Page 133 of Eternal Obsession

I wanted to burn Belshazzar’s to the ground.

Not an option.

I lingered on a nearby roof and examined the ring that Alex had secretly passed to me. Around the band were engraved strange symbols. Catherine had mentioned the Alchemist, but I had no time to explore her words. This ring, with its inscription, must be a message from Catherine via Alex. I placed it on my small finger, pleased with its snug fit.

I struggled to understand why he would remain. Although he had once been infatuated with Orpheus, his behavior now was out of character. Perhaps it was his way of saving Catherine. I had to believe that.

Fraught at leaving him behind, I considered returning to drag Alex out of there. It would only make things worse if such a thing were even possible. Moreover, Alex was right. After all this time, I had finally been reunited with Catherine, and I had left without her. I faced Belshazzar’s and considered returning.

I must find the Alchemist.

I needed a place of shelter, familiar and safe. I couldn’t return to St. Michaels. I wanted to be closer to the club. I flew into the air and headed toward the welcoming towers of Salisbury Cathedral.

On my arrival, a sense of calm came over me, as though this place of God had an aura of healing. The magnificent church had sheltered me unquestioningly, protecting me as a fledgling vampire; it was here I would find the quiet to think.

That familiar scent of incense and unanswered prayers clung to the air like a memory that refused to fade, sacred and sorrowful all at once.

God had not left me, I was certain of it. I entered the hallowed ground, making my way up the grand aisle of the cathedral and admired the large ornate cross behind the altar, fascinated with the myth that vampires were fearful of such religious artifacts. Such a cross only provided comfort. I sat down, resting in the front wooden pew, and gazed up in awe at the elaborately decorated nave.

I buttoned my jacket concealing my crumpled shirt, the only indication of my recent tussle.

Splintered memories of my childhood flashed through my mind, and I remembered my mother, her gentle nature and kind spirit. I recalled fondly my nightly swims with Catherine and Alex, and my father’s approval when I succeeded in my lessons. Such sacred ruminations helped me to cling to my humanity. My thoughts kept returning to Catherine, whose beauty was still captivating. Thank God I had seen her and she was alive. I would return for her and Alex as soon as my strategy was refined.

“Good evening,” a stranger’s voice greeted me.

I had failed to notice the priest within the otherwise-empty cathedral. The aroma of incense was so potent that it had shrouded the scent of this mortal’s blood, a man in his thirties, his skin a light brown indicating Mediterranean descent. His familiar black priestly robes were creaseless, and he wore the familiar sacerdotal white collar of the Christian order.

“I am sorry. Do you wish to be alone to pray?” he asked.

“Please join me,” I said, desperate for spiritual solace.

“I’m Father Jake. How are you?”

I am in hell, but otherwise fine.

“Jadeon. I am well, thank you. And you?” I took in the full presence of the spiritual man, enjoying the serenity he emanated.

He was tall, with a face that caught the candlelight just right, dark eyes that seemed to know too much, and a lean strength that didn’t need to prove itself.

“Where are you from?” the priest asked.

“Cornwall.”

“Ah, God’s country.”

“Yes, they do call it that.” I smiled.

“Yes, but He is everywhere.”

“I hope so,” I said.

“You’re troubled, I can tell. Perhaps if you were to talk about it . . .”

“It’s a long story . . . a very⁠—”

“I have the time.”

“Father, you are too kind, but . . .”