By a professional.
“Wake me when we are near,” she ordered. “And stop speeding. I do not want the police to pull us over.”
As Streeter nodded his acceptance of the order, Vitoria closed her eyes again and smiled. Ricardo would not have approved of any of this tonight, most especially how she had dispatched his salesperson. Oh, the reasoning behind the assassination was sound, and something with which he would have agreed. But his sister? With that gun? Murdering a woman in that brazen, yet calculated manner?
Except she hadn’t only studied English during those years he had been away.
The dark arts lessons she had taken had cost two to three times over their going rates: As a female, she had had to convince men to teach her how to shoot, how to fight, how to kill, and as Ricardo’s sister, she had had to keep everything highly discreet. If he had found out? He might well have shot her himself.
But thanks to time and practice, she had become very good at solving her own problems. If she could use a Streeter, she much preferred to do so. If one such as he was not available, however? Or if it was a special circumstance that required a personal touch?
She did it herself.
TWENTY-NINE
As Jane became conscious, she jerked upright and grasped at her chest. There were tufts in the front of her parka, holes that bled white feathers, but as she took a deep breath, the suffocation was over. The pain was gone, too.
She was only partially corporeal, however.
Looking around, she recoiled. The snowy alley had been replaced by rolling green grass and vibrant blooming flowers and buildings that looked like they belonged in Caesar’s Rome.
Why was she in the Sanctuary?
“Vishous?” She got to her feet. “V?”
Okay, so was she dead…or was this a cosmic restart kind of thing? Like, an existential return to sender that provided, if she “died,” that she got rebooted back to where the Scribe Virgin had stayed?
Turning in a circle, she surveyed the landscape. She was smack in the middle of the gorgeous field, halfway between what V had told her were the Chosen’s dormitories and the Reflecting Pool.
A feeling of panic flooded her circuits, but she got over that quick. Collecting herself, she figured she better bite the bullet and—
Hardy-har-har.
Not.
Yeah, it was going to be a while before she used that expression again.
At any rate, she probably needed to try out being fully present and see what happened. Unzipping the parka all the way, she took the thing off and stared down at herself. Using her will, she called upon her body to come forward fully, even as she braced herself for pain.
Except there was none. She felt just fine as she came totally into her flesh—which meant one of two things: She had either died and this was the afterlife or she really was immortal.
As she remembered how the gunshots had happened, she worried about Vishous. She could recall so clearly how he had held her, his face wild with horror, her physical pain getting between them, cheating her out of things she wanted to say to him.
And then it had all gone dark.
She had to get back to him, back down to earth. So she could tell him she was all right.
Thinking about how he had transported them here, she didn’t have a clue exactly what he had done. She had just held on to him and let him do the work, that body of his something at once familiar and exotic as the reality had spun around them.
Whatever. She could do this. Closing her eyes, she held her parka against her chest and, on the theory that getting in or out of this realm was just the same as moving herself from one zip code in Caldie to another, she willed herself to up-and-out.
When it didn’t work right away, she cracked her neck, took a deep breath, and gave it another shot.
After the third try, she cursed and realized it was not that easy.
Was she stuck here until someone happened to come along? Shit.
Deciding to be proactive, she started walking across the tranquil landscape. Surely, she’d run across Amalya, the Directrix, or a Chosen who had come up here to rejuvenate themselves…somebody, anybody.
Except what she found instead were her own regrets. And man, did they start talking to her.
“What the hell was wrong with me?” she said to the grass. “Why did I waste all that time?”
It wasn’t that treating her patients was unimportant. It was more that she had spent hours between cases fiddling around with paperwork and non-urgent things that she could have delegated. Why hadn’t she headed home? She could have been with V. They could have been together.
Or if he’d been on rotation, she could have been sleeping. Binge-watching AHS or Stranger Things on Netflix.
But no, she had been obsessive about being rightthereincasesomeoneneededher…
Like phones didn’t work on the Brotherhood mountain? Like someone couldn’t have come and found her? Like maybe somebody else could have handled a low-level trauma—
Her cell phone. She had her damn cell phone with her.
Taking it out, she went to hit Vishous up—“Damn it.”
Okay, she was so not surprised there was no reception for calls or texts. Duh. Like Verizon covered other worlds? Or the Sanctuary was in-network?
Back to plan A. Which was to walk around until she found someone.
God, she just needed a way to tell Vishous she was okay.
* * *
—
Sola prayed so hard for Assail to be healed in that cathedral that afterward, on the way home, she realized she’d made her forearms and elbows sore from pressing her palms together. And perhaps she had been wrong to ask what she had. She had been told, many times by many different men and women of God, never to pray for specific outcomes, but instead to ask for God’s will. The trouble was, she had a problem with that. To reduce things down to an absurd metaphor, she kind of felt like that was going to an aunt who had always gotten you socks for Christmas and telling her, Hey, do what you want.
She’d just offered a little specificity, a small bit of direction, is all—
Abruptly, she winced behind the wheel, and thought, Oh, wow, I did not just old-maiden-aunt our Lord. Really. I did not—
“So, Assail, what religion?” her grandmother asked from the backseat.
During the awkward pause that followed, Sola looked out the window to the heavens and nodded in God’s general direction. Clearly, her vovó’s question was payback for that wisecrack.
And I love socks, she thought. Socks are good, they keep your feet warm, they come in different colors. I am very grateful for all the socks I have in my life, socks that You have chosen to give me—
“Marisol?”
“Sola?”
As the other two both said her name, she jerked to attention. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Socks?” Assail asked. “You just spoke of socks—”
“Do you need socks?” her grandmother cut in. “I get you some more. Everybody, they need the socks.”
At least this got her vovó distracted off the religion track. “Sorry, I was just mumbling to myself. And I’m good on foot coverage, thanks.”
“I get you more,” her grandmother said. “Assail, answer question.”
Sola closed her eyes. Then refocused on the road. She wanted to tell him he didn’t have to reply at all, but—
“I am agnostic, Mrs. Carvalho. Although the mass was certainly moving.”
“You will go again with us, but next time to our church. You will meet Father Molinero—”
Sola shook her head and looked into the rearview. “We cannot go back there, Vovó. Not an option. I told you that already.”
Her grandmother’s eyes lowered, and as sadness came over her aging face, Sola wished that the woman would come back swinging, as was her usual style. Defiance was life; defeat was death.
“We can keep going to the cathedral, though,” Sola said as they got to the end of the bridge and she took that first exit to go down the Hudson’s shoreline. “Right?”
Assail was all over it. No hesitation: “Absolutely.”
Her grandmother recovered quickly. “Then next time, you meet Bishop Donnelley. He will bless you.”
“A request, if it is not too much?” Assail turned to look into the back seat. “May we please attend the midnight masses? You will find I am a night owl.”