“I’m sorry, I can only rent you separate rooms unless you’re related. It’s a local law,” the innkeeper apologized.

“But we don’t have enough mon–” Goku started to whine, but Sanzo thwacked him into silence.

“We’re brothers,” Sanzo said evenly.

“You’re all… brothers…” the innkeeper repeated, raising an eyebrow. He’d learned a long time ago that questioning guests usually cost a lot of money and rarely assuaged his curiosity, but the four young men looked almost nothing alike.

As he lay in bed with his wife that night, listening to the springs creak overhead, he pulled the pillow over his head and grumbled. “Brothers.”

I followed her there, leaving half a town mourning. I was armed with desperation and a knife. The desperation was more useful.

The sight of each youkai disgusted me. I didn’t care if they were threats — the were all complicit in the kidnap of my lover. Guards, servants, aristocrats, babies. They bled just as easily as the humans.

The guards put up a good fight and I was exhausted when I found Kanan, finally, in a dungeon below. She wept. She apologized.

Kanan stabbed herself, and there was nothing I could do before a remaining guard put his sword through my back.

***

Kanan stabbed herself, and there was nothing I could do. Laughter echoed behind me.

I watched as the youkai prince’s blood spilled out over me. My eyes followed Chin Yisou for a long minute, but the youkai said nothing.

In the end, he only looked disappointed.

“So it’s a myth after all.” Then there were claws and magic and I was on the stone floor, staring at Kanan’s body as I bled. Desperate to get away from her and from my guilt, I dragged his body outside into the rain, but only made it a few feet beyond the castle before I died.

***

I watched as the youkai prince’s blood spilled out over me. My eyes followed Chin Yisou for a long minute, but the youkai said nothing.

Then I felt it start, my muscles rippling under my skin, fingers stretching like they were being pulled on, and strangely worst of all was the painful itching in my ears.

“So it is true,” the prince said with a smile. “Better kill you before you get the chance.”

Then I was lying on the cold stone, and he was standing over me. He turned away in disgust.

The last word I heard before the darkness fell was “monster.”

***

“Monster,” my brain was screaming in Kanan’s voice. “Killer.” “Youkai.” “Genocide.” Her eyes and her words and her dagger all bored into me as I stumbled through the rain.

If I didn’t think about it, maybe my ears would be normal, and my hands wouldn’t be claws, and my muscles wouldn’t be crawling under my skin and my sister– lover– sister wouldn’t be dead. Maybe. Just keep walking.

It was a refreshing walk in the rain, really. I was doing so well not thinking that I didn’t hear the footsteps, just the dark laughter as Chin’s magic finished tearing me to shreds.

***

It was a refreshing walk in the rain, really. The night was warm and the rain was just cool enough to temper the heat. I could almost forget the jagged hole in my torso and the innards I could feel pushing against my fingers as I held it closed.

I stumbled over a root, pitched forward and caught myself. The force carried on, though, and I felt something warm and slippery slide through my fingers.

I reached for them, but I was too weak and instead I followed them forward. This time I could not catch myself.

Mud, blood, and warmth ran together.

***

It was a miserable walk in the rain, really. My hair was sticking to my neck and my clothes were soaked and I hadn’t even gotten laid. The whole night was a waste and now…

Now there was something lying in the middle of the path. The fuck?

At first I thought it was a tree or something, and then I thought maybe it was an animal and I should be careful. It might maul me or something. It didn’t seem to be moving, so I tried to get a closer look.

It was a body. A dead one. Fuck. Better keep going.

***

Now there was something lying in the middle of the path. The fuck?

At first I thought it was a tree or something, and then I thought maybe it was an animal and I should be careful. It might maul me or something. It didn’t seem to be moving, so I tried to get a closer look.

It was a body, a live one. Barely. I knelt down to see what was wrong with him.

“Let me die,” he croaked, his eyes closed.

Looking around to see that the road was deserted, I stood back up.

“Whatever you say,” I answered, and left him there.

***

At first I thought it was a tree or something, and then I thought maybe it was an animal and I should be careful. It might maul me or something. It didn’t seem to be moving, so I tried to get a closer look.

It was a body, a live one. Barely.

I picked him up as carefully as I could, considering he was bleeding and rain-soaked and cut open and shit.

I dragged him home, though I dropped him once and nearly did it again. Got him into bed, blood all over my blankets.

In the morning, he was dead. Fuck.

***

I dragged him home, though I dropped him once and nearly did it again. Got him into bed, blood all over my blankets.

In the morning, he opened his eyes and wished he was dead. Wonderful gratitude for the guy who saved his life, don’t you think?

I spent a couple days nursing him as best I could. Yeah, me nursing, fucking laugh riot. One night when he was feeling better, I took the bowl from him and caved to curiousity.

“So what happened to you?” He didn’t answer, but in the morning he was gone. I never saw him again.

***

In the morning, he opened his eyes and wished he was dead. Wonderful gratitude for the guy who saved his life, don’t you think?

I nursed him anyway, curious as hell where he had come from, but I didn’t want to make him nervous.

He was nearly mobile by the time the knock came on the door. It was just some priest and his follower, nothing special.

When the priest asked about him, I let him in. I mean, fuck, he’s a priest, right? And I just met this guy. What am I supposed to do?

The stains he left never came out.

***

When the priest asked about my guest, I didn’t want to answer him. I wasn’t sure why. I guess I just didn’t like the idea of some religious bureaucrat telling me how I should do things. I gave him the cold shoulder, but in the end it didn’t matter. My guest took matters into his own hands.

It was his choice, I told myself.

I thought about him as I cut my hair. As I went out. As I hit on the girls less than usual. I guess, unconsciously, I was waiting for him to come back.

Much to my surprise, he did.

The older woman looked a little embarassed as a small child passed them and sloshed milkshake on the door. “Sorry about the, um…”

“Ambience?” Shannon interrupted, grinning at Gabriel.

