so," Father Peter said hastily. "These texts…; how you found them, and me. So few references."

"It's more than I had. Really, Father. You've been extremely helpful."

The priest nodded distractedly. "Josiah… much of what I've studied, so much of what I've read and transcribed, It has only been so much… fancy. Myths and fears from ages long past. I never thought it was more than that."

"There was no reason for you to, Father. Life is strange enough without these kinds of fears. Some are legends."

"But this is real."

Josiah took a breath and nodded. "It is."

"Would it be possible…" he hesitated, his hands shaking until he slipped them into the pockets of his sweater. "I would like to see this demon."

Josiah wasn't entirely startled by the request. It had taken courage for this quiet man to voice it. "I'm not sure that would be a good idea…"

"I am an old man, Josiah. This…, all of this," he gestured at the cramped study. "My life's work. My service to the Church. To know it was not merely a fascination, a conceit, on my part. It would… in these times when the world seems to have gone mad. It would give me meaning to contemplate before I am called home."

"I can ask, Father," Josiah said after a moment. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Father Peter nodded, then seemed to come to himself and offered his hand before walking Josiah to the door.

Beyond the door, the streets were quiet and dark in the village. Distantly, Josiah thought he could hear guns, the drone of planes, but it was more memory than any real sound or feeling. Windows were dark and there was no movement on the streets other than a thin cur and a few cats, eyes glowing bright and piercing in the darkness before slipping into the shadows, the occasional rat or mouse caught in their jaws.

Josiah walked, leaving the small center of town where the Father took his lodgings, where other modest homes and already decaying apartments loomed low on the darkened horizon. At the far east end of town, buildings lay in ruins, skeletal remains of a bombing raid months before. There had been little of interest in the village, but shows of force were always impressive. Past the stone church and its overburdened cemetery, the cobbled street gave way to dirt and gravel, nearly invisible against the fields beyond. The mountains on the horizon were hulking shadows capped with white, the chill in the air not pronounced, but enough to make Josiah burrow deeper in his coat. The nearly full moon was obscured by clouds, offering little illumination.

In a few days they'd have to move on, to a larger town, if for no other reason than to allow Chris and Buck to hunt. Pollutri was too small a town for them to do so unnoticed. They could delay for a few days, allowing the two vampires to feed from their companions, but it wouldn't hold them for long.

It was a mile or better, outside the village, where the gutted farmhouse lay. No light shone there either, the ragged edges of the west wall causing the mountains beyond to seem broken and disjointed.

There was a whisper of sound as Josiah approached and golden eyes gleamed at him in the darkness. Josiah stopped and smiled a little at the welcome bark before JD bounded up to sniff his hand, then whipped around and head toward the gutted farmhouse.

Josiah followed, stepping over rubble and down the half shattered hallways of the villa. Hidden beneath the rear portico, their hard sided transport waited, covered in blackout cloth, idle and still. He passed the truck, making his way over broken walls and furniture until he found the far more intact interior. There was light here and some warmth; a low, nearly smokeless fire in the kitchen hearth, and a table covered with supplies. "We were starting to get worried," Nathan said looking up from where Ezra was dealing cards to his companions.

"Lot of information to go through," Josiah said and poured himself a mug of wine from the bottle on the table, watching JD shake off the dew from his coat and shift, while Buck held out clothes for him. Chris was watching him as well, card hand held down and beside him, Vin eyes tracked Josiah, waiting without asking. "Not as much as I'd lik, but more than we had. I need to go back tomorrow. Father Peter is making copies of what I found."

"What did you find?" Chris asked him. "Anything we can use?"

"Some. Most was more of a 'permanent' cure. Dead free of demons was better than alive with, to the Inquisitors," Josiah said.

"Not far wrong," Vin murmured and discarded, picking up the two additional cards Ezra offered him before laying the whole hand down.

"Vin," Josiah's tone was chiding but Vin only glared at him and got up, moving restlessly. "He wants to meet you."

Chris' head jerked up. "Thought you said he wasn't interested."

"Wasn't…" Josiah said sipping at the too sharp wine. "He is now. Curiosity. Something made flesh, he thought improbable. I only said I'd ask." He met Vin's eyes, seeing the wariness there.

"He gonna throw Holy Water on me?" Vin asked, which got a snort from Chris and a hiccoughing throat clearing from Ezra.

Josiah grinned. "I don't think it's an exorcism he has in mind. But he might. 'Fraid of getting wet?"

"Something like that," Vin said, watching as Chris picked up a single card and Nathan passed, which drew a raised eyebrow from Ezra.

"Be during the day…," Josiah added.

"I can go too," JD offered, not entirely altruistically. They were all a little bored.

"You're sure it's just curiosity?" Buck asked.

Josiah thought back over it, taking Buck's question seriously. "I believe so. He's over seventy years old. I don't think wrestling the demonic hordes is what he's after. He's studied this subject his entire life -- as an academic."

Vin got up, offering Josiah his chair and his place at the game. "He gonna help if we say no?"

Inwardly Josiah winced at Vin's need for a group assent. It wasn't unusual -- it was rare any longer that Vin could or would make a decision for himself alone. Rarer still that any of them could let him. "He didn't put any conditions on it, Vin. In all honesty, I don't think you're going to be what -- or who -- he expects."

Chris' eyes flickered upward again, a small frown tugging at his lips, but he offered no opinion, only exchanged a glance with Buck.

"Sure, why not," Vin said at last, with a hint of resignation. No one argued, and JD looked excited enough to change again and go running about in joy. He didn't though. There were enough farmers around with guns who jealously guarded what stock hadn't been stolen or slaughtered.

"You don't need to stay long…. Thought I'd take him some of that bread we have, maybe a few other things. Visit for a bit, but you and JD could head back. Or maybe Ezra or Nathan can see what Pollutri has to offer."

Vin gave a distracted nod, and picked up his coat. "Gonna take a walk," he announced. He didn't wait, and after only a glance at Chris, Buck caught up his coat as well and followed Vin out into the night.

"Are you sure you can trust this priest, Josiah?" Ezra asked after a moment, dealing him into the next hand.

Josiah gave him a sour look. "You think I'd've asked if I didn't, Ezra? It's not like I'm asking Vin to spend time alone with him. Only to meet him."

"As you said, Vin is hardly likely to be what he expects… or rather, perhaps we should be asking, what Father Peter does expect?" Ezra asked, voice and body tensing up as he spoke, even while his dealing of cards was as fluid as ever. "Frothing at the mouth? Disfigurement? Maybe we should send JD and let him change into his lupine self to convince the good father what he thought fantasy is real?"

"Any particular reason this is getting you so worked up, Ezra?" Chris asked quietly, examining his cards rather than the man across the table. "Josiah asked, Vin agreed. Some risk, maybe, but not so much more as we face every day. I don’t see a problem."

"You do recall that at one point, if not currently, the church had a team of… clergy… actively hunting the possessed, the unnatural? And that the Nazi's are also hunting for weapons of the occult?"

"I don't think Father Peter is a Nazi sympathizer, Ezra," Josiah said carefully. "I doubt they know anything about him. His work was stopped some years ago."

"Then you underestimate their intelligence forces, Mr. Sanchez. And I find it odd that he was allowed to retain the materials he worked on. Don't you?"

Josiah laid his cards down. "They aren't the original texts, only copies."

"Which means what? That you doubt their accuracy? I hardly think you'd have dragged us out here, were that true."

Nathan had been watching the exchange with a frown, and JD had inched closer.

"What do you want, Ezra?" Josiah asked, the first bit of temper showing. "You asked if I trust him -- I do. If you want irrefutable proof of his trustworthiness, you're gonna have to be more specific."

Ezra fanned his cards out, studying the faces. "All I am saying is, that while your friend may well be the most benign of individuals, we are not exactly free from any threat in this lovely little vacation spot. Neither the Germans nor Akmanna may have had interest or even knowledge of Father Peter prior to this, but Akmanna is most assuredly aware of Vin's presence, if not his location. That Father Peter is no threat now, may well be true, but there is no assurance he won't be in the future. Royal Flush, gentlemen," he said, laying his cards down.

The cool green eyes met Josiah's briefly and then Chris' as Ezra rose to his feet. "I would suggest we conclude our business here as quickly as possible. Good night," he said and left them without picking up his winnings, heading for the pile of blankets and padding on the far side of the fireplace that they were using for sleeping.

Chris stared after him for a long moment, a thoughtful look on his face, before he reached into his coat pocket for a small cigar and lit it from the candle on the table. "I hate it when he's right," he said and split the winnings among them then rose and headed outside.

Josiah fingered his cards for a moment before laying them down as well, showing two pairs: Jokers and sevens.

He picked them all up and glanced at JD and Nathan. "Up for a game of rummy?"
 
 

Part two:

Before dawn, Nathan was up, taking on the task of building the fire, making coffee, slicing bread to toast it. They had a few eggs and more of the cheese that was the most readily available food they'd been able to find. They hadn't wasted money for a lot of provisions and there were times he felt guilty for what they did spend. Josiah and JD would hunt on their own for rabbits and small animals, bring back anything extra. Chris and Buck didn't need the food although they both appreciated the coffee and the wine, harder liquor if they could get it. Vin would eat pretty much anything put in front of him, cooked or raw, and Nathan often suspected that if he could change, as most of them could, he'd be out hunting with Josiah and JD every chance he got.

Nathan didn't like to hunt. He'd done it, but neither he nor Ezra would change unless it was necessary. Nathan didn't like the feeling, nor the urge that often came over him to just stay a wolf. It was certainly simpler. Both his thoughts and his needs seemed to be reduced to what JD said he liked most about being able to change: the fact that nothing but what was immediately important seemed to matter. Not past or future, just now. The ability to reason wasn't denied, it just became less of a thing to distract. Complex thoughts seemed odd and difficult.

It was just different enough for Nathan to be aware of, which led him back to the fact that they were less than human and he didn't like that at all. Having spent a good portion of his life being treated as less than human, no matter how long ago, it wasn't a state he had any desire to return to unless there was a damn good reason.

He glanced back, hearing a rustle among the blankets. He hadn't seen or heard Buck or Chris moving until now, but he could smell the sharpness of the outside on them, the chill that accompanied them. Only Buck looked over at him while Chris roused Vin from his nest of wool and the furry bulk of JD beside him. Josiah had changed as well, laying in between Nathan and Ezra for warmth. Nathan gave him a small smile, seeing the unmistakable wolf-grin on Josiah's face. Ezra was still asleep -- or seemed to be -- curled up next to Josiah's bulk.

JD only lay his head on Vin's legs, watching as Chris then Buck, took turns at drawing blood from Vin in anticipation of the day. They'd head for the cellar shortly, away from accidental exposure to the sun, and hopefully safe while the others saw to the day's business. They wouldn't feel the cold, but Nathan readied mugs, just as a matter of habit.

