Dead Harvest

  Unbidden, Bishop continued. "Those boys were destined for a life of sin, and had I not intervened, their souls would roast still in the fires of hell. But I did intervene, purifying them and sending them into the arms of their loving God. Of course, they were young and poor and had so little to give, so they paid their tithe in blood. I assure you, He understood, which is why He made me his chosen son, his emissary in this realm."

  At the threshold of the kitchen, I stopped, willing my heart to slow. My borrowed flesh was full of twitchy energy, muscle memory eager to put a bullet in Bishop's brain. Or perhaps it was something more? I'd never felt such willingness in a meat-suit before. I wondered if maybe after all he'd seen riding shotgun with me, Flynn was on my side.

  The support was welcome, even if it might've been imagined. Whether willingly or not, we wheeled together around the corner, my gun hand drawing a bead on Bishop's smiling face, illuminated softly by the dim light that shone from up above the kitchen range.

  But he was already a step ahead of me, crouching behind Kate to ensure I didn't have a clean shot. Her hands and feet were bound with duct tape, which wound as well around the limbs of a dining-room chair, affixing her in place. A strip of tape stretched across her mouth. Bishop held Kate by her hair – her head tilted awkwardly backward, her eyes pleading and terrified. A kitchen knife glinted cruelly at her throat.

  "Ah-ah-ahhh!" he said, yanking back her head and pressing blade against flesh. "I wouldn't do that if I were you – someone might just get hurt!"

  I took him in now, this familiar creature in an unfamiliar vessel. This one was a large-framed man, thick and meaty, like an athlete gone to seed. A few sad wisps of graying hair swept from one ear to the other in a foolish attempt to hide his baldness. He wore pants of bluish-gray, and an elaborate shirt to match – a doorman's uniform, no doubt. The shirt's double row of brass buttons were undone, his undershirted gut protruding from within. Mischief danced in his eyes, and his face was twisted into a manic grin.

  "What are you going to do, Bishop – slit her throat? That's not the job, and you know it."

  "It wouldn't be the first time I've taken a soul from a corpse," he said.

  "I'll kill you before you ever get the chance. You have to know that. You've failed, Bishop. Just let the girl go, and you'll be spared."

  "You expect me to be frightened of that popgun? You know as well as I that it won't kill me; like Lazarus, I shall rise again, and when I do, you'll pay. You and your little whore both."

  "I wouldn't count on it," I said, training the sight of my rag-stuffed gun barrel at the bridge of his broad, crooked nose. "I'm pretty sure Beleth is never coming back."

  "DON'T YOU SAY HIS NAME! Only the righteous may know the true name of the Lord!" Bishop cried.

  "And what would you know about righteous?" I shot back.

  "I was His chosen son! For centuries, I was the hand of God, smiting the wicked and ensuring His will be done! How dare you question me, when it is I who must step in after what you've done! It is a mantle I do not wear lightly, being God in His stead, but you've left me no choice. That is why we're here. That is why it's come to this."

  "So that's what this is about?" I asked. "I kill your god, and now you want to make me pay?"

  His eyes danced with anger and spite, and something else as well. Madness, I realized. The madness of a zealot.

  "There is no payment great enough to repair what you have done. You've robbed the world of its Heavenly Father. I should have sensed the stink of wickedness upon you all those years ago when I first took your soul; I should have realized my attempts to cleanse the stain of sin from you were for naught. But I didn't, and it cost our Lord His life. That will forever be my burden to bear. But this girl, this harlot, this vile creature – she means something to you, does she not? Perhaps you see your wickedness reflected back at you. Perhaps you were seduced by her comely features, or tempted by her feminine wiles. I care not what it was that drew you to her; all I care is that you care for her – that this girl, this sinner, this foul creature holds meaning for you, as the Heavenly Father does for me. You see, I cannot extract payment enough from you to change what you have done, but I can force you to suffer. I can force you to watch as I tear her soul from her body. I can cause you to suffer as I myself have suffered, for I am a vengeful God, and all must learn that it is dangerous to cross me."