"Okay," Tate said bracingly to the birds on his shoulders. "We're going outside now. It's just like sitting on the window sill only this is for-real outside."

He stepped out onto the front porch and felt several claws dig into his shoulders. He ignored the pain. "It's okay, guys. Going out is kinda weird for me, too. I know it's big out here but you'll get used to it. When you can fly, you'll get to go where ever you want."

The fledglings were still mottled with baby down and unable to fly, but he'd noticed lately they'd all begun to flap their wings as they waddled about. If they were ever going to fly, they'd need to be used to the great outdoors. They hadn't been outside in months so they were due for a field trip.

"This is it," he presented as he walked across the wide lawn, toward the street. "Admittedly, not much to see with the fog. But you get used to that, too. The fog's not so bad today, really. You can even see the houses across the street. Some days, you can't do that."

He stopped at the gate and peeked through the wide-spaced bars, out at the world beyond. He didn't see anyone but he could hear sounds of life down the street in both directions. He pressed his face against the bars and one of the crows hopped off his shoulder and onto the top of the gate. He looked up and smiled crookedly.

"Be careful, Cagney. It's a long way down from there."

The bird winked a shiny black eye at him and stayed where it was. Tate carefully pushed open the other portion of the double-door gate and stepped out onto the sidewalk. He pulled his hands up the sleeves of his coat, not liking being out in the open. The crows still on his shoulders shuffled and dug their claws in deeper. They could sense he was uneasy and took their cues from him.

"Stupid," he chided himself.

He wasn't sure why he felt so weird being out in the open. He wanted to walk down three blocks where the growing settlement's market and other public areas were. He could. The fog that allowed him to move freely covered that area. He just couldn't shake the nervous feeling of paranoia. Needing a scapegoat, he attributed it to the kids from Westfield, even though he hadn't seen any of them since the school blew up.

On his left shoulder, Cobain gave a raspy caw and flapped his patchy wings. He was closest to fully feathered. He would fly soon.

"Here we are," Violet said, coming through the gate behind him.

She had a big, floppy sunhat on and a terry cloth bundle in her arms. She wasn't carrying her baby brother, Joshua, though. She had one of the crow babies in the bundle, the one Tate had named Lon Cheney. Each of the birds were named after stars Tate liked. There was James Cagney, the one on the fence, and Kurt Cobain. Jimmy Stewart and Jim Morrison. They were all lively and loud.

Lon wasn't doing so well. The runt of the group, he was perpetually sick. Violet had appointed herself his personal nurse and had taken to keeping him bundled because he seemed to do better that way. Her mother didn't know Violet had taken a few hooded towels and swaddling blankets. Joshua had so many, they would never be missed.

Stewart cawed now and beat his mangy wings like Cobain, exerting his authority over the foggy neighborhood too. Then, through the fog, a low-slung hearse of a car slid down the street. The tinted windows obscured even the driver. The birds with Tate startled, unused to vehicles. One crow tumbled from his shoulder and caught itself by sinking its claws into his hip.

"Ow!" he objected as the talons punctured him. He reached down and plucked Morrison off his side. He healed the injury and set the bird on his head. "Fuck. They're getting strong."

Violet pulled her attention off the mysterious car that was disappearing into the fog. "Who do you think that was?"

Tate shrugged. "You want to go see? They're probably heading to the church or square."

Violet looked down at the bundle of bird in her arms. "Yeah. We can take the crows for a walk later. This might be important."

"That was a pretty fancy car," Tate agreed. He reached up and collected the crow from the gate. Cagney nipped at his fingers but wasn't serious about it. "C'mon, guys. Back to the nest."

—

Once they'd put the young birds back in their nest, Violet and Tate went down to the town center. The area was well within the fog, so they had no trouble getting there. They avoided the walk down and just apparated near the market. The car wasn't there. A quick shift over to the church found it. The long, silver-and-black car was parked outside. It had no plates; no obvious way to tell where it had come from.

"Fancy," Tate remarked again, noticing it looked pretty clean considering what all was out there.

"Yeah," Violet agreed. "I wonder if they're with the witches?"

Tate frowned and headed up the steps of the church. He slipped through one of the double doors and paused to let his eyes adjust. Violet came in behind him, also passing through invisibly. They hadn't agreed to be stealthy beforehand but both felt the need. Something about the situation had both ghosts on alert.