“Oh, it’s fine, ma’am,” Gabriel answered, forcing himself to look away from Shannon and at her mother instead. Apparently having taking his comments last night to heart, she’d arrived with her mother and brother today wearing a perfectly demure sundress. The collar was high, the sleeves went down to her elbows, the hem fell below her knees, and any minister Gabriel could think of would have approved of it.

Yet Shannon managed to wear it in a manner that Gabriel imagined would make Jezebel proud.

“This place was always Petey’s favorite, before,” she continued, either not noticing or ignoring the way her daughter was looking at the priest as the group got in line.

“Welcome to the Burger Barn, can I take your– Peter? Peter Finley?!” and then the clerk was calling over half the staff of the kitchen.

Shannon leaned over to Gabriel as her mother summarized what had happened the night before. “People’ve been doing that all damn day, everywhere he goes. Got a lot of news coverage when it happened, lots of people raised money to pay for the hospitals, and you know how small towns are. I’m surpised Ma can still find people who haven’t heard it yet.” Gabriel could only nod, an unpleasant feeling settling in his stomach.

The manager of the Burger Barn, apparently a friend of Shannon’s from high school, insisted the meal was on the house. The women ordered first, then Gabriel, and finally Peter stepped up to the counter.

“Anything I want?” he asked, staring at the menu hanging overhead.

“Yeah, you go ahead,” his mother answered.

“I want…” he paused, obviously thinking, “a cheeseburger, and another cheeseburger, and fries, and chicken thingies, and a milkshake, and another cheeseburger, and can that be with extra pickles and ketchup and no onions?” The women behind the counter smiled and said wasn’t it nice and sent them all along to a table with promises of bringing the food out when it was ready.

There was a moment of awkward silence as they slipped into the booth.

“So, Peter, how are you feeling?” Gabriel started.

“I’m good but I don’t remember not being good and it’s kinda hard to get used to walking like my legs don’t work all the way but the doctor says that’ll go away as long as I just keep walking.” He was staring out the window, still talking, but mostly watching people go by outside.

“Doctors said they can’t figure out why he’s better, just that he is,” his mother said, talking right over her son’s monologue.

“What happened to him, ma’am?” Gabriel asked, trying to focus on her words and listen to the stream of observations coming out of Peter without his eyes slipping over to Shannon and her sundress. Did everyone in this family specialize in sensory overload?

“Well, the accident paralyzed him, but–”

“Wait, paralysis? As in medical, physical damage?”

“Yeah, but that all seems healed now, doc said.”

“But– spinal cords don’t just grow back!” Gabriel sputtered.

“You’re the faith healer, reverend,” Shannon winked.

Gabriel stared at her blankly, jumping when the staff arrived with the food. Peter was still staring out the window, but he looked back when he caught the scent of the cheeseburgers.

“ride my bike again except ma says I won’t fit it now and these smell really good and are all these burgers mine oh awesome I love cheeseburgers with pickles and cheese”

“They said his emotions are picking up where they left off, he’s like an overgrown twelve year old,” Mrs. Finley was continuing.

Shannon was doing things to a milkshake straw that would have been grounds for stoning in ancient Israel.

Gabriel found himself hoping his head would just explode and get it over with.

“Danny!” Peter shouted suddenly. Gabriel turned to look at him and then face where he was looking, but before he could figure out what was going on, Peter was climbing like a monkey over his lap and out of the booth. He ran across the restaurant and into the arms of a tall man in blue jeans and a cloak standing in the Burger Barn’s doorway.

“Hey, Petey, good to see you’re feeling better,” Danny said, lifting the boy into a hug and offhandedly carrying him back to the table. “Too bad I had to hear about it in the paper instead of from my mom.” He was looking at Peter and Shannon’s mother as he spoke.

“If you ever came by the house anymore, maybe we would,” Shannon spit. Gabriel noticed that she slid herself between Danny and her mother. While they argued, Gabriel gently tugged Peter out from between them and distracted him with another cheeseburger. He was trying to keep an eye on the two people following Danny — one a boy about his age in a denim vest with bright red hair and a pentacle necklace, the other a girl in all black who seemed to be frowning at Gabriel in particular.

The girl circled around the booth and stood behind Gabriel. “Interesting show you put on.”

“You were at the revival?” he asked in surprise.

“It’s important to study the enemy in his native habitat,” she answered.

Gabriel wasn’t sure he’d understood her. “I’m not your enemy.”

“Hera doesn’t lie,” she answered and stepped back to the red-haired young man, who looked more bored than anything. Gabriel almost continued the conversation, but he had no idea what to say.

“It’s not devil worship!” Danny shouted suddenly, banging on the table for emphasis and drawing Gabriel’s attention back to the argument.

“Stop it stop it stop it,” Peter screamed.

Shannon was on her feet, pushing her older brother away from the table. “You come strutting in and play dad one more time, Danny, and so help me I’ll make sure you’re not equipped for fatherhood. What did you think was going to happen when you came in here all holier-than-you, anyway?”

“I thought I would see my brother! Whether you like my life or not, I’m still family.” He was more than six inches taller than his sister, but even staring down at her, it was clear she was the one in charge of the argument.

“If you want to be family, you should do it all the time. Funny how you’re all worried about seeing him not but you didn’t much bother when ma and I were taking care of him.”

“That’s not– I couldn’t– he was–” Clearly frustrated, Danny balled his hands into fists at his sides. The red-haired boy stepped up and put a hand on his shoulder, and in a moment, Danny took a deep breath and began storming out.

“Danny, be polite,” the girl hissed as he passed her.

Danny bit his lip, but turned to the shellshocked Gabriel. “Thank you for helping my brother.” He hurried out of the restaurant before Gabriel could reply, the other two following close behind him.

“Hell of a family reunion,” Shannon muttered as she sat back down. She picked up her milkshake and took a sip, only to find it was empty.

She looked over at Peter. “Oh was that yours? I was hungry.”

