"So, there we have it, huh?" Sadie hadn't taken her eyes off the diamond sealed to her skin since Father Zein concluded. "An angel—a real life, vengeful, Old Testament-style angel is sealed inside this thing, and is currently keeping me together. And, when it's outside of its container, it craves being bound to a human soul." She slowly turned to look toward Cassandra. "I'm, like, ninety-nine percent sure it was trying to get to you, Cassie."

Cassandra's eyes widened. "What?"

"If this thing had any agency, and I think it still might have, I think it wanted to get to you." A sad smile crossed her face. "But stupid, dumbass me was in the wrong place. It was right there in your hands and you used it to rescue me."

With a hand on Sadie's back, Cassandra said, "Don't say that. Had to save you. Would do it again."

"Your time now is better not spent on alternate scenarios," the priest said. "I have told you all I know and answered what questions remained. Now perhaps you can answer a question for me: what comes next?"

The two women exchanged uncertain looks with one another. After a brief silence passed, Cassandra asked, "You said there's somewhere you can contact the outside world?"

Father Zein nodded.

"Want to call for help. Know people who might be able to. And even more I want to make sure are all right."

Sadie started to nod as she explained. "Yeah, I think that's a good idea. You said you'd take us there?"

"I will," Father Zein said. "However, the desert heat is oppressive and my car has no means of cooling. It would be better to wait until nightfall to make the journey. I still have other obligations to the village besides."

"No use calling our friends if we're just doing it to tell them we've died of heat stroke," Sadie said. "Tonight then."

"If you are tired, there are bedrolls in that chest over there." The priest motioned toward the wooden chest in the corner. "If you are hungry, there is a communal kitchen across from the church. I will be there the rest of the day preparing meals if no one comes down with sickness and pulls me into an anointing."

Sadie let out a tired but grateful exhale. "You're already giving us way more consideration than the Vatican, and we both seriously appreciate it."

Father Zein nodded, rose and departed. With another long exhale, Sadie blew a breath up at her face. Cassandra waited in nervous anticipation for something more to happen.

Eventually, Sadie stood up and walked to the corner with the wooden chest. "I think the exhaustion's catching up with me again. You want one of these sleeping bags or whatever they're called?"

Cassandra wasn't especially tired, but she didn't know what else to do right that moment. So, she said, "Yes. Thank you."

Sadie pulled out two tightly packed rolls of bedding. "Bigger than I thought they'd be." When she shook them out, each laid about the size of a double bed. She silently contemplated pushing the two against one another, eventually, pushed them apart with one foot. "There are blankets too, but it's so hot I don't think I'll need them. You?"

"No, I'm fine."

She laid out pillows on both bed rolls, went to the window, pulled the curtain, and nodded, impressed by how dark it made the room. "Wish we could do something about the noise, but I guess we'll just have to deal." With everything in place, she bent down to Cassandra's level and the two shared a quick kiss.

"Rest well," Cassandra said.

"Thanks, you too. Love you."

"Love you."

When Sadie stretched out, she dozed off almost immediately. Unsure of what else to do, Cassandra laid on her roll and shut her eyes for a bit. After about ten minutes of feeling like she was forcing them closed and more chatter wandering in from outside, she sighed and rose. In a whisper she said, "Sadie?"

She got a groggy, "Mmm?" back.

"Feel restless. Going out, be back later."

"Mm, OK."

Sadie went silent a moment later, Cassandra wasn't sure she'd even remember the brief conversation when she awoke. With the hope she'd recall Father Zein's instructions, she rose and stepped out of the bedroom. The old woman who owned the house sat on the divan, a book in her hands, and looked up at Cassandra as she exited.

Cassandra nodded to her and, again, said, "Thank you, Anne."

Again, the old woman just grunted. Cassandra hoped it was a sound of acceptance. Just before she stepped outside, she hesitated, turned back to the old woman, and asked, "Do you have anything I can wear?"

Anne stared at her, Cassandra was unsure if she was grumpy or just a blank face brought down by wrinkles.