The coffee boiled and he poured it, sweetening one cup with a little cream and leaving the other two black. Vin accepted the sweetened cup steadily enough, his pallor familiar but still unnerving to Nathan. Buck had wrapped a blanket around him in deference of the loss of body heat Vin suffered when they bled him. A few hours and he'd be warm again, hours after that he'd be ready to shed his jacket even in the freezing weather from the heat the demon part of him generated.

Nathan had been studying the demon's habits and machinations as long as the rest of them, but maybe more closely. He felt as uncomfortable with the mystical, occult side of it as Josiah seemed fascinated. His own notebooks and diaries were filled with observations and bits of information he'd observed in watching Vin, knowing there had to be some scientific causality for how something inhuman could occupy a human body down to the blood that ran in Vin's veins.

Someday, he'd figure it out. The knowledge was out there and Nathan was hungry for it; hungry for some fragment of reason how any of this could be possible.

"Ya'll be careful today," Buck said, finishing his coffee and rising to head for the cellar. Nathan's eyes glanced toward the window they covered with a wool blanket to hide the light, but no sign of the creeping dawn showed just yet.

And Chris leaned toward Vin, blond head obscuring Nathan's view of the other man's face, but he looked away anyway, feeling disconcerted by the kiss he knew was being offered and received -- even welcomed. He might not approve of how things stood, in a physical sense, between their two vampires and their demon, but it wasn't for him to object or condemn. Not directly anyway.

Then they were gone and Vin lay back down, bundled up and cradling the mug to warm his hands. Josiah was on his feet, pulling on clothes. Whispers between Vin and JD soon had the youngest of their squad up and dressing as well.

Getting Ezra up was easier than Nathan expected, making him wonder if their resident con man had actually been asleep at all. His disapproval for the way things stood between Chris, Buck and Vin was about as obvious as Nathan's -- both of them unable to hide it entirely, but making the effort. But Nathan had never been able to figure out if it were actually disapproval for the unnatural relationship, or envy. Ezra was and could be fiercely protective of Vin, in his own cool, calculating way.

It was almost possessive in an unnerving manner had been since the San Francisco earthquake, when they'd almost found an end to this unnatural quest that satisfied none of them.

"We can move out at first light," Josiah said and they weren't far from it, divvying up the last of the coffee and the breakfast rations. Josiah packed up some of the bread and cheese and grabbed an extra bottle of wine to load into his rucksack. Vin finally emerged form the blankets to add another layer of clothes then helped JD bank and cover the fire, leaving enough warmth for Nathan.

He wouldn't go with them. They didn't even discuss it. Aside from the risk of leaving Buck and Chris unprotected and vulnerable, Nathan's skin color alone would draw more attention than they really wanted in this small Italian town.

"We should be back before nightfall at the latest," Josiah said and Nathan nodded. "Anything you need?"

"Something new to read," Nathan asked and Josiah nodded.

Nathan walked out with them, lingering in the cool early morning gloom as the four of them headed down the silent road. He'd have liked to have gone with them -- he was as bored as anyone, but they were taking enough risks as it was, lingering so long in one place. If Josiah got what he needed, they'd be moving out tonight anyway and Nathan turned his back to them, to start loading up the truck in anticipation of their return. They had every intention of heading for the coast, grabbing a freighter or some other boat to make their way north rather than trying to make it cross country.

After that, he wasn't sure. There were demons in Germany…. There were more in France, as near as Vin could tell and within a week or so, there'd probably be another, which would bring the total count to eight, including Vin.

It was seven too many. The irony of it wasn't lost on Nathan at all.
 
 

Part three:

Pollutri wasn't likely to distinguish itself on any map and why the Germans had ever taken an interest in it, Vin had no idea. It wasn't as if it were a gateway to anywhere, or even at a major crossroads. It was a small community, mostly farmers, some stock, or there had been. Now the inhabitants that were left were barely scraping by.

It reminded him rather pointedly of a dozen or so small towns in America's west when he'd first started riding -- nothing more than hope and hard work keeping folks going.

Save that Pollutri had been here before anyone but Indians had ever walked in the western part of the United States.

He tried, tried hard to see what held the people here. Once upon a time, that would be easy for him -- the land alone could be the reason, and there was nothing wrong with the vistas Pollutri had access too. The Apennines weren't that far away, the land would be rocky and green in the spring -- there would be beauty here and a timelessness that could soothe men's souls.

It didn't work so well on a man who only had a half a soul left to call his own.

It used to be he thought folks could tell. Maybe they could, some of them, people who feared him after no more than a glance, who turned their faces. If he dug back into his inconsistent memories deeply enough, though, he could remember people looking away long before he'd ever crossed the cursed path of the gypsies. He'd known then, why they looked away. More reasons, maybe. Because he was often unwashed and unkempt, looked dangerous and wild, scared the good-civilized folks in the ever growing towns he'd passed through. Some of them thought him to be half-breed and would just as soon spit on the ground before him than stand next to him in a bar. He'd been spat on for being a white Indian lover too, and curses and foul names had been hurled at him like stones. Mostly he'd just wish folks would make up their minds. Settle on a reason to hate him. He didn't care much which reason, just that having one reason seemed like it would have made life a whole lot simpler.

Well, now he had one reason, that folks might or might not sense and life really wasn't simpler. It wasn't better and he could honestly say, there probably wouldn't be much that could be worse.

And now this priest, this friend of Josiah's wanted to meet him. Meet a demon, maybe see if he was really something to fear. He was. No doubt about that when even his closest friends feared him. Maybe he could just have the priest take a look and holler out "boo!" just to see if he'd jump.

He didn't like being reminded of the circumstances of his existence. Not that he could forget, but he could pretend now and then, that this was all a dream, horrible and frightening and hopeless, but a dream.

It was his trust in Josiah that let him wake up enough to agree. Josiah wasn't likely to let him be humiliated -- not in any way that Josiah could fathom, anyway. The request itself had left Vin in no doubt he could have said no, but even on being prepared to say it, it seemed petty. Little enough to allow for a man who could help them, help him. Help his friends more than that. A bit safer, a little warning. Vin would do anything to be able to warn his companions when his nature was about to shift. He could sometimes, and the others had gotten good at noticing what signs there were but it was wearying, even on men who couldn't die, to have to be on guard all the time.

It wore him out something fierce.

The edges of Pollutri were quiet. Those people that were about looked at the four of them oddly -- strangers were rare enough to be threatening even without doing anything.

Josiah ignored them for the most part, but JD looked around like a wide eyed tourist, eager to see anything that was new and different.

Vin kept his head down, eyes on the cobbles below his feet. Reminded him of St. Louis or Boston. Most of the places he'd ever been had nothing more than dirt for roads although those were vanishing too. Concrete was the new road of choice, but it cracked so badly, Vin didn't know why anyone bothered. At least with dirt roads you could fill the ruts with more dirt and gravel. Seemed easier.

Josiah led them down one of the narrow alleys, coming up on the back of a stone building, two-stories high. There were gouges in the wall, one large enough to have been a mortar round and the street behind showed the open crater where the shell had actually struck.

The wooden door was scarred but not with bullet holes, just years of use. It creaked when opened and dust swirled along with dry leaves.

The stairwell was narrow and dark, Vin closing his eyes and tracing the wall with his fingertips as they ascended. Demon or no, he had no real liking for narrow dark spaces and he clung to that fear. At least it was his own, that sense of claustrophobia. He hated it, hated the feeling of walls closing in but it was his, his for more years than the demon held his soul. He didn't want to be cured of it.

Two doors at the top of the stairs and Josiah stopped at the left one, rapping his knuckles sharply against the wood. "Father Peter. It's Josiah. I've brought some friends," he called out.

With his eyes still closed Vin could hear movement beyond the door. JD was pressed close to his side on the small landing, familiar scent welcome and Vin found his hand rising and falling, gripping his friend's shoulder. JD only stood more firmly, letting a hand brush lightly at Vin's back in reassurance.

Behind him, he could feel Ezra's presence, rock solid and also familiar. He'd have his eyes to the stairwell, watching their backs.

The door creaked and Vin opened his yes, seeing light and smelling, not stone and wood and mold and dust, but the faint whiff of incense, and of some kind of broth or stew. Coffee, strong and dark, and the slight hint of grease from prior meals.

Father Peter was small and probably had been even when a young man. Not taller than JD and the lines of age and time lay on his face in a delicate spider web of wrinkles. Brown eyes searched over them all, lingering on Josiah first, a smile of welcome there for a brief second, then that flash of wariness that Vin felt like a slap in the face, even though the priest wasn't actually looking at him yet.

But he was looking, studying JD's young face, then Vin's and finally lingering on Ezra for a moment -- wondering, curious, fearful. Anger snapped up in Vin but he forced himself to give no sign of it. What had the priest expected? Maybe he had expected some obvious mark. Something to grab onto.

Father. Peter's confusion grew as he stepped back, admitting them. Josiah drew his attention away with the gifts of fresh bread and a bottle of wine. Father Peter remembered his manners, offering them coffee or the wine if they wanted, bringing out the bread and a small round of hard cheese and olive oil as they made places for themselves in his small sitting room.

Vin's eyes were drawn to the small altar, with its little padded bench and overlarge crucifix. Votive lamps burned -- sputtered really, the oil too poor a grade to burn cleanly -- and a rosary lay across the open prayer book. Vin found himself reaching for it, drawn to it. The beads were bone. He couldn't say how he knew it, but he did. Animal bones, not human, maybe whalebone. Tiny carved things -- little flowers. The crucifix was of metal, worn silver and nickel.

Gently he set it down, staring at the pages of the prayer book. It was as worn as the crucifix but in better shape than the tattered one Josiah carried with him.
"Vin," Josiah's voice brought his attention back and he turned, seeing the dark room in muted tones and edged with light. "Coffee?" he offered.

"Yeah, sure," Vin said, his eyes drifting to the priest again. He held the heavy pot, allowing Josiah to hold the delicate cups steady as he poured. Vin took his tiny cup with a murmur of thanks, sipping at the bitter strong brew. It burned his tongue but he said nothing.

"I have your copies," Father Peter said, sitting down on the wooden bench that served as his sofa and held a stack of papers out to Josiah, the bundle carefully tied with a crossing of twine.

"Thank you, Father," Josiah said and sat down on a chair to ease the papers into the small rucksack he'd brought his gifts in.

There was silence among the men as they sipped their coffee and Father offered up slices of bread and cheese. Ezra declined. "We've eaten, Father, thank you," he said and the priest hesitated, eyeing Ezra for a long moment.

He's trying to figure it out, Vin thought, watching the man who relaxed again when JD took the offered food, trying not to embarrass himself. It amused him, a little, and he caught Josiah looking at him.

Vin wondered if the priest would ask and then decided not, the way his gaze darted over them all, looking for some sign. He really didn't want to know -- he'd only thought he did. And Vin felt his lips curve up in a smile. "Josiah said you wanted to meet me."

