A/N: I do not own The Cal Leandros novels. They belong to Rob Thurman. All kudos to her. I do not own the song-lyrics I used for mood setting.
Also, I am not Catholic, I'm Protestant. Please, any Catholics out there, forgive me for any errors in theology or representation of the clergy.
Spell-check tries to tell me narthex is not a word. :|
* = See note at bottom
Part 1 of 2, but can stand alone.
At night they will go walking
Till the breaking of the day
The morning is for sleeping
Through the dark streets they go searching
To see God in their own way
Save the nighttime for your weeping, your weeping
God is in the houses, and God is in my head
And all the cemeteries of London
I saw God come in my garden, but I don't know what He said
'Cause my heart it wasn't open, not open...
-"Cemeteries of London," by Coldplay
The tiles whispered back an echo of his his bootsoles and Niko stepped into the narthex of the church.
The heavy wooden door slipped ponderously shut behind him, with a click and a thud. It echoed far more loudly than his boots had. Niko glanced at the holy water font, and passed it by, stepping into the nave of the church itself. Row upon row of carved wooden pews ran down to the altar, and the filtered opalescent light of sunshine through stained-glass windows gleamed brightly; the scent of candle-wax and incense filled the hushed silence of the cathedral, holy and sacred.
Rather, Niko thought, the hushed silence of an empty building. Niko's gaze glanced over the wood carvings, the stained glass depicting the saints and the Virgin Mary, and settled on the figure in black kneeling at the altar rail. Black robes - his contact, then was a priest, or someone remarkably odd. Niko hesitated only for a fraction of a moment, then walked down the aisle. He made no sound, but as he approached, the figure stood, and crossed itself, with a low "Amen." It turned, and the man clasped his hands before him, waiting for Niko. He was indeed wearing the vestments of a priest - the long black robes, an embroidered red stole, the white collar. He held in his hands a rosary. His hair was brown and neatly trimmed, and his eyes were dark enough to be indeterminate in colour.
"So you have arrived. Bless you, my son, for coming," the man said, in a pleasant tenor.
Niko raised an eyebrow. "I am not your son," he demurred. "What need does a priest have for monster extermination?"
"A church is not exempt from worldly problems," the man answered, "And you came highly recommended by a...mutual friend." He smiled, and Niko saw the fangs immediately. A vampire priest. That was...unexpected, somehow. The vampire spoke again. "You may call me Father Callaghan."
Niko raised an eyebrow, the name sparking in memory. "Stephen King?" he queried, lightly.*
Father Callaghan chuckled. "No, but the irony does not escape me."
Niko nodded. "What is your problem? Our...mutual friend was not very specific." Which was not unusual, but Promise tended to gather as many details as possible before passing the job on.
"Yes. Let us talk business somewhere less holy. Please follow me." Father Callaghan turned and began to walk. Niko followed him across the sanctuary and through a smaller door near the back. "Rumors of evil spirits have disturbed my flock. The problem itself is not spiritual in nature, but it is one that I am hesitant to deal with personally. Taking a life goes against my beliefs and my vows as a priest."
"I was not aware priests vowed not to kill," Niko remarked, though he knew very little about religious vows in general. He did not believe in any one religion, nor in any god.
"The Scriptures say it is wrong to kill. I have taken a vow of obedience, and to go against the teachings of Our Lord goes against such a vow." Father Callaghan led the way along a short hall, a very ordinary hall with bad industrial carpet, dented and smudged sheetrock walls, and a crookedly-hung velvet portrait of the Christ, all illuminated by cheap fluorescents. Niko noted the myriad of dirty handprints at child-height and decided the closed door to the right probably led to church offices or some sort of meeting hall.
They took the door at the end of the hall, and it led into the priest's study. A small sparse room, with no windows, only bookshelves and the same fluorescent lights. There was an arrowhead vine creeping off the edge of the heavy wooden desk. "Thus, I would prefer not to deal with this problem myself. Please, have a seat, Mr. Leandros."
"Implying that if I refuse, you will go against your vows and kill," Niko mused, as he took a seat in the leather chair in front of the priest's desk. He was intrigued by the priest who was a vampire. He wondered how many of the church's congregation were inhuman as well, if any.
"The world is not absolute, as much as we would love for it to be so." Father Callaghan laid his rosary across the papers on the desk. Between the bookshelves in the tiny study, the crucified Christ watched them from high on the wall. "Violence, death, need and evil all are everyday realities. In a perfect world, as a perfect being, no, I would not kill. As an imperfect being in a broken world, yes, I will, in order to protect my flock."
"That sounds like justification, Father Callaghan." The title felt stiff in his mouth, unfamiliar.
The priest smiled, the faintest hint of fangs. "I suppose it does. Tell me, Mr. Leandros, what do you believe about killing?"
Niko was a bit surprised at the agreement and the question. He had expected a little more preaching. "It is a necessary evil." He folded his hands together, sitting straight in the chair. "And a means of paying the rent."
"A very mercenary answer, and yet philosophical." Father Callaghan nodded. "You are a very interesting young man. You know of Saint Michael's Cemetery, Mr. Leandros? It is not far from here."
Niko considered the name. "I believe so. It is an old cemetery."
"Yes. No-one is interred in it these days. Something else has taken up residence among the remains, however."
