Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

278 :: JOHN R. MABRY
consider safe? The grove where his Christo-Pagan Craft
Circle did their rituals? Maybe. The Montague Sommers
Memorial Chapel at the Friary? An equal chance, but it didn’t
strike Dylan as much of an ah-ha. He looked at Jaguar
for help, but the cat was licking its ass with no apparent selfconsciousness
whatsoever. In fact, he really seemed to be digging
for gold.
Dylan made a face and turned back to the elders. “A safe
place, Ah get that,” Dylan said. “Can you be more specific?”
This was the problem with help from the Other World, of
course. You could always count on them for input, but it was
almost always so cryptic as to be maddeningly unhelpful.
One old man pointed at Dylan and laughed. “What?”
Dylan asked, checking his nose to see if there was a booger
hanging from it. “He is doing what he loves most! It brings
him comfort.” The old man smiled a toothless smile and
nodded his head.
“Sleeping Bear has his answer. Time to go,” said Old
Leatherface.
“What are you talking about?” Dylan asked. “You’re just
tossing me out? But Ah still don’t know where he is.”
“Yes, you do. He is safe, doing what he loves. Go there.”
And then the Grandfather began humming again. The audience
was ended.
:: 58 ::
Cedar Street in north Berkeley was buzzing with students
from the University of California and young mothers pushing
prams, yet Richard saw no one. On auto-pilot he steered
himself toward All Saints’ Episcopal Church and opened the
door to the offices.