Father Peter was using a knife to slice off another shaving of cheese. The gnarled fingers tightened on the blade for a moment and Vin sipped at his coffee to hide the laughter he felt bubbling up. But then the knife went down, carefully, and Father Peter rose to his feet.

One hand went to his chest and Vin needed no special senses to know there was a crucifix there too, under the wool shirt, hidden by the vest he wore. It was as automatic as breathing for this priest, to reach for the symbols of comfort and salvation.

Empty promises both, as far as Vin was concerned, but there was amazement in Father Peter's eyes, and fear. Fear in his breathing too, which became shallower, his heart thumping more quickly. "Not what you expected, Father?" he asked, his voice a low murmur and he twisted to set his cup down on the small altar behind him, picking up the prayer book and rosary and offering them both to the priest.

Father Peter stopped, taking a half step back, eyes on the offered possessions. His gaze grew wider and he lifted trembling hands to accept them. His hands were cold, Vin feeling the chill as he lay the book and beads in the priest's hands and covered them with his own. He felt the priest stiffen in fear and fascination and Vin smiled at him. "Did you think I'd avoid them, Father?" he asked, not releasing his hands.

"These… these mean nothing to you?"

"They mean everything to me, father. The promise of salvation… the shield of faith. What do they mean to you?" he asked, his thumb rubbing over the cold skin. Father Peter looked down at the soft caress.

"Vin…" Josiah's voice was soft, a warning.

Vin ignored him, meeting the priest's eyes when he lifted his head again. "They should bring you comfort, Father. Do they?"

"I… they have been my companions for many years." Father Peter gripped the book tighter, pulling back and Vin dug his fingers in, holding him there, holding his hands.

"Like God?" Vin asked. "Faith is a funny thing, Father… it needs to be tested now and then,wouldn't you agree?" he leaned in, close enough to feel the priest's stuttering breath on his face. Father Peter had been at the communion wine.

"I think God tests us all," Father Peter murmured, his lips barely moving. They were dry and chapped looking and he quickly moistened them with his tongue, his heart rate increasing as fear and anticipation quickened the blood in his veins.

Ezra gave no warning at all, but Vin felt himself jerked backward and JD and Josiah were there, flanking the priest. Vin gave a low, soft growl and turned on Ezra, ignoring the flash of alarm in the green eyes, as Vin bent his head and darted in, taking the kiss from Ezra that he'd meant to bestow upon the priest. Ezra jerked back and Vin chuckled softly as he felt the press of a gun to his belly. "Gonna shoot me, Ez? In front of the Father? Let him see me rise from the dead?"

Ezra's expression went cold and hard. "If necessary. I don't think watching the resurrection would be necessary though…, Vin!" he spoke sharply and gave Vin a little shake.

"It's all lies, Ezra," Vin said, but he didn't try to take the gun, felt no need to attack. "His God can't protect him from what he don't believe in. Isn't that right, Father?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Faith can move mountains…"

Vin closed his eyes. The priest didn't believe it, he believed in nothing save the words he'd studied for so long. Or maybe he did, but it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough.

He jerked away suddenly, the sudden burning in his veins, the roaring in his head deafening him as he struck out, knocking the book and rosary from the priest's hands, then lashing out, claws like knives extending, tearing at the muscles in his hands. He cut through cloth and flesh and heard the priest cry out as bright blood splashed across Vin's vision.

Pain ripped through his belly, tearing into his own flesh and he saw not the priest's fearful, terrified gaze but JD's shocked face as he stared at Vin then dropped his gaze downward. Vin's gaze followed his, the silver lodged in his gut sending ripples of cold through him.

Or maybe it was the sight of his hand embedded deep in JD's side, the blood already staining his clothes, dripping to the floor.

"Aw, JD," Vin murmured, the room regaining light and color from the dismal greys and shadows he'd been seeing.

They went down together and if Josiah had any care for Father Peter at all it didn't show as he shoved the priests aside to catch JD's slumping body.

And there was Ezra behind him, the strength of his arm keeping Vin from collapsing entirely as he drew back his hand, normal now, but still covered in JD's blood.

"Not your fault," JD said, whispered really, but his eyes were rolling back.

Vin reached out for him, caught the lapels of his jacket. "JD! John…" he hissed out, but Ezra was pulling him back, and he didn't have the strength to resist, his own blood soaking his shirt, hot and tacky on his skin.

He heard the priest start murmuring prayers, but not for him. Sacred words to  ward off whatever evil he'd invited into his house and then the priest cried out again. In fear and shock this time, but not from fear of Vin, but of the great wolf that suddenly lay on his floor, whimpering and whining, licking at the wound in his belly.

Josiah rose quickly, heading into the small kitchen, returning with towels and pressing them to JD's wound. JD only licked his hand.

"Hail Mary full of grace,…" Father Peter murmured, but he seemed to get stuck there, repeating Hail Mary over and over like a broken record. Hail Mary. Hail the king… heil... hell.

A hand pressed to Vin's forehead, Ezra's hand warm against his skin, but then he left him. He pulled out his flask to see to the priest, offer him the harsher spirits and pulling him up to sit on the bench.

Vin's vision grayed out again but he locked eyes with JD even as he felt himself start to fall. JD's wound was healing already, his own would take longer and he hardly cared. The floor was warmer than his skin, and the tremors that took him were familiar and almost welcome. The scrabbling of claws echoed in his ears and a wet nose nudged his hand. He found the strength and the needed emotion to dig his fingers into the soft fur.

"Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum, benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Jesus."[2] Josiah's deeper voice joined Father Peter's getting him back on track and Vin let the words sink in, knowing they'd do him no good, but he hadn't lied to the priest. There was comfort in faith. Even if it was someone else's faith.

"Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen." [3]

At the hour of our death. Vin slipped into that with the same prayer he always had. That this would be the last time.
 
 

Part four:

Hurts…hurts…hurts…aw shit! He'd known it would, but it wouldn't be fatal… not like for… for…

JD's vision blurred and darkened. Shock and blood loss robbed him of the ability to track thoughts cleanly. The pain nearly finished the job. Father Peter wouldn't survive this… and JD thought he could feel his insides sloshing around. Vin had cut him deep. Really deep.

He heard the shots but they registered far less certainly than did the shift in Vin's expression, in the sudden clarity and horror in eyes that had gone from black and alien to blue and familiar again. Aw, Vin…"Not your fault…"

"JD…, John!" Vin shook him, then held him up, then let him go, which JD appreciated because if he could pass out the pain would go away. The pain would--

"JD you have to change," Josiah's voice was sharp and harsh in his ear, his fingers digging into the wound, relighting the fire and the agony.

Change…

He hadn't forgotten exactly and once he had the thought in front of him it really didn't take much more effort to follow it through. Or usually it didn't…. "JD… Now!" Josiah again and it was easier to obey than argue.

It left him disoriented and feeling awkward. Pain… hurts… the feeling clearer but not entirely the same, the pain registering differently.

He whined a little, struggling, trying to lick at the sore place. Familiar hands smoothed his fur and pulled at the restricting cloth binding his limbs. The cloth tore and he kicked out, shedding the heavy weights on his rear paws, curling up to lick at the glistening blood on his fur. A hand got in his way and he licked that too, knowing without looking whose hand it was.

Knowing it was the same hand that had hurt him so. But it was a good hand. A familiar hand and he licked at it, tasting his own blood and the more bitter blood of the not-thing that also occupied the owner of the hand.

His muzzle was gently pushed away by bigger hands, cloth pressed to the wound. Already the agony was more memory than real, as long as he didn't move too much, and he moved his head, stretching his neck out.

Fingers carded through the fur on his jowl and he licked again. Friend. The not-thing was gone. Gone... gone… gone and JD thumped his tail a little at that.

He tried not to think, each moment the only one he needed, even though the others were moving around, voices drifting in and out. He could understand if he concentrated but it required too much effort… too much attention.

Even when Vin's hand went still and slack and was pulled away, JD remained still, denying the urge to lick as Josiah worked to clean the wounds and his fur. Clean fur was good.

Someone brought him a bowl of water and he lifted his head to drink, lapping slowly and feeling the weakness along his side, but better. Hurted still… hurted deep, but not the same.

Unfamiliar hands touched his head and he looked up. He knew the face, recognized it but it took a little more effort to pull himself back out the hazy now of instinct into the other parts of beyond now and here to recognize Father Peter. He gave a soft whuff and the priest jerked his hand back.

"It's alright, Father. Just a little hello," Josiah said calmly. "Here, give him a good scratch here."

Oh… ohhhh… JD whuffed again and closed his eyes as a hand reached out to tentatively scratch at the back of his skull between the ears. Oh, yeah… there…. The scratching became firmer, more confident and he couldn't help but twitch in pleasure.

OW….hurts! It did and he relaxed again, laying his head beside the bowl of water as the scratching became stroking.

"JD… I need to help Ezra see to Vin," Josiah said, rubbing along his rump and JD lifted his head, expanding his awareness a little more.

Vin hadn't moved, nor Ezra, apparently. Ezra was half sitting on the floor, one leg bent and Vin sprawled face down across his bent knee, there was blood soaking the floor, but it was dark and oily looking. It smelled ripe and sweet, like rotting jasmine, Ezra always said. Ezra's face was impassive, even if he couldn't be very comfortable.

Only when Josiah moved did JD makes sense of the fact that they'd left Vin like that to let his own body weight apply some pressure to the wounds. Wiser maybe, because Ezra was stiff as Josiah finally rolled Vin onto his back. The dark wool sweater was wet looking and sodden, Vin's skin the color of dirty snow. Blood had spattered across his face and along his arm and JD didn't even need to sniff to know it was his own. It had dried on Vin's face, leaving lines that looked like scratches.

JD gave a little whine, sniffing anyway as Josiah pushed Vin's sweater up and the shirt beneath. He could scent the bitter hint of burned flesh and blood, powder and something more noxious. Insides… he could smell Vin's insides.

The priest was murmuring things, and Ezra rolled his eyes at the sound of them, before struggling to his feet, working the kinks out of his back and legs.

"Father, we need hot water and towels if you have them," Josiah said, his voice calm and even as he pressed what cloths he had -- the remnants of JD's clothes -- to the wound in Vin's belly to soak up the blood flowing so freely.

"C...certainly… you can move him… into my room," he offered, then was up moving unsteadily with creaking joints. The scent of fear was fading in the room.

Ezra paused long enough to check JD as well before helping Josiah lift Vin and carry him from the parlor. JD gave half a thought to following only to decide on more water and a testing lick at his own wounds, before laying down again.

It took awhile for them to return although JD's ears pricked up at sounds of movement and the harsh edge that rode along Ezra's voice as they tended to Vin. Father Peter came back once, hesitating again at the sight of JD but only moved again to try and clean the blood from the floor.

"I'll do that, Father," Ezra said, sounding calmer, and taking the wet, bloodied cloths from his hands. "More coffee would be appreciated," he said, as much to give the priest something to do as to relieve him of the unpleasant task. Josiah was putting on his coat once more, to hide his own bloodstained shirt.

