Play with Fire

chapter Fifty-Nine

MORRIS HAD MAPPED out a route that would take them past all thirteen of Oakley’s houses of worship. They began at seven thirty, with a slow drive past Saint Joseph’s, where the first mass was due to begin in half an hour. Libby went first in her rental Buick, with Morris a few hundred feet behind in a Camry.

The first time they drove the circuit, it took twenty-two minutes. But then, they had to slow down to look for street signs. The second time, they made it in eighteen minutes. Traffic was light, that early on a Sunday, but they knew it would pick up as Oakley’s God-fearing citizens started making their way to the religious services of their choice.

Midway through the third circuit, Morris picked up his phone and speed-dialed Libby.

“Hey, cowboy.”

“How’re you doing for gas, Libby?”

“Just over half a tank. You?”

“Closer to a quarter. Better pull into the next open gas station, so we can fill up. Be a shame to have the world end because one of us ran out of gas on the way to save it.”

“Amen to that.”

They stopped at a Shell station, bought gas and took a quick bathroom break. Then it was on the road again.

When nothing had happened by ten o’clock, Morris began to second-guess himself.

What if there’s a church that wasn’t on the motel list? Should’ve checked the list against the phone book, dammit. What if Theron f*cking Ware drew his pentagram different from mine, and he’s outside some church eighty miles away getting ready to tell every demon in Hell, “Y’all come on over!”

He kept these thoughts to himself. There was no point in messing with Libby’s head, and besides, there was nothing else they could do right now, except keep on keepin’ on.

Then at ten thirty-nine he saw Libby’s brake lights come on. A moment later, his phone rang.

“Yeah?”

“I think I’ve got something,” Libby said tightly. “I’m pulling over.”

Morris did the same, and noticed that they were on Maple Street a few hundred feet down from the First Presbyterian Church. He sat with the motor running and waited.

Libby’s voice came out of his phone speaker. “Definitely black magic. It’s fresh, and it’s close. I’m going to get out and look for someplace to set up for my anti-fire spell.”

“Okay, I’ll keep cruising,” Morris said. “Call me when you’re sure this is the big enchilada – if it really is.”

“Will do.”

Morris pulled into traffic, passed Libby’s parked car, and kept going. He did not look back, no matter how much he wanted to.