24/ Mirabilis Deus in Sanctis Suis

The doorbell rings and we're greeted with a cheerful "Welcome to Ahnenerbe. Table for two?"

Talk, Mary. You're the adult.

Mary's expecting me to say something since I was the one who had an appointment.

We've been silent for too long. The orange-haired waitress looks worried now.

Fuck it, "Hi." Fuck, why do you sound like a telemarketer. "Ummm, we're waiting for someone. I think he might have made a reservation under Laurent?"

The hostess lifts a page from the clipboard and makes an 'o' with her mouth, "We're a little busy at the moment, but I can clear a table — oh, Chika is already clearing it. Would you like to wait here or at the bar?"

"Bar's good."

'Why,' Mary says with her eyebrows.

'I just gave an answer,' I return with my own eyebrows. Then a 'you should have said something if you wanted to wait here' jut of my jaw.

She blinks. I don't think she got what the jut meant.

"Can I help you with anything else?"

Mary's left raised eyebrow accuses me.

I roll my eyes because speak up if you want something, geez. Nothing stopping you. But, whatever, let's get going.

We end up with our backs to the bar, sitting on stools about a foot apart, wordlessly watching the green-haired chica (hostess's words), stack the half-finished plates each layered with used napkins soaking in sauce or drippings from what will be our table. People in this town really don't get how wasteful they are.

Laurent should be arriving with his friend any minute now. I've known Laurent for. . . a while. There's something special about him that's comforting and trustworthy. Like he's seen so much that nothing really bothers him anymore, so of course the Grail wouldn't choose him as a Master. He has no need for a wish.

"Why, Master Alcatraz, it hasn't been that long."

On my right is a tanned, middle-aged man in a black sports jacket and matching pants holding a blue flip phone. Older phones are so much more interesting than phablets.

To my left is Mary with clasped hands in her lap. She's nervous. First time she's been 'herself' in public. Apparently, Taco Bell doesn't count. "You sure his head ain't cut? What sort of outsider would want to get himself involved?"

"He's a good person who wants to help us."

"Come on, come on. When's the last time we spoke? Years by my reckoning."

Mary catches herself and swallows the Irish in her before speaking, "There are good folk out there who really want to help, even have your best interests at heart, but they're not you, dearie. If they fail, they'll say sorry, go to an establishment like this, sigh, and order a pint. But you. . . you won't. You can't."

"I know."

"Why, we are all your pupils, Master. This? Just some business. Nothing related to you. . ."

"I don't want you to get your hopes up."

We're not talking about the Holy Grail War, are we?

"An old friend asked me to pop by and I wanted to thank you for looking after my girls."

How enviable.

"I get that, but we're up against knights, vampires, and Hercules. Laurent is a mage, may-gas, whatever. I'm a teenager, you're a cook. Let's hear him and his church friend out."

To have experienced that. To feel the need to warn me about that. What a full life you must have led, Mary.

"But it turns out I'm not the only one related to you in this town. Oh, hung up." The man looks at the phone for a moment and then places it on the bar counter before starting to walk away.

None of my business, I just want to shout something.

"Hey, you left your phone on the table!"

Both Mary and the tanned man turn to look at me. He smiles, she doesn't.

"You're Nadine, aren't you?"

Stop looking at me, Mary. I don't know what's going on either.

"I'm Laurent's friend. Let me pop to the bathroom real quick."

"What about your phone?"

"Not mine, leave it."

What?

"Let's wait for the old bastard before ordering." The man folds his menu and leans back so one arm dangles behind our booth. "Never thought I'd have the chance to meet a Ghost Liner before."

"This is. . ."

"I'm Mary, pleased to meet you." She inclines her head. "You're a man of the cloth?"

He wags his finger at us with a twinkle in his eyes, "Is that what Laurent told you? No, no. Well, yes. Yes, I guess I am technically part of the Church again. Have to get used to that. Oh, where are my manners, Lorenz Trendel."