She tried again. "Clothes?" Then mimed pulling something up over the lower layer of her armor, then pulling outwards like the bottom of a dress.

No look of recognition or anything crossed Anne's face, but she still rose and stepped into one of her adjacent rooms. When she returned, she presented Cassandra with a simple, folded green cloth. "Hadha yantami liabnati," she said. Though Cassandra didn't know the meaning, she assumed it meant it was important, so she nodded as she accepted it.

Cassandra slipped back into the bedroom, Sadie still laid fast asleep, stripped out of her uniform and pulled on the green garb, which turned out to be a tunic. The cut seemed like it was designed for a mid-length fit, but at its size it fell down further. Leaned against the wall, Cassandra started to pull her boots back on.

Faintly from one of the bed rolls, Sadie said, "Off to save Princess Zelda there, hero?"

Even with some small basis for the reference Sadie was making, Cassandra still asked, "What?"

"Nothing. Nevermind. See you in a bit."

Cassandra made it across the room before Anne snapped to get her attention and she halted again. "Ghasl," she said.

After a moment's hesitation, Cassandra asked, "What?"

Anne muttered something under her breath, shook her head, rose from her seat, and stepped into another of the adjacent rooms. When she returned, she held a basket of wrinkled clothing and pointed.

"Oh." Cassandra's eyes widened in realization. "You want to wash?" That wasn't right, the tired old woman almost certainly didn't want to, but maybe the priest instructed her to. "Don't have to, I'll—"

The old woman again pointed to her basket and this time commanded, "Ghasl!"

Well, Cassandra decided, her costume had been sweat and bled in recently. She slipped one more time into the guest bedroom, retrieved the black, undermost layer of uniform, and turned it inside out before she offered it to Anne. "Be careful, please."

There was no way to no for sure, but her grunt seemed to indicate she understood.

"And thank you."

The next grunt indicated it again.

For sure this time, Cassandra departed. The tiny church she'd awoken in was still within sight, so it was easy enough for Cassandra to navigate to the communal kitchen the priest mentioned. Father Zein stood in a simple set of a plain shirt, pants, and an apron, sleeves rolled up, a knife in hand and potatoes on the cutting board.

Without looking up, they said, "Hello there."

"Hello," Cassandra said. "Couldn't rest, thought I'd find you."

"There is bread in the pantries, and the water in that basin over there has been treated." The priest gestured vaguely to one corner.

"Not hungry either," Cassandra said. "Can I help?"

Zein paused in their chopping and looked up at her, surprised for a moment. Then they smirked. "Grab an apron, they are hanging next to the oven."

It took Cassandra a moment to discern which object along the walls was an oven. But when she did she found the garment and took her place beside the priest.

Father Zein pushed their cutting board, knife and potatoes to her. "You take these. I'll start up on the onions."

The priest stood beside Cassandra and, for a few quiet moments, they just chopped vegetables together. The rhythm, the thought of the act, it all just felt comfortable and right. She'd have just as soon stayed that way, but as if she wanted to make certain the situation was secure, she suddenly asked a question. "Did Sadie tell you we're… um…"

"Lovers?"

Cassandra hesitated. "Usually just say girlfriends."

Father Zein chuckled. "All right, sure. Girlfriends. No, she didn't say it. But I hardly think she needed to." The onion made them wipe at their eyes. "If she had only been a friend, that would be fine, of course, her love would still have run deep. But I had a feeling." When they noticed Cassandra finished the potato, they reached for a bowl that was on their side. "Here, you can slide the bits in here."

She did as instructed and started to work on another potato. "How many?"

"A few pounds of those," Zein said. "There will be others making stew tonight as well, I'm only in charge of feeding a dozen or so. Do you two eat meat?"

The question confused Cassandra for a moment, then she said, "Yes."

"I have some dried goat I'm going to add. But if you don't like it, one of the other chefs usually makes something with chicken, another without any meat at all."

Cassandra hesitated a moment before her next question, because everything the priest said sounded correct. Nonetheless, out from her practical side came the question, "Wouldn't it be easier to just make one big one?"

