Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

THE KINGDOM :: 111
“Mah theory is that most Christians are Modals,” said
Dylan, wiping coffee from where he had just spilled it down
the front of his shirt. “They just don’t know what to call it.”
“Okay, so why is this Astrid on the outs with the
Swedenborg people? Isn’t she basically doing the same thing
with her crystal ba...stone that Mr. Swedenborg was doing in
trance?”
“Well, yes, exactly,” answered Susan, handing her husband
a wet washcloth to better tend to his shirt. “And let
that be a lesson to you ladies out there in TV Land—don’t
try at home those things that are the reservéd domain of Old
Dead White Guys.”
“Lest you be kicked out on yo’ asses,” added Dylan, wiping
at his shirt.
“Amen,” agreed Terry liturgically, and poured himself a
final cup from the dregs.
Just then the doorbell rang and Richard froze. Of course,
this was not lost on anyone. “Get yourself together, loverboy,”
Susan said to him, heading for the door, “I’ll let her
in.”
Kat, intrigued, extracted her legs from the bench and followed.
Susan opened the door and Astrid swept into the
foyer like a goddess. She was the closest thing to a Swedish
Amazon Kat had ever seen, her shining gold hair hanging
knee-length and her body veiled in enough sequins and gauze
to instigate all-out war between Liberace and the gypsies.
Kat also noted that she had an adam’s apple that could
choke a llama.
“Hey, Tobers,” Astrid said, hugging the dog.
“Astrid, meet Kat,” Susan said. Kat rose and shook her
hand, wondering at its size, and also at how anyone could
actually get away with dressing in such a fashion in
California.
“Hey, assholes!” she waved through the kitchen door. Kat