He holds his hand out. It betrays that dad-joke of a face of his. Only Rich's hands came close to how rough this man's hands are. After releasing my hand it goes straight back to his side of the table. Strange.

"Father Trendel, then?" Mary asks respectfully.

"Just call me Lorenz, ma'am. Father Trendel was my dad." Did he just? "And to be frank, I haven't had a single priestly duty for more than a decade."

Let me get this straight.

"You're technically part of the church, but you're not a priest. Do you just volunteer at bake sales for the tax write-off?"

A mischievous smile brimming with innocence. It's borderline disgusting. Nothing like the bowl-cut priest's soft serpentine.

"My daughter used to ask me questions like that. For someone in our line of business, we use the terms Church and church interchangeably. It's easy to forget how esoteric these concepts might be for outsiders." He clears his throat, "As you know, there's the Catholic Church: a major religion, elects a Pope, main power is in the Vatican, its priests wear funny hats, etc. There's also the Holy Church, or the Church."

"Surely, they are the same organization; the Church is the Church?" Mary protests. Oh yeah, she's Catholic.

Lorenz closes his eyes and nods. "I see why Laurent asked me to meet you."

Because even if the Master is an ordinary person, a Heroic Spirit usually is not. In my case, the worst Master summoned the worst Servant. What a joke. I don't know if we're supremely compatible or the opposite.

"I'm allowed to say this because I'm not really a priest anymore." Famous last words, much? "I preached at a small church in the Netherlands. The village burned down; my church included. Terrible accident. I had some very good friends; all perished in the fire. Their daughter survived. We were the only survivors. That's when I realized God had put me on this earth to take care of this girl. I. . . wasn't the greatest priest anyway. About ten years ago, some very bad men wanted my research. They went so far as to send a paramilitary unit to retrieve me. I left my daughter and her maid with the owner of this cafe. We're good friends. The two waitresses who work here? Went to high-school with my girls."

Oh, so that's why we're meeting at this cafe.

"The organization chasing me was persistent. I eventually got in touch with the Holy Church and they sorted it all out."

There'll be a movie with that plot in five years. Nominated for best picture, won't win.

"My research at the time was. . . unbefitting of a priest. And that's what the Holy Church deals in."

"An inquisition?" Mary piques.

Well, as they say, no one suspects. . .

"Not wrong," Lorenz taps the menu. "Christians believe the Bible is the Word of God. That would mean anything that dissents from the scripture and the doctrine resulting from that scripture is heretical, no?"

We both nod. She, from years of brainwashing. Me, because Lorenz and I both know the question behind the divine authenticity of Christian traditions can't be summed up in two sentences, the second of which is a rhetorical question.

"But, wait! If God created all and He is all-knowing, all-powerful, and all-good doesn't that mean he created the heretical as well?" A mock gasp.

Sounds like a question that turned wealthy land-owners into full-time philosophers. If the Bible is the Word of God and Christianity derives its doctrine from that text, then how do believers reconcile things that don't exist within that text?

"More than a thousand years ago, a Supreme Ecumenical council for all denominations was gathered. Through their artificial providence an Eighth Sacrament was created. Those who partook in this Grace which does not exist were allowed to be involved with heretical matters. Military outfits were commissioned to protect churches against heresies. A force was assembled to retrieve holy artifacts from heretics. The Cardinals commissioned agents to execute the Lord's will, destroying monstrosities that were not part of His natural order. And finally, for her suffering faithful, the Church prepared solemn pilgrims with minds of steel to exorcise [ruby=demons]distortions[/ruby]. This is the Holy Church, the singular from the Council's universal."

I can't help but think there's something [ruby=wrong][s]sacred[/s][/ruby] in those words.

"Black magic is heretical. Yet, you're good friends with a magus, how did that come to pass?"

"Why ma'am, let the old bastard himself tell you." He winks at someone behind our booth.