“Dammit, Petey, you’re awake one day and you’re already eating my desert again,” Shannon grumbled. She sounded like she was trying to be angry and was just too tired. Gabriel excused himself to the counter and returned with two fresh shakes a minute later. Peter dug into his, but Shannon looked at him for a long minute before she accepted it.

This time, when she smiled, it seemed almost friendly.

Gabriel woke up wondering how much time had passed, but he quickly recognized the backstage area and the sound of the crowd nearby. He was relieved that he hadn’t been out long.

“I dragged you back here when you passed out,” his assistant said, answering Gabriel’s question before he asked it. Gabriel found himself feeling slightly dizzy as he stared up, watching the man adjust headset and glasses that had been knocked askew.

“Should I go back out, Hunter?” Gabriel sat up, holding his head.

Hunter shook his head and smiled. “Minister’s sending them home with a nice prayer and collection plates on the exits. I can’t remember the last time you got that kind of reaction out of a crowd!”

Gabriel nodded. “And the kid?”

“Mother’s taking him to the doctor tomorrow, she’ll bring him by after that. Go lay down, Gabe, I’ll handle the cleanup out here.”

He really should go out there, but he did have a hell of a headache. Grateful for for the opportunity to escape the crowd for the rest of the night, Gabriel reached for his cigarettes and pulled them out. He started to ask Hunter for a light, but the man already had a lighter ready.

“You know me too well,” the preacher told his assistant as he stood up. Hunter just smiled before disappearing into the emptying hall. Gabriel dragged himself back to the RV he and Hunter shared on the road, stopping outside long enough to regret not having the strength to finish the cigarette, and put it out before going inside. He dropped his jacket and shirt onto the floor and managed to get one of his shoes off before collapsing onto the bottom bunk.

Gabriel woke up to a sharp rapping on the door of the RV. There was no light coming in the windows, but he looked at the clock. Eleven. That meant a few hours of sleep, anyway, and his headache had mostly subsided.

“I’m up, you can come in!” he yelled, expecting Hunter to slip in with notes or questions. As he sat up, however, the screen door snapped noisily shut behind a young woman.

“Do you always greet your callers half-dressed?” she asked with a grin.

Gabriel blushed just a little and reached for his crumpled shirt on the floor. “I was expecting someone else.”

“If you’re busy, I’ll scoot on out,” she said with a quick turn.

“No, no,” Gabriel stopped her, standing to turn on the lights. “I mean, I’m not expecting anyone, I just really wasn’t expecting you. I mean… can I help you?” He could tell now that her hair was red, and she was wearing an amount of clothing that might be called indecent for a preacher’s bedroom.

She laughed genuinely, a sound not at all like bells or the gentle things womanly laughs are normally compared to, and held out her hand. “I wanted to thank the man that healed Petey.”

“Petey?” Gabriel echoed in confusion, taking her hand.

“Peter Finley, my brother. The kid in the wheelchair.”

“Oh! Yes, hello.”

“And I’m Shannon Rose. I’d apologize for not being at your sermon, but I’m not much for churches, Reverend,” she slipped her hand back out of his. After a minute’s decision, she strode to his bed and sat down.

“You can call me Gabriel,” he answered, looking awkwardly for someplace proper to sit. He settled on folding down one of the dining benches.

“Sure thing, Gabe,” she answered, looking around. “I figured a guy like you’d have fancier digs, like the guys on TV.”

Gabriel shrugged and changed the subject. “How’s your brother doing?”

“Talking up a storm, if you’d believe that. Petey hasn’t said a thing in years, suddenly he’s yapping on about everything that wanders through that head of his. Says he saw the sun and he followed it out of the darkness. Now what do you make of that?” As she talked, she sprawled across the bed like it was a couch, kicking her sandals up on the headboard.

Gabriel couldn’t tell whether her question was rhetorical or not. “God manifests in surprising ways…” he began, but she was shaking her head.

“I told you, Gabe, I ain’t fond of churches.” She sat up, and in a minute she was practically in his lap. “I just wanted to thank you.” He started to pull away, but her lips were cool and on his cheek, and then she was laughing again.

“I’m not going to seduce you… tonight,” she winked, grinning. “I thought it was just the Catholics who couldn’t have ladies.”

“It is,” Gabriel sputtered, “but I’m supposed to be courting before I have a girl in my lap.”

“That so? You need a nice girl, is that it?” Shannon looked him over thoughtfully while he tried to form a coherent response.

“I like a challenge, preacher man. I’ll see what I can do.” She walked out without a goodbye, and the screen door snapped shut behind.

“You’re on in a minute, Gabriel.”

The blond man nodded curtly in response and stubbed out his cigarette against the side of the soundboard.

“What’s next?” he asked, sounding bored.

“Faith healing. The ushers are already lining them up.”

The preacher nodded again, turned on the microphone attached to the lapel of his white suit, and stepped into the stage light just as the local Baptist church’s choir was finishing.

“Brothers and sisters in Christ!” he began, hating this part of the service. Once, back in the old days with his dad, back when he believed in healing, it had been his favorite part. A lot had happened since then, including Gabriel’s introduction to the idea of plants in the audience who faked illness. He’d made his handlers swear never to do that again, but he still worried they were using them and not telling him.

The first few people in the line were stepping awkwardly onto the stage as Gabriel went through his usual speech about faith healing — that it was the power of God working through him, not any skill of his own, and that not everyone would be healed. Maybe he said it to help people understand if they weren’t healed. Maybe he said it to cover his ass. If there was a difference, he tried not to think about it.

The first woman swooned, a man cheered, an older woman threw down her cane. Gabriel felt nothing but going through the motions.

“Psychological cues,” he said to himself. He wouldn’t let himself believe again.

As the crowd was getting into a shouting frenzy, Gabriel suddenly found himself distracted by a voice with a different quality. It wasn’t excited, it wasn’t cheering. It was pleading.

Gabriel stopped, gesturing for silence. It took several minutes for the crowd to calm.

“Please! Please, everyone be quiet. I’m hearing something.” As the people in line and the crew offstage watched in confusion, Gabriel jumped right off the temporary stage and into the crowd below. The people he landed near started to call out.

