Around Michael's face, a thin bright light shone and illuminated the outline of his body. It was as though he were only a cardboard cutout and the prop had slipped, revealing what lay beneath.

"Deidre?" Michael's voice brought me back. "Eion is going to show us to the belfry."

"What?" Tasked. I blinked. I felt like I'd just woken up from a dream. "Why?"

"We need a safe place to stay for a while. The police are looking for us." Turning to Eion, he added, "I hate to impose, but ..."

"Of course," Eion said. Standing up, he gathered the bloodied altar cloth in his hand. "You can stay as long as you like. If we had a room free, I would offer it, but God has blessed us with a full complement of priests this year. I'm afraid that leaves the belfry or the basement for your accommodations."

"The belfry would be fine, Father. It would give us a good vantage point in case the police track us this far." Michael handed Eion the chalice and, for a moment, their eyes locked. "I don't expect you to lie for us, of course, but, if you could give us some warning..."

"Leave things to me," Eion said. "You'll be safe here."

I stared at Eion in amazement. "Thanks for doing this for me ... for us."

Eion just smiled, his eyes holding that Faith I'd envied my whole life. Instead of looking at the cross, Eion now stared at Michael. Behind Michael, a stained-glass window caught my eye. A white-robed angel stood with one foot firmly on a twisting, green glass shape of a dragon. The angel's fist gripped a fiery sword. The hand was outlined crudely in black lead, but the glass had been hand-painted to show each digit clearly. Though poised in action, the angel's face was frozen in a beatific gaze. He looked outward calmly, without the slightest hint of malice.

I let my gaze slip back to Michael. The leather jacket he wore was ripped along the sleeve, where he had brushed aside the glass. Dark curls spilled over his forehead. His eyes were hooded in the muted light of the stained-glass windows, but his long, dark lashes caught the light. Michael smiled at me, as if he knew my thoughts. His eyes glittered with fondness. I felt the flush of heat rising on my cheeks and remembered what he had said to Jibril about me. "A real firebrand" – it might've been patronizing, but the warmth and affection was clear in his tone. Anyway, I had known what he meant. A lot of men in my life didn't know how to express the combination of exasperation and attraction I seemed to inspire in them, especially since I lived my life outside the rigid bounds of "happy homemaker."

Michael continued to stare at me, his gaze becoming more intense with each passing second. I looked away, feigning bashfulness. I looked up at the stained-glass image of St. Michael again. Even destroying Satan, the saint's face shone with God's grace. When I looked at the stained glass, I felt nothing but reverence. Looking back at Michael, I felt something entirely different. I returned his intense stare and smiled.

Having finished putting the chalice and the cloth somewhere, Eion cleared his throat. "Let me show you to the belfry."

"I know you don't want me to rescue you, Deidre," Michael said, his eyes still glittering mischievously. "But, will you at least allow me to help you up the stairs?"

I pretended to consider his offer. "All right, but I want to go on my own two feet. You've played enough Rhett Butler."

Putting his arm around me, he helped me to my feet.

I squinted, ready for the jarring pain, but it never came. My legs were steady as we moved slowly toward the door. Pleased with the new strength flowing through my limbs, I felt buoyant, and laughter bubbled out of me.

"Deidre, are you all right?" Eion asked.

"I've never felt better." I said.

Eion frowned at me, as if, somehow, by convalescing, I had disappointed him. Turning to Michael, he asked,

"Will she be all right? I could call a doctor ... unless ..."

"She'll be fine with me, Father."

"Ah." Eion nodded, "Of course."

We stopped in front of the door to the belfry. The door was neatly hidden in the shadows of the confessional booths. It would be easy to walk right past it if you didn't know what you were looking for.

"If the police or the FBI show up ..." Michael started, but Eion raised his hand to stop him.

"As I said before, leave them to me."

Michael nodded solemnly. "Very well."

"Thanks, Eion," I said. "This means a lot to me."

He shook his head slightly. "It's nothing. I'm just glad you're keeping better company these days."

"Hmph," I grunted, but held my tongue. I let him have a parting shot. If he wouldn't take my gratitude, it was the least I could do for him.

We turned and headed up the stairs.

The belfry was open to the air. The breeze across my face refreshed me. Standing there, supported by Michael, I almost felt one hundred percent recovered.

The bell tower stood in sharp contrast to the heavily Gothic influence of the interior of the church proper. The regularly spaced, glassless windows were square and fashioned of unadorned stucco. As we stepped up to one of the windows, the wind tugged at my hair. I gripped the edge and looked out.

The multilevel, concrete apartment complexes rose in heavy lines skyward, throwing lines of deep shadow across the red clay-tiled roof of the church. The after-church rush-hour traffic was just starting. Color and motion filled the tubing between the buildings, like an IV unit feeding an enormous sick beast.

Below, I saw a gravel lot. A few early-morning worshipers gathered at the front steps. A young man sat on the steps. He tapped the handrail with a stick in tune to an inner music. Two girls chased each other playfully through the car park, pausing occasionally to toss a piece of gravel and squeal with delight.

Suddenly, I noticed that the church wasn't attached to any skyway or traffic tubing. Eion's church was more cut off than my office. That meant Eion was a missionary to the un-LINKed. I was floored. I'd always assumed he preferred to work with the affluent churchgoers.

"We should duck down," Michael said. "Someone might see us."

"Sure," I said agreeably, since his arm still supported my weight. With a laugh, I paraphrased a passage from the Book of Ruth: " 'I go where you go.' "

"Wait," he cautioned. "The floor is filthy."

Like a perfect gentleman, Michael shrugged out of his leather jacket and laid it on the guano-spattered floor. I giggled again. "I guess Eion has bats in his belfry."

"And birds," he said, pointing his chin in the direction of a blob of straw and plastic wedged against the roof. "We should be grateful, I suppose. It means they're making a comeback after the war."

I nodded. Michael helped me down onto the floor. I leaned my back against the low wall. We sat facing the church's bell. Enormous and simple solid bronze, it hung from the center of the ceiling. Pulls disappeared into the floor, looking majestically old-fashioned. The heavy rope was for appearance; somewhere behind the pulpit was a digital panel that controlled the tolling of Mass bells.

The blood on my blouse was cold; the fabric was sticky. I told myself I should be feeling pain, but even by looking at the wound I couldn't conjure any. My head was remarkably clear.

"I should be dead," I said. As if to prove my point, I lifted the edge of my bloody blouse and showed it to him. "I've lost so much blood."

Michael nodded. "Are you in pain? I guess I should take a look at that, eh?"

He sounded so unconvinced that I shrugged. Then I remembered my shoulder and winced.

"I guess I should," he said with raised eyebrow. After moving so that we sat across from each other, he reached out to open the first button of my blouse. He undid the first two without thinking. By the third, his fingers hesitated.