"Lorenz, old friend! So glad you could make it on short notice."

Coming from behind us, Laurent removes both his hobo jackets and slips off his beanie with one hand before vigorously shaking Lorenz's hand with the other.

"No problem at all, in fact, my pleasure. I was just telling the girls here how this meeting gave me the perfect excuse to ambush some old friends." Lorenz shuffles along his bench towards the window, giving Laurent space to sit down.

"The old padlock, huh. So, he's still kicking?" Laurent shakes his head good-naturedly. Then with his face resting on his fist, he winks at me. "Hi, champ. Sorry, got caught up. What's for lunch? I'm starving."

"Most of the menu's pasta?"

"The owner's German, but the manager's a master of Italian cuisine. My little girl often complimented their assistant cook, the waitress with the orange hair there. Much better than our maid."

"You've been staring at your menu for a while, dear lady. Are you having trouble deciding?"

"Japanese. . . curry? What a notion."

"Oh yes ma'am. The manager hails from Japan. Apparently, they used to do a curry of the month, here. Turned out to be so popular, curry connoisseurs far and wide made the pilgrimage to this very establishment."

"Like the annual Tamales festival up north."

"What about you champ, see anything you like? I'm paying."

"Wow, thanks. Just surprised they have a carrot salad. Tolosa salads are usually just a garden, Caesar, or cobb."

"You heard Lorenz, champ. You can't settle for salad. Master Italian chef, famous curry. Need more meat on your bones, anyway."

"Well, what about Mary?"

"Hmph, I think she's quite taken with the curry, ma'am?"

"Japanese? Curry?"

"What about you two?"

"Steak to go with this red. I've survived this long, may as well enjoy it."

"They don't have a good Sangiovese here? Shame, Laurent. Why would you move here in the first place?"

"You learn to drink Cabernet. Californians and their Cabernet. Dear lady, I noticed you haven't ordered a beverage?"

"Irish. Looks poorly on me as well."

"Lorenz, how big are the pizzas?"

"Definitely enough to fill a person and have some left over to take home for dinner."

"Hello everyone, have you decided on what you want?"

"Ladies first."

"Could I get the Salsiccia pizza?"

"Of course. And you, ma'am?"

"Japanese. . . curry! Please."

"The lunch special 8 oz Sirloin, for me. And Lorenz?"

"Tell Hibiki to make me Harriet's usual. Let's see how my little girl's tastes have changed. Thanks, Chikagi."

Oh, Chika is short for Chikagi.

When lunch arrived, Mary couldn't stop complimenting the innovation of 'oriental fusion' in the form of a Japanese curry with white rice. Laurent tore into his steak and sipped his wine with a somewhat dissatisfied look on his face. Lorenz. . . the waitress came out with an omelet on top of fried rice. He was grimly happy? He even said 'guess she's still my little girl.' Creepy.

And me and my pizza. Was it as good as Guiseppe's or is Giuseppe's really just overpriced and overrated Americanized Italian food with fancy Italian names to make it seem less American? That's what I hoped to find out, but I think people who criticize cuisine are exaggerating the difference. Okay, Dominos vs. this pizza, sure there's a difference. But at a certain point, things taste just as good? It's all kind of just food.

"How's your pizza?" Laurent asks with his knife digging into the meat.

"Good as Giuseppe's."

Laurent bobs his head ambivalently.

"Mary, how's the. . ." but her plate was already cleared.

"While we're digesting, I'd love to hear how you and Mr. . . . ." She shoots Laurent a small smile. "Why, I don't believe I've had the pleasure?"

"Of course, dear lady, of course. Last time I believe you were relatively incapacitated. No need for formality, call me Laurent. Magi names are too long and nonsensical. Even applying for a credit card is hurdle after hurdle."

"My pleasure, Laurent. Mary. Don't put much stock in last names either. Lorenz was regaling us 'bout his exploits through the years but never touched on how a man of the cloth came in contact with a magician."