The vaulted room was lit with hundreds of candles, most in iron stands with multiple branches, to support the sheer number of them. Wax dripped freely, left to collect in lumps beneath the black metal stands. At the far end of the cavernous, pew-lined room, a small group had assembled. Father Jeremiah was there with three men and a woman. Tate sized up the strangers. Two were guys close to Father Jeremiah's age. There was also an older man, and a very pale woman who was almost entirely shrouded in a hooded dress.

"Brothers," Jeremiah said to the two younger men. And then, to the older: "Father."

The priest knew the men well. Reverend Justice Samuel was the bigger of the younger men, fifteen years older than Jeremiah and an Enforcer of the Order. Most in their group preferred the anachronistic black robes but Samuel dressed down in black jeans and a black short-sleeved shirt that showed the pentagram tattoo on his forearm and the leather Enforcer's cuff on his wrist. The other Enforcer, Brother Andrew, wore the same band and the same grim expression as his fellow Justice.

The oldest of the men was Reverend Thomas, Jeremiah's blooded father through his mother. The man had been a great influence on Jeremiah growing up. Normally the priest would welcome his company but the circumstances prevented any joy in the reunion.

"You received our message," the older man said. He was dressed in the ceremonial robes of his station, not a comforting fact.

"I did," Jeremiah said and found his mouth suddenly very dry. "I really don't understand why—"

"The Order wants to know why you haven't kept in contact," Father Thomas interrupted, his words like a whip. "I want to know as well. You were sent here for a reason. Did you forget?"

"I haven't forgotten," Jeremiah said but he was already feeling the pressure. "I've been doing what I was sent to do."

"Have you?"

Brother Samuel and Brother Andrew moved closer to him. Feeling threatened, Jeremiah forced himself to stand his ground and have faith in his conviction.

"Yes. I have. I've been teaching Michael the scripture and the role he's to play," said Jeremiah. "He's been well prepared."

"What about this place?" said Father Thomas. "Is this a temple to Samael?"

"This isn't my project," Jeremiah volleyed. "This is something a local group built, to honor Michael."

The old man looked unimpressed and leaned heavier on the polished cane he used to get around with. "Where is Samael's temple?"

"I wasn't sent here to build a temple. I was sent—"

"You were sent to do our Lord's bidding!" Father Thomas cut him off again. "How can you possibly know what that is if you're not communicating with the Order?"

Flustered and feeling unjustly persecuted, the younger priest frowned and rubbed at the spot between his brows. "I've done the best I can while the world is ending."

It was the wrong thing to say and he knew it. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Jeremiah wished he could take them back.

"The Order is charging you with dereliction of duty," the old man said and his words were steel.

The two Reverend Justices seized Father Jeremiah. He tried to pull away from them but they were imbued with the power of their station. He couldn't break free.

"This is insane!" he objected. "Father, I've been completely committed to my mission!"

"So you say," said Father Thomas.

—

"Do you think we should tell Constance?" Tate asked Violet, keeping his voice low even though no one but her could hear him. He knew his mother would want to know but he wasn't sure if he should tell her. He preferred to leave the crisis of conscience to someone who had a better one than he did.

Violet watched the group, her mouth set in a firm little frown. If Constance knew, Michael would know. The girl wasn't sure how she felt about setting him on anyone, for any reason. She wasn't entirely convinced he was the spawn of Satan like her mother believed, but he did have strange abilities that he didn't bother to control at times. She didn't know these people but it sounded like they were his superiors and Father Jeremiah hadn't been doing his job.

"We probably should tell her," she said hesitantly.

"You go," Tate suggested. "I'll stay here and make sure they don't go anywhere."

Violet didn't like the sound of that, either. "How about you go and I'll stay here and keep an eye on them."

Tate liked his idea better. "But I'm good at making diversions."

"That's what I'm worried about," she smiled and gave him a quick kiss on his sulky lower lip. "Hurry back. Okay?"

And that was that. Even though he didn't want to go, Tate went. He couldn't say no to her. He found it difficult to refuse any strong female, but Violet in particular was impossible to deny. And she, like his mother, knew it. Fortunately she didn't exploit it much, but at a time like this, it was an inconvenient impulse.

—

Author's Note:

Michael has his birds, and Tate has his. Not sure who they'd listen to if it came down to a competition though. Probably Violet.

Next chapter's the end of Episode 2. What will become of Father Jeremiah? It amused me to see him in Apocalypse, mostly because they killed him off right after Constance brought him into the house. Canonized to die.

Tune in next week to see Michael driving badly and the trial of the decade.