"JD," Josiah knelt beside him. "I'm going to find clothes for you, bandages for Vin. We'll wait until after dark to get Nathan."

JD didn't like that. They needed Nathan here now and he struggled to regain his feet, with some success, but it left him panting with effort and the bright flare of pain, that had grown steady but not sharp, made him shudder and whine.

"No. No… JD. You have to stay. You know Vin will be fine. We can't risk having Nathan show up here or leave Buck and Chris alone. You know that. You just rest. Regain your strength. I won't be long," he promised and JD let his hindquarters fold as much from weakness as agreement. He lifted his head though, ready to give voice to his displeasure.

"Ah! None of that!" Ezra scolded, but there was a grin twitching the corner of his mouth. "We don't need to let the rest of the town know we are here."

The howl coiling in JD's throat came out as a hacking grunt and he sniffed, bent his head to the bowl once more and drank. Josiah let him and Ezra went back to the task of trying to get as much of the congealing blood off the floor as he could.

Hoisting himself up, JD got out of the way, sniffing and following his nose. Vin wasn't far, but it hurt to walk and JD only made it as far as the small room with its single window and narrow cot. Vin was unmoving, covered in blankets, not even breathing yet. Curling up just inside the door, JD licked at his belly again before laying on his side to rest.

He lifted his head once more when the priest came, hovering in the door staring at Vin, then looking down at JD. "Josiah… he did not tell me of you," he said in a quiet voice and JD whuffed. "He says you will heal. I should thank you… for protecting me from… from that," the priest said and JD growled softly, lifting his head to look at Vin. His growl startled the priest and he backed away.

JD cleared his throat and moved again. He wanted to get on the bed, but the attempt made him hurt more so he settled for licking the cold hand laying on top of the blanket before settling down on the floor near Vin's head.

JD snorted. He was glad Vin hadn't killed the man, and he didn't like the queasy feeling in his belly, but the priest wasn't who he'd been protecting then, any more than it was now.

Protect the hope. That was what he understood. That was what kept him going. No matter what Father Peter had wanted to discover, he would never understand that and sometimes JD wasn't sure that anyone beside himself understood it either.
 
 

Part five:

Ezra dropped the blood soaked cloth into the washbowl, wiping his hands on an already stained but dryer bit of cloth. Vin was still bleeding and would for awhile, his breathing shallow and labored as blood continued to pool in his chest cavity. Ezra was certain his heart had stopped at least twice even though the blood flow had slowed considerably. But until they could get Nathan here to take the damn bullets out, it wouldn't heal properly. Not that Vin could bleed to death, exactly, but even caught half off-guard as he'd been, he'd made sure his bullets counted. Given the amount of blood Vin had lost, there was little doubt he'd hit an artery with one of the bullets.

But at least it was blood now, bright and red, instead of the darker, sometimes near black fluid that Vin could shed when the demon was most present. The damn thing could renew itself and Vin faster than the tiny lizards he'd seen in the desert could replace their tails. It was unnerving and annoying.

He glanced down at the floor, where JD lay. Occasionally an ear would twitch or he'd open one hazel eye, but mostly he slept, which was a good thing.

"More cloths," Josiah said from the doorway, offering Ezra a bundle of clean linens, then helped him lift Vin so they could pad the wounds and wrap the bandages around his middle to hold them in place.

"How's JD?" Josiah asked as Ezra eased Vin back down and pulled the thin blankets over him. His skin was cold as ice -- a good thing normally. The silver in the bullets Ezra had fired were doing their work.

"Better. He will be sore, but the gashes have closed," Ezra said. He'd checked on JD only shortly before, hoping their youngest would be well healed by the time Buck emerged. There would be a scolding, of that he was certain, but it was unlikely it would be more than show. JD had known exactly what he was doing and why. Just as Ezra had when he'd shot Vin not once but twice. Only the priest was under any illusions about who was protecting who.

Josiah unpacked some folded clothes and laid them on the end of the bed. "I'm going to make sure Father Peter is all right, then head back to the farm. Let Nathan know what's happened."

"He has been remarkably calm about this," Ezra observed. "Although, I may be unable to ever hear the Nova Vulgata again.

"I think he's in of shock still," Josiah said, raking a hand through his steel grey hair. He'd found time to wash up some and rinse out his shirt although there was still a stain that discolored the faded fabric from shoulder to mid chest, but it was less obvious what the stain was. "We may just bring the truck in and move on."

It wasn't wise to bring the truck into town, but neither was the idea of remaining here for too much longer.

JD gave a heavy sigh and got to his feet only to shudder and shake and suddenly shift before Ezra could look away. He didn't like to watch it, even though it only took seconds. He turned to look back again as JD cursed softly, Josiah helping him to stand on two feet rather than four. The nearly healed gashes on his pale skin were more livid and garish with no fur to hide them. He sat unsteadily on the end of the bed, pulling the clothes toward him.

"You might want to wait…" Josiah warned but JD shook his head, then pushed the dark bangs from his face.

"I'm only sore," he said, pressing his side tenderly. "Hope whatever you got from him was worth it, Josiah." Hazel eyes flashed, JD's mouth set firm as he reached for the clean trousers.

"You can't blame Father Peter for what's happened," Josiah said and JD's head jerked up.

"I'm not," he said, but added no more, dropping his gaze only when Josiah flushed slightly. He pulled the pants on and then the shirt, moving carefully. "Tell me you didn't cut my boots."

"No... no," Josiah said and abruptly turned and left them.

Ezra studied JD for a long moment, then moved to help him tuck his shirt in. "It's not Josiah's fault either, JD."

JD pushed his hands away. "You were right. And we should know better."

"We, or you?" Ezra asked resuming his seat by Vin's bed. A little color tinged JD's cheeks as he sat again.

"Maybe me…" he said finally. "I knew he was acting… weird. He does, you know? Churches… religious folks. It's like he's drawn to them."

Ezra gave that some thought and found his own recollections matching JD's summation. "For a demon who hates all things of faith, it would seem to be a rather odd fascination."

"I think he does it just to torture Vin," JD said. "Vin's never had nothing but respect for other people's beliefs." He sighed. "We should have known better or watched him closer. Never let him get that close."

"Maybe," Josiah said from the door, carrying JD's boots and socks. "But you need to be more cautious in your duty, JD. We aren't quite ready to lose you yet either. I thought… I was arrogant, in thinking that this, that Vin could be some kind of reward. Some kind of prize. I forgot that. It seemed such a little thing."

"Pride can be a dangerous temptation," Father Peter said from the door. "One I gave into as well. Pride, arrogance in thinking that anything I did could have an effect on one such as this."

"His name's Vin," JD said sharply.

"I meant no disrespect," Father Peter said, meeting JD's angry gaze without flinching. "My faith teaches me that such as this, such as Vin, afflicted with a possession by spirits wholly evil, should be cast out, exorcised, condemned and reviled. Destroyed when possible. There may be some wisdom in that," he said.

"Try it, and it won't be Vin who goes for you next," JD said.

"JD!" Josiah snapped.

Father Peter raised his hand in a request for peace. "I intend nothing of the sort nor," he added more softly," will I speak of what I have seen. Practical as church doctrine may be, I am both weaker and stronger for my compassion, or so I pray. What I know of your… circumstances," he said with a quick glance at Josiah, "Reminds me less of the inquisition or the crusades and more of Christ's journey to the desert. You are being sorely tested, my friends. To go so long… and with so little gain that even my poor notes seem a blessing,…" He moved into the room, Ezra moving back as the man approached Vin's body.

His muscles tensed as Father Peter reached out but it was only to leave a smear of oil on Vin's forehead, in a tiny cross, the raspy whisper of a blessing falling in and between the ragged path of Vin's breathing.

The priest stepped back and folded his hands. "Josiah tells me it will do little good, but also no harm. If ever intervention by the hand of God was needed, it is here. Liberera me, Domine, Iesu Christe, ab omnibus iniquitatis meis et universis malis, fac me tuis semper inhaerere mandatis et a te numquam separari permittas. Amen."

"Amen," Josiah echoed.

"Amen," Vin echoed, his voice an even softer whisper than Father. Peter's had been.

Ezra might have laughed at the priest's sudden need to bless himself in surprise, but he choked off the desire, feeling far more certain that it was coincidence rather than divine intervention.

"Vin!" JD said, a smile breaking over his face as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his momentary anger at the priest and Josiah, forgotten.

"Hey, kid," Vin said, reaching up to curve his fingers across JD's cheek and into his hair in the same kind of reassuring petting he'd have done if JD were a wolf. JD caught his hand and gave it a squeeze.

"You should get going," Ezra said to Josiah, glad Vin was awake but not entirely happy with his regaining strength.

Josiah only nodded. "I'll be as fast as I can," he said, biting his lip as he glanced out at the still bright wintry sky.

"Walk, Josiah, do not *run*," Ezra warned. The last thing they needed was the hue and cry of alarm if any villager saw a wolf running free.

Josiah nodded, gave Father Peter's shoulder a squeeze and left them. Ezra turned his attention back to his patient, offering Vin a drink of water. Awake or not he was still weak and a quick touch reassured Ezra that his skin was still chilled.

Vin's sudden return to the land of the living was hardly a blessing and even the simple task of lifting his arm to touch JD nearly sent him back into unconsciousness again. He coughed, which was as painful to watch as it was for Vin to experience and blood bubbled up in a froth on his lips. "Get me up," he said, trying for a deeper breath and unable to take it. Ezra moved quickly, arms encircling Vin to help him sit up, trying to prop the pillows behind him.

"These will help," Father Peter said and offered the cushions from the *prie-dieu*. Ezra set the small, hard cushions beneath the pillow and it seemed to help some. "Josiah's gone for Nathan," Ezra said, not sure how much of it Vin recalled or had heard.

"Could do… it… yourself," Vin said and even his voice sounded wet.

"I have not Mr. Jackson's finesse," Ezra said, pulling the blankets up once more.

"Not like… you're… gonna kill… me, Ez," Vin said but then closed his eyes.

Ezra said nothing, only surrendered his seat to JD. "If you have that coffee made, Father, I'd appreciate a cup. We’ll probably need more hot water, too," he said, not even waiting for the priest as he left the room.

It took little effort to find the tiny kitchen, or locate a dainty but chipped cup. Father Peter followed him and filled another pot with water which he set on the stove, adding more wood to its bulbous belly, before getting a cup of his own, then reaching high on the shelf to produce a bottle. He held it up, in offering and Ezra almost laughed. "A most welcome addition, Father," he said and held up his cup.

Whatever else, Father Peter was not stingy, and the harsh alcohol went down smoothly enough weakened by the coffee. A small table with two chairs stood along the back wall and the priest sat down, adding the whiskey to his own coffee. There was nothing but silence between them and Ezra felt the oppressiveness of it distinctly. Other than the occasional crack from the wood in the stove and the steady click of the clock in the hallway there was nothing to distract him. The shelves in the kitchen were near bare save for a few jars of preserves and a glass jar filled with precious coffee beans. There was bread and a large round of cheese on the table. Father Peter led a lean life.