“Shut up!” he finally shouted in frustration. It came out louder than he intended through the speakers, hanging in the air, but it had the desired effect.

“Who’s calling me?” he asked, but the crowd just stared. They were starting to get nervous now.

“Who is it?” the voice was getting insistant, and Gabriel just wanted it to go away. He finally traced it to near the back of the auditorium, a boy in a wheelchair with a woman next to him. The boy was staring off to the side, and didn’t react when Gabriel walked up to him.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” he said quietly. “Well, stop it.”

The woman started to step between Gabriel and the boy, “My son doesn’t talk, he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t move–” but the preacher walked right past her.

Gabriel took the boy’s hand. “Stop calling out like that. It gives me a headache.”

The boy didn’t move. His mother was pleading with Gabriel to leave her boy alone, but he wasn’t listening.

Gabriel winced, the volume in his head having gone up a notch, and pulled hard on the boy’s arm. “I said be quiet!” The force was enough to pull the boy out of the wheelchair, and his mother dove forward, sure he would drop to the floor.

He stood, blinking for a minute, and looked at Gabriel.

“Hey, mister,” he said finally, then turned to his mom and smiled. She burst into tears, the auditorium burst into cheers, and Gabriel managed to stagger back to the stage before he passed out.

Gabriel was smoking angrilly, half-crushing the cigarette as he made tight fists, yet Uriah noticed that he went out of his way to keep the smoke downwind.

“That damned Jezebel,” Gabriel muttered. He’d arrived upset, asking at the front gate for Uriah, and never actually said what had happened. From the litany of womens’ names woven through his ranting, Uriah guessed it was about Shannon. Herodias and Salome. Delilah. Gomer the harlot. Eve and Lilith. The daughters of Lot. Bathsheba and Vashti, Adah and Zillah, Cozbi, Bernice; names Uriah had to think hard to place.

Uriah let him rant as they walked toward the lake, and said all the comforting things he’d learned, and tried not to think about how close Gabriel was standing. Eventually the anger turned to other subjects, and they passed the afternoon sitting at the edge of the water.

Near sunset, Gabriel stood to leave. Uriah smiled, wishing him well.

“I’ll see you next week,” Gabriel said instead of goodbye. There was no question, and he didn’t wait for a reply.

Uriah watched the sun set over the lake, and so didn’t see Gabriel turn around and stare after him before slipping out the gate.

The afternoon meetings became habit for them. Gabriel talked about Shannon a lot, though some weeks were better than others. He talked about Hunter and Shannon’s family and the attention that was both helping his church and annoying the hell out of him. They talked about other things too, books and their childhoods and God.

They talked about God about as much as you’d expect a pair of men who’d devoted their lives to Him to do: they actually mentioned Him very little, but the shadow was always there.

One day, Gabriel found himself waiting at the entrance for nearly twenty minutes before he was allowed inside. He felt like the priests who walked through the hall were watching him with suspicion.

“What’s wrong with these morons?” he greeted Uriah when the seminarian finally arrived.

Uriah blushed a little and dragged Gabriel outside before he would answer. “They caught three guys sneaking out to go to a gay bar in Manchester. They’re still deciding if they’re going to expell them.” He whispered as if simply repeating it was incriminating.

“And here I thought celibacy was starting to sound like a good idea,” Gabriel smirked as he followed the younger man to the lake.

Looking embarassed, Uriah smiled weakly. “I don’t think anybody really chooses the vows themselves. They just go along with the orders.”

“What kind of stupid rule is that, anyway? Most of the ministers I know manage just fine with families,” Gabriel asked as he climbed onto a flat, sun-warmed rock. He reached to help Uriah up.

“I got told that wives and families are too distracting,” he answered, taking Gabriel’s hand.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re the one who comes out here for relationship advice from me. Doesn’t that take time away from your ministry?”

Gabriel glared in response, and Uriah couldn’t help laughing. “I’m not trying to be obnoxious about this, I’m serious. I can see their point.”

“So how do you feel about celibacy? Doesn’t it ever distract you?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t you ever think about girls, or about how you can’t have girls, something like that?”

Uriah hesitated before shaking his head. “Not really, no.”

“You’re either lying or you’re gay,” Gabriel said with a sharp laugh. He expected Uriah would laugh too, but the seminarian was quiet. Uriah was staring out at the lake, looking nauseated.

“Oh. No wonder you were so nervous.”

Uriah said nothing.

Gabriel hesitated, but his curiousity overcame the tact his father had instilled. “So are all Catholic priests gay or something?”

When he turned, Gabriel expected an angry look on Uriah’s face, but he just looked sad. Gabriel felt suddenly defensive.

“I mean, that’s all you hear about, and what kind of man wants to go all his life without getting married?”

“The kind that wouldn’t be able to marry someone he was interested in anyway,” Uriah answered sharply.

It took Gabriel a moment to understand. “Oh. Oh, right. But it’s still a sin.”

“The act can be sinful,” Uriah’s tone was becoming more harsh, “one man lying with another, yes. But so is adultery and any other sex outside of marriage.” This last sentence was quite pointed and Gabriel found himself wondering what Shannon would say if he asked her to marry him. Would she accept? Laugh? He tried to picture Hunter asking her to marry him and had to laugh at the idea of Hunter getting married at all.

“You’ve thought about this a lot, have you?” Gabriel asked.

Uriah shrugged. “Studied it inside and out while I was a teenager, before I discerned for the priesthood. I looked for every loophole, every liberal translation.”

“And?”

“I’m here.” Uriah considered it an answer.

“You use the words, but I don’t think you believe them,” Gabriel said after a minute. “You say all the sins are equal, but you don’t even act and you hate yourself.”

“I don’t hate myself,” he answered weakly.

“So you don’t. Whatever you want. But I hate people that lie to themselves.” Uriah stuttered, but didn’t respond. Frustrated, Gabriel thought about trying to draw him out, but wasn’t sure the effort was worth it.

