Later, when she looked back on that day, Anna wouldn't be able to explain what drew her to the church. She wasn't a religious woman. Raised Catholic, yes, but she'd left all that behind so many years past, it didn't bear discussing. And yet, that early afternoon some aching need for peace... for Grace... propelled her up the stairs and through the heavy wooden door.
It was a small church. Quaint, with a tiny cemetery attached. It was the sort of humble place that carried a beauty sweeping cathedrals never would. The faded stained glass, the worn pews, the bare wooden floors all spoke of a lean budget but offered warmth and comfort. But it was the stone cross that caught her attention and carried her down the aisle, heels echoing with each click.
The cross could have been plucked from a dense Irish forest a few hundred years before Christ walked the earth. Tall and slightly battered, but resonating with energy, it stood on a plain wooden pedestal behind the altar. Swirls and knots covered the entire surface. The closer she got, eyes locked on the pagan piece, the more it looked like a cage. As if the curves were bars, holding a nightmare at bay. Some primal creature deep within her mind screamed at her to leave. Turn around, walk away, drive home, but for God's sake don't touch.
She glanced over her shoulder, making sure she was still alone. If there was a priest on duty, he was tucked away with a good book or a good nap. A smile tugged at her lips as she turned back to the cross. It was glorious. It practically sang of ancient days and cool breezes on starlit nights. She could easily imagine a druid standing nearby, a rack of antlers at his crown, tattered white robes brushing the ground as he moved through seasonal rites. One hand lifted and paused an inch away from the carved stone. The little furry creature trembling in her mind screamed again and she laughed out loud, startling herself as the sound bounced off the pews. If religion taught her anything, it was that there was no such thing as monsters or demons or gods and this was simply a stunning piece of art from a time long lost.
In the center of the cross, surrounded by intricate knots, rose a simple triskele. While most of the cross had a threadbare feel to it, the triskele stood out as if it had just been carved. She traced a finger over it, intrigued, and yanked her hand back with a startled gasp. Blood oozed from a fine cut and marred a sharp edge of the stone curve. She lifted her finger to her mouth, gently suckling on the wound, irritation wrinkling her brow. And as she watched, the crimson streak soaked into the grain as rain soaks into parched earth, leaving not the slightest hint of colour.
The air in the church shivered, suddenly far colder than it was a moment ago. She took a step back, and another, suddenly in complete agreement with her inner critter. It was time to go.
Rich, deep laughter rumbled from behind her.
"Beautiful, isn't it? But with a bite."
Anna spun, gripping the edge of the altar for balance. If the man standing in the middle of the church was the priest, there was no justice in the world. Dark hair fell past his shoulders, loose and practically glowing in the filtered sunlight. Chiseled features held enough sardonic amusement to do Pan proud and the glitter in those blue eyes would take out the knees of any red-blooded girl. He was tall and far too sculpted to be a man of the cloth, but he clearly belonged here. He stood like he owned the place and knew every inch of it intimately. The smile twisting his lips made her feel like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. A child in serious need of a spanking.
She forced an answering smile, sheepish and chagrined. With a rueful laugh, she moved around the altar. "I'm sorry. I couldn't resist. It's so... unexpected. No tormented figure nailed up to stir guilt."
He laughed again, nodding, "True. I don't believe in guilt. There's not much use in it. We can't help how He has made us, after all."
Anna hesitated half-way to him. Again, the primitive remnants of her soul stirred, lecturing her higher thinking.
The priest's gaze flickered and he moved forward, holding out a hand, "Forgive me. I don't mean to taunt. You aren't the first one to be entranced by the cross. You may be the first brave enough to touch it, though."
Again with the smile. She gripped his hand lightly, offering a polite how-do-you-do shake, while she blushed a deep spectrum of red. "Well, my grandmother often told me to keep my hands to myself. A lesson I never learned. Anna. Nice to meet you, Father."
Blues darkened slightly as his fingers closed around her hand. "Call me David. Your grandmother was very wise."
"She was. Yes. David, then." Strange. Growing up, she'd have never dared call a priest by his first name. "It's been a pleasure, but I've intruded enough. I'm sure you have mass to prepare for or something."
She pulled gently on her hand, breath catching when he didn't let go. "Ahhh, Anna. You aren't intruding at all. In fact, you should definitely stay for this... mass."
He took a long step forward, forcing her to either move or let him run into her. She suddenly didn't want any more of him touching her and she stumbled back, still trying to retrieve her hand. His smile deepened as he let her go and tucked his hands behind him. She smiled, taking a step to the side. And froze.
A rush of fetid air filled the small church, as if a wind had blown up from the cemetery. She could have sworn she'd closed the door behind her, but the slam of heavy wood resounded, hurting her ears. The candles flared into pillars of raging fire, then went out entirely. But in that flash, the priest was cast in dark shadow. An impossible shadow that had no place in a house of God. A shadow larger than the man, with soaring curved horns and a snapping tail. A shadow that loomed from the depths of every hellish painting and woodcut. Ancient. Primal.
Anna looked back over her shoulder at the cross, logical denial warring with the image burned into her eyes. The laughter that rose around her this time was frightening. His voice rumbled, soaking in and leaving her no place to hide.
"Clever girl. Yes, it was your blood that released me. Your blood that opened the door. And it will be your blood that allows me to stay. After a fashion."
He moved closer and she lurched back. The I-told-you-so's were dove-tailing with the get-out-get-out-get-out's. She ducked left. He stepped left. She dodged right and he swept an arm upward, knocking her off her feet without touching her. She landed in a heap at the base of the altar, unmoving for a moment. It was just long enough for him to close the distance and lift her by her throat, gazing at her with those same beautiful eyes. The memory of the shadow hovered behind the man. David hadn't changed, but she could see him. True sight had never been so unwelcome.
