Back in the common room, the patrons were now less interested in me and more interested in their cards and flagons of ale. Thank God.

The entertainer struck a chord on her odd instrument, arched her back, and belted out a crystal-clear note. The room rioted, hands smacking on the tables and feet stomping out a rhythm. A crowd favorite it seemed.

“The road is long,” she sang, fingers dancing over the strings.

“The path is winding.

The forest deep.

The water green.”

She added some fiddly bits on her instrument, all in a minor key. I had no idea what I was listening to, but it was a foot stomper for sure. Mesmerizing even. It reminded me a little bit of the callback cadences we would sing on marches, though performed by someone with actual musical talent instead of a platoon sergeant with the voice of a cement mixer.

“When he arrives

The bond is broken

And we are shown

The way back home.”

The bar erupted in song. “Home, home, home.” Each note rose to the rafters until I thought they might take the roof off. “Where we long to be.”

I felt a lump form in my throat. They weren’t wrong. Home would be a fine place to be. Home as in Kentucky, not some naval base or stink hole in the ass-end of the world. Home was a sea of rolling green hills, of looming trees and cicadas crooning in the summer evenings. Of fireflies flitting along the creek as the sun dropped below the horizon. Home was sitting around the big wooden picnic table behind my parents’ house, eating pulled pork and ribs while sipping on suds or downing good Kentucky bourbon. Home was shooting the shit with Cal while we drank shine and smoked ninety-nine cent Black and Milds from the gas station down in Winchester.

“Oh, he is come

And we are woken.

The beast will roam

The land no more…”

There were several more verses. Blood flowed like wine. There was a bit about a challenge. A couple of rounds of hand-to-hand combat. And finally, a beast stripped of all power and buried deep beneath the deepest depths, all broken up by this mournful chorus which everyone sang.

When the song was over the musician laid down her instrument and took a turn about the room, accepting coins and kisses to the hem of her gown. One poor soul, drunker than a raccoon in a dumpster, literally crawled after her on his hands and knees. You would never catch me doing that sort of thing, no matter how good looking a woman was. A man had to have at least a little dignity.

When she reached me she hesitated then stopped. The room stopped with her.

She stared at me for a long beat, this time more curious than scared. I was guessing that had something to do with the fact that I wasn’t covered in gore anymore.

“Despite all the songs I’ve sung, I’ve never seen one of you in real life.” She reached up and ran a hand down the side of my cheek, her gaze searching mine and not flinching away. “Your eyes are fascinating.” Something passed between us—something primal and sexual. “I hope to see you around, Vigil. Forgive me for being so forward, but should you like a private performance, I can be found with the Merchant Caravan train.”

Her hand dropped away. She offered me a sultry grin and moved on, taking the room with her. There were guards, still in their uniforms but weapons stashed under the table, in the corner. Low ranking. Rowdy. Making lewd gestures. One of them grabbed his crotch and thrust it at her. She tsked and moved on, leaving him with his hand on his johnson and his friends rolling about laughing.

“Are you seriously just going to let her walk away?” Cal said in my ear. “I don’t know a lot about medieval times, but I’m pretty sure that was the equivalent of her giving you a room key.”

“Not the time or place,” I whispered under my breath.

Still, I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she made her way toward the exit. She was a smoke show and had all the right curves in all the right places. She stopped beside a table of card players. They tipped heavily and went right back to their game. The game looked suspiciously close to poker; coins rattled on the table as they slapped down cards. I loved a good round of poker, spades, or anything else involving gambling and the free exchange of money, but as with the singer, now wasn’t the time or place.

Priorities. Being a Marine meant being able to focus and execute a mission objective. Period. Right now, my mission was to find the priest who could make sense of everything.

“Hey, Vigil,” Maggie called from behind the bar. She had a bowl of stew and a flagon of what I hoped was beer sitting on the bar top near an open stool. “You look like you could use a good meal before departing for the evening.”

My stomach let out a low grumble. She wasn’t wrong. After a day of hard running, I could use a meal. New mission objective: food, then a priest.

“I’ll take some of the hog over the fire if you’re offering,” I replied.

She smiled and set the stew down. “And how are you going to pay me, hmm?”

I reached into the leather pouch at my belt, pulled out a handful of coins I’d looted off the Crave Ghouls, and slapped them down on the table like some sort of big spender.

She eyed them dubiously and carefully picked through the pile with one finger. “Looks like you have enough for a stale end of bread. Rjuhella coin isn’t trusted around these parts,” she said, tapping at the side of her nose. “It’s always diluted. Likely more pewter than silver in those coins.”

I flushed. I wasn’t going to beg for my supper. I paid my way or went without. “The stew looks good to me.”

“It’s not roasted hog, but since you’re not flush with coin.” She shrugged and pushed the bowl toward me. “This is a substandard meal at best, but it’s what I have to offer and”—she laughed, but without cruelty—“it’s what you can afford.”

“Lady, I bet this is the best meal I’ve had in months. What do I owe you for the food, and for these?” I gestured toward the clothes.

Laughter came to her easily and often. She shook her head. “Don’t trouble yourself overmuch. I’ll start a tab. You’re a Vigil—I know you’re good for it. And if you’re not, I’ll take it up with the Church.”

I thanked her and promptly wolfed down the stew, which was excellent, then took a long pull of the beer, which was sour enough to make my eyes water. It technically qualified as beer, but not good beer. Still, even bad beer was better than no beer. Maggie excused herself, giving me a chance to eat in peace, which I appreciated. Cal wasn’t so thoughtful.

“She’s hitting on you too,” the ghost said in wonder as he plopped down on a stool beside me. “You’re not even that good looking. Six out of ten at best. Also, your eyes are creepy and your stupid golden hair makes you look like a boy band reject.”