Gabriel untied his shoes, stuck his socks inside, and dangled his feet over the rock ledge. “I’m going walking.” He dropped the few inches to the wet sand below, enjoying the feeling of the cold water under his feet.

“This is nice. You coming?” Gabriel asked as he walked away from the rock.

“Holy shit!”

“Third commandment, Uriah,” Gabriel grinned, turning back. He was not expecting the shock on the younger man’s face. “What?”

“Um… Gabriel, look down.”

Gabriel did so. He noticed that the water where he was standing was at least a foot deep. He also noticed that he was standing on top of it.

“What the fuck?” Gabriel waited for a minute, wondering if noticing would break the spell, like the coyote in cartoons who walked off a cliff. When he didn’t sink, he gingerly took another step. The water just… held, in a way he could pin down as any different than walking on a wet tile floor. Gabriel walked back toward the rock, watching his feet the entire time.

“Jump in,” he instructed Uriah. “I want to see if it’s just the lake.”

“I doubt it, but if you want, I will,” Uriah answered, taking off his own sandals. He rolled up his pant legs before hopping down, splashing as he landed in about three inches of water.

“So it’s just me.” Gabriel said the words slowly, not trusting them.

“Looks like it,” Uriah looked up at his friend. The few inches of water made the height difference between them even more pronounced.

Gabriel reached out to him. “Take my hand. I want to try something.” Uriah took his hand with hesitation, like he was meeting him for the first time. Like he didn’t know Gabriel at all… which he was starting to believe he didn’t.

“Now step up.” Uriah did as he was told, and found that the water suddenly held his weight.

“So that makes me Peter?”

“I suppose. But I don’t have a boat.”

“I’d rather be John.”

“Why?”

“He was the apostle Jesus loved.”

“Oh,” Gabriel answered, then thought about the words. “Oh.”

Uriah turned away, slowly sinking back into the water. Gabriel held his hand tightly, not letting the seminarian slip out of his grip. Uriah looked back.

Gabriel leaned down and kissed him.

After a moment’s hesitation, Uriah kissed back, hard. He put his arms around Gabriel and tried to pull himself up, but ended up overbalancing Gabriel, sending him flailing backwards and landing them both in the water. They sat up, Gabriel spitting water and Uriah nearly sitting on him and apologizing profusely.

They stared at each other for a long minute.

“This is wrong,” Gabriel said, but there wasn’t much conviction in his voice.

“Utterly sinful,” Uriah responded. “‘Defiling oneself with mankind.’”

“‘Lying with a man as with a woman,’” Gabriel added.

“Leviticus 18:22,” the seminarian smiled. “And do you remember Leviticus 19:19?” Gabriel shook his head, wondering, as Uriah reached for his buttons.

“‘Thou shalt not wear a garment that is woven of two sorts.’ That shirt looks suspiciously like a silk-rayon blend. I’d better take it off to prevent you from sinning further.”

“It’s pure silk, actually,” Gabriel started to protest, but the buttons were already undone.

“‘All the townsmen of Sodom came to the house,’” Uriah pushed Gabriel back until he was laying on the sandy lake bottom, water lapping at his sides. He hesitated at the button on Gabriel’s pants, but there was no protest, and he continued. “‘They called to Lot and said to him, “Where are the men who came to your house tonight? Bring them out to us that we may have intimacies with them.”‘”

“So you’re a man of Sodom, Uriah?” Gabriel asked.

“A sodomite in theory, at least,” he answered, blushing, and Gabriel realized it was an admission of virginity.

“And a sinner?” Gabriel continued, even as he pulled the buttons loose on his shirt.

“Aren’t we all?” Uriah leaned down to kiss him again. He could feel Gabriel’s hands against his crotch, unzipping, and was surprised that Gabriel’s touch against his… his mind balked at the euphemisms he’d heard and settled on the romance novel-feel of member. Gabriel was reaching past his briefs now and Uriah realized he was having a hard time breathing.

“We have free will,” Gabriel said, gently pushing Uriah’s head toward his own crotch.

“We’re fallen men in a fallen world.” Uriah’s answer was mumbled against his body, and Gabriel felt the words as much as heard them.

“We can choose,” Gabriel answered, staring up at the blue sky as Uriah licked his cock. “‘The soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul. Then Jonathan made a covenant with David, because he loved him as his own soul. And Jonathan stripped himself of the robe that was upon him, and gave it to David, and his armor, and even his sword and his bow and his girdle… Jonathan delighted much in David, and said Jonathan to David, “Whatever you say, I will do for you.”‘” Gabriel’s voice trailled off as he came, and Uriah coughed and spit in surprise.

“Still breathing?” Gabriel asked him after a minute.

“Yes, sorry,” Uriah apologized. “I think I ruined the moment.”

“Nah,” Gabriel smiled. “The afterglow, maybe, but not the moment.” Uriah blushed, and then blushed harder as Gabriel pushed him down into the water to return the favor. He tried to think of something sweet or brilliant to say, but his mind simply was blank as he dug his fingers into Gabriel’s hair and climaxed.

Uriah just lay there, staring up at Gabriel with the sun in his hair. “You look more like an angel than a Jewish king,” he said finally. “Like your namesake.”

Gabriel frowned. “I’m not an angel, believe me.”

“You walk on water. I think that’s close enough.”

“I don’t– I did walk on water, didn’t I?”

“You could do it again,” Uriah suggested, but Gabriel was hurrying out of the water like he’d been bitten, pulling up his pants as he went.

“I’d better get going,” Gabriel said, wringing out his shirt.

Uriah blinked. “That’s it?”

Gabriel shrugged and reached for his shoes. “What were you expecting?”

“Something… I don’t know,” Uriah buttoned up his shirt while it was still sopping wet, and it clung to his body. He shivered.

“‘I am distressed for you, my brother Jonathan,’” Gabriel answered. “Put your sandals on.”

“Go home to your Bathsheba then, and don’t worry about me,” he said as he started up the hill.

