Dexter bent inward laughing, so hard that Solomon knew that he had been heard from inside. He gripped the jamb to prop himself up, and didn't seem at all concerned with actually stopping. Solomon sighed and declined to introduce him just yet. Not until they were properly away from Paddy's family.
Saffron's soul was a mixture of fascination and consternation. Solomon could almost feel her staring. Paddy wasn't exactly the sort one imagined for a priest.
"Not really," he said. "Both my companions here were born into magic. They grew up with it. And you know I discovered it early." The day he ordered a boy to hang himself and he did. Not one of Solomon's crowning achievements.
Nor was this, he felt. Paddy was intending something, for certain. Given what he'd asked and the boy's face swimming across the crystalline surface of his oasis's waters, Solomon could well guess. He said nothing. That was Paddy's choice. He knew the boy, whoever he was, better.
"We'll meet you in the kitchen," he repeated, and turned, dragging Dexter along just as the man straightened. He yelped and exchanged grips, so he was the one leading, and guided them both down the garden path.
"Ruin my fun," he grumbled without heat. "Just inside?"
"The kitchen," Solomon said again, more pointedly. He didn't particularly want to dwell in the main chapel without Archangels dimming the Son of God's presence. Not that they could dim Him, exactly, but they'd done something to keep the image from being nearly as unnerving. He'd have no such barriers this time.
"No need to get pushy."
Within a few moments they were inside the kitchen. Saffron said nothing, but the tumult in her soul hadn't eased. Solomon sat at the table. So did Saffron. Dexter went poking about, exclaiming and making up stories in his tour-guide's voice. Solomon ignored him. "Yes?"
Embarrassment. "Are you sure he's a Christian priest?"
In spite of everything, Solomon smiled. "I'm sure."
"But he's so ..." She groped for a word. Solomon saw one rise, stay, remain unuttered.
"Weak," he finished for her. "The Temple would see him so, yes. I imagine any number of priests from a century or two ago would think the same."
"Why would he help me?" There was a faint catch just before 'me', as if Saffron wasn't sure whether she should be saying 'us' or 'you'.
no subject
Saffron's soul was a mixture of fascination and consternation. Solomon could almost feel her staring. Paddy wasn't exactly the sort one imagined for a priest.
"Not really," he said. "Both my companions here were born into magic. They grew up with it. And you know I discovered it early." The day he ordered a boy to hang himself and he did. Not one of Solomon's crowning achievements.
Nor was this, he felt. Paddy was intending something, for certain. Given what he'd asked and the boy's face swimming across the crystalline surface of his oasis's waters, Solomon could well guess. He said nothing. That was Paddy's choice. He knew the boy, whoever he was, better.
"We'll meet you in the kitchen," he repeated, and turned, dragging Dexter along just as the man straightened. He yelped and exchanged grips, so he was the one leading, and guided them both down the garden path.
"Ruin my fun," he grumbled without heat. "Just inside?"
"The kitchen," Solomon said again, more pointedly. He didn't particularly want to dwell in the main chapel without Archangels dimming the Son of God's presence. Not that they could dim Him, exactly, but they'd done something to keep the image from being nearly as unnerving. He'd have no such barriers this time.
"No need to get pushy."
Within a few moments they were inside the kitchen. Saffron said nothing, but the tumult in her soul hadn't eased. Solomon sat at the table. So did Saffron. Dexter went poking about, exclaiming and making up stories in his tour-guide's voice. Solomon ignored him. "Yes?"
Embarrassment. "Are you sure he's a Christian priest?"
In spite of everything, Solomon smiled. "I'm sure."
"But he's so ..." She groped for a word. Solomon saw one rise, stay, remain unuttered.
"Weak," he finished for her. "The Temple would see him so, yes. I imagine any number of priests from a century or two ago would think the same."
"Why would he help me?" There was a faint catch just before 'me', as if Saffron wasn't sure whether she should be saying 'us' or 'you'.
"Because he wants to," Solomon said simply.