Lorenz raises an eyebrow at that last word as he sips the last of his wine, white. Laurent takes his time wiping his mouth before leaving the napkin on his plate.

"You are bold, dear lady, participating in the Holy Grail War without hiding your name. I would say, even honorable. On the other matter, I'm not too comfortable with telling that story," he looks at Lorenz. "A dear friend shouldn't tarnish the honor of another."

Laurent's pretty cool. Real. In fact, all the mages I've met are some version of this. They don't hide behind memes. They say what they mean without being scared of who they are.

"Why I believe it was Lorenz who said you should be the one to tell us, so please go on right ahead," Mary smiles.

Lorenz apologizes with an amused frown, "The girls already know I was not the most pious of priests."

Laurent sighs, defeated. "Lorenz's research involved a collaboration with the Frise family, a magus family that I was also entangled with. Mutual friends often have a way of meeting. We kept in touch after he adopted their daughter. I helped out with her magical education and when the Pralalala forced Lorenz to go underground I offered what meager assistance I could at the time."

"Couldn't have been meager assistance if he came all the way to a warzone to tell us about the Church." Mary protests.

"Can't find a magus humbler than Laurent. Saved my life, this man has." Lorenz good-naturedly slaps Laurent on the back. Laurent rolls his eyes. "But, no ma'am. I arrived a few days ago. The Cardinal commissioned me to help Father Phahn with administering this Holy Grail War. It was a good excuse to come to Ahnenerbe and see some old friends."

Wait, where have I heard. . .

"A Cardinal? Ph— I mean Father Phahn said it was a Cardinal who started this Grail War. Wait, do you know Father Phahn?"

"No, Nadine; that Cardinal has long since passed."

"Laurent's right. When the Tolosa Grail was brought to the Church's attention, a well-known Cardinal established a commission with the bishop who found the Grail as his co-chair."

Right, Phahn talked about this last night. The bishop recently died and a member of his faction became Saber's Master. So that would mean the Cardinal who commissioned Lorenz, commissioned Father Phahn, is the one handling this Grail War all the way from the Vatican.

"Father Phahn's reputation precedes him. A master negotiator, by all accounts. During his time in the Eighth Sacrament, it's rumored he provided the initial dataset that allowed the Church's Beowulf team to create a model that forecasts the movements of relics in collectors' hands. Truly no one better suited to moderate this war."

Wow Lorenz, who knew the bowl-cut priest who looks like a Walmart greeter was such a big-shot.

"When I became a Master, I thought it was just a secret fight between seven people. I'm glad there's so much. . . structure." I give a reassuring nod.

"Oh no, champ, please don't get that impression." Laurent shakes his head. "Being a Master is the equivalent of signing a liability waiver on your life. There might be people like Lorenz, personnel that the Church has requisitioned, as well as local and state officials, but they're not here to protect you. They're to protect everyone from you, well, you, dear lady."

That. . .

"Y-Yeah! That's what I meant." Change the subject, change the subject, change the subject. "But yeah, like, thank you guys for coming and helping us out. Like I'm a high-school student and Mary's a cook so there. . ." I just stop there because damn, it's going to just get worse.

"You feel like you're out of your depth," Laurent says flatly.

"Exactly, especially after last night's Master gathering."

"Then why not quit?" Lorenz asks me point-blank. Laurent looks at him. "You might die."

I nod, "Mary. . ."

"I want to clear my name," Mary says clearly.

"And I want to help her," I say as clearly as I can.

Lorenz looks at us for a long second before sliding a screen protector across the table.

"You'll want to peel off the cover and put it over your Command Spell."

This is my mom's waxing strips-level sticky.

"Even if this hides magical energy, you can still see. . . Oh."

All visible traces of my Command Spell disappear.

"As expected of Church cybernetics," Laurent raises an eyebrow. "Truly cutting-edge technology. Weren't there rumors of an Executor whose body was about seventy percent modified with consecrated weaponry?"