“I didn’t mean–” Gabriel started to say, but Uriah didn’t turn. After a moment of watching him, Gabriel left for the gate.

Someone was waiting when Uriah came back into the seminary. Uriah caught his breath sharply, remembering Gabriel. Remembering too much of Gabriel, really.

The man directed him into the bishop’s office. Uriah wondered if there was anything he could do, how much they had seen, who had told…

“Uriah,” the bishop began, steepling his fingers. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with that Baptist preacher lately.”

He braced himself.

“We’re worried he might be diverting you from the true Church.”

Uriah almost laughed with relief, then shook his head. “Oh, no, I actually had a very profound moment while I was talking to him today. A deeper understanding of my own faith.” He tried not to be too amused by his own double-entendre.

The bishop nodded. “If you have any concerns, please, talk to one of the instructors.”

“Of course, your Eminence.” And Uriah was gone from the office, back to his dorm room. His roommate had recently vacated, whether for lack of faith or other reasons, the seminarian didn’t know.

The next week, Gabriel didn’t come to see him. Nor the week after that. Uriah wondered what the preacher was thinking.

Sometimes at night, thoughts came unbidden, and Uriah wondered what he himself was thinking. Purely erotic thoughts were nothing new to him, and he’d committed the sin of Onan while thinking about Gabriel.

More than once.

A lot, even.

And thinking about Gabriel shirtless and wet was the surest way to distract himself from thinking about Gabriel walking on water and healing the sick and…

… and damn if that didn’t give him more of a hard-on than shirtless-and-wet did. There was just something about the thought of Gabriel in the sunlight, his hair glowing like a halo, reaching out to him and letting him walk on the waters, that made Uriah writhe against his sheets and eventually propelled him into the shower.

He went to confession, but how do you confess that you met the Messiah and he turns you on?

When he couldn’t stand it anymore, he went to the bishop with his concerns. Some of them, anyway.

“I haven’t seen your preacher-friend around in some time,” the bishop began as Uriah sat down.

“He’s actually the reason I came to see you today,” Uriah rushed ahead without letting the bishop reply. “There’s something I didn’t tell you about the last time he visited. You see, when we went down to the lake, he… he walked on the water, your Eminance. I’ve been praying about this for weeks.”

The silence made Uriah ache.

After too long, the bishop coughed. “I, ah… I’m sure this is very disturbing for you. If you need help reconciling it with the Church’s teachings, I’m sure–”

“That’s not quite it,” Uriah cut him off. “I’m sorry, your Eminance. I’ve been praying for discernment. I’m leaving the seminary.”

“What?” the bishop sputtered as Uriah stood to leave. “You can’t just run off with some young man touched by demons, Uriah! This is temptation! You need to stay strong!”

Uriah ignored him, picking up the bag he’d left outside the office door and striding toward the front door of the seminary.

The taxi ride was a long one, and the whole time Uriah wondered if the travelling revival would still be there.

It was. A sign from God that his path was the right one, perhaps. Uriah ran to the trailers, looking for any sign of life. He heard shouting and followed it, turning a corner to find Gabriel deep in an argument with a red-headed young woman he assumed was Shannon.

“He’s my brother! He’s my responsibility! I can’t leave him with those fucking flakes!” she was yelling.

“This isn’t a big operation. How the hell am I supposed to take care of a kid?” Gabriel spat back.

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you fixed him and lost us the disability, big shot!”

“I never meant to heal anybody!” Gabriel turned and stalked off, nearly running over Uriah as he rounded the corner.

“What are you doing here?”

Intellectually, Uriah knew this was not a good time, but he’d been thinking about nothing else during the ride and couldn’t quite stop himself. “I left. I left everything. I came for my cross.”

Gabriel just stared at him, not sure he’d heard correctly.

“I’ve come to follow you.”

“What the fuck? No. Go back to school.” Gabriel pushed past him and kept walking.

“I can’t,” Uriah dropped his bag and hurried after him. “I left. Unenrolled. They’re probably doing the paperwork for excommunication right now.”

“Go back to your parents.”

“They haven’t spoken to me since I enrolled. They wanted me to be a lawyer like my father.”

“Go… um… Fuck, I don’t care, just go away.” Gabriel stepped inside his trailer and slammed the door.

Uriah stood on the step. For a minute, he thought about crying, but he shook his head.

“I saw! I remember! I won’t let you hide your light under a basket!” he shouted at the door. He wasn’t sure Gabriel could hear him, but he doubted the metal door was very soundproof.

He sat on the steps. It felt pointless, but if he’d given up everything only to be thrown away he would have a nervous breakdown, so he sat with determination and refused to think negative thoughts. This was a test. Probably a test of his faith. He would wait it out.

It was three hours before Gabriel opened the door.

“Come back with chicken poppers and whiskey and I’ll let you in,” Gabriel hissed. Uriah nearly fell off the stairs. By the time he stood up, the door was closed again, but he ran off with a grin.

“So how’d you become a minister?”

“My father was one.”

“So you were raised to it?”

“Basically.”

“How long have you been doing it?”

“I healed someone for the first time when I was five. Aftert hat, Dad started putting me on stage.”

“Must have been hard.”

“Not really. It was all I knew.”

“So where’s your dad now?”

“Retired.”

“He doesn’t travel with you or anything?”

“Nah. He’s out in California.”

“Why California?”

“…”

“You don’t have to tell me…”

“He ran off to join a Buddhist monastery.”

“… You’re joking.”

“Why would I?”

“I mean… his own son performs miracles and he runs off to be a Buddhist?”

“He was a very pious man when I was a child. The bigger my reputation got, the more he faltered.”

“Oh.”

“Hand me that bottle.”

“Gabriel Carpenter?” the reporter asked as the trailer door swung open.

“I’ll get him,” the light-haired young man answered. A moment later Gabriel appeared in the doorway. She repeated her question.

“Reverend Gabriel Carpenter, yes,” he answered. He was tired, but he didn’t want it to show.

