The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [162]
The young man grinned, his teeth slightly pointed. “Don't worry, you don't have to go to sleep hungry. Dinner's over, but there's always soup to be had here in the commissary. You can get a bowl there at the counter—it's self-serve this late. I've got to get back to the front desk, but if you need anything, the preacher should be by soon.”
“Preacher?” Travis said, trying not to sound alarmed by the word, though he was.
The young man nodded. “He runs the place, though I suppose he has a little help in the matter. He almost always comes out this time of night to talk to whoever's here. So I hope you don't mind a little sermonizing with your soup.”
The young man walked with his odd gait back down the hallway to the front. Instinct told Travis to bolt. After what he had just seen on TV, talking to a preacher was the last thing he wanted. However this place was anything but the Steel Cathedral, and the scent of chicken soup was thick on the air, making his stomach growl.
Travis looked around. There were a dozen people in the commissary. A few spoke in low voices, some watched the TV, and others just stared. Most were men, though there were a couple of women. One—a sharp-faced woman in her thirties—seemed out of place in her smart jacket and slacks. She sat alone in a corner, staring at her clasped hands.
Maybe this shelter isn't only for the homeless, Travis, but for anyone who needs to escape a bad situation.
He moved to the counter and ladled a bowl of soup from a warming pot. A few of the men waved at him, looking for company, but Travis sat at one of the empty tables. He stirred his soup with his spoon, watching as noodles bubbled up to the surface and sank back into yellowish liquid. Jace Windom's presence in the Steel Cathedral could only mean one thing: Sage Carson was no mere televangelist.
Travis shut his eyes. He knew Jace blamed him for the death of Max Bayfield—his business partner and her fiancé. Travis couldn't blame her; in a way it was his fault. The runelord Mindroth had come to Castle City last summer looking for Jack Graystone. Instead he had found Travis, recognizing him as the heir to Jack's power as a runelord. Only Max had gotten in the way. Mindroth had touched him, and he had been burned.
That was when Duratek showed up. They gave Max the drug Electria, using it to ease his pain—and to control him, trying to use him to get to Travis. Only in the end, Max had sacrificed himself to help Travis escape.
Max's death had eaten at Jace, and she had cast her lot with Duratek. Last fall, after she learned from Davis and Mitchell Burke-Favor that Travis had called, she had tipped Duratek off that Travis and Grace had returned to Denver. That act had nearly cost Travis and Grace their lives, and it had almost caused them to lose Beltan. In Travis's mind, whatever pain he had caused Jace was more than repaid. She was Duratek; she was the enemy now. And so was Sage Carson.
“Well, hello there, son,” said a slick, rasping voice.
Travis was beyond shock. He only sighed as he looked up into Brother Cy's black eyes. “So you're the preacher that runs this mission.”
Brother Cy bared his dingy ivory teeth in a grin. “I have a little help in the matter.”
“That's what he said.” Travis looked over his shoulder, but the young man with the goatee was nowhere in sight. He remembered the man's crooked legs and wool cap, and the woman's leaf green hair. Yes, Brother Cy had help indeed.
“They're Little People, aren't they?” he said, looking back at the preacher. “He's one of those goat-men, and she's a tree lady.”
Cy only smiled. He was clad in the same dusty black coffin suit he always wore, and his visage was more gaunt than ever. All the same, there was something solid and comforting about him.
Travis drew in a breath. “I don't know what to do.”
“Then eat your soup,” Brother Cy said.
Travis stared at the bowl, then brought a spoonful of the liquid to his lips. It was hot and salty. He ate another spoonful, and another. Warmth spread through him, as well as renewed