Hunter's Prayer Read Online Free Page B

buzz. The small sound made the sudden quiet in the room more noticeable.
    I unclipped the pager, held it up, glanced at the number.
    Christ. Never rains but it pours.
    “This is one of mine.” I gathered up the file with quick swipes. “Is this my copy?”
    “Take it. I thought you’d want it.” Carp had gone pale. “What’s it look like, Kiss?”
    I don’t know, and that’s a little disturbing. “We’ll see. I’ll be in touch. If another one like this shows up, call and page me. All right?”
    “You got it.”
    I handed Saul the file and nodded to Montaigne, who was looking decidedly green. Of course, Monty hated it when I clammed up. Almost as much as he hated it when I opened my mouth and told him about the nightside. He’d run up against a Trader once, a guy who had bargained for near-invisibility and superstrength; Monty’d had the crap beat out of him and some good sense scared in by the time I showed up and dusted the Trader with four clips of ammo and a trick I picked up working the Santeria beat in Viejarojas under Leon’s teacher Amadeus one summer.
    It took Monty three months in the hospital to recover. He hasn’t wanted to know shit about the nightside since.
    Wise man.
    “See ya round, Monty.”
    “See ya, Jill. Good luck.”
    It was the closest he ever came to thanking me. Or telling me goodbye.

4
    F ather Guillermo kept in shape by playing basketball, and his curly mop of black hair framed a face as pale, serene, and weary as a Byzantine angel’s. “Daughter Jillian. Thank the gracious Lord.”
    I grimaced, but if anyone could get away with calling me that, he could. “Morning, Father. You rang?” Darkness pressed close behind me as I stepped over the threshold, from night chill into seminary quiet. Saul followed, his step silent, baring his teeth in a greeting to the priest, who was used to it by now and didn’t flinch. Weres don’t like the Church, and I can’t say I blame them. There’s only so much of being hunted an innocent species can take.
    Of course, the fact that some Weres weren’t so innocent didn’t help. But still, they didn’t deserve the Inquisition.
    Nobody deserved the Inquisition, at least in my humble opinion. And the other half of Saul’s heritage had suffered at the hands of Christianity too.
    They remember, out on the Rez.
    “I’m glad you’ve come.” Guillermo, at least, was always happy to see me. Of all the priests I’d worked with, he was by far my favorite. “We have … another one.”
    Of course you do, otherwise you wouldn’t call. I took a firm grip on my temper. Teaching a class of rookies always puts me in a bad mood. “Age, sex, details, Father. You know the drill.”
    He closed the high narrow door, locked it with shaking hands. I smelled incense, candles, the smell of men living together, and the peculiar fustiness that screams Catholic. My heartbeat kicked up a notch, and Saul bumped into me again, his hand this time smoothing down my hip through the tough leather of my coat. The brief touch was soothing, but I still moved away, following the priest’s long black cassock. Sour fear roiled in the air behind Guillermo, despite the placidity of his face and the habitually clasped rosary. As a matter of fact, as soon as he was finished locking the door he clutched his rosary again, twisting it through his capable brown fingers.
    “Twenty-four, male. The … it’s odd.”
    Male? That was a little odd; women are statistically higher at risk for possession; it works out to about seventy-thirty. The Catholics blame it on Original Sin. I blame it on being taught to be a victim from birth, plus a higher incidence of psychic gifts—and less training for those very gifts, in our rational culture. We would just have to agree to disagree, the Catholics and me. “Odd how?” You’ve had every conceivable type of person in here suffering from possession, Father. What makes this one different?
    Although I would have to admit there were patterns