Once the wall was established it seemed natural to reopen a shutter of sorts and control what flowed in. Paul had happily learned this ability. He didn’t need to hear anymore songs from Cloth’s children. Paul had his shutter closed tight right now and it felt damn good to see the world as he remembered it. There were still worries however. Cole cautioned about closing the shutter too long with the seeds in bloom—this would cause some sort of unbalance in the garden cropping up in his lungs. You didn’t want too many black blossoms; you didn’t want too many orange.
Opening and closing had come so easy that Paul didn’t even recognize it as a
skill
when Cole had shown him. The big man almost kicked his heels he was so happy with this instant progress. Paul didn’t get it though. It was like receiving a gold medal for taking a leak.
Now the second exercise, that was the one that got Paul’s mind all loop-de-loop. Essentially, he had to touch an object—this morning, a rock fragment—and then
push
it with his thoughts. Only he wasn’t pushing the rock from one point to another. He was pushing particles into the Old Domain... and if he had the shutter open, the process was a great deal easier, as he learned with that
chola
back in the ghetto chapel. Everything in Paul’s head lurched forward when he pushed, veins wanted to disconnect from their beds and rip out of his face. All of those bits of matter that flaked off the rock’s surface tugged on particles in his face as though they were long lost couples reuniting. He could feel his skin wanting to join the departing rock molecules. But he wouldn’t let them; he concentrated on pushing
only
the stone. It took some sweat but he figured it out in a few minutes. This last part had left the well-scarred Cole dumbstruck. Probably a bit scared too.
Something about that fear had gotten Paul’s wheels turning about Bishop Cole
Szerszen
. Paul’s role had been far too static in
Szerszen’s
scheme. After watching the man in action with that Hector fellow, a new plan had come together. Paul Quintana’s plan.
Melissa stole a glance at the decaying quartz in his palm. Her hair was in a neat bun stabbed with chopsticks and her spectacles had slid down her nose. Paul thought that on a pretty Asian chick the look might have worked. It might have worked on
any
pretty chick. But he’d had his way with Melissa; Paul couldn’t pretend otherwise, couldn’t erase that more than embarrassing night. In fact, he didn’t want to erase what happened. It was going to set him free.
“Long day ahead,” sighed Melissa. “Why do you keep looking at that thing?”
Paul put the quartz in his suit pocket. He didn’t feel like talking much, not to her anyway, but there was an angry hive of questions buzzing in his head.
This isn’t really the time or place, but what the fuck?
Reflections of the other limos crossed the sparkling lenses of her glasses. “Cole said conclave is tonight in Ontario.”
“Aren’t we headed the wrong way?”
“Ontario, California,” she explained.
She has no idea the things that could be done to her and her man
, thought Paul. “How is my fellow Bishop, anyway?” he asked. “He didn’t seem too well. With that bandage over his head people are going to think the villagers finally got him.”
“You’re hilarious.”
Paul gave her an once-over. “You thought I was funny that one night though, didn’t you? In the archives… have you ever been with Cole there, I wonder?”
She didn’t say anything, too stunned that’d he brought it up.
“Do you ever still think about that night? Was I your favorite in the lot?”
Sideways revulsion: “Absolutely not.”
Paul glanced up wistfully. “I wonder what would have happened if everybody wasn’t both so sloppy drunk.”
“I’d be a whole lot happier.”
“I think a lot more would have happened, more coordinated at least. That’s what I think.”
“Cole’s sleeping in the back. Remember? You’re fuckin’ playing with fire here Quintana.”
“He’s out like a light.” Paul turned, his seatbelt restricting him at the throat. He pulled it loose. Despite his bravado, he lowered his voice, “Something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. I don’t care much for this power-play you two made on me. I didn’t want a thing to do with either of you. I needed to ascend—”
“To meet the Priestess of Morning,” Melissa pointed out. “There’s a real need.”
“—And now Cole’s trapped me into performing some ritual he’s probably better suited for, while he goes out to play insurrectionist and assassin. We’re doing this behind
Cloth’s
back on top of everything else?”
“Cloth will be told.”
Paul ignored this as misdirection. “I know Cole thinks I’m taking to all this jazz easily, but how do I know this Heralding ritual won’t kill me? I never asked to be a hand in killing the Archbishop. I could give a fly’s fuck if
Sandeus
stays seated for fifty more years.”
“You killed Margrave. Don’t twist this up,” she spat.
“Once the Archbishop is dead, won’t I be next? Tell me Melissa.”
“
Sandeus
Pager will never secede—”
“And he’s leading us to ruin,” Paul finished mockingly. “Somehow I don’t feel any safer with Cole as Archbishop. Come on, I might not even live to see those days. The Heralding may cash me out.”
“Cole’s survived every year he’s been through it.”
“
Yay
Cole! I hope his survival doesn’t have anything to do with that Pit Bull head on top of his neck.”
“Stop that!”
“Anyway, I would leave you guys alone if I could. Really I would. Zilch is what you two mean to me.
Zilch.
But there are issues here—I have to take precautions, you see. I won’t be used and thrown away. I have plans to live a nice, long, happy life giving the Priestess of Morning her fair share of Quintana.”
“Just quit speaking to me. I don’t want to hear your voice anymore.”
“What? You think I’m disgusting?”
Wait for it you ass! Stop smiling!
Paul took out his cell phone, flipped it open and navigated to the video folder. Selected one of his favorites. He’d almost forgotten he had this one and then this morning he watched it again. Magical. It’d helped him remember he was still human.
The sounds of slurping, suction and moaning came from the little phone speaker. Melissa’s eyes twisted over and widened at the small image of her head going up and down between Paul’s legs. The view changed. From the waist down another man thrust into her from behind, his black slacks and boxer shorts bunched around his ankles. A grinning blonde woman, who Paul would have later that night, dipped underneath Melissa and began suckling a nipple. The file was too short for Paul’s tastes. He did admire the end shot, as Melissa pulled back from his penis, a long, white strand bending from her lower lip.