“Oh, of course, my apologies.” Gabriel had already consigned her to his mental hell for people who misused sarcasm. “I’m Kim Hwan from the Birmingham Post-Herald. May I speak to you?”

“I suppose,” Gabriel answered, wishing he could close the door in her face, but aware that this was generally a bad idea when dealing with the press.

“I hear you’re involved in a custody dispute?”

“This is true.”

“On behalf of a,” she looked down at her notebook, “Shannon Finley?”

“My fiancee, yes,” Gabriel didn’t like the tone of this conversation.

“Ah, yes,” the reporter made a note. “And why do you want to take the boy Peter Finley away from his eldest sibling?”

“His sister would like custody of her brother because she loves him and cares for his well-being.”

“And why wouldn’t she want him to see his brother, then?”

“Seeing is not the issue, Miss Hwan. She’s concerned that her elder brother lives in a Satanic hippie compound.”

“Can I quote you on that?” she asked.

“Oh, please do,” Gabriel nearly growled in response.

“And what would you say to someone who questions the boy’s well-being here?”

“I would say that a stable, traditional family unit of a strongly religious background is the best upbringing a child could hope for.” He wasn’t sure he liked where this woman was going.

“And if one quiestioned the stability of your ‘traditional family’?” Her smile was sharp, like she was ready to pounce.

“What do you mean?” He definitely didn’t like where this was going.

“There have been a lot of reports that your fiancee has been seen with a rather unsavory character, one Hunter Buchanan, who’s been implicated in a number of cases of fraud and confidence schemes.” She was looking at a list, Gabriel could see, and he suddenly felt a bit sick to his stomach.

“Hunter’s my stage manager. Of course he’s around her. Who’s accusing him of fraud?”

“Oh, that would be me,” came a quiet voice with an accent Gabriel couldn’t immediately place. It annoyed him that he hadn’t noticed the man with the reporter before now.

“And you are?” Gabriel asked.

“Chase Charleston, formerly of New Orleans,” he held his hand out. “Greg and I used to have a lot of fun together, back in the day.”

“Fun?” Gabriel echoed as he automatically took his hand. “Wait, Greg?” This new man was looking at him like he was dinner, and it made Gabriel very nervous.

“Oh, didn’t you know?” Chase asked in a tone that said he plainly knew Gabriel hadn’t. “Gregory’s his legal name. He changed it once he started to get a bit of a reputation as a conman.”

“Am I supposed to take your word on this?” Gabriel asked.

“No,” Kim chimed in, “but you might find interesting the rap sheet for Gregory Buchanan, complete with photo at the top there.” She shoved the paper triumphantly in Gabriel’s face and it was all he could to not to roll it up and smack her with it.

“I–” he forced himself to stop and take a deep breath. “I am very disturbed by these accusations. I will speak to Hunter about them. Thank you for bringing them to my attention. I do not, however, think it has much bearing on the custody case.”

The reporter opened her mouth, but Gabriel wouldn’t let her get a word in. “For now, I think this interview is over.” The door shut in her face. When Kim turned around, Chase had disappeared.

“Looking for ‘Hunter’, no doubt,” she muttered as she pulled out her cell phone.

“Neil.”

“It’s ‘Pan’ these days, actually.”

“Well, then, Pan,” she snickered. “The exercise is underway. Your preacher looked spooked about Gregory and Chase has wandered off, presumably to annoy someone other than me.”

“Excellent. Thanks, Kim.”

Kim frowned at the phone. “You know he’s casting you guys as a bunch of crazy Satanists, right? They eat that shit up like butter down here.”

“Oh, I know.” Tinny laughter came over the phone. “We’ll take care of that, don’t worry.” Then the line went dead. Much as Neil, or Pan, or whatever he was calling himself at the moment could frustrate her, she had to admit he’d never failed when he promised her a story.

((Belgium. 1943.))

Mud, blood, and warmth run together. Someone’s shouting outside the trench. The attack’s over, but there’s still some fucking kraut out there screaming. I hate German. Language sounds like barking, like they’re animals.

I look over the edge even though it’s fucking stupid. I can’t see through the damn rain. He’s closer than I thought. His face is bloody. Fucker probably can’t see, that’d explain why he’s stumbling through No Man’s Land. One arm’s held out, the other’s… fuck. He’s holding his fucking guts in. Jesus.

Stupid bastard must think he’s back in his own trenches.

What the fuck can I do?

I fire.

What the fuck am I supposed to do?

I catch him and I put his fucking guts back in and he bleeds all over me, but that’s no different than a half dozen fuckers in my own unit today. I drag him out of the hole, through the mud, to the medical unit.

Why the fuck am I doing this for a kraut? I have no idea.

The blonde sargeant stops me outside the medical tent. He wants to know what I’m doing.

I tell him.

He says we don’t have enough beds as it is. He pulls his gun, takes care of it.

What the fuck am I supposed to do?

I can’t take him to the medical unit like this, so I strip him down and shove him into the uniform off the corpse next to me. Dead fucker won’t miss it. Then I drag him up into the mud. He’s unconscious now. Good. Can’t give himself away.

The blonde sargeant looks at me funny. Doesn’t say shit, though.

Doctors take him away. I leave, don’t worry about it.

Couple weeks later I hear about the guy who woke up from a coma and started screaming in German until they shot him for a spy.

Doctors take him away. I leave, but I come back.

The Red Cross girls try to shoo me out, but I flirt and they’re fucking kittens. I pick up some German from different people, nothing much from any one.

His eyes flutter.

“Be quiet,” in my broken German.

He looks at me, confused.

“Play mute.” I’m wondering if those fuckers lied about the words, but then his eyes go wide. He lays back down. When the nurses come over, I tell them he can’t seem to talk. He smiles and they coo over him and I can’t help feeling I’ve been shown up.

But it’s fine.

((France. 1781.))

