The Choir emitted their last, perfect note, and the mass was over. The people huddled in the pews of St. Patrick's church started to recollect their things, while the last remnants of the wonderfully performed hymn still lasted in the high vaults of the church.

Banshee came down from the altar, exchanging handshakes and smiles with the other choristers. The tall, large and burly figure of Father Browning soon got to them, to compliment on the evening performance. His squared, wrinkled face was open in a kind smile.

«My dear child, you've sung with more heart than many nights.» he said, patting a giant hand on Banshee's back. «Is it because of tomorrow?»

«Uh... yes and no, Father.» she answered, her smile failing to reach her eyes.

«Do you want to talk?» he asked, frowning.

«Nay, not tonite at last. I have to get home fast and go to sleep. Hard day tomorrow.» she explained, folding the green band every chorister wore. Hers, she being one of the lead vocals, was thinly lined with gold. «Wonderful mass, Father. Really appreciated the sermon.»

«I hoped to give you some solace, before tomorrow.»

«What? "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled?". In our case, with a giant pile of sh...»

«"Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven"» he interrupted her. Banshee scoffed, but ultimately smiled. She returned the pat on the back.

«Thanks, though. It helps. Being here tonight has helped, a lot. Singing and praying always does.»

«I'll see you next Friday for rehearsals, then. Don't be late.» he warned her, with fake menace in her voice. She smiled and moved to the exit. She just stopped when she came across a well-known face.

«Fabrice!» she exclaimed, waving her hand to catch the attention of the green-eyed man a few rows forward, picking up a little girl of four years. The man turned his head and his face opened in a nice smile when she recognized Banshee. Beside him, a small woman with long blonde hair recollected in a bun on her head and a very elegant aquamarine dress wave at her back as soon as she noticed her.

«Oh, I thought I missed you! The choir tonight was on fire. And your soloist part in the Ave Maria was grand.»

«You really sang like an angel tonight dear.» the woman smiled.

«Thanks Diane. And how are ye, little pumpkin?» Banshee smiled at the kid, tickling her belly. The kid laughed.

«The little pumpkin has to go to bed.» Fabrice said. Diane smiled, and recovered the girl from her husband's arms. She said goodnight to Banshee and went to the car, leaving the two to chat some more.

«Aye, it's strange to see you at evening mass. You usually come in the morning.» Banshee noticed.

«There are two or three kids here, needing attention, and they needed it this morning. Nothing a good talk and a shoulder to cry on couldn't cure, mainly, but it doesn't hurt if the shoulder has a degree in psychiatry.» Fabrice smiled.

«Fabrice Grasshopper, you are too good for your own two shoes.» Banshee shook her head. «You're taking some time to relax, every now and then, I hope.» Banshee put on a half-smile, well remembering him on the roof of Eva's apartment.

«Don't worry. I love my job. I am one of those annoying people who will never work one day in their lives.» Fabrice laughed, guiltily. «What can I say, I have been blessed. I'm happy to give back for what I can. You all right? You did seem a little off tonight.»

«Hey! Don't start psyching me doc. I'm ok. Just a rough period. But thanks, anyway doc.» she answered. Right when Fabrice's phone vibrated furiously in his pocket. He took it out and frowned at the screen.

«I forgot I had the car keys and not Diane. I have to run... and I hoped to greet Father Browning before...»

«Hey! Go to the Father, I'll bring Diane the keys. Give.» Banshee offered, with a smile. Fabrice's eyes gleamed.

«You're too kind.»

«See ye Sunday doc!»

She waved and marched out of the church as fast as she could. But she had barely reached the door when she felt something slap the back of her head, as soon as she passed by the zone of shadows beside the main door, where the only light was the light of the votive candles.

«Ouch!»

«What. Is. This.»

As usual, it wasn't a question, at all. Garaham's voice was but a whisper in the half darkness, dragging her in that shadowy angle. Banshee frowned, massaging the back of her head with one hand and taking what she was being given with the other.

It was the day's newspaper. She squinted her eyes in the feeble light, but the headline was so big it was impossible to miss.

Another explosion shakes the city.
Has the Boston Bomber come back?
By Archibald Goodwin

«So?» she asked, puzzled.

«So? Perch Street went up in flames yesterday! Six dead and over thirty injured!» he hissed.

«Hey! Not every explosion in this bloody town is our fault now, is it?» she retorted, between her teeth. Garaham frowned, slightly. There was something off in her tone. Something different in the usually defiant light of her eyes. They looked duller, farther. He decided there were more pressing matters to address.

«I will be very happy if you and your partners in crime would kindly confirm to me that you were otherwise occupied yesterday at noon.»

«Of course we were...oh.» what had started as a heated protest, rapidly subsided in a growing gnawing at her stomach, soon to become a tragic certainty. The change was so natural it was perfectly mirrored by the rising of a murderous glare in Garaham's hazel eyes.

«I can't believe your hide.» he gritted his teeth. «Didn't I kind of explicitly ordered you to keep Vopros under control? Do you know how impossible for me to protect him it would become if the Council takes a whiff of his increasing derange towards bombing a city?»

«It's not our fault! Justin attacked us! He knifed Chico! Vopros simply reacted.» she glanced at the newspaper, swallowing sawdust. «Well, maybe overreacted, but the guy was dangerous Chief! What would ye expect anybody to do?»

«Justin did what? He attacked you? Why didn't you inform me at once? Openly and violently attacking a member of the Order is something th-» he stopped. She had noticed her own slip of the tongue, but she had really hoped he didn't. Fat chance. «I'm sorry, he was dangerous?» the man tried to calm his voice, purely out of respect for the place they were in.

«Well...» she kept the "e" going way too long.

«Woman.» Banshee trembled. It was a very specific occasion when he called her that. Namely, when he wanted to kill her but was stopped by the laws of God and men.

«Vopros may have covered him in termite and then stuck a dynamite stick on his feet?» she tried to shrink, but it wasn't easy for a five feet nine woman.

Garaham took a deep breath. Then covered his face with his hand. Then remained like that for a long time. Then he removed his hand and looked at her.

«Did you check if he was actually dead?»

«No! And he couldn't have been under Perch Street! Vopros said that the place he sent the stick in was the same place we saw when we tried to scry Staccato's lair.»

«You scried Staccato's lair?» Garaham almost chocked while trying not to scream. «Scrying Order members is against-»

«Technically we scried River and he walked right into the lair...»

«An Enforcer. You scried an Enforcer.» Garaham's already very angry muffled voice took an acid undertone at the sole hearing of the name. «And you were going to tell me all of this when?»

«Well, we ultimately didn't discover anything, and we thought that the Vopros cure had ultimately eliminated Justin for good... but nobody called back the trial, and nobody had even whispered anything at headquarters so...»

«He could be alive.» Garaham breathed in. It was unthinkable that his ragtag band of losers could take that D'Yves down. «We'll get to the bottom of this. After the trial. Which we will discover tomorrow if will be annulled for loss of prosecution and if that happens, Banshee...» Garaham's glare became unbearable. «... be ready, because they will destroy us.»

Banshee didn't say anything else. She exchanged a look with the man in front of her and started running away from the church, along the street, to reach Diane.