"Like Robocop in robes. Is Father Phahn a cyborg?" And more importantly what the fuck did I just put on my hand.

"Sancraid Phahn isn't an Executor. Like Laurent said, the Church has some agents with some 'improvements' to better serve the Lord. In order to create and maintain these prostheses, the Church has been required to create a low-cost, fast-acting skin replacement. Let's say one of our agents wants to go to a public sauna on their day off or the covering of their prosthesis is damaged during battle. Normally, the agents use an aerosol but these are easier for small, instant applications."

"What happens when I use a Command Spell?"

He takes a small plastic ziplock of those screen protectors out from his jacket pocket and drops them on my side of the tables.

"Reapply. These should last you until the end of the Grail War."

"Thank you, Lorenz."

"No need. Thank this man." He points his thumb at Laurent.

"Thanks. . . for everything." I'm surprised how much I mean it.

That night the vampire almost killed me, Laurent let me into his car with such understanding eyes, not the sympathetic way my father used to look at me when I had a bad day at school or my mother was being particularly melodramatic, but the encouraging kind. Wanting to let me know that I can trust him. That he'll do whatever he can because he wants to help me.

"Now to business. A vampire recently attacked you, correct?" Lorenz becomes a little more serious.

"Yes. Last I heard, the vampire's a Master and the Church called in a specialist. But if the vampire is a Master, the neutral Church shouldn't have errr jurisdiction?"

"No," says Laurent, "The overseer should be neutral. But the entire Church is not the overseer. The Church has a duty to slay Dead Apostles. They will not shirk their responsibility."

Lorenz nods.

"If the vampire is a Master, he would have a Servant. Can this specialist stand-up to both a Master and Servant?"

"'Fraid not." Lorenz admits. "The Church would break the overseer's neutrality and deploy Rider if there's a Dead Apostle after the Grail. This Grail especially."

Because this Grail was embezzled from the Church's very own treasury. That's what Phahn said last night. The bowl-cut priest has it hard. He needs to fight off Saber and now this vampire's Servant.

"A vampire would want to be impervious to sunlight, right? That's a vampire's greatest weakness."

Or a Van Helsing.

"Assuming there is a Dead Apostle as a Master, champ, their objective was to become a Dead Apostle. After that, there's nothing left. In the ecstasy of their heresy, they failed to realize everything they valued would eventually become trite and meaningless."

"For the vampire this is just a game?" Mary says. "Playing the role of a Master so they can feel something. Ridiculous."

You tell him, Mary.

"Is there anything that I can do if the vampire attacks me again, Lorenz? How does the Church usually fight against vampires?"

"By appealing to their humanity, no?" Lorenz nudges Laurent who chuckles. "But really, the Church gathers information about the vampire to find a lair and undo the Curse of Restoration, usually with a religious symbol they were familiar with when they were human. In extreme cases, the Church will employ Scriptures."

"Scriptures, truly? Hurtling a Bible at someone seems blasphemous, bordering on ridiculous." Mary asks.

Lorenz shrugs, "Something of the sort."

I swallow my disappointment. There's nothing I can do to forget that claw driving itself into my scalp, replacing everything I thought I knew. I'm a Master. I have eyes that see into the world. So. . .

"Don't be discouraged, champ. Dead Apostles are on a different level from magi. All the Masters, even Father Phahn would have a tough time."

"I'm sure the overseer would have an easier time than the others." Laurent butts in.

"No question, but let me explain it to Nadine and Mary. Dead Apostles and magi, generally speaking, have the same idea of the supernatural, but Dead Apostles are vampires so naturally, they start at a higher place. Because of our purification rites, the Church is the natural enemy of the Dead Apostles who were formerly human. However, it may be difficult to admit, the Church lacks," Laurent scoffs, "the supernatural resources magi have. It's a rock, paper, scissors relationship."

Or a Mexican standoff.

