Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

THE KINGDOM :: 135
ly, passing numerous liquor stores, sleeping winos, trendy
coffee bistros—“That’s it, there.” Almost rolling to a stop,
the three looked up from the driver’s side windows at a criminally
neglected Victorian. Its paint—which had probably
been salmon color in the distant past—was peeling, and
black cloth adorned the inside of its windows.
“Okay, let’s park,” said Richard, feeling his heart rate pick
up the pace. Dylan jabbed the accelerator to circle the block,
when Terry squealed.
“If you must be such a sissy, can you please do it at further
remove from my ear?” Richard complained, shaking his ear
canal with his finger.
“It’s Mikael’s car, look!”
Plainly, it was his battered Tercel. Dylan turned to look
both of them in the face, his eyes registering concern. “Don’t
panic. Just park,” Richard said. “Let’s check it out.”
“There’s a place, half a block up, on the left. Quick!”
“Ah see it,” said Dylan, speeding up and whipping an illegal
U in the middle of the street. “Thank you, Jesus.”
“No,” corrected Terry impishly, “Thank you, baby Jesus.”
Dylan parked in the narrow space in one try, and Richard
silently marveled at his prowess as they jogged to Mikael’s
car. Terry peered in and squinted. Then he tried the doors,
but they were locked. “Holy Christ,” he muttered.
“What?”
“Well, the doors are locked, but the keys are inside. See?”
Dylan leaned over and peered through the glass. Sure
enough, the keys were hanging from the ignition.
“What do you think happened?” asked Richard.
“Well, knowing Mikael,” Terry straightened up and made
a face. “I’d say he went to the john, and accidently locked his
keys in the car. Then, when he ran out of fish gall, he went
into a dissociative state—”
“From the demon activity,” added Dylan.