A3Writer: F3 Midnight Oil
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Friday, September 9, 2016

F3 Midnight Oil

            I had to send Jessie home at eleven; her parents had her on a curfew after one too many long research nights. They did it more to flex their muscles than because of what she was doing. They would rather she be out working for me than getting into trouble again, but they had to maintain their authority somehow. It was their last chance to do so as she would start college in the fall.
            Jen, though, was a trooper, and, as I though, had managed to bribe the librarians into letting us stay. Kate was the only Storm Rider to stick with us. The others, hopefully, went to recover from their injuries. I was just glad not to have them nipping at my heels.
            Kate sat across from me trying to look over that list I had jotted down. I had circled various aspects of their description to try and narrow down who their fallen angel might be.
            “How the fuck are you even still working on this? It’s not like facial recognition or something. How will you know you found the right guy?”
            “I won’t.” I turned the page, carefully studying the diagram.
            “What?”
            “That’s nowhere near enough to go off of. Worse, most of the stuff on angels is junk. Modern interpretations or wild speculations. Even the decent stuff from the Middle Ages is mostly guesswork.”
            “So that’s it? I thought the answer was supposed to be in one of these books!”
“This isn’t the movies, doll. We don’t get out a dusty old book inked in blood and animal skin to magically find the answer we need. If it was that easy, I wouldn’t have a job.”
“So what do we do? We’ve got nothing!”
            “Didn’t say that. Jen?”
            “Yep, violet,” she pointed to a passage in her book. “That seems to be the one. The stole is symbolic of the binding of Christ at the passion, along with other pieces. That’s probably as close as we’re going to get.”
            “Yeah. Sounds like we’ve got our longshot. Now, do we go historic or modern?”
            “What are you two talking about?” Kate passed looks between us.
            “I’ve got a couple of museums. Nothing by any particularly famous priests, but they are historic, so that might work a little better.”
            “Silk?”
            “Yep.”
            “Good. They should hold up the best. They’re not frayed or anything?”
            “Matt, I will fucking shock you if you don’t start explaining this.” Kate made a claw out of one of her hands. I remembered the lightning that would arc between her fingers.
            “One is,” Jen went on, unperturbed. “The other is in pristine condition. In Ireland. Best of all, they’ve got the complete vestments.”
            I looked up. “All three elements?”
            She grinned. “Yep.”
            “Well, that settles that, then. Okay, good news. We’ve got a way for you to bind the fallen angel. You can wrap him up tight, even put a bow on him. All of his powers should be, well, suppressed is the best word I can think of, here.”
            “What do you mean suppressed?” Kate asked.
            “I mean what should be a bonfire will be taken down to a candle. I hope.”
            “You hope?”
            “This isn’t an exact science. We’re dealing with belief power here. Anyway, that’s the easy stuff. This,” I plopped the book in front of her, “is where it gets hard.”



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