to hide this stuff somewhere secure. So I thought of the church, because—you know— churches suppress magic. Maybe these things
wouldn't be so obvious to someone who's looking for them. Seph belongs here,
and has a key, so he could go in and out pretty easy.”
“Why? Is someone after
you?” Madison asked, trying to shake off the influence of the stone.
“Does anyone know about this?”
Jason looked away from her.
“As far as I know, I got away clean.” Something told Madison he was
lying.
“But there are people in
here all the time,” Ellen objected. “What if we need to get to … get
to these things, and a Mass is going on? Besides, where would we hide it? We
can't just shove it under a pew.”
“There's the mourner's
chapel,” Seph suggested. “People don't go in there unless there's a
funeral, and not a lot for that, since it's tiny. It's downstairs, next to the
crypt. And there's a secret entrance.”
“There's dead people in
this church?” Madison shivered. She preferred that bodies be buried out in
the churchyard, so their spirits could roam free if they liked.
Seph nodded. “It was
built by the Presbyterians, but it was taken over by European Catholics more
than a hundred and fifty years ago. They liked to be buried out of the weather,
I guess. Come on. Bring the stuff. I'll show you.”
Seph led them through a doorway
at the front of the sanctuary and down a narrow, dimly lit flight of
stairs.
The crypt lay on one side of
the stairs, the chapel on the other. The chapel was just big enough for a
family to gather privately. At one end a stone was set into the wall, engraved
with the name and dates for one JAMES MCALISTER 1795 TO 1860.
“Seems like a strange
resting place for a Presbyterian, but McAlister was also one of the region's
leading abolitionists,” Seph said. “Watch.”
He pushed the stone and it
pivoted silently on an invisible hinge, revealing a rough opening the width of
a man's shoulders. Air whistled through, bringing with it the scent of water
and stone.
“This was a station on
the Underground Railway. There's a tunnel that runs all the way to the lake.
Escaped slaves would hide in the church basement, then meet boats on the shore
and travel across to Canada. Not fun to crawl through, these days. If
ever.”
The crypt housed several rooms
lined with vaults, most of them occupied for more than a century. Jack walked
down the row, scanning the names on the vaults in a businesslike fashion until
he came to the one he was looking for. “Here we go,” he murmured,
pointing at an inscription. “Perfect.”
Madison peered around him to
read, J. THOMAS SWIFT, ESQ. There were no dates.
“Who's that?” she
asked.
“That's my dad,”
Jack replied. “Or, it will be. This was my dad's church, on Christmas and
Easter, anyway. He bought this vault when he lived in Trinity. Before the
divorce.”
Madison eyed it doubtfully.
“You're saying it's empty?”
Jack nodded. “Yeah. I
mean, he's still alive, right? So, unless you think it's too obvious because he's related
to me, we can stash the stuff in there.”
“And we can get at it
pretty much whenever we want, without going through the main church,” Seph
added. “People never come down here. Most of the people buried here died a
hundred years ago.”
“I'll keep the
Dragonheart with me,” Jason suggested. “Seph's house is totally
warded, so it should be safe.”
He wants the stone, Madison
thought jealously, recognizing the same strange lust in herself. Was this like
one of those magical objects in stories that people fought and died over?
“All of the items will be safer here, in the sanctuary,
with the proper warding,” Nick said, frowning at Jason. “Harder to
find, and easier for us all to examine. Once we know more, we can make a
decision about their final disposition.”
Jason dropped the subject,
though Madison noticed his eyes straying to the Dragonheart as they opened the
vault and concealed the
wouldn't be so obvious to someone who's looking for them. Seph belongs here,
and has a key, so he could go in and out pretty easy.”
“Why? Is someone after
you?” Madison asked, trying to shake off the influence of the stone.
“Does anyone know about this?”
Jason looked away from her.
“As far as I know, I got away clean.” Something told Madison he was
lying.
“But there are people in
here all the time,” Ellen objected. “What if we need to get to … get
to these things, and a Mass is going on? Besides, where would we hide it? We
can't just shove it under a pew.”
“There's the mourner's
chapel,” Seph suggested. “People don't go in there unless there's a
funeral, and not a lot for that, since it's tiny. It's downstairs, next to the
crypt. And there's a secret entrance.”
“There's dead people in
this church?” Madison shivered. She preferred that bodies be buried out in
the churchyard, so their spirits could roam free if they liked.
Seph nodded. “It was
built by the Presbyterians, but it was taken over by European Catholics more
than a hundred and fifty years ago. They liked to be buried out of the weather,
I guess. Come on. Bring the stuff. I'll show you.”
Seph led them through a doorway
at the front of the sanctuary and down a narrow, dimly lit flight of
stairs.
The crypt lay on one side of
the stairs, the chapel on the other. The chapel was just big enough for a
family to gather privately. At one end a stone was set into the wall, engraved
with the name and dates for one JAMES MCALISTER 1795 TO 1860.
“Seems like a strange
resting place for a Presbyterian, but McAlister was also one of the region's
leading abolitionists,” Seph said. “Watch.”
He pushed the stone and it
pivoted silently on an invisible hinge, revealing a rough opening the width of
a man's shoulders. Air whistled through, bringing with it the scent of water
and stone.
“This was a station on
the Underground Railway. There's a tunnel that runs all the way to the lake.
Escaped slaves would hide in the church basement, then meet boats on the shore
and travel across to Canada. Not fun to crawl through, these days. If
ever.”
The crypt housed several rooms
lined with vaults, most of them occupied for more than a century. Jack walked
down the row, scanning the names on the vaults in a businesslike fashion until
he came to the one he was looking for. “Here we go,” he murmured,
pointing at an inscription. “Perfect.”
Madison peered around him to
read, J. THOMAS SWIFT, ESQ. There were no dates.
“Who's that?” she
asked.
“That's my dad,”
Jack replied. “Or, it will be. This was my dad's church, on Christmas and
Easter, anyway. He bought this vault when he lived in Trinity. Before the
divorce.”
Madison eyed it doubtfully.
“You're saying it's empty?”
Jack nodded. “Yeah. I
mean, he's still alive, right? So, unless you think it's too obvious because he's related
to me, we can stash the stuff in there.”
“And we can get at it
pretty much whenever we want, without going through the main church,” Seph
added. “People never come down here. Most of the people buried here died a
hundred years ago.”
“I'll keep the
Dragonheart with me,” Jason suggested. “Seph's house is totally
warded, so it should be safe.”
He wants the stone, Madison
thought jealously, recognizing the same strange lust in herself. Was this like
one of those magical objects in stories that people fought and died over?
“All of the items will be safer here, in the sanctuary,
with the proper warding,” Nick said, frowning at Jason. “Harder to
find, and easier for us all to examine. Once we know more, we can make a
decision about their final disposition.”
Jason dropped the subject,
though Madison noticed his eyes straying to the Dragonheart as they opened the
vault and concealed the
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