Chicagoland by Gail Martin (important books to read TXT) 📕

of Avila or the rosary of St. Anthony the Great. Our relics here at the Cathedral may help heal the sick of heart and frail of body, but they are of little use against the demonic.”

“If we could borrow relics like that, would the exorcism destroy them? Or would they just lend power?”

“It might drain them for a while, but a true relic’s power comes from God,” Kinsella replied. “They would not be destroyed.”

“We’d like to get this done as soon as possible. What’s your calendar look like today, Father?”

Kinsella chuckled. “I’d like a few hours to pray, make ready—and eat dinner. But I can be good to go by about seven tonight? That soon enough?”

“You bring the holy water; I’ll bring the salt. We’re in Room 434 at the Lexington Hotel.”

I stopped at a payphone and called our room at the Lexington. West picked up and handed the receiver to Sarah. I explained what Father Kinsella had said about the saints’ items, and Sarah promised to see what she could finagle from her museum friends.

“Don’t worry—I’m due to make a generous donation to the museum. They won’t mind doing me a favor,” she assured me.

“Hey, I don’t know if this matters, but St. Michael is sometimes claimed as the patron saint for mobsters,” I told her, remembering something I’d read. “That could work for or against us, but it’s something to keep in mind.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Sarah passed the receiver to West.

“Ness brought some fun new toys for the party,” he said, giving me a head’s up that we had company. “And just so you know, there’ve been a bunch of ‘stray’ dogs outside the hotel—watch where you step.”

So Lassiter Davis still had his shifters watching us. Interesting. Since one of those dogs had saved our lives, I didn’t mind the extra help, although Davis’s people wouldn’t be anywhere close to the action at the vault if things went bad. Then again, not all of Capone’s “family” had gone to jail, so maybe Davis’s real goal was to make sure we weren’t interrupted, although how he might have guessed our plans, I didn’t know. Maybe he didn’t need to know the details—he just intended to keep the Capone goons off our ass. Either way, I wouldn’t turn down help.

By the time I got up to the suite, Sarah’s valise with the bootleg hooch was tucked out of sight. Ness might be an ally, but he wasn’t a friend, and there was no point in testing our luck. I found both men chatting in the parlor over coffee and cookies.

“Any luck with the priest?” Ness asked.

“He’ll be here at seven. Had some preparation he needed to take care of,” I replied, scoring a cookie for myself and pouring a hot cup of java. I didn’t feel like squeezing into the armchair again, so I just leaned against the wall.

Sarah came back half an hour later, good timing since we’d nearly exhausted our capacity for small talk. She glowed with triumph and pulled a couple of worn wooden boxes out of a Marshall Field shopping bag.

“I need to bring these back by close of business tomorrow,” she said. “Undamaged, if at all possible—or I’ll have to write a much bigger check.” Sarah was good for the money, but I respected the history of the pieces and hoped we didn’t have to sacrifice them to stay alive.

“The icon of Saint Marcellus—known for slaying a vampire—is said to contain part of his finger bone,” she said, placing a small but beautiful painting in a thick frame on the table. It was done in the Russian style, with gold leaf and vivid colors, and showed an old man in red and white robes.

“A relic from Saint Roche,” she added, laying a small box with a glass lid beside the icon. Inside lay a rosary made of stone beads. “He was a plague saint.” Since vampires were often linked to plagues, the connection seemed solid.

“And a medallion sacred to Saint Hubertus, patron of hunters.” A silver disk with a crucifix and a stag’s head joined the other items. She grinned. “Not quite the shoe buckle of Saint Theresa of Avila, but not too shabby either.”

“They just let you take those from the museum?” Ness asked, eying her haul like he might need to arrest her.

“They let me borrow the pieces,” Sarah answered coolly as if she had picked up a note of suspicion in the Fed’s voice that irked her. “And I wrote them a check that had a lot of zeroes after the number. Consider it collateral.”

Ness blinked first, which didn’t surprise me. Sarah can be tough as nails.

We ate dinner in the suite, a concession to avoid attracting attention. The three of us might not be known locally, but Ness was a celebrity of sorts these days. We didn’t need anyone speculating about what we might be doing together.

A knock came at the door, exactly at seven. Father Kinsella carried a black valise and had changed into a full cassock with a purple stole appropriate for exorcism. “Ready when you are,” he said, and his lips twitched into an almost-smile that made me think he was enjoying this.

We headed down to the room Sarah’s friend had pointed out to us. West picked the lock after letting Kinsella and me check for magical protections. What I sensed felt distant, making me think that the real protections were on the inside.

I said a silent prayer to Krukis and felt his power flow through me. Kinsella glanced at me as if he sensed the shift but didn’t say anything.

West flicked the lights on, revealing pale blue walls, a color said to repel evil. Many of the words and symbols painted on the walls were the same as in the vampire room, but there were some new ones I had seen in the lore that were specifically to bind demons. Kinsella took it all in silently, but I saw recognition in his