"Your studies must have introduced you to many strange things," Ezra said at last, putting his back to the doorframe in case JD or Vin should call out for him. The former was more likely. If Ezra were any judge, Vin would be unable to keep up his struggle to breathe much longer. It was a particularly horrible way to die and Ezra had little problem in admitting his own cowardice in not wanting to see it unfold, yet again.

"None so strange as this," Father Peter admitted, sipping at his coffee and then adding more liquor. "I am certain, that for those whose accounts I studied, it seemed beyond belief. That presence of evil was so very much a thing to be frightened of, but it seems, in these last few years, that evil is not so easily recognized. Not so easily countered. Not so easily contained."

"Containment is a bit of a problem yes," Ezra acknowledged, with a short laugh. "I find I can't disagree with your points, Father. Our own circumstances seem to give proof to your idea that black and white are no longer the order of the day."

"And yet you persist," Father Peter said. "Why is that, Mr. Standish? This burden you carry, all of you. What reward do you seek, or are you such men that you can do nothing else? I sit here, every day, and pray, here I am, Lord. Do with me as you will. Let me be thy servant."

Ezra tilted his head toward the priest, hearing that sense of confusion, perhaps even despair. "And you wonder why, with such evil in the world, you have not been called upon?"

"Pride again, Mr. Standish. Arrogance. That perhaps I could do more, should have done more."

This was so much more Josiah's calling, Ezra was not sure what he could say, or if he should say anything. "The documents you've prepared for us may yet allow more of the containment you speak of," he offered weakly.

"Or the destruction of evil."

"No. I hardly think so," Ezra said startled. "Nor is it a viable option. Not for us."

"Because he is your friend."

"Because he is not evil," Ezra said, a little more harshly than he'd intended. Father Peter stared at him. "What is in him is evil."

"And yet they cannot be separated."

"By no means we know of, no," Ezra said, thinking over how long they had been looking for just such a solution. "And until we can find such a solution, we shall go on as we have been." Or until they lost, which by all the odds was the most likely scenario. They weren't odds Ezra liked but he saw little alternative to playing the hand they'd been dealt until it was over.

"And if you could? What of your friend then?"

Ezra didn't have an answer, not really. They had discussed it, repeatedly, over the years. Wondered what they would gain by winning, what they would lose. "Our options are… somewhat limitless," Ezra said at last.

Father Peter gave him a long look then turned away, draining his cup only to fill it again from the bottle.

"Yes, well… I'll just go check on Vin and JD, shall I?" he said and slipped away.

JD had found just enough room at the foot of the bed to curl up, although he lifted his head when Ezra entered. The mannerism was so familiar that Ezra blinked to be sure it was the man he saw and not the wolf. Vin was still as death, still in death. Ezra pulled the chair back to sit, pulling out his deck of cards to shuffle them quietly.

JD slept lightly and Ezra pulled off his own coat to cover him, getting a sleepy smile. Beyond the small room Ezra could hear their host moving about and thought perhaps he should check on the man, then denied the urge. The priest made him uncomfortable with his questions and while he'd taken Josiah's words to heart, he couldn't help but feel a little resentful that the old man's curiosity had brought them to this.

Or maybe their own. Their need for knowledge. The road to hell indeed.

He was startled to hear the front door open and close and hurried out to see if it were Josiah returning -- it seemed too quick. But Josiah was nowhere to be seen.

Neither was Father Peter.

"Damn…" Ezra said softly, his sense of unease rising as he went to check on his charges. "JD…" he gave the young man a shake.

"Wha--?"

"Get your boots on," Ezra said and leaned over to check on Vin. Breathing but not really with them, every inhale producing a rattle of sound. "Father Peter has left us on our own."

JD looked more alert, pulling on socks and boots with a wince of pain. "Where would he go?"

"I have no idea, nor do I wish to spend time speculating on it."

"Are we leaving?"

"Just as quickly as we can," Ezra affirmed, lifting Vin up to pull his stained and torn sweater over his head.

"I could change."

"No. It's still daylight, people will be out on the streets. Check the hallway…"

JD moved and Ezra studied Vin again. There was no way to do this without causing him pain or making him worse. "Well, my friend, as you say -- it's not like I'm going to kill you," he murmured with black humor and got his shoulder wedged against Vin's midsection to lift. Almost immediately he felt the warmth of blood soak into his shoulder, a pitiful groan escaping Vin's lips.

It took some maneuvering to get through the narrow confines of the apartment, to where JD waited, looking uncertain but resolute. "Take my gun," Ezra said, shifting enough for JD to clear the weapon from his holster.

"You gonna carry him all the way back?"

Ezra gave a little shrug to resettle Vin more securely and let out a grunt. "I shall endeavor to carry Mr. Tanner as far as I am able -- which I hope will be somewhat safer than here."

"The others won't know where to find us."

"We shall look for them, but later. Go, JD," Ezra urged and JD went, trotting down the stairway while Ezra took a little more time lest he end up tumbling both he and Vin down the narrow decline.

"Where are we going?" JD asked, glancing down the alley. The cul de sac of the alley extended not more than a hundred yards to their left, a single door there and one across from them. To their right it opened onto a street and beyond that they had a choice to either go further into the village or away toward the edges of town.

"Toward the main road. There was… if I recall, a damaged building at the edge of town." The far side of town, but come dark, when Josiah returned with help and found them gone he would either track them, or Chris and Buck would. Ezra wasn't worried about being found as much as being found too soon.

The alleyway was not much wider than the stairwell had been and when JD stopped abruptly Ezra found himself having to twist so as not to scrape Vin's head against the wall.

Father Peter was there, bundled against the chill, but Ezra was far less worried about the old man's exposure to the weather than he was concerned about what he held -- an open petrol can and the burning end of a crude torch.

He looked as startled as Ezra felt, but the sheer calm of inevitability seemed to overcome them both at the same time.

JD must have felt it too because he lifted the gun with no hesitation. "Back away, Father. We’'re leaving."

"There is enough evil in the world…" Father Peter said. "I will not let more continue to infect us," he said, his voice no more steady than his hands as he hurled the can, even as JD fired. The old man staggered and went to his knees, blood staining his chest. The can missed them but it was close enough and the alley narrow enough for the escaping fuel to spatter them and the ground.

Ezra could see what would happen even as the priest fell forward. He grabbed JD's shoulder pulling him backward as the falling torch ignited the petrol. It flared brightly and spread quickly, licking at the wood and stone of the building.

"It will burn itself out," Ezra said, drawing them back still further, praying it would be so as the flames licked at the priest's body.

The old paint of a window shutter caught and smoldered but the bulk of the building was stone, the black smoke drawn out of the alleyway. It would draw attention, Ezra knew, and soon. "JD.…"

"Not leaving, Ezra," JD said, checking the rounds in the gun.

"We need to let--"

"I'm not leaving," JD said again, staring at him. There was sorrow in the brown eyes, but his expression was firm. "You want to get the others… you change. You'd be able to run faster anyway."

"You can't carry, Vin," Ezra snapped, and glanced at where the smoke billowed, only to see Father Peter move feebly. "Damn…" he said and shifted to ease Vin down to the ground. "Keep watch…" he said and pushed forward, ducking under the smoke and the flames to grab the priest's arm and pull him free of the pooled and burning oil, to rest next to Vin.

The priest's coat still burned and Ezra pulled off his own to put out the flames, then rolled the man to his back. JD's shot had taken him high in the shoulder and the bullet gone all the way through. Not immediately fatal but bleeding badly and Ezra used the man's scarf to press against the wound. He could hear shouts raised in alarm, glancing over at where JD crouched at Vin's side. "You old fool," Ezra muttered to the man, pressing hard on the wound.

JD hovered, keeping one eye on Vin and the priest and the other on the alleyway. Already the flames were starting to die, using up the fuel quickly.

The first of the villagers arrived, shouting in alarm at the fire. Ezra could pick out about one word in four, not sure how he would talk them out of this and wondering if he'd have to. If the priest told them what he'd been doing, they'd be more likely to think him mad. He started to get to his feet as the first approached, only to have his arm snagged by the priest.

Pain clouded the wide eyes, his grip weak and Ezra folded his hand over the man's and pulled it free. "JD, hide the gun and keep pressure on that," Ezra said and got to his feet, coming forward. His command of Italian was not extensive. Enough to ask directions, to ask simple directions and understand most of what was said, but not at the rapid pace the startled villagers were speaking. "I miei amici, i miei amici, si calmano prego giù. Parli lentamente."[4]  He said holding his hands wide, begging them to slow down. "Abbiamo bisogno di un medico. È ci un medico?" [5]

One of the men ran off, hopefully to find the requested doctor and other men were already starting to beat at the fire that still burned the wooden shutters. Explaining the fire, the priest's wounds… none of it would be easy, but Vin was shot as well and he tried to think of how to misdirect, to say they had been attacked.

At least no one was rushing them, grabbing at them. The last thing they needed was a brawl and Ezra found himself gazing toward the darkening sky, wishing Josiah would hurry. The fire burned down enough for two of the men to push past, Ezra backing up with them.

"Il padre Peter, che cosa è accaduto?"[6]  one of the men asked, pulling JD's hand away to find the gunshot wound. "Che cosa avete fatto? Che cosa è accaduto?" [7]   he demanded, pushing JD away, as the other man checked Vin.

Ezra tried to explain, but the questions came too fast and the first man, face reddened and angry looking, got up, shouting at Ezra and finally shoving him into the wall.

It would turn into a brawl after all, Ezra thought blocking a blow aimed at him and shoving the man backwards, only to nearly fall over Vin.

And stare, even as he was pulled back.

Vin was bleeding again, but it was black, the dark liquid flowing from the wound, easing through the fibers of his sweater, spreading along the ground to rise and flow over Father Peter's arm and up over his coat…

He felt the blow and barely managed to protect his face. "JD, get them apart!" he snapped out and shoved back, came up swinging. He found his arms caught and a meaty fist hitting his stomach, scrabbling backward, and heard JD shout.

And a gun shot.

Ezra wrenched away, scrabbling forward to help JD where the youth stood, trying to pull Vin away with one hand and leveling the gun with the other. The suppuration was faster now, Vin's skin pale and fragile looking, like dusty paper.

Ezra heaved and pulled, dragging Vin backward and JD fired again, keeping the men back. The oily liquid stretched like melting rubber, smelling far more foul, until it snapped and parted.

Ezra recognized the screeching whine for what it was, swearing when Father Peter suddenly sat up, moving with far more agility than a man of his age and injury should. "Sciocchi!" the priest hissed. "Pietosi, sciocchi gementi!  Fools!" [8] He lunged for the big man who had struck Ezra. There was no startling change of features as with Vin when fully possessed, but fingernails could do their own damage. Strength the old man should not have had drove the man's face into the alley wall again and again, under the protests of the others, who tried to restrain him, only to be tossed off.

