Strange Aeons [Book 1]

3.The Heist [part II]

Chico watched as the young priest-to-be scuttled away to his helping duties. He took a moment to appreciate the silence of the church, his church, and the fascinating and mysterious form of the multifaceted Nganga. It was an old, half-rusted cauldron, filled with sticks and animal bones, or at least that was what everyone thought of the long bones peeking between the sacred sticks.

Chico smiled, sitting with his eyes closed, anticipating the upcoming ceremony.

The complicated realm and ranking of the spirits his religion followed and accepted guidance from had been the only way he had found to keep sane, when magic first entered his life. Every term, every ritual, had a calming power over his soul. If on the outer side, Chico looked like the most relaxed and uncaring man in the universe, something entirely different stirred behind his deep black eyes.

«Palero?» called Carlos from the door. Chico turned towards him. The boy would have never interrupted, if that wasn't important.

«What's up Ngueyo?»

«There is a woman here, Palero... she demands to see you with a certain... insistence.»

«Oh, one of our devotees? Show her in, Carlos, don't be rude. This is a place of listening and help, other than worshipping, after all. The community...»

«She isn't one of... ours, Palero, she's...»

«Oh Jesus Wept boy, just let me pass, ok? I don't want to pee on yer altar or something! I just needs yer boss!»

Chico froze in place.

He had always been very careful in letting the others know as little as possible about him, while keeping a healthy relationship based on lies and omissions that made everyone happy. After all, the group rarely talked about religion. Banshee was a devoted Catholic, Vopros's only religion was Communism, and he was more than happy to keep his religious tendencies under a cover of wool. The last thing he needed were white people judging things they couldn't possibly even begin to understand.

Especially Banshee.

«I'm coming!» he shrieked, maybe a tone or two too high, joining the woman and the child at the church's entrance. «Banshee, what the hell? Como me have found?»

«Vopros scryed his vodka and here I am.» said she, with the most disgruntled expression.

«What happened to privacidad?»

«It doesn't apply when we have a mission.»

«In days!»

«Screw days! We have to act tonite.»

Chico looked at her as if she had suddenly turned into a pumpkin.

«Esta noche? Estas loca? We're not even close to being prepared for esta noche!»

«The music box...»

«Ah! Shut it! Carlos! Into the building. Now.» Chico raised a hand to stop her from talking. The child looked at him in puzzlement, but he knew better than to talk back to an order from his own priest and ran inside with an uncoordinated run. Chico waited for him to shut the door, then hissed back at Banshee.

«We don't talk about criminal plans in front of the niño, you braindead Irish!»

«Chico, the most well-behaved person in this 'hood has a photo in the police archives!»

«That's very racist! Do I come to you telling you that Irishmen only belong in bars?»

«Ye kinda do.» she rose an eyebrow. Chico sighed.

«Why tonight? You can't possibly already have a plan, or the blue...»

«Vopros will have them in one hour. It's plenty enough to study them and to see if one of my six plans are doable.»

«But why the rush?»

«The exposition opens in one week. Until then, the music box will be in storage, and still reachable. After it, it will be on display, and it will be much harder to lift, even with magic! Not to mention that I ransacked the Frenchman's apartment, and we must act before he thinks we have understood his little switch-a-roo!» She was now looking more serious than ever. «Be ready at eleven.» were Banshee's last words before marching away from the church.