“But it’s fine. I’ll apologize,” I insist, adjusting my monocle. “I didn’t mean to destroy him, and it’s all a simple mistake.” I smile at my best friend. He’s worried, but I tell him to stay with his women and I will take care of it quickly.

The field is wet with dew and there’s a light rain falling. I try not to shiver in the cold. He arrives with a second and laughs when I don’t have anyone.

“I don’t want to fight.” As it turns out, he doesn’t care. It’s the killing he enjoys. That I wronged him is secondary.

“But it’s fine. I’ll apologize,” I insist, adjusting my monocle. He insists on coming anyway to second me, but that’s what friends are for, so I don’t complain.

I stand with my arms extended, but when he comes too close, I can’t get away fast enough. The pain is too wide, he’s not fighting the way I’d expect. I didn’t expect him to fight at all, this is ridiculous. I feel my best friend catch me.

He lays me down, and the dew seeps through the back of my coat as the blood seeps through the front.

My opponent laughs as I die.

I stand with my arms extended, but when he comes too close, I flinch away. He really means this nonsense about killing me!

I draw my sword, finally, but he’s fast. Before I know it, there’s a slice across my stomach and I’m bleeding all over one of my favorite jackets. A sabre style in a duel?

“How gauche,” I sneer, and he shouts in frustration. When he comes at me again, forcing me backward, I panic and feel my lessons slipping away from me. I lunge madly.

When I come to, he is lying on the ground, spotted in tiny, bloody holes.

((Kyoto. 1641.))

The body is full of tiny holes; I hold the arrows that killed my lord. His blond hair is stained with rusty blood.

We won the battle honorably, and I know he will be buried with the proper rites by his son. The new lord. I have one other obligation.

“Sha-san, I failed to protect him. You will care for his son, but first I must follow him. Please support me.” He nods gravely and stands at my side, his sword raised, as I drive my blade into my stomach.

I am resolute, and complete all three cuts before he takes my head.

((Penn State University. 1986.))

The sun was rising behind the clouds. I hadn’t been to bed, but it made my head hurt with an early hangover anyway. The frat party the night before was most excellent.

I stumbled out of the living room when I was about to hurl again, and spewed on the bushes. As I walked out into the drizzle, I tripped over my pledge brother.

“Fuck, man, don’t sleep there. It’s so lame.” He didn’t move. He was face down in a puddle of his own puke. Took me an alcohol-soaked minute to panic, but I did.

Campus safety told me he was dead.

((San Francisco. 1928.))

The streetlights were flickering on when I heard the dame screaming outside. She didn’t shut up. Maybe it was time to get out of bed and see what she wanted. Hell, she was making my hangover worse.

I was still dressed from last night, more’s the pity, and I was pretty sure I smelled as bad as I felt. I didn’t have time to stop and change. I also doubted I had any clean clothes.

By the time I stumbled out of my office, there were two dead bodies waiting on my doorstep. Hell of a way to start the damn night.

By the time I stumbled out of my office, there were two bodies waiting on my doorstep. Hell of a start to the night.

I heard a low moan and crouched down. Just my luck, the dame was the dead one. The man was staring, green eyes glazed, but he was talking. About then I realized that the guy spilling his guts across the sidewalk was also spilling his guts to me.

He told me he’d killed a mafia family single-handed, except the son of the don had come for him and his sister. He asked me find him, then lay still.

((Los Angeles. 1999.))

The man on the ground in front of me is obviously dead. His face is pale and bloody and his stomach is cut open, with various pink organs decorating the road. Fuck, it’s a mess.

“Oh, no! The bastards got here before me!” I think about how hollow my voice sounds as I kneel over the body, reaching for the gun he holds. It’s sticky.

Suddenly, the corpse’s eyes open and it lurches to life, reaching for me. I scream and jump back.

“And CUT!”

I smile and reach for the zombie. He takes my hand and climbs to his feet. “Nice scene, man.”

The man on the ground in front of me is obviously dead. His face is pale and bloody and his stomach is cut open, with various pink organs decorating the road. Fuck, it’s a mess.

“Oh, no! The bastards got here before me!” I think about how hollow my voice sounds as I kneel over the body, reaching for the gun he holds. It’s sticky.

Suddenly, the corpse’s eyes open and it lurches to life, reaching for me. I scream and jump back, but it grabs my wrist. I twist the arm, trying to get away, but he sinks his teeth in.

((Wisconsin. 2006.))

Twenty-two.

I’d studied them all. Jonesboro. Springfield. Olivehurst. Pearl.
Paducah. Red Lake. Columbine, of course.

Thirty-nine.

Ultimately, they were all inefficient.

Forty-eight.

Hesitation was what stopped them, but I would not. No pity for anyone,
least of all myself.

Sixty-three.

There was one boy who stepped in front of me instead of running. He
was calm, his red hair hanging in his face, his jacket still wet from
the drizzle outside.

Eighty-four.

Calm down, he said.

I fired before I realized that he was a stoner, an outsider like me.

He fell like the others. Bled like them. Died like them.

One hundred.

I kept going.

There was one boy who stepped in front of me instead of running. He
was calm, his red hair hanging in his face, his jacket still wet from
the drizzle outside.

Eighty-four.

Calm down, he said.

I stopped and I realized that he was a stoner, an outsider like me.

I wondered why another outcast would stop me. Were they worth
protecting? Did he think they were? Or was he just afraid I’d shoot
him?

“Go,” I told him. “You’re not the reason why I’m here.”

At first he hesitated, but when the gun twitched, he ran. Then I
turned the gun on myself.

I wondered why another outcast would stop me. Were they worth protecting? Did he think they were? Or was he just afraid I’d shoot him?

“Go,” I told him. “You’re not the reason why I’m here.”

“We’re all targets. How do you know I’m any different from that… girl…” He looked sick as he gestured to the nearest bleeding body. I stared at her and realized I didn’t even know her.

My finger slipped away from the gun’s trigger.

“Drop your weapon,” the voice was megaphone-dull. I turned instinctively. I lost my focus.

I didn’t think to drop my gun.

Someone opened fire.