Mary looks worried. As a Servant, she was supplied with information about the existence of magecraft, but vampires and vampire hunters? The fabric undergirding the narrative she had told herself throughout her life has just been severed and restitched. But I don't really understand why she's so worried. Humans, not vampires, are behind climate change.

"I understand why the Church doesn't approve of mages or vampires, but why do Dead Apostles not get along with mages?"

"Good question, champ. Yes Lorenz, why not, they're both heretics are they not?" This time it's Laurent nudging Lorenz.

"The first rule of magi is to conceal magecraft. Dead Apostles are supernatural beings preoccupied with their own games. They conceal themselves out of fear of the Church and magi, if at all. To summarize, the Dead Apostles fight to continue existing, the magi fight to be left alone with their research, and the Church fight to correct the world."

So they can continue to Live in their undeath.

So they can continue to search for the Truth.

So they can continue to be Right.

Byron, why is this all bullshit?

"So, then what about this is a mystery?" I ask.

Mary looks at me, confused.

"What's a mystery?" Laurent asks.

"Mystery is." Lorenz responds, but upon seeing Laurent's confused face, "Heresy."

"There's nothing mysterious about what's heresy," Laurent responds.

"No, she means mystical." Lorenz puts his hand up.

"Mystical things are certainly mysterious and heretical," Mary says.

"There's a difference in something being mystical versus mysterious?" I ask.

"What a mystifying conversation." Laurent gives up.

"A real mystery." Mary piques.

"Mystère," says Lorenz exasperated. "She's asking about mystère."

Right, I remember Rich saying the word.

"Of course, mystère. Champ, do you know where the word mystery comes from?"

Truthfully no, but these eyes let me glimpse into the shifting clouds of context to find the answer hidden within the question.

"Mysticism, right?"

Laurent nods, "Originating from the Grecian Mystêria, there are many known religious mysteries today: the Eleusinian mysteries, the mysteries of Isis, Disciplina Arcani." He looks at Lorenz as he says the last one. "There was a level of secrecy to these rites. Only the initiated could learn and participate. Magecraft is based on this learning system while beings such as vampires are known as mysteries in the sense that a supernatural explanation is required for their existence."

"No," Lorenz says shortly.

We all turn to look at him slightly shocked.

"Don't get me wrong, Laurent is correct in the traditional sense. But mystère, mystery, heresy goes beyond the idea of pure mysticism. A mystery is self-complete, concealed, and stagnant. A body without organs. It is what it is simply because it is."

"But mages use magecraf. . ."

Mages use magecraft. They don't willy-nilly wish it to existence because they can like in Disney movies. It's a process that has a beginning and a result. . . like science. But then if a mystery is self-complete, applying a process to it, adding meaning onto what it already is. . . .

Studying mystery inherently dilutes the mystery. It doesn't matter too much if only one person understands and utilizes the mystery. No matter how hard that person may try, the mystery yields to their interpretation because it is self-complete. On the other hand, two people is another story. With two people, you can create a world. One to establish, the other to affirm. The mystery is now reliant and therefore is no longer isolated. It is no longer stagnant. It is no longer Truth. Thus, it loses power as a pure mystery.

People too.

When two people are in a relationship, platonic or romantic they take on each other's attributes: identity, ideology, feelings. If Krista felt insulted enough to slap a hoe, you bet I would feel the same way. We become more than ourselves when we're with someone. That's why she's so ridiculous for believing she could still be my best friend while going out with my brother. Because that mystery is no longer going to be split two ways, but three. At first, she'll have part of me, part of herself, and part of my brother. But he'll. . . he's already. . . nothing. Just a popular, perfect, pretty boy. Eventually, she'll meet more and more of his friends and become part of more and more people. As for the part of me attached to her? It'll whittle down to nothing. The part of her attached to me. . . still everything. Ha! Relationships make us more than ourselves? No, we're less, so much less. Self-complete, I know who I am. I know how I feel. I know my truth. No interference, no burdens, no Krista. So just like people,

"Mystery becomes diluted the more people know about it." I test a mage's maxim on my tongue, "But doesn't saying that in and of itself dilute mystery?"

