City of Night

had grown cool, it had also grown more bitter. “I’m not asking you to do anything, neither to raise a hand nor to conspire against him.”
    “Then why are you here?”
    “All I want from you is what even a false priest can give to his parishioners many times in any day. All I ask is that you extend to me one little grace, one little grace, after which I’ll leave and never return.”
    Judging by his ghastly expression, Father Duchaine had barely sufficient resources to make the revelation that now poured forth: “I’ve indulged in hateful thoughts about our maker, yours and mine. And only a couple nights ago, I sheltered Jonathan Harker here for a while. Do you know who he was?”
    “The detective who turned killer.”
    “Yes, all over the news. But what the news didn’t say… Harker was one of us. Both his psychology and his physiology were breaking down. He was… changing.” Duchaine shuddered. “I didn’t conspire with him against Victor. But I sheltered him. Because… because I do wonder sometimes about the Presence we discussed.”
    “One little grace,” Deucalion persisted, “one little grace is all I ask.”
    “What is it then?”
    “Tell me where you were made, the name of the place where he does his work, and then I’ll go.”
    Duchaine folded his hands before him, as if in prayer, though the posture more likely represented habit than devotion. He stared at his hands for a while and at last said, “If I tell you, there’s a thing I want in return.”
    “What would that be?” Deucalion asked.
    “You killed his wife.”
    “Yes.”
    “And so you, his first, were not created with a proscription against murder.”
    “Only he is safe from me,” Deucalion said.
    “Then I’ll tell you what you wish to know… but only if you give me a few hours to prepare myself.”
    For a moment, Deucalion did not understand, and then he did. “You want me to kill you.”
    “I’m not capable of asking such a thing.”
    “I understand. But name the place for me now, and I’ll return whenever you wish to… finish our business.”
    The priest shook his head. “I’m afraid that once you have what you want, you won’t return. And I need a little while to prepare myself.”
    “Prepare in what way?”
    “This may seem foolish to you, coming as it does from a false and soulless priest. But I want to say the Mass one last time, and pray, even though I know there is no reason I should be heard with a sympathetic ear.”
    Deucalion rose from his chair. “I see nothing foolish in that request, Father Duchaine. It may be the least foolish thing that you could ask. When would you like me to return—two hours?”
    The priest nodded. “It is not too terrible a thing I ask of you, is it?”
    “I am not an innocent, Father Duchaine. I have killed before. And surely, after you, I will kill again.”
     
     
     

Chapter 42
     
    Lulana St. John and her sister, Evangeline Antoine, brought to Pastor Kenny Laffite two praline-cinnamon cream pies topped with fried pecans.
    Evangeline had made two for her employer, Aubrey Picou. On his generous permission, she had made two extra for their minister.
    Mr. Aubrey had expressed the desire to eat all four of these pies himself but had acknowledged that to do so would be gluttony, which was—to his recent surprised discovery—one of the seven deadly sins. Besides, poor Mr. Aubrey had periodic intestinal cramps that might not be exacerbated by two of these rich delights but surely would bring him to total ruin if he inflicted four upon himself.
    Lulana’s and Evangeline’s work day was over. Their brother, Moses Bienvenu, had gone home to his wife, Saffron, and their two children, Jasmilay and Larry.
    In the late afternoon and evening, the only person attending to Mr. Aubrey was Lulana’s and Evangeline’s and Moses’s brother, Meshach Bienvenu. Like a mother hen looking after her chick, good Meshach would see that his employer was fed and comfortable and, as far as was possible for Mr. Aubrey, righteous.
    The sisters came often with gifts of baked goods for Pastor Kenny because he was a wonderful man of God who had been a blessing to their church, because he had a healthy appetite, and because he was not married. At thirty-two, truly devout, charming enough, and handsome by some standards, he was a better catch than a double tubful of catfish.
    Romantically speaking, neither sister had a personal interest in him. He was too young for them. Besides, Lulana