Destiny knew the man. He was Tim Salvadore’s lover. Wright was always the quieter of the two. Destiny had observed him many times helping the older women in the neighborhood with heavy bags; he was the one who often slipped money to the young couple living in the small house next to Velda and Inez. “Yes, I know Martin,” she admitted.
“It was Marty.” There was deep sorrow in the priest’s voice. “I told him if he needed the money, I would give it to him, a personal loan, but nothing I said got through to him. It made no sense at all. The only thing that mattered to him was getting the box where I keep the money for the poor. There was hardly anything in it.”
“That’s completely out of character,” Destiny mused aloud. “And it doesn’t make sense. Tim and Martin have plenty of money. They live carefully and they aren’t spenders or gamblers. They don’t use drugs, and Martin doesn’t even drink. It’s difficult to believe he would do such a thing.”
She knew that Martin Wright and Father Mulligan were fast friends. They played chess every Saturday, and Martin often worked with the priest in his garden. Whenever Father Mulligan sent out a call for volunteers, it was always Martin who headed the project. “It’s completely out of character,” she repeated, frowning. This situation was too close to the story Velda had told her of Helena and John Paul.
“He has been coming late at night, working on plans for a gated community for the elderly. He’s thought of everything seniors need—medical aid, access to a handyman, grocery shopping on limited means. But when he came tonight… well, it was Martin, but not Martin,” Father Mulligan offered. “You see why I can’t go to the police.” He patted her hand with shaky fingers. “You find out what happened to him. I know you’re the one to do it.”
“I’ll look into it,” she said before she could stop the words. Another promise. Another thread tying her to this place. To these people.
“Thank you, Destiny. I knew this work was meant for you. After working so many years as a priest, I sense things about people.” He patted her arm again. “I know you’re very troubled.”
She drew back, her mouth suddenly dry. “Isn’t everyone?”
He smiled, his eyes closed, his head resting on her shoulder. “Tell me.”
She took a deep breath, let it out and plunged in. “I looked into someone’s heart and thought him a monster because he killed without emotion. I could feel darkness in him, yet he felt nothing when he killed. He did so out of duty to protect others from a monstrous being. He says I am not the monster I think myself, that I kill to protect others as well, but there is hatred in me. I hate, and want to kill. I don’t think he does. He kills because he considers it his duty.” Destiny waited until the priest opened his eyes and focused on her. “I kill because I have to kill.”
Father Mulligan searched her face for a long time in silence. “Whom do you kill, Destiny?” He asked it softly, without fear.
Her gaze shifted away from his for a long moment. He caught the shine of tears in her eyes. “There are things in this world you can’t possibly know about, Father. Monstrous beings. Not human. One took me away from my family when I was a child.” She tasted death in her mouth, the bitter, vile essence of evil. There was no hope of explaining to the priest, no way of making him understand. There were moments she herself thought she was insane, living in a world of illusion.
Father Mulligan tightened his grip on her hand. Knowledge crept into the depths of his eyes. Wonder spread across his face. “You’re one of them. I’ve heard rumors about you, but I doubted you existed. You’re a hunter, aren’t you, from the Carpathian Mountains?”
At once she felt the stillness in Nicolae, his wariness, his watchfulness. He was a dark shadow of menace the priest didn’t know existed. Destiny immediately tried to sever her link with the ancient hunter. Unexpectedly, it proved to be impossible. She could feel Nicolae merging with her, waiting for her answer.