If mystery is self-complete, measuring it, comparing it, categorizing it, disregards what it is. . .

"Application, reductionism, reproduction. These are all scientific concepts. Yet, magi like Laurent use these tools on mysteries to reach the Truth. Quite the paradox."

Now say something smart.

"So it's all just paper?"

Lorenz frowns, "Where did you hear that from?"

"Something Lord Byron said, last night. Ummm, Lord Byron is Caster's Master. He said something like the world was a library and mystery was just paper."

"Laurent, do you know what that means?" Lorenz asks.

"Haven't the foggiest."

"Well, he had been drinking. . ."

I make an excuse so we can dismiss it as nonsense. But, if it was really nonsense, why has it stayed with me? Because you've always felt that way, haven't you; people don't see the things that you do. Because they've diluted themselves with each other so much, their heads are now stuck in their [ruby=phones]books[/ruby], creating paper mâché while believing it's exactly the same as the real thing.

They've lost their mystery.

They're lost in their mystery.

"But that doesn't explain what mystery actually is," says Mary.

Oh Mary, can't you see? It's nothing. It's everything. It's nothing but everything or everything but nothing. Us. Them. This. That. The gaps between DMs that high school girls cry themselves to sleep with. The five-second timer between one episode ending and the next beginning during a Netflix binge. All the things you can't see but I can, that's mystery. That's Truth.

"You know it when you see it, dear lady, that's what I always say," Laurent sniggers at his own joke. "I do not mean to disrespect but you yourself dear lady are a mystery."

Lorenz explains, "If you were to compare yourself to a human, ma'am, there are fewer hows and whys, layers of truths, obscuring the Truth. Rather than skin and bones, protein and fat, legend itself clothes your form, and you use that very same legend as a weapon. The legend itself no matter how many skeptics debunk it cannot be rationalized away. A pure mystery is a maelstrom of the unknown, yet it Is, so at the core must be the Truth."

The opposite has to be true though as well. How and why might obscure, but collect enough of valid truths and you'll find the Truth within them. Is that also mystery?

"I'm impressed, Lorenz; you know so much about mystery." Mary says. Why are you looking at Laurent?

"That was really helpful. I think I'm starting to get the hang of this may. . . mage thing. Not like I have time to learn any practical magecraft that could help me in this Grail War, and Mary's not the strongest Servant. What do you guys think about me allying with the Church?" Damn, that was an awkward smile, "They've helped me before and like you said Lorenz, the bow — Father Phahn's pretty okay."

Lorenz raises his hands in mock surrender. "I'm supposed to be neutral, so that's all Laurent."

"You're going to see him, champ?"

I nod, "When we were leaving Lord Byron's get-together, Father Phahn said we should meet up to get our stories straight for my mom. That's in about. . . oh fifteen minutes."

"Let me get the check and we can talk shop while we walk, champ." He looks at Lorenz. "What about you, old friend?"

"I'll stay here for a while. Sip a nice whisky and listen to some stories about my girls. It was good to see you again. . . old friend. Good luck with the Grail War, Nadine, ma'am." He flashes a shining smile. You couldn't imagine there was grey in that messy brown hair.

It took seven minutes for Laurent to get the waitress's attention, receive the check, pay, and get his silver rewards credit card back. As we leave, Lorenz waves from the bar and starts peppering the orange-haired waitress with questions. He's probably a really good dad. Unlike moms, most dads are. Even during their divorce, Krista's dad tried being a good dad. Tried. Because no matter how sincere he was, there was always part of him that resented how much of her mother he saw in her. At least that's what she told me while trying to hold in her tears one night. I want to be able to talk to her like that again, like Laurent, Lorenz, and I talked in this German cafe. Talking about things that really mean something and not just banter for the sake of banter like my mom does with her interns or my brother with his AP study groups.

