xXx
"Thanks for seeing us this afternoon," Peter said. "I'm Peter Parker, May Parker's nephew, and this is Illyana Rasputin."
"Pleased to meet you, Illana," the preacher said, shaking her hand. "Peter," he said reproachfully. "I remember when you were yea high."
Peter politely laughed, and he and Illyana sat down across the desk from the reverend as he settled into his leather chair.
"So what brings you two to my office?" he asked.
"I'm engaged to be married," Peter said. "Illyana is my wedding planner. If I could reserve the church and if you would be willing to conduct the ceremony, I'd appreciate it. Illyana wanted to meet you and look the building over."
"Sounds fine, what day?"
"November first, it's a Saturday," Peter said.
"Three weeks from now," the reverend said, raising his eyebrows. Peter smiled apologetically. The reverend consulted the black-bound planner on his desk thoughtfully for a minute. "Well, you're in luck. The building is open. So is my schedule. So let's get you set up." He picked up his pencil and scratched information onto the schedule book.
"Excuse me sir," Illyana said politely. "May I look around the church?"
"Go ahead, you just go ahead, Lydia," the reverend smiled.
She took her leave, and Peter got down to business with the reverend. Illyana breathed in and out and counted to ten as she left the office, followed a short corridor, skirted the children's event happening in the fellowship hall, and headed for the sanctuary.
She walked in, and the afternoon sunlight lay in beams across the pews, picking out the dancing motes of dust in the air. The room reverberated with silence. Her tread was noiseless on the carpet as she walked up the central aisle, looking at the dais and the podium, at the paintings hung on the back wall, at the arranged plants. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, and simply felt the space.
The building wasn't all that old, but Illyana felt a trace of a faith tradition; this room was only used for worship. She let the silence and sunlight bear her up, and she felt very old and very young at the same time. She felt connected to the room as she felt the room connect to a thousand others like it, stretching across time and distance.
"Sacred space," she whispered with a smile. Then she shook her head and strolled out the back.
xXx
The setting sun bathed New York City in a crimson shroud of light as the hunched figure scurried down the alley behind the vast stone building. The Owl glanced back over his shoulder, a sneer affixed to his face, and he hunched by the iron bars over a basement window.
Hissing a few foul words of Cthonian, he gestured. The bars shriveled, then hissed and steamed a bit. He kicked at them, and the brittle bars snapped to fragments. The Owl scrabbled into the basement.
For what could have been hours, the strange hunched man wandered the sub basements, the annex cellars, the reserve collections, hunting for an elusive spot in a wall.
Finally, the Owl placed his trembling hand flat on the wall and whispered a few words, a name. A faint tremor shifted in the wall.
Lenny Schmidt quietly grooved to the jazz in his headphones as he steered the floor buffer around the huge lobby of the dim museum. He was always careful to get the corners and around the bases of the statues. He was lost in a particularly delirious saxophone solo when a shadow detached from the others and pounced on him. He didn't stand a chance.
The janitor was bound and gagged in the center of a chalk circle on the floor. The Owl had cleared everything away from a stretch of wall. He set up candles around the circle as the janitor struggled and wordlessly shouted through his gag. Then, with deliberate carefulness, the Owl settled opposite the bare spot of wall.
He began to chant in a language that was not well suited for the human voice. He paused, then shouted a name, then chanted again. He began to pick up speed.
With a loud snap, a crack pushed across two feet of wall. The Owl, lost in his rhapsody of incantation, seemed to be oblivious except for the acceleration of his chant.
In a shower of gravel, concrete, and dust, the wall exploded outward in a sudden burst as whatever was within it answered the Owl's call.
The Owl threw his head back and cackled in diabolical glee as heavy frayed cables shot out of the wall and plunged into the janitor. The cables flexed, and blood flowed up through and over them, pulled towards a desperately hungering darkness in the wall…
xXx
The autumn day was crisp and clear, but warm enough for the garage to be thrown open to the elements. Tyrone sat at the card table, shuffling a deck of cards as Mary Jane and Peter strolled up to the garage.
"G-glad you t-two c-cc-could m-make it," Tyrone said amiably.
"It's not like we're late," Peter said. He sat at the table, looking around. "Where's Tandy?" he asked as Mary Jane sat opposite him.
"Sh-sh-she-e w-went-to g-gg-g-gget s-some s-songs," Tyrone said.
"Hey gang," Tandy said as she opened the door from the kitchen and joined them at the card table. "I wanted to take a minute and talk about songs."
"Sounds good," Peter said with a shrug. "You sing it I'll beat it. Something like that."
Tandy put a spiral notebook on the table. She touched the cover as she collected her thoughts. "This notebook is why I wanted a band," she said. "In here I have lyrics I've been writing for about three years. Maybe longer. Song ideas." She looked at the spiral for a moment. "I've got songs about parents and being invisible to them. Songs about not being perfect enough. Songs about friends that have double crossed me. There's anger in here about how the world isn't fair. About how sometimes nothing makes sense."
She picked up the notebook and tossed it over to the trash can, where it thudded against the inside and slid to the bottom. She leaned forward, elbows on the table, and looked into the eyes of the other band members.
"Here's the thing," she said as they blinked at her in surprise. "I don't think that's what we should be about. It's been keeping me up nights. This band can be really cool, people. We are going to be able to get and hold the attention of listeners, we're going to have fans. As I got to thinking about that, I realized there's only one thing we can do."