Ezra had blood in his eyes and mouth, and raw fear in his throat as he reached to pull the gun from JD's hand and fired it, twice. Either the impact or the silver coating on the bullets made the priest jerk back, his victim slipping to the ground, barely conscious.

He turned, mouth gaping open, black blood on his lips and hands, eyes dark with no white showing. Blood dripped from his wounds, then streamed, oily and viscous as he staggered toward Ezra.

Ezra was pretty sure he heard people praying and more shouting. Beside him JD was crouching, preparing to change, witnesses or no witnesses, but he paid little attention, his attention fully on the priest. He thought he heard a car horn and blinked to clear the blood from his eyes.

The priest swayed, his eyes returning to their natural color, shock on his face, and horror. He dropped to his knees, and Ezra dropped his aim to follow, holding the gun there even when Father Peter fell forward onto the cobbles.

Beyond him, the villagers stood, still shocked, fear on their faces, a few of them making the sign of the cross. Their murmuring rose and fell with every breath Ezra took. He didn't notice the darkness closing in around them, narrowing his field of vision.

Suddenly, very suddenly, Chris was there, right in front of him, pale cool hand closing over his wrist to pull the gun free. "Ezra… put it down."

Ezra looked up, startled. Buck and Nathan pushed past them to get to Vin, while Josiah knelt by Father Peter.

"Josiah, Vin… part of Vin," JD said, uneasily. "It's in him. It was." He leaned back against the wall, his face rivaling Vin's in its lack of color.

Chris' sharp breath made Ezra turn, to stare down at where Nathan tended Vin. "Still breathing," Nathan said. "Barely, but…" he shrugged and then helped Buck awkwardly get his arms under the limp body.

"Get in the truck. Josiah, bring him...…we'll have to watch him." Chris offered a handkerchief to Ezra and he pressed it to the gash over his eye, and headed for the truck. The villagers parted like the Red Sea… then backed away. No one moved to stop them, not even when Josiah carried Father Peter's body out of the alley, speaking softly.

And Ezra found himself murmuring the all too familiar refrains of the Nova Vulgata.

"Lead me, O Lord, in Thy ways, and I will walk in Thy truth, make my heart simple, that it may fear Thy Name. I will praise Thee, O Lord my God, with my whole heart, and I will glorify Thy name for ever. For Thy great mercy is upon me, and Thou hast delivered my soul from the underworld."  [9]

Part six:

Chris drove them out of town, not slowing even when a few of the villagers finally came to their senses and shouted at them to stop. He wasn't too worried about it. There was little in the way of law enforcement -- a small council of elders, maybe a mayor. It wasn't likely anyone would follow.

He glanced at Ezra who had been silent so far. He didn't look as wide-eyed scared as JD had, but he was acting just as shocky. He reached past him to retrieve the map from the glove-box and drew back quickly, the scent of fresh blood bright and sharp in his nostrils. A glance out the window showed the moon near full, waiting on only the barest sliver to complete the orb.

He and Buck were already close to the end of the window they could claim, when hunger would make them no more rational than Vin. They had hoped to move on to Pescara, where the population was larger and less likely to miss one or two of its less savory denizens. Another day, perhaps, able to stave off the drive to feed with Vin -- only that looked like a bad idea at this point.
Maybe even impossible.

He needed the map only as a reference, heading south out of the village, following the Sangro for a ways before peeling off the main road and taking a meandering dirt track until he reached a bridge covering the river that provided most of Pollutri's water. The bridge itself was hundreds of years old, high and arched in anticipation of spring floods from the Apennines. High enough and the water low enough for him to be able to hide the truck nearly entirely, backing it up under the stone arch. He'd have rather found better shelter, but he didn't plan to stay long.

He had half a mind to leave the others here while he and Buck went back to the village. They might yet. They'd wanted a bigger town, with more people. Pollutri was small, and most of the folks there good-hearted, despite the near-mob they'd found cornering Ezra, JD and Vin. He told himself that over and over.

It wasn't actually helping much.

Buck got out first, laying out supplies to build a fire. Nathan was in the truck fussing over Vin, pulling his scant supplies close. There wasn't enough light inside the truck for him to do what he needed to do.

"The priest first, " Chris said, grabbing the man under the arms to pull him from the truck.

"He's dead, Chris," Nathan said, one hand resting over Vin's chest, the bandages pulled back and the dark discoloration still flowing.

"Let's make sure of it, okay?" Chris said and got Father Peter's body out and on the ground with no assistance. He wasn't unnecessarily cruel or careless, but if the man was dead, he wouldn't feel the rough handling. And if he wasn't quite dead… well, he soon would be and it wouldn't matter.

Nathan looked near mutiny, but he grabbed his bag and jumped out and JD moved to take his place at Vin's side. Josiah moved as well, climbing out heavily, the first signs of grief starting to show on the weathered face.

Chris jumped back up into the truck, doing his own examination of Vin, fingers brushing lightly over the pale cheeks and lips, where only the merest hint of breath steamed the air. He glanced at JD, taking in the dark eyes. JD had gained some color. "What happened... in the alley," he asked quietly, not looking up when Buck joined him, sitting on the open tailgate, one hand resting easily on JD's shoulder as he spoke.

"I spoke to him in the kitchen, shortly before," Ezra said. He finally wandered back near the end of JD's tale, looking far more himself despite the scabbing wound on his forehead. "He was feeling rather impotent, powerless. I understand the feeling," he added quietly. "'Adsum, Domine… Sancti nominis tui, Domine,' Here am I, Lord. Bestow upon us, O Lord…' I don’t think this is what he had in mind."

"You're sure, both of you, that… the thing in Vin got into him?" Chris asked, glancing to where Nathan was removing the bullets from Father Peter's body, Josiah kneeling beside him, helping, but praying too if Chris knew him at all.

"Very sure…" Ezra said. "He didn't change...JD and I managed to pull Vin sufficiently far away before the demon could escape him entirely. It seemed to be enough, though."

"That's never happened before," JD said. "It trying to leave Vin like that… I mean, he'll heal, right? He always heals. Why would it leave him? Why would it try?" he asked. Buck shifted his arm, wrapping it around JD's shoulder to pull him closer.

"I don't know. Opportunity maybe," Buck said but his eyes were on Chris.

Opportunity... or necessity. Chris didn't know. They'd never seen a daespen shift so unless its host was damaged beyond repair, usually because one of them had taken its damn head off.

"Done," Nathan called out, rising to his feet. Father Peter's boney chest was exposed, the wounds wider from the removal of the bullets than they had been on going in. He wasn't bleeding though, his skin taking on a faintly blue-grey hue in the flickering firelight. "Can I see to Vin, now?" he asked.

"Yeah," Chris said and jumped out of the truck, pulling Vin into his arms to carry him to Nathan's makeshift surgery. He got little more than a breathy moan as he moved him, and it worried him. Even with the bullets in him, he should be healing better than this.

"Josiah," Chris said and the big man looked up. "Tie up your friend, dead or not. Watch him."

"And then what?" Josiah said. "We should finish it now." He sounded resigned to it.

"Because we need to know," Ezra said, backing up Chris' order with a cold tone. "If he's really dead and it's gone… it won't make any difference. If he's not, we need to be able to ask him why."

"You think he'd tell us?" Buck asked.

"I think these damn demons will promise just about anything to keep their physical forms," Chris spat out.

"It may already be too late," Josiah said but he found rope. "God forgive me, if we've damned his soul to wander in asking for his help."

"It wasn't us who'd have damned him, Josiah," JD said, but he didn't sound so certain.

Chris wasn't certain either. Was it possible to have a partial possession? Unless Father Peter's ghost rose up to haunt them, he didn't know if they could ever be sure.

"Bullet's fractured," Nathan said and Chris was suddenly there. Vin wasn't moving, wasn't breathing, which Chris could only think of as a good thing. Nathan had already pulled out some fragments, rinsing them in a tin cup of water so they could recover the silver. The small shards glinted dully. There were bits of bone too, as near as Chris could tell, and on oily residue had settled on the surface of the water. "I don't think I can get them all, not without an x-ray," he said, even as his hands continued their steady work.

Chris backed away a little, the blood-scent almost overwhelming. Not so fresh, not warm, and thank whatever was passing for God these days it was so. Buck's hand descended on his shoulder, solid and firm, pulling him back a bit, away from the blood scent. He was feeling the urge too. It wasn't enough though.

"We'll have to go back," he said quietly.

"I know…" Buck said and didn't sound happy about it. Being able to choose their meals, their victims, from among the worst of mankind was a balm of sorts. It still set them up as judge, jury and executioner, and Chris didn't really have a problem with it -- but having the choice at all; that was important to both of them. Or Chris convinced himself it was.

A choking gasp jerked his attention back; that and Nathan's curse.

"Son of a bitch has the worst timing," Chris said softly, harshly, and pulled away from Buck, clamping down on his own urges ferociously as he knelt by Vin's head.

Fresh blood welled into the wounds, red and nearly pure, so strong Chris salivated at the smell of it, but his hands went to Vin's head, holding the weakly tossing man still. Josiah held him as well, to keep his hands and arms from interfering with Nathan's work.

"Just a bit more, Vin…," Nathan said, rich voice low and soothing but he was working faster, scalpels and forceps and fingers probing the open wounds deeply, trying to find the shards of bullet and bone by touch alone. He must have cleared enough of it though because Vin was healing, scrapes and bruises fading, the blood welling faster, and it was all Chris could do not to lean over and lick it away rather than let Nathan's sponges and gauze soak it up.

Vin bucked weakly as Nathan's probing instruments nudged nerves or particularly sensitive tissue; a half scream, half curse escaping him. The demon in him might heal him but it didn't do shit as anesthesia. Nathan's face was set grimly as he twisted the thin forceps to try and dislodge whatever fragment he'd found.

Blood spurted as Nathan pulled and Chris felt the growl build in his throat, tongue nervously tracing over the suddenly sharp tips of his canines. Hands pulled him back and he snarled, turned to lash out, only to find Ezra and Josiah between he and Vin, Josiah holding the heavy quarreled crossbow from the back of the truck, and Ezra 's grip on the well-honed machete just as firm. "Go," Josiah said. "Go now… Buck…"

"Going," Buck said and jerked Chris back, away from their friends. Chris wanted to fight back, but Buck's grip was strong. "Let's go stud… take care of business," he urged pulling him back firmly toward the truck where the river and mud and the scent of burned motor oil masked the blood somewhat.

"Buck…...Chris…...if you can, …Father Peter's papers," Josiah said, walking with them but keeping his distance. "Take what you can, destroy the rest. Ezra was right. What we wanted, the Nazi's might have use for also."

