The Rough Riders

Chapter Nineteen

"Slate, what in the world made you think that holy ground was a defense against demons?" Spider tapped ash into the pewter bat resting on the counter.

He picked up the red pen she'd been using to make notations and rolled it between his fingers. "Thomas said somethin' 'bout it."

Standing on the other side of the long counter at the front of Spider's bookstore gave Slate a clear, narrow space to pace. He went from closed front door to back wall in a tight, rapid loop, flipping the pen between his fingers. "Hell, I thought it'd work. I mean... They're demons."

Closing the broad, heavy ledger sitting on the counter, Spider adjusted her perch on the barstool she used when attending her accounts. "And that means... what?"

The vampire blinked, pen stilling. "Well... Hell, I can't stand up in the church itself for all that long. Makes me feel..." He rolled his shoulders. "Twitchy. Itchy. It ain't comfortable."

"Yes, Slate, because you were Catholic."

"Yer sayin' Catholics are damned?" He stiffened his spine, fingers tightening on the pen.

Spider held up a hand, shaking her head. "Don't start with that. I'm not talking about the rivalry between different factions of Christianity." She took a drag off of her kretek and let out a plume of fragrant smoke. "I'm talking about the fact that you believe in the sanctity of the church."

"...'course I do." Slate frowned. "What's that got to do with anythin'?"

"That's why you're uncomfortable on what you'd consider holy ground. You believe you're of 'the Damned'," and she made quotations in the air, "and that makes you think that you're unwelcome on what you'd consider holy ground."

"Wait, what'cha talkin' 'bout, I think I'm unwelcome?"

"Slate, you can't see yourself in a mirror anymore, right?" When he nodded, Spider tapped ash into the bat again, retrieved her cup and took a long sip. "Did you know that some cultures believed the reflection was actually your soul? It's one reason why breaking a mirror was considered such bad luck. Breaking an intangible, perfect reflection of yourself was thought to be literally damaging to your soul."

"What's that got to do with anythin' I was askin' 'bout?"

She pointed the glowing end of the kretek at him. "Slate, you believe you're damned. This is why you find the crucifix you're wearing uncomfortable when you think about it and why you say you feel uncomfortable on what you'd consider holy ground." Spider tapped ash again, blew stray flakes off of the counter and propped her chin on her palm. "It's subconscious. You're not the only vampire I've met that has that problem."

He touched the tiny lump that his mother's crucifix made beneath his t-shirt. "So iffen I didn't believe in God, I wouldn't feel weird."

"No, you wouldn't." Her thin brows arched. "You know that building across the street?"

"Which one, that big brick one?"

Spider nodded. "You've been in it, haven't you?"

"Yeah, couple of times. Dunno why it's abandoned, but..." He grimaced, fidgeting, and left off rubbing the bump of the holy symbol under his shirt. "Caught a few... snacks in there."

"Did you know it used to be a synagogue?"

Slate paused in his pacing. "Ain't that a Jewish church?"

"A place of worship, yes." Spider ground out her kretek and looked at him. Pointedly. "And you've been in it without a problem, haven't you?"

"Well, yeah, but I didn't know." He grimaced. "Hell, now I feel like a jackass, bitin' down on somebody in what used to be somebody's church."