Bozidar was three years old when Brother Janek had discovered him, abandoned in the great North Woods. His childhood had been one of solitude and flame and rites more ancient than the Holy Text. While others his age had been lulled to sleep with nursery tales, Bozidar overheard whisperings of a mystic energy, with the terrible power to rend the universe asunder and release all the demons of Hell, more terrible than any witch or ogre, like a pestilence upon the Earth. When Bozidar was fifteen years old, he took the vows of Dagon, and he never once looked back. He would gladly have given his life to ensure the safety of the Key, for what other purpose could God have intended for him than protector of the portal?
Still, nothing had prepared him for this particular sacrifice.
Brother Janek had summoned Bozidar to his chambers two weeks ago, and in his cracked, papery voice had said: "The Beast approaches, Brother Bozidar."
"It may be that we can no longer protect the Key. You know what you must do."
Bozidar had known. Within the hour he was on a plane – his first – to America.
Now, he reread the parchment of Dagon carefully. "Stará bela," he swore softly, and then, summoning all of his courage and trying to remember everything Brother Jakub had taught him of English, "Who would you say was the, er, dreamiest – jemine – celebrity of the early Nineteen-Nineties?"
Felicity snapped her chewing gum – "it helps me think," she had said – and began rebraiding her hair for the fourth time since Bozidar had approached her with his "very important survey from the Pope, for which I need desperately teenage consultants."
"Is the Pope really interested in the hotness factor of Christian Bale?"
"Yes," Bozidar lied. "This information is of the utmost importance."
That, at least, was accurate.
"Do I get Heaven points for this? 'Cause I'm so not into the blood-spattering-God's-raiment-eternal-hellfire thing, and I can use all the help I can get..." and Felicity launched into a fifteen minute discussion of abdominal muscles that Bozidar understood every fourth word of, but transcribed as faithfully as possible.
Brother Ezven is watching the Dawson's Creek television program, thought Bozidar in a casual and not at all envious manner as Felicity began to list her childhood pet names, And Brother Zdenek has only to dig up his copies of the In Style magazine from his past as interior decorator.
"My dad called me Pumpkin Belly," Felicity continued, leaning in conspiratorially, and Bozidar thought, Brother Vavrinec is researching infants. Infants who do not talk.
Bozidar was fairly sure that infants also did not chew gum or touch monks' arms in that distracting and probably sinful way.
Brother Janek had said, "We must ensure that the Slayer will protect the Key."
"She cannot suspect the Key's true nature."
"We are the protectors of the portal, Bozidar. Our magics must be without flaw."
"The Beast is fearsome."
And Janek had been kindly and reasonable and Bozidar knew in his soul that God had placed him, Bozidar, on this Earth to guard the Key, to keep Creation safe from the darkness that could in a moment engulf it.
And if that duty meant discovering the secrets of the American teenager, then Bozidar would push past his shame and ask, "And how do you feel about your older sister?" Felicity's "Oh my God, bitch much?" placed the Order one step closer to creating the perfect younger sister for the Slayer and keeping the Key safe from hands that would abuse it.
Bozidar nodded, satisfied, and asked, "NSYNC or Backstreet Boys?"