Chris heard the request but it was Buck who answered it, shoving Chris into the truck and climbing in after him. They pulled out, Chris staring into the side mirror where Josiah stood sentinel.

The roar of the engine as Buck accelerated washed out the sound, but Chris was sure he could still hear Vin screaming, if only in his head.

Part seven:

Chris and Buck made it back before dawn, but just barely, with only enough time to get the truck back in place. They both looked better, flushed and normal looking from their feeding. Boxes and boxes of papers were packed into the back of the truck, but even at a glance, Josiah knew it wasn't all of them. Not nearly enough.

They'd both checked on Vin, to find him better: breathing at least, but still weak. Still not entirely healed and Nathan was certain it was because there were bits of silver scattered all through Vin's system, enough to keep the demon busy and somewhat subdued. What properties in the silver made it such a problem for the demon spawn, they still didn't know, but the Gypsies had told them it was effective, and thus far they hadn't been proven wrong. The blood of the world, they called it, and since Akmanna and his ilk weren't of the world, it was poison to them. It was as good an explanation as any.

Ezra had theorized that it was the fragments of silver that had forced Vin's demon to seek another host. It gave them all something to think about. It was certainly working to keep Vin quiet so far. Quiet and sick and weak as a newborn, like he had influenza or blood poisoning. They’'d built up the fire, covered him with blankets, but he was lucid and in his right mind. For Vin, the trade off seemed to be worth it for now.

As dawn breached the sky, Josiah could see the smoke far off. What Chris and Buck hadn't been able to salvage they had destroyed. Now they lay safe, more or less, in the back of the truck, beneath layers and layers of heavy dark canvas, their friends standing guard. JD had felt well enough later to change again and in the dim light had scouted ahead to make sure they wouldn't run into anyone that might threaten either their sleeping vampires or try to stop them. Nathan was already packing up, ready to move on. They'd need to find a city with a modern hospital, an x-ray, to locate the final bits of silver still inside Vin. That meant heading west toward Rome or Naples. A longer trip but they could perhaps help Vin more and catch a freighter, north.

Josiah went back to digging.

He’'d picked a spot, above what he thought was the flood line, a grove of trees not far away, and facing east where the sun would rise over the Adriatic. Nathan had offered to help but Josiah took the task on himself. It was only right that having brought this upon Father Peter, if not them all, he should take on the task of burying their failure. His failure.

They'’d watch the priest all night and into the morning, but there was no sign that anything lingered in the now stiffening corpse. Nothing of the gifted mind Josiah had come to know, no spirit left in the frail, ancient body. They’d take no chances though, and Josiah would be the one to sever the old man’s head from his body, to ensure that anything that might still linger could survive. They'’d burn the body as well, then cover the remains.

The one thing Josiah could not be sure of even now, was that Father Peter’'s soul had actually found release into the promise Josiah was sure the old man deserved. He'’d seen no shade of the old man, heard no voices in the night to indicate the mere touch of the demon had barred the priest forever from the rest of the eternal.

He'’d asked Vin at dawn, the one among them most sensitive to the movements between this world and the next. They could all feel it at times, across battlefields, both ancient and new, the bloodlines gifted them by the gypsies linking them through time as well as the physical manifestations that blood carried. Hearing the voices of the damned was never a sure thing: a whisper among dead trees, a moan of wind across an open field. Josiah wasn’t sure he could say how or why he knew when the dead called out and when imagination merely lent substance to desolate places.

Vin had sensed nothing, but there was no real reason to think he could in his weakened state, when he was more human than not. It was a fine and dangerous line between being himself and being just enough under the daespen’'s influence to be of use to them.

The grave was deep enough and Josiah drove the shovel into the piled dirt and headed back to their camp.

Ezra had Vin now, more or less, Vin leaning against him as he sat up and drank the broth and coffee Nathan had prepared. He was chewing on a piece of bread, soaking it in the broth. He looked both horrible and wonderful: pale, face and skin shadowed with pain, but the blue eyes were clear, the faint smile having no trace of a leer or vicious laughter.

Josiah found a blanket and maneuvered the priest'’s body onto it. He added a can of petrol and the machete. Nathan stepped up to grip the opposite edge of the blanket and help carry the package.

"“I can manage, Nate,"” Josiah said.

“’"Course you can,”" Nathan said and lifted his chin. “"Let’'s get going.”" His expression was set. He wouldn’t be dissuaded from helping.

Ezra helped Vin up and JD was there as well, the two of them supporting Vin'’s unsteady steps.

"“I think it’s safe enough, Vin,"” Josiah said, dismay tingeing his voice. Distasteful as it may be, taking Father Peter'’s head off was well within his physical prowess.

"“Misjudged this enough, don'’t you think?”" Vin said softly, the resolution in his eyes mirrored in Ezra and JD'’s. "“We’re not taking chances with something we ain’t never seen before.”"

It was a somber and small procession, JD stripping down and changing before Nathan and Josiah caught up with them. He stood up, shaking his fur out and locking his legs, giving Vin something to lean on, to hang onto.

They settled Father Peter's body as close to the grave as they could, Nathan retrieving the machete to hand to Vin who used the long length as a temporary cane, until the others could change as well.

Josiah went last, Vin looking like a stiff breeze would knock him over. Josiah still thought they were safe enough -- the demon was gone. Vin met his eyes and his grip tightened on the blade handle. They were taking no chances -- especially now, in the daylight when Buck and Chris were unavailable to them.

Josiah dropped his gaze, shed his trousers and changed.

It took Vin two tries to completely sever the head from the body. There was no spurting of blood and no demonic phantom emerged from the mutilated corpse. The head only rolled a few inches away, and Vin sank to his knees, once more using the blade as a brace, resting both hands and his forehead on it.

It was a good thing, Josiah supposed. It was, after all, only a body. Father Peter'’s spirit had fled. Whether to an afterlife or to wander the rift between the worlds, he didn'’t know still. He might never know.

He pulled his pants back on and dragged the body, blanket and all, into the grave, folding the ends of the wool over the remains before liberally dowsing the body with petrol. Ezra’'s lighter and a bit of fuel soaked rag was torch enough, and Josiah stepped back as the flames leapt high. There was no screaming or shrieking, no tortured sounds, just the hiss and pop of the fire. He added fuel, a bit of wood, until the pyre marked the sky with dark smoke.

It was JD who stayed with him, letting Nathan and Ezra take Vin back. They sat with their backs to the grove, their eyes on the river, waiting for the fire to die out. Josiah had no expectation there would be anything left but charred flesh. He'’d have had to build a far bigger pyre. But the daespen, their bodies sapped of mortal life by the influence of Akmanna, they burned like dry tinder, leaving little behind.

The dirt smothered the last of the smoldering remains and Josiah paused long enough to drop Father Peter'’s crucifix into his grave. "“I pray you are at peace, Father,"” he murmured, and finished his task whispering a prayer for the dead.

He smoothed the mound of dirt when he was done and pulled out his own crucifix, wrapping the beads around his hand and cupping the tiny cross in his palms.

“"Receive my confession, o most compassionate and clement Lord Jesus Christ, my soul's only hope of salvation. Grant me, I beseech Thee, contrition of heart and tears for my eyes, so that I may weep day and night with humility and purity of heart for all my shortcomings."” The words were far too familiar and he said them too often, or maybe not often enough. He was as sincere as he could be in his contrition but it did little to ease heart or mind.

He finished, crossing himself and laying a hand on the dirt. "“I am sorry, my friend, and I do thank you for what you'’ve given, not just today, but over the years. Rest in peace,”" he said and got up.

The others had the truck loaded, the fire out, although Nathan had saved him a cup of coffee and a hard biscuit. Vin was already lying down on a pallet of blankets. He looked to be asleep and Josiah didn’t disturb him, eyes skimming over the two man-sized lumps in the darkest part of the truck’s depths. Nathan pressed the keys to the truck into Josiah’s hand. "“I'’m gonna keep an eye on Vin," he said and JD followed him when he climbed into the back, pulling down and securing the canvas flaps.

Ezra was already in the passenger seat. He'’d changed clothes, and a fresh but smaller bandage was on his forehead. One of Father Peter’'s manuscripts was open in his lap. The text looked to be in French.

"“I didn'’t think you’d mind,”" he said, only barely looking up. “"At least this one I can read.”"

“"No, I don’t mind. Salvaging something out of this would..."” Josiah began then fell silent, opting instead to start the engine and pull the truck back up the bank and onto the road.

“"Preferable to writing it all off as a loss?"” Ezra asked.

“"No… salvaging something would make me feel less guilty, only I don’t actually think it will. I was wrong, Ezra. You were right.”"

“"I know I was,”" Ezra said quietly. "“And I can truly say in this instance, I regret it. He seemed like a decent sort.”"

Josiah nodded. “"He was… I should have stayed.”"

“"Hindsight, Josiah.… There'’s no saying that it would have turned out any differently. People have an odd reaction to confronting evil, or hadn’t you noticed?”"

“"I keep forgetting that our particular brand of evil has little respect for anything or any faith beyond its own needs. I thought he was more scared than inspired.”"

Ezra set the book face down in his lap. “"And he faced that fear, Josiah. There are few men with that kind of courage. I don'’t have to agree with his intentions to recognize it. Perhaps having confronted his own weaknesses, he actually will find peace now.”"

"“Weakness? Is that what he said?”"

"“Not in so many words, no. But he said he wanted to be called upon, Josiah. That he hadn’t been, perhaps he saw that as a weakness, a flaw in his faith. One he set to rectify.”"

"“He nearly succeeded,"” Josiah said, feeling a little bitter. Questioning God'’s will was something he did routinely. It was why he’'d been cast out of the church to begin with. His own weakness, perhaps. Arrogance. “"In ways I don’t think he anticipated. If the daespen had managed to overtake him…...I don’t even want to think about it.”"

"“I have done little but think about it,”" Ezra admitted after a moment, closing his eyes briefly. “"Trust me when I say, I won'’t let you endanger Vin -- or us -- so recklessly again. I forewarn you so that when I throw this up in your face at some unseen point in the future, you won’t be caught off guard.”"

The threat was real, but even so, Josiah had to grin a little. "“I consider myself warned. I wasn'’t actually thinking of Vin, just then--“"

“"No, you weren’t,"” Ezra said and Josiah glanced at him, hearing the edge of anger in Ezra's voice even though his companion's face remained calm. "“And you should, Josiah. Think very carefully about what would have happened had the demon managed to over take Father Peter and left Vin behind.”"

Josaih jerked his head back slightly and framed the questions in his mind in just that way. "“Oh… Oh, good Lord,”" he said after a moment.

“"Just so. No matter our individual reasons for remaining together, take Vin out of the equation and we will have little reason to remain. Flawed an analogy as it may be, he is the soul of our group, even without one of his own. Or only part of one."” Ezra flipped the book over again and Josiah didn’t question him on his words immediately, only gave them the scrutiny they deserved.