Melissa’s face looked prepared to split in half. “Paul! What—?”
“You looked right into the phone, precious. You
saw
me taking it.”
The dismay in her eyes told the story clearly. The camera phone memory had been lost in the mistake of that drunken night.
Paul folded up the phone and rested it on his lap. He tilted his head, playing a mock, sensitive version of himself. He could play that role when he needed to. Most people bought it. Melissa’s fists clenched the wheel now and blanched her knuckles white. Most people.
“I need a few things to make this video and its twins go away.”
Her soul paled underneath her skin. “You made copies?”
“Hell yes, I made copies. I always do. That’s not the point now. Point is, I know how Bishop Cole would feel about seeing this. The chatter around my people is that you’ve got Cole thinking you were a nun before you met him. Poor fool has to be delusional with how much we all stretched you out that night—”
“Lowering your fucking voice!”
Paul did, though hers was too loud for comfort. He needed to ease back on the teasing. “First, I want some piece of mind, some security. I can’t wiggle out of performing the Heralding, but now or later, if there are any plans on my life—”
“There aren’t!”
“If Cole plans to send some
numbnuts
to cut my throat when I’m sleeping, I’d be thrilled to know that piece of information ahead of time.” Paul paused, on the verge of laughing but held it together. “And if I don’t hear from you and I’m sent down the drink, a few of my own
numbnuts
will act on my behalf.”
“Meaning?”
“This morning, when you were patching up Cole, I sent my acolytes instructions, along with a copy of this wonderful short film. In Technicolor! They know now who to email should I disappear. Filthy perverts are making a DVD as well and maybe even upload it to an internet porn community. Are my guys brilliant? No way. Are the tech-savvy though? Yes way.”
“You think you’re smart now?”
“Quiet down,” he cautioned. “And don’t be so mean. I haven’t shown anyone else the video yet, on my honor. Just do something for me and everything will be good.”
“What the hell do you want?”
“Swipe
Sandeus’s
box of marrow seeds from his vault. You’re the head of logistics and supply, if anybody—”
“I’m not risking my life, you fucking idiot.”
“Oh. That sure sucks. Because what will Cole do when he sees this?” Paul twisted the phone in the air. “I won’t be Cole’s favorite person, but he’s loyal enough to the Church to understand losing another Bishop would be a waste. You though? You’re just some slut who took one for the team and fucked him. He can take his pick for the Church women once he’s Archbishop.”
“Why do you want the seeds?” Checked violence shimmered in her eyes. “Are you going to use them all? Go right ahead. See what happens.”
“Of course not,” said Paul hastily. “I don’t think I’ll even touch those things again. But keeping them close means that a new Bishop will never come around and put one over on me. With no others empowered I’ll only have to worry about Cole, and with your assistance, I do believe I’ve covered that angle.”
“How do you think of this shit?”
“I had plenty of time last night.”
“Shit,” she muttered and closed her eyes. They opened slowly, looking brand new, to the road slipping past.
“One more, minor thing.”
Her posture showed she knew exactly what he had to say next, even though he hadn’t really planned this part. Maybe it was some wild scent in the air.
Paul unzipped his pants and whistled the theme to
The Greatest American Hero
. His erection sprung from the divide in his black-gray plaid boxer shorts. He could see Melissa sway uneasily. He found this was too exciting, having her trapped up here and Cole only feet away, too stupefied to know better. Paul gently shut the privacy window. “I promise just this one time,” he whispered.
“I’ll get you the seeds. Just stop this. It isn’t fair.”
“You’re right; it isn’t. But I need something to signify your intent. I want you to keep going until I
runneth
over. It’s no big deal. If you’re fast, I’ll be fast. I’m tense right now, you see. It’ll free my mind. Cole’s not waking up anytime soon.”
The look of her folding made Paul’s body quiver with joy and his mind almost lost control—the shutter to the Old Domain cracked open in his mind like a lazy eyelid. He slammed it shut and focused instead on the strangling heat below. A gasp came to the top of his throat at the painful anticipation. They seemed to be the only two people in the universe at that moment.
With the stony eyes of a fallen soldier, Melissa took her right hand off the steering wheel and reached over.
~ * ~
Even in a deep sleep, Cole hated the idea of Melissa being alone with Paul Quintana. It was a risky choice, and he didn’t make those anymore—it reminded him of his days unloading freight in the Church’s warehouse in Seattle. Every time he tossed a volatile package up the dock he wondered if he was taking his own life. Back then Cole would have never dreamed of becoming
Inner Circle
and would have laughed at the notion of becoming a Bishop.
Now, even Archbishop was plausible.
He’d earned this position and losing ground wasn’t an option any longer. This, Cole had to keep. That meant he needed Paul well-trained and close. The Tomes of Eternal Harvest said:
Misery, like a trembling-lipped sow with gouged eyes, had run its course in both worlds. Now there was only pride.
Cole wanted only a glimpse of Melissa’s face. He dug his elbow in the seat, tried to twist his bulk over and face the window. His biceps clenched and body moved. A muscle hitched in his abdomen and he fell back, sucking pain. The cold, dry wound in his jaw burned. The marrow seeds in his body had long ago unfurled and spread. He no longer distinguished them as alien, except for times like this. They pounded in accordance with the pulse under his bandages. Still, this was nothing compared to a Heralding.
The black leather smell turned Cole’s stomach in two different directions. He swung his other leg off the seat and grabbed the opposite bench seat for support. Bile soaked his throat. Pulling a breath through his lips, he dragged himself up and looked out the privacy’s window.