"Maybe, but then it would have to be all of one or all of the other. Some don't like the taste of meat, and there is even one family with some Hindu in their background, they won't eat it at all. If we have the means, we may as well have the options."

With a nod, Cassandra got to work chopping a few more vegetables as Father Zein set them before her. "… Feels like you skipped right over what I told you."

"It is clear enough there isn't much for me to say you don't already know," Zein said. "You are believer enough to wear the cross upon your chest, so you surely know what the church forbids. So, you have either decided you've come to your own conclusion, or that your love for her is more significant than your principles." The priest shrugged. "Whatever it may be, I will not tell you how to live, except that you deserve to be happy and healthy."

Cassandra picked up her pace as they started dicing again. "You're just— I've known priests and preachers. Some I love, some were enemies. Never known one like you, though."

Father Zein chuckled. "Obviously. Perhaps clergy like me are uncommon, or perhaps not, maybe we're just suppressed, but we've always been." They put on a gentle smile. "There have always been homosexuals trying to hold onto their faith in a too cruel world as well."

After a moment to consider her response, Cassandra said, "Demisexual, actually. Apparently." Here and there since Sadie introduced the term to her, Cassandra had mentally played around with it. That felt strange, she'd never lingered on any of the other labels that came up in the past. Maybe she just liked it because Sadie offered it to her.

"I don't know that term, but I believe you," Zein said. "And I do not, by any stretch, believe you are the first of your kind." The priest crossed the small kitchen and stepped into a pantry. When they returned, they held a large pot and raised one hand toward an unseen door at the back of the building. After a few seconds, a sphere of water levitated in from outside, and Father Zein gingerly motioned for it to fill the pot. "You can start putting the vegetables in there."

Cassandra did as they instructed with what she'd already chopped. As she started peeling carrots, she asked, "Do you think we'll ever be accepted?"

"Power and control have tainted the church since the Romans stopped feeding believers to lions," Father Zein said. "But believers like us have never stopped existing. And we can be found many places if you just know where to look. Where are you from originally, Cassandra?"

Suddenly a little delirious from all that had been discussed, Cassandra said, "Gotham. In New Jersey."

"East Coast United States, that right?"

Cassandra nodded.

"You might need to look around, but communities, even for people like us, exist in our faith. The clergy and the orthodoxy you've been around may have tried to convince you this whole time we are not there. I promise you we are."

With a turn of her head, Cassandra looked away. All this time Monsignor Ryan's words— his commitment to protecting her identity, his continued providing her communion— all of those things seemed so extraordinary. And maybe they still were, in the world the two of them knew. But Father Zein suggested there were others out there who could do so much more, and Cassandra wasn't sure she could process that thought.

Before she could attempt to articulate any of the thoughts that came to her, a little girl's cry of, "Abouna Zein, Abouna Zein!" cut through their conversation.

The speaker, a tiny thing half Cassandra's height dressed in a similar green tunic, approached the priest. The two carried on a brief conversation, the girl's voice quick and, in Cassandra's estimation, frantic. Father Zein went stone-faced at whatever she told them and asked a few terse questions, all of which elicited fast rambles from the child. When she concluded, the priest nodded and turned to Cassandra. "Her grandfather is ill; I've been asked to anoint him. Wait here."

Cassandra asked, "Wait. Can I come?"

Father Zein tensed. "This may be ugly. He has never accepted my authority before, it is probably death's door that has made him summon me."

"Seen death before," Cassandra said. "Never seen anointing."

The priest looked to be mulling it over when the little girl again cried, "Abouna Zein!"

Father Zein spoke a word or two of assurance to her then turned to Cassandra. "No time to argue. If he asks you to leave, do so, please." They waved a hand at a pantry by Cassandra's side while they poured water from a jug into a bowl. "There should be a clay jar of olive oil up there. Grab it for me, will you?"

Cassandra nodded and, after a moment's search, found the jar. As she brought it over, the priest tore off a piece of stale bread on the counter and dropped it into the bowl of water.

"Raad has no teeth to chew with anymore," Father Zein said as they put up the apron and grabbed their vestments. "Needs his communion softened. All right, let's go."

