Carpe Demon: Adventures of a Demon Hunting Soccer Mom

Chapter Eighteen

“I can help, you know,” she said as we headed for the cathedral.

“No, thanks. If Goramesh is paying attention, he probably already knows you’re helping me. But just in case he doesn’t, I’d like to keep the illusion going.”

“Then what can I do?”

A little finger of guilt wiggled its way up my neck. “Can you relieve Allie? Her brother is cramping her style.”

“For Allie, anything.”

“Thanks.”

“Not a problem. Just one more dessert on the evergrowing tally.” We were right outside the doors now, and she paused, shaking her head slightly as she hugged herself, looking at the building before us. “Sad and inspiring all at the same time, don’t you think?”

I wasn’t thinking about anything except the zillions of boxes still waiting for my review. After having come so close only to be sadly disappointed, I can’t say I was too psyched for the experience.

“Kate?”

“Sorry. What?”

“I was just thinking about the cathedral. The bones of saints mixed into the mortar. And those five martyrs in the basement I mean, on the one hand it’s inspiring, but it’s also kind of creepy and weird.”

I tugged open the door. “I’m not interested in creepy, weird, inspirational, or devotional. All I want are answers, and instead of spending the next two hours having fun buying beaded scarves and tacky earrings with you, I’m going to be huddled down here with vermin-infested boxes. So forgive me if I’m not soaking in the historical wonder of it all.”

Her lips twitched, but she nodded gravely. “Right,” she said. “Go work.”

She headed back toward the playing field, and I paused just past the foyer to dab my finger in the holy water and genuflect. I’ve never been particularly good at genuflecting (I’m sorry, but the motion is just not natural) and this time I fell on my butt, knocked completely asunder by the thought that had slammed into my head.

Laura said there’d been five martyrs, but there were six bags of remains. An extra one was in the display case, hiding in plain sight.

A thrill whipped through my body like electricity.

I knew where the Lazarus Bones were.

I ran back outside, pulling my phone out of my purse, then turning in a circle as I waited for the signal bar to show up. As soon as it did, I punched in Larson’s number. “I know where the Bones are,” I said, skipping polite preambles.

“Are you certain?” His voice was tense.

“Positive. I think. Where are you?”

“About a mile from the cathedral. Go in, retrieve the bones, and meet me in the parking lot.”

“I can wait.” I said. “I’d rather we bring them out together.”

“No time,” he said, his voice urgent. “Goramesh has ears everywhere. You shouldn’t even have called me. But since you’ve spoken of this aloud, you must get the bones now.”

My cheeks burned from the dressing down, and I opened my mouth to defend myself, but nothing came out. Was he right? Had I just put myself—and the bones—in danger?

“I’ll be there when you come out, and together we’ll take them to the airport. Now go.”

I went. I raced down the aisle and took the four steps up to the sanctuary in one leap. I yanked open the door to the sacristy and pounded down the stairs.