"What's that?" Mary Jane asked, her eyes wide.
"Bring hope," Tandy said. "Bring light to those who are in the dark. Bring peace to those that are conflicted. We have to offer a better way. It's our responsibility."
It was very quiet around the table.
"I'm down with that," Peter said, impressed.
"Sign me up," Mary Jane said.
"C-cool," Tyrone stuttered. He grinned ruefully. "C-can we d-dd-do Sh-sh-hiny D-Death Metal?"
Tandy smiled at him. "Not really," she said. "That does bring us to our next point. I'm pretty flexible on the keyboards, within my limits. I think Parker can keep up with whatever we want to do. So what songs should we do for starters?"
"And we don't have a band name yet," Mary Jane pointed out.
"How about Eyes Open?" Peter said.
"I like it," Mary Jane said thoughtfully. Tyrone nodded his approval.
"I'm flattered, guys," Tandy said with a bit of a grin.
"This is your thing," Peter said. "So what are we going to play?"
It was slow and halting, but the rendition of "Spyhunter" that rolled out of the garage was still sassy. A sleek Jag pulled up and parked in the driveway. Harry and Gwen got out of the car and approached the den of noise that the band occupied.
All four band members were wearing sunglasses, and Tyrone had his low-slung groove on while Tandy let her fingers pause and ripple around the theme. Peter hunched over his drum set, his stuffed Animal slowly twisting as he massaged the rhythm out of the drum heads with twirling sticks. Mary Jane gamely hung in there, hitting a chord when she knew where it landed.
Tandy gestured, and the band let up. Harry and Gwen applauded.
"So we in the right place for the wedding party or what?" Harry said.
"You bet," Mary Jane said, slinging her guitar off and squinting at the clock. "Holy cow, noon already. Okay, people. Great practice. We'll put this stuff up in a minute. For now, it's time for marching orders," she said with a grin. She looked around. "Where's Illyana?"
"She said she'd catch up," Peter said. "She's getting the invites in the mail this morning."
"Right," Mary Jane nodded. "Okay, Gwen and Tandy and me are going to pick out fabric and patterns for the bridesmaid dresses. Peter, Harry, and Tyrone are going right now to get fitted for tuxes. I already have my dad's measurements," she said, fishing a card out of her pocket and handing it to Peter. "So we should be all taken care of. Any questions?"
"No ma'am," Peter said. "We menfolk know our duty."
"See you at the church at six," Mary Jane said to Peter.
"I'll be there," he said with a grin. "Trust me."
"You okay back there?" Harry asked, glancing in the rearview. Tyrone sat sideways on the bench seat behind the two front seats.
"D-dude, I'm c-cc-cool!" Tyrone grinned. "This is-z-zawesome!"
"Well, Peter," Harry said, "I think it's really cool that you and Mary Jane are getting married." His grin turned mischievous. "You nervous?"
"Of course," Peter said as though it were obvious. "I'm getting married. It's terrifying on so many levels."
"Especially to Mary Jane," Harry said. "Seig Heil!"
Peter laughed. "She told me I had better marry her," he said. "I didn't dare refuse. A man could get hurt doing that."
They all laughed.
xXx
The women reached the back of the fabric store.
"I'll look at patterns," Gwen said, sitting down at the table with large pattern books on it. "You all find some fabric."
"Fair enough," Mary Jane nodded. She wandered into the bolts of cloth, and Tandy followed her.
"Illyana said she knows a really fast seamstress, so we can pick everything out today," Mary Jane said.
"That's cool," Tandy nodded. She took a drape of fabric between her fingers and felt the texture. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" she asked quietly.
"Who ever does?" Mary Jane replied without looking at her. "Peter's life is dangerous. It's like he's some karmic magnet, like he did something really bad once and he's going to spend the rest of his life burning it off. But you know," she said, turning to Tandy. "He's mysterious, and goofy, and dangerous, and hopelessly idealistic, and vulnerable, and the toughest guy I've ever known…" She sighed. "I love him. Even if it doesn't last. Even if one or both of us get killed. It's worth it to me."
"And he's a great dancer," Tandy teased with a grin.
"That too," Mary Jane said with a sly and knowing smile.
"Hey, I found a pattern!" Gwen said, bringing the paper packet to Mary Jane and Tandy.
Mary Jane took one look at it and smiled triumphantly at Gwen.
"Perfect," she said.
xXx
Reverend Eckridge hummed to himself as he let himself into the locked church foyer as the last traces of dusk faded from the cloudy sky. He checked his watch. Quarter to six. He smiled to himself as he usually did when he was early for an appointment. Then he strolled through the dimness of the foyer, into the sanctuary, towards the back of the church.
He stopped short when he saw a shadowed figure standing at the pulpit, gripping it.
"Oh!" he said. "You gave me a fright. I'm sorry, I've got a meeting this evening. Please come back tomorrow." He shivered as a chill breeze drifted through the sanctuary.
"But I have sinned," the stout figure in the shadows of the dais said in a deliberate European accent. "There is sin in my soul, and you can help me."
"How is that?" Eckridge asked uncertainly, fear seeping through him.
In the dimness behind the podium, Eckridge thought he saw the gleam of light on teeth. "Feed my sheep," the intruder said slowly. "Or wolves. Whatever."
With a startlingly loud rasping buzz, a length of frayed cable shot down at the Reverend from the man up front. The pudgy preacher managed a short, breathy, choked off scream as the cable plunged into his chest and squirmed…