“Ow.”
I got to my feet unsteadily. I felt light-headed and a little sick to my stomach, but otherwise okay. Above me the Shrine was booming the quarter hour; but which hour? Seven, I guessed, by the grey thin light and the scattering of cars across the parking lot. Seven-fifteen on a Sunday morning. At seven-thirty the first Mass of the day would begin.
I wiped my gritty hands on my shirt and hunched my shoulders against the cold. As I headed for my dorm I glanced over my shoulder at the utility building I’d stumbled from. Its cheap plastic door flapped open, but then the wind slammed it shut again, and I glimpsed the sign there—
Members Only.
I went to Rossetti Hall. My key still opened the front door, but when I got upstairs to my own room the lock had been changed. It was so early there was no one in the hall or lounge to ask about it, but I didn’t want to stick around and risk running into Francis Connelly or something worse.
I hurried up another flight to Angelica’s room. I banged on the door, but there was no answer. It was too soon for them to have returned from West Virginia; at least that’s what I hoped. I slunk outside through the back door, feeling like I had a big black X on my forehead.
It was just like my first day at the Divine, that first awful day before I met Oliver and Angelica. The few people I saw paid no attention to me at all. I might have wondered if they even actually saw me, except that an immaculately dressed family hurrying past on their way to the Shrine gave me disapproving looks. I must have looked exactly like what they were praying to be delivered from. I dug into my pockets, fished around until I found a few wadded bills and some change, and went to the Shrine to scavenge breakfast.
I ended up spending most of the day there. I was afraid to venture back out onto the Strand. I hid in a corner booth and drank endless cups of coffee, bought a pack of cigarettes and rationed them, one every twenty minutes. I even slept for a little while, my head pillowed on the Formica tabletop, until the clatter of dishes and silverware woke me. When I looked up I saw the old round schoolhouse clock at the end of the room, its red second hand sweeping briskly along. Four o’clock: time for tea. I shoved my cigarettes into my pocket and went in search of Baby Joe.
Dusk was already falling, barren trees throwing long shadows beneath the street-lamps. In Baby Joe’s room a light was on. I was afraid to go to the front door, so I threw pebbles at his window until he peered out. He mimed surprise and relief, raising his hands and shaking his head, then motioned for me to go around to the back of the building. I crept through a hedge of overgrown box trees until I saw Baby Joe leaning against the dorm’s ivy-covered wall, holding open a fire door with one hand. In the other he held my battered knapsack.
“Hey, hija. I was starting to worry when I found this in your room but no Sweeney. You in trouble?”
“Something like that.”
I followed him to his room. He shut and locked the door, and I groaned with relief. Baby Joe hugged me awkwardly, his stolid face creased with concern.
“What happened, hija? Me and Hasel went looking for you, but you were gone.”
I perched myself on the edge of his bed. Except for the fine layer of ash over everything, Baby Joe’s room was disturbingly neat. A Royal Upright typewriter sat on the old wooden desk, surrounded by carefully arranged stacks of paper and textbooks. Issues of Punk Magazine and New York Rocker and The Paris Review were lined up against one wall, and I knew if I opened one of his bureau drawers I’d see his tired white T-shirts and black nylon socks stored with just as much solicitude. It all made me feel incredibly disgusting.
Baby Joe didn’t notice or didn’t care. He cracked open the window, reached out onto the sill, and withdrew two bottles of Old Bohemian. “Here, hija. Where the hell’d you go?”
I told him everything that had happened since we fled back to the Orphic Lodge. Baby Joe leaned against his desk, giggling softly in disbelief and laughing out loud when I told him about the Benandanti’s portal.
“No shit? One of their puertas? You got cojones, Sweeney!”
But when I mentioned Francis Connelly he shook his head.
“Francis X. Connelly. Someday I’m gonna take him out—” He pointed a finger at me and cocked his thumb. “Bang. I’d do it now, but they might revoke my scholarship.”
I told him about watching Magda Kurtz being shoved through the door in Garvey Hall, about Angelica’s crescent-shaped necklace and how I wasn’t sure if she was working with Balthazar Warnick and the Benandanti or against them.
“Probably against them. Angie, you know Angie is smart but not that kind of smart,” said Baby Joe. “These student brujos, they get kind of cocky. I’ve seen it with my brother’s friends; they think because they’re tapped for the Benandanti they can do anything. Fly, walk on water, kill a big cow with a charm bracelet. But Warnick? I wouldn’t fuck with Warnick, I tell you that.”
At last I finished. My beer was still half-full, but all of a sudden I couldn’t stomach any more. I buried my face in my hands, and started to cry.
“Hey. It’s okay—” Baby Joe sat on the bed next to me and patted my back. “You can stay here tonight, you can move all your stuff here if you want, hija, it’s okay—”
“It’s not okay! They’re kicking me out, my parents are gonna kill me, and Christ, Baby Joe, what is going on here? Where’s Angelica? Where’s Oliver? What—”
I swallowed, my voice fading to a whisper. “What we saw in the field—what the hell was that?”
Baby Joe shrugged. “You tell me,” he said softly. “But these Benandanti, they do a lot of crazy shit—”
“But that didn’t have anything to do with the Benandanti. That was something else. Angelica’s gotten all hyped up about some weird goddess cult; she’s been reading all these books and talking about the second coming of Kali or Ishtar, or—”
I punched the mattress furiously. “It’s fucking nuts.”
“Ishtar, huh?” Baby Joe reached for my beer, drank it thoughtfully. “Well, at least she fits the job description.”
“It’s not funny.”
“Who’s laughing?” He finished the beer and leaned back on the bed. “But man, you are right, this is some crazy shit Barbie-girl has gotten herself into. And you don’t know where she is?”
“I don’t think anyone knows where she is. She must have taken off into the woods. And unless she wants to end up with Magda Kurtz, she better stay there.”
For a few minutes we sat in silence. Outside, the Shrine bells tolled five-thirty. It was already full dark. All around us, people would be getting ready for the start of another week. I took a deep breath, then asked the question I’d been waiting to ask.
“What happened to Oliver?”
“Oliver?” Baby Joe regarded me through slitted black eyes. “Oliver’s here.”