Sunday's Child by Grace Draven

Author:Grace Draven [Draven, Grace]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grace Draven
Published: 2017-10-30T18:30:00+00:00

8

Every year, on December sixth, Andor joined the throng of worshippers who entered the Basilica of Saint Nicholas in Bari, Italy and found a pew near the back of the church where he sat beside its namesake. This year was no different.

Nicholas, dressed in the garb of a twenty-first century gentleman, leaned over and whispered, “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

Andor kept his gaze on the altar and the steady parade of people looking for places to sit. “You say that every year, and I’m here every year.”

He’d balked at attending the saint’s feast day the first twenty years of his exile. This was ground sacred to a deity whose existence he acknowledged but didn’t worship. He was ljósálfar-born and sensitive to the warp and weft of the magic woven into the air and ground peculiar to Midgard. It pulsed in sacred wells, grass-capped kurgans and temples like these. In this church built in Nicholas’s honor, it resonated heavy in his bones, a power colossal beyond measure and ancient beyond comprehension. The first time he crossed the church’s threshold, he’d nearly bolted right back out. It had taken sheer will to hold his glamour in place and keep his feet planted on the floor.

Nicholas muttered near his ear again. “This year is quite different. Someone else occupies your time and thoughts.”

“Spying on me?”

The saint gave an affronted sniff. “I’m also the patron saint of one wayward ljósálfar.”

An elderly woman sitting on the other side of Nicholas leaned forward, glared at them both and made shushing noises.

Andor almost broke a rib trying not to laugh out loud at the idea of Nicholas being ordered to be quiet by a congregant in a church built in his honor on a day that celebrated his sainthood.

A mortified Nicholas hastily apologized in Italian to the woman and motioned for Andor to follow him outside the church. Andor didn’t need to be told twice.

Once outside, the elf glanced back at the church doors; they were closing, a signal that the mass was about to begin. “You’re going to miss the mass.”

Nicholas waved away Andor’s concerns. “I’ll attend the Thursday hymnals or an all-night vigil at one of the Eastern Orthodox churches. There’s also the Departure celebration in the Coptic church on the nineteenth. You’re welcome to attend that.”

“Humans certainly throw you a lot of parties.”

The saint sighed and offered a rueful smile. “I get a lot of requests for intercession.”

Andor shifted restlessly, the rhythmic surge of power moving like high tide under the church steps, sending arcane vibrations through his legs. “What did you want to tell me that’s so important, you’d miss the biggest celebration in your honor?”

“You found Claire again.”

Andor frowned, sensing more to Nicholas’s brief statement. “I did. And what strings did you pull to make that happen?”

Nicholas shook his head. “Not a one. I might suggest you look to your Norns for such machinations, but I’m a Christian bishop and believe something greater is at work there.” He began to pace, and Andor’s unease ratcheted up a good six notches.

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