The little girl led the way, Father Zein and Cassandra followed close behind. Within two minutes, they reached another old, stone building, indistinguishable to Cassandra from the rest. The little girl led them through the central sitting area and into one of the adjacent rooms. Though it was the middle of the day, it sat in almost complete darkness, Cassandra just barely made out the shape of a body upon a bedroll.

"Jad, ana huna," the little girl said.

Out from the darkness came a dry, heaving wheeze. After that a voice responded in Arabic, though it was so raspy that Cassandra didn't think she would understand even if the man within spoke in English.

Father Zein whispered to Cassandra, "Give me the jar," and she handed it over. Then they stepped up to the figure and started to speak in Arabic. Though Cassandra couldn't see what the figure within looked like or understand what was said, did she recognize some of the rhythm? When Zein spoke and the raspy-voiced man responded, had it been the familiar exchange of, "Body of Christ," and, "Amen"? For a few seconds, Father Zein was the only one to speak, but eventually Raad let out a few more throaty babbles. Was that the rhythm of the Lord's Prayer? Or a Hail Mary? Cassandra never managed to memorize the Apostle's Creed, but maybe she heard something of that in there too. She decided she was witnessing an intimate moment even if she couldn't totally tell what was going on, so she lowered her head in prayers of her own.

After a few seconds in peace, a shrill shout sliced through the air. Cassandra hardly processed it before a larger form strode past her and screeched in Arabic toward Father Zein and the bedbound man. Through the darkness, Cassandra made out the outline of the priest as they raised open hands in defense. The figure—a tall, muscled man, grabbed ahold of them by their vestments, and threw them aside. Cassandra helped balance the priest as they flew toward the door, and the attacker stepped closer into the light. In the pinched look in his eyes and the redness in his face, Cassandra felt certain she sensed intoxication.

"Can fight him," Cassandra said. "Can win."

"No," Father Zein said. "I've given the anointment. We will go now." They said something, maybe just the same thing to the drunken man.

He shouted something in response as they turned back toward the door to the streets, Cassandra didn't know what, but felt sure, "Get out!" sounded much the same in any language.

Once they were back on the streets, Cassandra asked, "What happened there at the end?"

"That was Raad's son, and he was mostly shouting about how I am an abomination." The priest uttered a sigh. "Until this day, I'd never heard the old man refer to me as anything else either."

"You still did his ceremony." It wasn't a question from Cassandra, just an observation.

"Aye. But that's what I signed up for," Father Zein said. "I only hope he does not curse that he asked that of me if his health turns later."

Cassandra shook her head as they closed in on the kitchen again. "This all feels strange. Strange but right. Everything I felt Vatican was missing."

The priest uttered a low chuckle. "I'm sure you're among the only ones to be more impressed here than there."

After another shake of her head and a long, exasperated sigh, Cassandra said, "Been harder recently, trying to believe. Not in God, that feels fine. But being Catholic."

"These days have been testing you, have they?"

"Yes, already fought or argued with extremists. Was easy when they were different, but they're all the same as me. They take things too far, but those 'things' shouldn't be there in the first place." She tucked one hand into a pocket and slid a finger from the other one over her silver cross necklace. "Not what he wanted. Not what he died for. Not what we're supposed to believe."

As they came to a stop outside the kitchen, Father Zein laid a hand on Cassandra's shoulder. "Do you want to know what's helped me the most when I feel challenged?"

She looked up at them. "What?"

"Stop trying to convince yourself your religion is so special."

Cassandra opened her mouth as if she already had a response in mind, but whatever she intended to say got caught in her throat. After a few seconds to consider and still struggling, all she managed to ask, again, was, "What? But— but—"

"But Catholics are the oldest. Catholics have the richest history. Catholics can trace themselves back to the founding of the church by Saint Peter himself," Zein said. "Were you coming to any of those?"

"No," Cassandra said.

"I'll take one more guess then," Zein said. "Why should I follow a religion if I don't think it's the best one?"

Cassandra gave that another moment of thought and had to tamp down a shudder when she remembered how close it was to something Nijah said. Eventually though, she nodded. "Simple, but yes, something like that."

