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copper hood of the car was another man, dressed in a white linen suit. The soldier exited the house and they spoke for a time, gesturing in an informal manner, businesslike.
    She could hear nothing of the conversation. Her eyes were fixed on the man’s shadow as it stretched over his car and across the street, threatening to swallow up light from the lamps.
    The man in white lit a cigarette as he casually walked through the entrance of her house.

Chapter 2
     
    The Reverend Summers had seen poltergeists and demons do their handiwork in the past and this was pretty much what he expected. He walked into Lynn’s bedroom and took a quick glance. It was a sinner’s bed, sheets unmade and unkempt, the pillows yellow and dirty with sweat. A trail of blood led from the living room through the doorway and up to the bed where it ended. There was no body—typical.
    He noted the Bible lying open on the floor next to the bed. He stepped over to it and glanced at an open passage from Deuteronomy.
    “They sacrificed to demons, which are not God, gods they had not known, gods that recently appeared, gods that did not hear…”
    “Sir?” came a voice from outside the room.
    “In here,” said Lyle.
    He turned and looked around the room. The broken door frame was bowed out and almost circular. He reached out to touch the crumbling paint.
    “Big one,” he said, thinking out loud.
    “Sir?” The voice was close now, a boy’s voice.
    “Nothing, Charlie,” he said, running a hand along the shattered wood. “Do you mind bringing in my kit from the car?”
    The young soldier left and returned a moment later carrying a small leather case. Lyle opened it and took out a shiny metal knife, wiping a smear of blood on the nearby bed. Squinting under his white hat, he scraped some of the paint into an envelope.
    “Is it true what they say?” asked Charlie.
    “What’s that?” asked the Reverend, still focused on his scraping.
    Charlie looked away for a moment, and then shyly turned back to the Reverend. “They say you are the Pope of the South.”
    Lyle paused for a moment, then chuckled. “They say that do they?”
    “Is it true?”
    Lyle turned and faced the boy, holding the silver blade to his side, “Don’t believe half of what you hear, son. I may be old, but the Pope I am not.”
    “Oh…” The boy looked down, embarrassed.
    Lyle cleared his throat. “Now, that’s not to say He and I don’t work closely.” He raised an eyebrow.
    The soldier looked up at him again. “So, you are here on His errand?”
    “You could say that.” He went back to scratching.
    “Is it true that you have a hundred mansions east of the Mississippi?”
    “My Father’s house has many mansions,” Lyle said, amused with himself.
    “Sir?”
    “Well, when you say it like that, you make it sound as though all those houses are mine and not Houses of the Lord.” He beamed a smile at the young man. “What you need to understand is that I have millions of sheep in my flock and I need places for them to gather all over the country. It’s all part of the job.”
    “I wish I had a big church like that to go to,” said Charlie, feeling more candid. “All our churches here are old. They have to close the one on the North Wedge when it rains.”
    “It rain much here?”
    “Only in winter, but they can never afford to fix it. My cousin lives in North Wedge. She has to truck herself all the way across town for Mass.”
    “That is a shame,” said Lyle, adjusting the brim of his hat. “For some reason I thought this was the poor side of town.”
    Charlie laughed. “No way. This is beyond poor. I didn’t even know there were people living in this wedge. They used to call it the Gutter Wedge…” His laugh was cut short by a severe look from the Reverend. “Sorry, sir.”
    Lyle said nothing, only stared at the boy until his face broke into a sudden grin. He placed a hand on the plate that armored the boy’s shoulder. He rubbed at some of the