The Night Beat

warlocks? As well as wraiths?”
    “Let’s say they’re continuing to cast the same kinds of spells as undeads as they did as living rock stars, and leave it at that. The Bard, too.”
    Ralph heaved the big canine sigh. “Are we the only undeads who don’t do all the fancy spell-casting?”
    “Oh, any being can learn it,” Benny said cheerfully. “You just have to have an open mind and a willingness to experiment.”
    “You a spell-caster, too?” Why not? Maybe everyone did it other than me and Ralph. It’d been that kind of week.
    Benny snorted. “Hardly. But, as I said, if you want to be a good fence, you need to know what’s coming through, what it does, what it’s worth, who needs it, and who should be kept away from it.”
    “You know,” I said to Ralph, “when this all started, I felt pretty competent.”
    “I know what you mean.”
    “So, you think someone cast a spell on Judas?”
    “Benny, call him Jude, okay? It’s easier.” It also kept newer undeads of certain religious persuasions from attacking him before they understood just what his role in Yahweh’s grand scheme had been. “But, yeah, I think so.”
    “I don’t buy it,” Ralph said. “Jude’s too powerful not to notice.”
    “Agreed, over a long period of time. Only, I don’t think it required a lot of time. A lot of effort, probably, but not time. It’s like when Nero escaped when we were here before. Everyone else was focused elsewhere, he slipped off quietly, by the time we caught on, he was long enough gone you couldn’t catch him.”
    “Of course, Wagner let Nero get away.” Ralph wasn’t trying to hide the snide.
    “I’m sure. Now. But however it was done, my guess is that Jude was blocked just long enough to cast the spells that blocked him and let Abaddon in. Then blocked again when Slimy showed up, dragging Apollyon and the Adversary along with him. That’s all it would take. Jude’s focused on keeping them out. Once they’re in, it’s our job to spot and stop them.”
    “And we’re doing so well.”
    “Why the sad dog face? We’re alive, we’re together, we have the bag of badness, and Benny the Know-It-All Fence. I think we’re doing pretty well.”
    “Here’s hoping that can-do attitude helps us when it matters,” Benny muttered.
    “No worries. We’re about to find out.”

Chapter 68
     
    We reached the parking lot for the Little Church. It wasn’t blocked, but it wasn’t empty, either. There were a few nicer cars parked near the entrance. I pulled in next to what I was pretty sure was the S-Class we’d lifted. It was nice to have a semblance of confirmation that I was on the right scent.
    We got out of the car, Benny clutching the bag of evil goodies. “What do I do if someone attacks me for this?” he whispered.
    “Scream like a banshee, run like a werewolf, hold onto it like a miser.”
    “You’re such a help and a comfort.”
    “I do my best for all citizens of Prosaic City and Necropolis.”
    Ralph sniffed. “How about for citizens of other cities and, I think, countries?” He sniffed again. “And these cars were at the cemetery the other day, at least some of them were.”
    More confirmation. No conclusion, but at least confirmation. “Well, let’s just say that I think they’re going to be relieved to see us and leave it at that.” Honesty forced an addendum. “Or else they’re going to all try to kill us. But, you know, either way, we’re ready.”
    “We are?” Ralph didn’t sound convinced.
    “Yes. We have everything we need right here.” I hoped.
    We entered the Little Church quietly. It didn’t look like anything had happened. “It was practically destroyed when I saw it Sunday,” Benny whispered in my ear.
    “Some spells work faster than others,” I whispered back.
    What the church wasn’t was empty. It was hardly filled to capacity, but there were at least a couple dozen people here. Which fit with the number of cars in the parking lot.
    “Most of these were at the cemetery the other day, for that funeral,” Ralph said, sniffing up a storm.
    “Isn’t that Reverend ‘Jeremiah’ Johnson?” Benny asked, nodding towards the good-looking man in the center of the group. “He must be sick about what’s gone on in his church.”
    The base of my tail started to vibrate. “Benny, is he a good man or a charlatan?”
    “Actually, he’s a good one. I know, hard to believe. But he does believe and he wants to help people. Very decent. Pity about