"Revenants?" Niko doubted it. Even a vampire reluctant to kill could take care of revenants.
"Some, but the main problem is in fact a bean-sidhe." Niko's eyebrows rose as he translated the sudden jump to Gaelic. "I see you understand. I will pay you the full amount in advance." Father Callaghan leaned back in his chair.
"It is dangerous, then." Of course. Niko began racking his mind for all the banshee myths he knew...and remembered Darkling, and Cal. His eyes narrowed and he tensed, before he could take a breath and smooth away the unpleasant memory. Darkling was dead. Cal was alive. It was enough.
"Yes and no. She would fight me, and to the death. You, my son, perhaps not." Father Callaghan shrugged, an oddly human gesture. "If she does not fight, she must merely move, and I will provide you an address to give her. She herself rarely preys on humans."
"Rarely," Niko repeated, grimly.
"Rarely." Father Callaghan nodded. "In cases of self-defense."
That was...reasonable, but Niko wasn't sure he was getting all the information. It seemed that Father Callaghan was giving him only the facts that framed the situation into what the priest wanted him to see. Niko would need to double-check the information, and speak with Promise. Perhaps Goodfellow might know something, but that was not certain. Niko nodded slowly nonetheless.
"Our usual requirements are merely half in advance," he informed the priest.
"I am aware." Father Callaghan smiled a little. "But I have faith."
"In someone you've just met?" Niko queried, raising a pale eyebrow.
"In someone I have a good report about," Father Callaghan parried. "And from what I have seen you will do very well." He smiled, a very pleasant and almost human smile that did not show his fangs. "So you will take the job?"
"We will," Niko agreed, despite his reservations about the priest. "Is there a time limit?"
"No. But I would prefer this was taken care of as soon as possible." Father Callaghan leaned forward and caught up a pen. In a flowing copperplate hand he wrote out an address on a small notepad. He tore this free and held it out to Niko between two extended fingers. "If she does not choose to fight, this is the address to give her. I will have the funds passed through our mutual friend by tonight."
Niko took the paper, folded it, and slipped it into the breast pocket of his duster. The address was not of another cemetery, but a street Niko did not immediately recognize. He would look it up this afternoon. "Thank you."
"No, thank you." With another almost human smile, Father Callaghan rose to his feet. Niko did as well. Their business was over - there was no reason to linger. But the next words from the priest made Niko pause, and look back to meet dark eyes with iron-grey. "Mr. Leandros, tell me...do you believe in God?"
"I do not," Niko answered, after a moment of thought.
"Not at all? I see." Father Callaghan touched the rosary on the desk, a fingertip tracing over the silver crucifix.
"Perhaps," Niko allowed, "there is a god. But if there is, I do not believe he cares about what happens to people." There was too much suffering and death. Too much that was unfair and outright wrong. If there was a god, he had never cared about Cal or Niko...and thus Niko did not care about him.
Father Callaghan nodded, slowly, contemplatively. He did not start spouting arguments or theology, and Niko's opinion of him rose marginally. "Then...what would you die for in this world?"
Niko's hesitation was only at the oddness of the question. His answer was already known to him. "For my brother." For Cal alone.
Father Callaghan nodded a very little, and his face was solemn...and very old. Niko wondered how old this vampire was, knowing Promise and meeting Niko's gaze with eyes like deep wells, shadowed and seeming bottomless. "Then he is what you live for, as well."
"Yes." Why the sudden questions, the interest? Niko, already wary, shifted his hand a fraction and felt the reassuring weight of steel against his palm. He had no stake in his pockets, but removing the head would do just as well, if it came to that.
"You life, your death, your salvation, your damnation." The vampire priest shook his head a little, and his voice was quiet. "Your Christ and your Judas. Go in peace, Mr. Leandros, and I pray to God you will find grace in your short mortal life."
Puzzled, insulted, taken aback, Niko stared at the vampire for a long moment, and felt the weight of those old, old eyes.
And in the end, he said nothing in reply; merely turned and left, Father Callaghan's last words echoing inside his head as he walked down the short spare hall.
He knew enough of the Bible to understand the references. Christ, who saved, and Judas, who betrayed. God and mortal man. Life and death. Salvation and sin. Human and Auphe. A paradox, a contradiction...and the truth as bittersweet as love. Cal was Niko's purpose in life, his definition, and yet in the end... He would probably become Niko's death, either by his hands or his life. Niko paused in the middle of the sanctuary, poised in the center of the rose window's rainbow fall of light, heart touched by the cold realization of things he tried not to think about. He looked up at the pattern in the stained glass, at the Lamb who was slain, and closed his eyes in quiet denial. They would not die, not yet, and even if he did Niko knew this was not a path he could abandon. He could never leave Cal, could never stop protecting him.
Niko opened his eyes. There were no prayers here. He needed none.
Only the heat of his own conviction to burn away the fears and doubts; his place was beside Cal, and that was all he had ever needed.
Soul steeled with this knowledge, held against Father Callaghan's words like a blade to defend (a holy relic against the darkness), Niko turned and left the cathedral, the whisper of his footsteps echoing through the sanctuary like the susurration of heresies.
*Father Callahan is, in 'Salem's Lot by Stephen King, the Catholic priest who fights the master vampire and loses his faith. This was actually completely unintentional on my part - I just wanted an old-sounding Irish name and that was the first that came to mind.