He hadn’t really given it much thought, distracted by all the rest; predominately the fear of Vin killing the priest. He had given a great deal of thought of having faced the loss of a good man -- a good friend -- to his own carelessness. It wasn’t just that Vin was their only method of finding Akmanna, or that they all had true compassion for his situation and not only because he had been a trusted friend. He was a good man, or had been, and his circumstances were no more fair than those that had led to Father Peter'’s death.

And without him? So much of what they did and the paths they followed had to do with trying to find a way to resolve Vin'’s possession without losing his soul entirely and Josiah had nearly forgotten about losing the man himself. If they’d lost Ezra or JD? He wasn’t sure Even Chris and Buck could find a way to keep Vin from seeking an end to his life -- if not his existence. He tried before with less cause than the loss of a friend, or so Josiah saw it.

"“I have a hard time with the idea of Vin having lost even part of his soul,"” Josiah said, voicing something he often thought on, but rarely said. So much of what the gypsies had told them had turned out to be wrong, or at least incompletely understood. Then again, much of it was dead right.

"“Well, being only barely acquainted with my own, I fear I must take Mr. Tanner'’s word for it,"” Ezra said, more lightly than he possibly felt, but his anger seemed to have subsided. “"And my analogy stands,"” he added as if reading Josiah'’s thoughts. "“Maybe because his is missing or damaged, we all are quite committed to recovering it at peril of our own.”"

“"And what role do you see yourself in, if Vin is the soul of our brotherhood?”"

Green eyes glinted in humor. “"Why absolutely the fool, Josiah. Perhaps the jester, willing to cheat death, or demons by any means possible. Perhaps, strategist, or at the very least, the brains of the operation," he said with a flashing smile.

Josiah could think of other words: peacekeeper, mediator, perhaps the very necessary balance between idealism and pragmatism. Ezra was all of those things. "“JD?"”

"“Ahh, Mr. Dunne. Our heart, Josiah. Most definitely our heart, impractical though it may be. Loyal and unjudging as the dog he so prefers to be, unfailing in his faithfulness.” "There was wry, if not sarcastic humor there, but beneath it, Josiah detected more than a little truth.

“"And Nathan would be… not just our healer. Though thank God for it…”."

“I’'d allow that Mr. Jackson is actually our head, if we continue in our summation of our separate parts being the whole of a body. Clear headed in a crisis, always pursuing real explanations, rational courses of action. Very pragmatic.”"

They hit a pothole, making the truck jerk and bounce violently for a moment and they could hear Nathan curse loudly in the back. Ezra grinned again. "“And ever so eloquent in his expression,"” he said.

"“Positively erudite,”" Josiah said. “"If JD’'s our heart, then what about Buck? There isn'’t a bigger hearted man.”"

"Considering that his is no longer in any more functional a capacity than Mr. Tanner’'s soul… I might question that,”" Ezra said, but gave it some thought. “"Our conscience, I would say. Certainly more so than myself, or even you, my friend.”"

Josiah thought on that and wondered. Buck was still a rascal, even though the flirtations were far more a game and for show than something he did or could follow through on. But yes, he did remind them often that there was a world beyond their troubles, a world innocent and naïve to true evil. He preferred they keep it that way.

“"And Mr. Larabee would be…”..."

“:Our vengeance?”" Josiah asked, knowing it was true, but it didn’t fit -- exactly. Chris certainly embodied both their helplessness and their anger, but it wasn’t quite so cut and dried.

"“No,”" Ezra said slowly. "“I think he represents more, our hope.”" His voice was reflective and unsure but Josiah felt the word slide into his own mental definitions and find a much better fit. “"Maybe our expectations and desires.”"

Josiah couldn’t disagree. There was some of JD'’s heart in the man, loyalty, love even for Vin and for all of them. He’'d become their defacto leader nearly three quarters of a century ago and still was to some extent. Not so much because he led by design, but because they were all willing to follow, even if it was reluctantly on occasion.

"“And you, Mr. Sanchez? Where do you see yourself in our analysis?"” Ezra asked him.

Josiah wasn'’t prepared to answer that easily. He was often their linguist, poor skills though he might possess. Their researcher. Most often with Ezra, their contact with the outside world. His spiritual guidance had less of a place among them than he might have wished, but also he was far less prepared for it than he thought he should be.

"“Maybe our curiosity,”" Josiah said finally. "“Killer of cats though it may be. Maybe unwise, in my searches… I forget what we’re up against. Get too caught up in the pursuit of knowledge, unraveling the mystery.”"

“"You sell yourself short, Josiah. More, I think you are our humanity...something it would be easy for all of us to forget. Something most of us have forgotten a time or two,” "Ezra said, but he wasn’t really looking at Josiah, but out the window toward the fast approaching mountains.

Josiah felt mildly flattered by that, although he could easily read into the all too common, human weakness of both vanity and arrogance. A weakness maybe, as Father Peter had discovered. Ezra’'s tone was pensive however and Josiah glanced over at him. “In case you’'d forgotten, brother Standish, I can turn into a wolf.”

The faintest of smiles curved Ezra’s lips. “"Very true… and an impressively brutish transformation it is too, Mr. Sanchez. Good dog.”"

Josiah chuckled at that. He could do worse he supposed. "“There are times when it’s easier to be the beast than the man,”" he said." “I understand JD'’s fondness for it.”"

"Yes, I had noticed. However, I find it disconcerting at best," Ezra said making a face but he finally turned a page of his book. “"Regardless of how you feel, Josiah, you are with us as a man far more than as a beast, far more as a friend,”" he hesitated before looking up. “"And I am sorry about your friend. No matter my misgivings, you could not and did not anticipate that. It was unfortunate and I'’m sorry I had to kill him.”"

"So am I," Josiah said. "It wasn't any part of what I envisioned coming here. Bringing you here." To himself he thought, if somewhat callously, better Ezra than Vin. Not because Ezra viewed lives, especially mortal lives, cheaply, but because he was conscious of his choices. Shoot-don't shoot, kill-don't kill. Those weren't choices Vin often had presented to him.

"If we drive straight through, we should be in Naples sometime tomorrow afternoon."

"If we drive straight through, you are likely to have a mutiny on your hands," Ezra pointed out and pulled out the map. "I, for one, would prefer a small hamlet -- with a restaurant, and a tolerable table wine. And a bed."

"Nathan might appreciate that too."

"No doubt… here, just over the pass. Virenz, Vienci.… it's on the map, it must have something more than a post office."

"Care to wager?"

Ezra's gold tooth glinted. "Always, Mr. Sanchez."

"I hope they have a church," Josiah said a moment later.

Ezra frowned a little. "Josiah, …while your need for penance is often an endearing quality. Don't think me overly harsh if I implore you to--"

"Get over it?"

That quick smile flashed. "--be more sparing of the self-flagellation. But yes, get over it."

"I'll keep it in mind. But it isn't flagellation I had in mind. More… looking for the proper locale to focus my thoughts. Reflection is good for the soul."

Ezra sighed and tried to return his attention to his book. "We do what we can, Josiah. What we are -- have been -- called upon to do."

"Demon hunting."

"Yes."

"Poor career choice."

"True, but oh, the avenue of opportunity."

"Name one."

"Expanding your knowledge. Seeing the world."

"Is that why you stay?"

Ezra was silent long enough for Josiah to look his way again. His eyes were on the book again, and Josiah chewed on his lip. It was unfair, even in teasing. Verbal sparring with Ezra was always enjoyable, except when it wasn't. Except when it revealed too much and not always about Ezra.

"The reasons," Ezra said finally, giving no indication he was aware of Josiah's regard, "scarcely matter. Here we are, Josiah. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo."

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. "Amen," Josiah said softly.

"Amen," Ezra said equally as quietly.

Lead us not into evil, but deliver us from temptation, Josiah thought to himself. It seemed more apt and in the silence, a silence broken only by the roar of the engine and the sound of dirt scattered beneath the wheels, he wondered if God were listening at all, because they'd surely been lead to the one and had the devil's own time avoiding the other.

Had Father Peter died thinking he hadn't been called upon, or had he died thinking he wasn't listening to the call when it came? Josiah would never know and he wanted to. All the years the priest had studied, researched, translated and written, chronicled acts both divine and heinous, had that not been part of his calling? Was it part of Josiah's or was he too busy arguing with God to know the difference? When this curse had first been laid upon them, he'd railed and been angry, amazed and frightened. His anger had faltered over the years but the rest stayed with him, and while Ezra might not be willing to say why he stayed, Josiah knew for himself, that finding the answers were at least part of what drove himself. Seeking answers, finding new questions instead. Maybe he really wasn't listening hard enough.

He didn't know, but he knew how to find out, and it didn't require a church at all.

"Adsum Domine," he breathed softly. "Auribus percipe, Domine, orationem meam et intende voci deprecationis meae. In die tribulationis meae clamavi ad te, quia exaudies me. Adsum Domine."

Here am I, Lord. Give ear, O Lord, to my prayer, and listen to the sound of my plea. I have cried out to Thee on the day of my tribulation, because Thou hast heard me. Here am I, Lord. "Lend, O Lord, Thy ear and hear me, for I am poor and needy."

It might take a while, but Josiah had time. They all did.
 

~end~

2/05/04

Footnotes:

[1]  "The finger of God's right hand, the ghostly virtue still, Us defend, and set us free from every kind of ill: To the end the hellish ghost do us no hurtful deed: Under His wings, He us keep, and there us nurse and feed."

[2]  Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you. Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus Christ. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.

[3]  DELIVER me, Lord Jesus Christ, from all my iniquities and from every evil, make me hold ever fast to Thy commandments and never allow me to be separated from Thee. Amen.

[4]  My friends, my friends, please calm down. Speak slowly.
[5] We need a doctor. Is there a doctor?
[6] Father Peter, what has happened?
[7] What have you done? What happened?
[8]  Fools...pitiful, whining fools
[9]  "Doce me, Domine, viam tuam, et ingrediar in veritate tua; simplex fac cor meum, ut timeat nomen tuum. Confitebor tibi, Domine Deus meus, in toto corde meo et glorificabo nomen tuum in aeternum, quia misericordia tua magna est super me, et eruisti animam meam ex inferno inferiori."
 

References and notes:
 

All Italian translations are produced through Babelfish. http://babelfish.altavista.com/babelfish/tr

Latin Prayers obtained from The Treasure of Latin Prayers http://home.earthlink.net/~thesaurus/index.htm (including the fulltext of the Nova Vulgata.) Used without permission, compiled and copyrighted by Michael Martin

Physical description of Pollutri obtained from http://www.ku.edu/carrie/specoll/AFS/4/e/4e3.html

Hail Mary: (English)
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you. Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.

Latin:
Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum, benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Jesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.

Italian:
Ave Maria piena di grazia il Signore è con Te Tu sei benedetta fra le donne e benedetto è il frutto del tuo seno, Gesù. Santa Maria, madre di Dio prega per noi peccatori adesso e nell'ora della nostra morte Amen