"You'll be safe with the overseer but how is allying with the Church going to help you win the war, champ?"

Got me there.

"Archer and Saber are the biggest threats." Oh, Mary's answering? "Archer. . . is fond of Nadine; we should have no issue bartering with him later on. Most pairs won't attack Rider, who's targeting Saber. They'll wait to see who comes out on top. Under Rider's protection, we'll be right as rain till Rider or Saber is defeated. By that time, Archer should have thinned out the remaining Servants. It's anyone's guess what happens after that." She shrugs like it's a simple thing anyone could think of in seven minutes.

"Say you make it to the end, dear lady. Archer and you; how do you win?"

A few steps ahead of us, Mary abruptly stops and turns on her heel to face Laurent. Her muddy blue eyes glimmer as she looks up at the retiree slightly taller than her.

"Doesn't matter as long as I can clear my name," You can't help but feel she's double her size.

It's too late for me to let go; I've willingly tied my fate to Mary's. Risking my life to make her wish come true is the only way I'll be someone else, anyone else. Not Nadine, Krista's friend, the star quarterback's sister, the interior designer's daughter, but Nadine, Holy Grail War Master and Magician's Egg whose eyes see into the depths of the world.

All the people walking down the street with us pay no attention to yet another mopey teenager, woman past her prime who's only fit for domestic work, and a poorly dressed average retiree. We're part of the scenery like the mannequins behind the storefronts or everyone else on this sidewalk. But they don't know about the truths that actually matter. I — We do.

"What about you, champ?"

Now shrug because this is normal for you now, "Father Phahn already told my mom we'd be working for him for the next two weeks. I don't want to be a liar."

He smiles sadly, "Good. Too many lies in this world, champ. So easy to get swept up in them."

Most of it is lying to yourself so that you can live with yourself. It's pathetic. I couldn't lie to myself because I wouldn't be able to believe it. That's why it's hard for me. It's hard if you can always see the core, the starting impulse, the mannequin, no matter how the wardrobe changes with the seasons. But that seems to be all people care about these days, like wanting to go on a Bachelor-esque date, or getting really into yoga because 'it's great for my butt.'

"You, Laurent, learned that from being a magus, endlessly searching for the Truth?" Mary asks.

"I'm retired."

"Your daughter is the one doing that now, right? How is she?"

"We don't talk much. My fault," he smiles apologetically to me of all people. "I regret being the person I was. I'm sure you'd understand." That last part was to Mary.

Things you should have fought harder for, former friends you should have forgiven, times you should have truly enjoyed. These are the regrets that people usually talk about. Dumb. What truly you regret isn't the action or inaction, but like Laurent says how you felt.

"Part of me is relieved. When you've searched for the Truth as long as I have, you encounter so many lies and excuses — from others and yourself. We say we're Truth-seeking machines but we've forgotten what it's like to live that Truth. It's sad that for all the years I've lived, I've only come to realize it now in my dotage."

We stop in front of a surfboard store adjoining Phahn's Church, previously a Masonic Temple. Laurent isn't looking at the church signboard, the fancy Church architecture, or the California Pizza Kitchen across the road. He looks longingly not at the row of surfboards on display, but his reflection in the double-glazed window.

"I may be a heretic but if I pray hard enough, maybe the Lord will forgive even me."

"Is that why you haven't offered to teach me magecraft?" Why am I hearing my internal monologue come out from my mouth? Quick, "because the mystery would decline."

He doesn't look away from the glass. "There are two times a magus reveals his magecraft: when ascending to the next level or when fighting another magus."

I don't need to teach you if you truly have the eyes that see into the world. Show yourself that you are worthy of understanding what it means to be a mage. After all, this Holy Grail War is nothing but a mage fight, isn't it?

That must be what his slightly hunched over back burdened with layers upon layers of jackets tells me.