Page 20 of Kissed the Mark
The church looked like every other Catholicchurch I’d seen on TV; I’d never actually been inside one myself.There was a fountain in the foyer area with some pamphlets, I guesswhere people dabbed holy water on their foreheads. I hadn’t had achance to test if holy water worked against vampires, but I had amoment where I seriously considered stealing some for the purposeof trying.
Most of the windows were normal, which Iwasn’t expecting. There were large, arching ceilings, presumablydesigned to either make you feel small or to embrace the largenessof God. Being close to nature magic, neither Beatrice nor I werevery close to any of the human religions, but we had our uses forthem, and them for us. “I donate a generous amount for everyblessing he does,” Beatrice admitted to me. “I would feel badstealing his time otherwise.”
There was a boy sweeping the floor betweenpews. The space was so open and empty that the sound of thebristles hitting tile echoed. Maybe the actual purpose of the tallceilings was for the acoustics. The only stained glass was in ahuge, two-story window behind the altar, depicting Mother Maryholding baby Jesus in varying shades of blue that dappled againstthe room in the mid-morning light. I had to admit, it was a verypretty effect.
“Father Ambrosio!” Beatrice shouted to a manin robes rearranging the candles on the altar space. He looked upand pushed his glasses up his nose, all the way up to his verybushy eyebrows. He was a hefty Italian man. The candlestick wasdwarfed by his large hands.
“Miss Beatrice,” he said. His voice wasfriendly enough, but his expression indicated he was done dealingwith the supernatural for the day. “Is there something you needed?I’m doing confession at noon.”
Beatrice smacked the purple lipstick on hermouth. “Oh, we have three more crosses to bless.” She reached intoher tote bag and held them out, even though the priest was on theopposite side of the room. The crosses were made of simple,polished dark wood, and fit easily in the palm of her hand.
The preacher took a deep breath that mighthave been a sigh. I wondered how often Beatrice needed him forblessings. “I’ll bless them,” he said. “Just remember not to abusethe contact form on our website, Miss Beatrice.”
“Thank you. May we use the crying room?”Beatrice said.
“The crying room?” I asked.
Father Ambrosio’s gaze flicked to thecardboard box, which had scooted a foot over of its own accord fromwhere I had left it at the entrance to the chapel. “You have fiveminutes,” he said.
We shuffled through a door at the back endof the chapel next to the bathrooms. “People go in here to cry?” Iasked.
“Not people. Babies. Well, I guess babiesare people if we’re getting into semantics. It’s supposed to besome degree of soundproof.” She closed the door behind us andflicked the light switch, pointing at two large speakers above thedoor. “People bring their crying children here so they don’t botherthe others, and then they can still hear the sermon through thespeakers.”
“That makes more sense,” I said.
“Okay, let’s see what mess we’ve got here,”she said, rubbing her hands together as though excited about mypredicament.
I peeled back several thick layers of ducttape holding the box shut. “It’s promising that she could stillbreathe, right?” I asked. The honking was much louder without thebarrier of the cardboard. “So she’s still a vampire and can bechanged back relatively easily?”
Beatrice bent down to examine the goosethrough the cat carrier. “This is a cute carrier,” she said,pointing to the zebra pattern.
“Thanks. It’s Yuki’s,” I said. It was sohard to keep Beatrice on task. No wonder Father Ambrosio was fed upwith her. “Can you tell anything?”
“I can smell a few layers of magic here,”she said. Beatrice put her nose right to the carrier and took adeep whiff. “And I smell your cat. But I don’t—well, to be frankwith you, dear Olympia, it doesn’t smell like vampire at all. Idon’t know that this was ever a vampire.”
“What do you mean? She was a vampire thismorning.” Then something else hit me. “Ohshit. Beatrice,this was the vampire that had to be uninvited from my house, butthe first time she came in after losing her memory, she had to beinvited in again. And you hadn’t saged the place, but I thought youhad. Can losing your memory mean you forget being invited?”
“Not that I know of. Once invited in, avampire should always be allowed in until a ritual is done to undoit. It doesn’t have anything to do with their memory,” Beatricesaid, wrinkling her nose. “God, Martha. I do wonder how much ofthis is actual potion and how much is tequila. She’stalentless.”
I felt like crying. “What’s going onhere?”
“She could breathe through the box. I’m nobird expert like Rayann, but I’d say this goose isn’t alive.”
“So undead, like a vampire?”
“So…” Beatrice scratched her red hair. “Ijust don’t know. This has Martha’s smell all over it, but someoneelse’s too. Oh, I need to think. It’s someone—Francesca, maybe? Doyou know Francesca Gallo? I think she must have done the originalspell, whatever happened there.”
Francesca was a witch that lived near Sugar& Spice, a shop run by her wife, Griselda, that sold herbs,spellbooks, and other things that were useful to people who neededto do some magic.
“Can you drive me to Sugar & Spice?” Iasked.
Father Ambrosio’s voice came over thespeakers above the door. “Time’s up.”
Chapter Eleven
Sugar & Spice
BEATRICE NEWELL DROVE ABOUT AS well as you’d expecther to, which is to say, not very well at all. The heavy marblebust that swung from her rearview mirror seemed destined to murdersomebody, whether by smacking me between the eyes and killing me orhitting the windshield with such force that it cracked. The consoleof the vehicle was the same sickly green as its outsides, andABBA’sMamma Miablasted from the speakers in dissonancewith the speed and violence at which Beatrice hit the road. Stopsigns were optional; stop lights were stop signs; pedestriansstrolled on the sidewalk at their own risk as Beatrice hit the curbnot once, not twice, butfivetimes. She snacked from a bagof party-size Flamin’ Hot Cheetos with one hand and fixed her hairin the side mirror with another, leaving the wheel totally to itsown whims.
