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“He’s making meat vacation homes for the Angra to move into?”
“The other Saint Nick murders and corpse defilements could have been experiments. Beta tests. Saint Nick was honing his talents.”
Wells says, “He’s never killed on this scale before. Why does he need so many bodies now?”
“Remember that the Angra aren’t just thirteen primary Gods. There are smaller pieces of the old ones on Earth.”
I look at Wells and back to the Shonin.
“You mean demons? Qliphoth?”
The Shonin wipes a spot of blood from his robe.
“The Angra will want an army. One that can move and interact with the human world. Bodies built specifically to hold Gods or Qliphoth would make good vehicles for that.”
“But we talked about this once. About Lamia,” I say. “She had a body and lost it. But she could still kill as a ghost.”
“Yes. But when she lost her body she was just a fragment of a fragment of a God. Like a demon. If Lamia had access to one of the empty vessels when she was alive, humanity might be gone by now.”
“If Saint Nick is making an army, where is it?” says Wells.
The Shonin leads us out of the chapel and back into the hall. He closes the door behind us.
“That’s a very good question. And having succeeded in a mass killing like this, will he try more?”
I say, “Could Saint Nick’s chop-shop people do what he did and make more vessels?”
The Shonin leans on one of the broken church pews in the hall.
“I doubt it. This is very powerful magic. Qliphoth wouldn’t have the skill or knowledge for it.”
“What about another Lamia? A smarter piece of the Gods?”
“We would have heard about something like that by now,” says Wells. “The Vigil is always on the alert for reports of possible Angra infiltration.”
The Shonin puts his hand on my arm, steadying himself on the pew. If a dead man can look unwell, that’s how he looks.
“You got all this from that book you’re drinking?”
“Most of it. Why?”
“Think there might be another copy lying around somewhere?”
“It’s doubtful, but anything is possible. Do you know someone who might have one?”
There’s blood on the bottom of my boots. I scrape the soles on the side of a pew.
“I don’t know. You’re the expert. I’m just trying to keep up.”
Wells says, “If you know something, Stark, speak up.”
“It’s not anyone here. Some Hellions I know are awfully anxious for the Angra to come home. I was wondering if you could do something like what we saw in there to fallen angels.”
Wells shakes his head and checks his own shoes for blood. He doesn’t care about Hell’s problems. I can’t say I blame him.
“It’s an interesting question,” says the Shonin. “If you find the answer let me know.”