"Every person on this planet is following their own religion. Even if they're calling it the same thing as others or even if they say they have none at all," The priest said. "We label ourselves to try to best make sense and learn from one another, but we are all practicing by our own moral understandings. The labels give us community, and that is good, but whatever we call those labels, we are still countless, fallible humans doing our best to make sense of the divine. Your enemies are not Catholicism, you are not Catholicism. Catholicism is billions of living people just trying to do right by God's will." They uttered a little chuckle. "I'm sure if we dug into it enough, no one is the textbook homosexual, heterosexual, or even demisexual either. Whatever is the most accurate descriptor, your faith is your own. And no one should be allowed the power to take it from you by their shortcomings."

For a few minutes thereafter, Cassandra mulled over Father Zein's words as she followed them back inside. A few moments like this had come before—unexpected insights that felt like they inverted her ideas of her beliefs. The last person she'd had such an experience with lived in Star City and was one of the only people she personally exchanged Christmas cards with. Monsignor Ryan back in Gotham, for all his goodwill, would surely have objected to Zein's notions. Whatever disparities might exist between her and the traditional teachings were like disagreements with old, immortal words carved in stone. But it was this priest's suggestion the church was its members, and that every one of them was a separate component neither totally infused with nor wholly separate from those teachings. Was that really so revolutionary? Cassandra wasn't sure, but no one had ever suggested it to her before.

As they started to chop vegetables again, Father Zein said, "One other thing. Don't feel obligated to answer, I just want to offer my help if I can."

"Yes?"

"You saw me perform two sacraments just there. If we hadn't been interrupted, he may well have asked for reconciliation and made it three. You know my place in the church is complicated. Do you think what I did was legitimate?"

Cassandra was about to answer promptly, but then frowned in confusion. "Does it matter what I think?"

"For this question, yes."

Still unsure what was coming, she said, "Then yes. Believe you're a real priest, believe what you do is real too."

Father Zein set aside their latest choppings, leaned against the counter, and gave her a solemn look. "I told you before there were others like me if you only know where to look. If it matters to you that your wedding be Catholic, you can find those like me who will ensure it happens, regardless of how your own parish or country may object."

Cassandra froze up for a few seconds as she absorbed the thought. Marriage was never something she'd dreamed about as a child, and for a long time it was just something she hoped would happen for Tim and Stephanie and Dick and Barbara. But since the two sides of her religious odyssey and her being with Sadie began, the concept found far more importance. Such to the point her heart nearly stopped when Sadie so much as mentioned it a few days before. There was no holding back the tears at that. Cassandra fell into Father Zein, arms tight around them. After a moment to stabilize her breath, Cassandra said, "Thank you. Just wish it could be real and accepted everywhere. For everyone."

"I know, child, I know," Father Zein said. "People like you will keep fighting to ensure it will be, someday. But at the same time you're doing that, you deserve to have your happiness with someone you love."

Eventually the preparations and trade for the day were completed. Shopkeepers and their families gathered in the various communal spaces for simple but filling meals. Cassandra remained by Father Zein's side, helped serve the stew they prepared, and, eventually, Sadie joined them.

"Get some good rest?" Cassandra asked.

Sadie looked away as she scratched at the back of her head. "Um, not exactly."

Cassandra frowned. "Are you all right?"

"I'll explain during the car ride. Right now, I'm starving."

The three of them ate together. Sadie's odd, icy disposition limited their conversation, though at one point she remarked, "This tastes good."

"Cassandra helped me make it," Father Zein said. "Much to my appreciation."

Still in a hazy place, Sadie nodded and gave Cassandra the tiniest smile she could manage. "You did good then." She tore off a chunk of bread in the middle of the table and asked, "We're driving toward your elusive cell signal after this, right?"

"Yes," the priest said.

"Good, good." The three all settled into quiet as they continued to eat until, as if out of nowhere, Sadie uttered a long exhale and opened her stigmata hand. "The rock—or the angel—or whatever it is, it… it spoke to me directly."