“Yeah, when were you gonna tell me I looked like a vampire from a teen romance novel?” I asked quietly. As far as I knew, no one else could see Cal aside from Renholm, and I didn’t want people thinking I was crazy on top of everything else.

“Eh, you had bigger fish to fry, my friend. Besides, you know how you get. One bad cold and you’d be on Web MD googling whether you had cancer or not. I figured if I told you about the glowing red demon eyes and the golden tramp stamp on your forehead, you’d think it was a tumor or something. I lied for you, pal.”

“You’re a saint, Cal.”

Maggie headed back over as I mopped up the last of the stew, and this time she had two platters, one piled high with bread and meat, the other with a single slice of pork and the runt end of a bread stick. It was pathetic, but my mouth watered. She sat on the other side of the bar on a high stool, pushed the plate in my direction, and busied herself with slathering mustard on her crust of bread.

“I appreciate it…” I pushed the steaming pile of meat, so tender I could see it would fall apart without the need of a knife, toward her. “But I can’t take that...”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “I was just giving you grief earlier, Vigil. You’re here to save us all. This is the least I could do. Take the food. You’re going to need your strength I’d wager,” she said. “Didn’t you hear the song?”

My hand stopped. I had. Blood, duels, monsters, the works. I’d assumed that song was supposed to be their version of Lord of the Rings, but it turned out it was Beowulf, and I was sword-wielding hero of the story. All of a sudden, the attention made a bit more sense. These people were scared, and I was guy that was supposed to swoop in like an avenging angel and fix all their woes.

“Not that you need more meat on your bones,” she offered with a small smirk. She looked up from under her lashes in a way that told me she knew exactly what she was doing and what effect it might have on a man’s “bone.”

I couldn’t let her think I was ashamed that she’d seen me naked. I wasn’t. In fact, the opposite. “Eh, you’ve seen the goods.” I dipped the bread in the gravy and tore a piece off with my teeth. My god, that was the best thing I’d ever tasted. Better than that famous Texas BBQ in Vegas where Cal and I had planted ourselves and chowed down until we were as fat as the pigs we were eating. Succulent, tangy but not sharp, a little crackling on the edge of the cut. Absolute perfection.

For a minute, perhaps two, neither of us said a word.

I slid my plate her way and she helped herself to a slice of pork. Then another. Together we polished off everything she’d brought, mopping up the juices and sliding our fingers over the platter like kids.

“It was good for me,” she said. “Was it good for you?”

“Oh my god, just get a room already,” Cal grumbled from beside me. “I can’t with this. Watching you blow a sure thing is just too painful,” he said. “If you need me, I’ll be over at the card table.” He vanished with a whirl, leaving me alone with Maggie.

“So, the watch commander,” I said, letting her know that I wasn’t going to engage with her, no matter how much I wanted to. I’d seen enough horror movies to know that screwing around with a pretty woman when you were supposed to be hunting a monster was how you ended up dead. “He mentioned something about some sort of priest. Arbitrator Arturo. Seems like I should probably pay him a visit. Mind pointing me in the right direction?”

Maggie leaned back on her stool, pouting playfully. “No fun.”

“That’s me,” I said. “No fun.”

She grabbed a dish towel from under the bar and draped it over her arm. “Which way did you come in?”

I shrugged.

“The front gate with the dopey guards,” she asked, “or the back entrance that’s barely visible from the road?”

“Dopey guards,” I replied.

“Right. You want to go in the opposite direction. Out the doors, take a sharp right, walk past the row of merchant shops, and take a left at the smithy.”

“Smithy, got it.”

She glanced at the window. “The moon’s not up, so you won’t be able to see the chapel, but keep going and if you hit the outer wall, you’ve gone too far.”

I stood, stacked my plate on top of hers, and rearranged my belt.

“Need a torch?” she said. “Only three of your pewter coins and a peck on the cheek.”

I smiled. “I’m good. Don’t want to run up too much of a tab before I know what I’m worth in these parts.”

I could feel her eyes on me as I left the inn. Try as I might, I couldn’t help smiling. It’s good to be wanted, even when you’re flirting with a bartender who probably flirted with all her customers.

It was pitch-black by the time I hit the street. Like Maggie’d said, there was no moon. Almost instantly, though, I knew I wouldn’t need the torch. Not ever. I could see plenty good enough without it. There were candles flickering through fogged windows, but that wasn’t what lit my way. I had some version of night sight. Like a possum or a fox. There was a purple tint lying over everything, just the way things get at sunset when the sun drops low but not completely below the horizon. Not as good as seeing in the noontime sunshine, but better than the blotchy green filter of night vision goggles.

Cal appeared beside me, silent as a phantom, and this time I saw him coming. He didn’t say anything while we walked. Cal was jokester, but when it was time to handle business, he played to win. Right now, we were deep behind enemy lines, and there could be something nasty waiting for us down every alley.

I snuck along the streets, careful not to draw attention to myself. I wanted to see rather than be seen. This was a time for reconnaissance. I hadn’t noticed on the journey in with the commander, but the square was paved with massive slabs. Around the edge of the square was a channel for rain runoff. These looked like simple people but their architecture and infrastructure was on a par with the Romans. All I had to do was to introduce running water and I’d be set.

Speaking of, I decided to jog in the center of the street, anxious not to be caught by someone else’s dirty bathwater.

There were rats—not unexpected in a place like this—and a small legion of cats on the prowl for the scampering vermin. Street dogs weren’t as plentiful but there were at least three wiry mutts hanging around the foundry, glancing out at me with hunger in their eyes. They followed me for a couple of streets, but eventually loped back to their warm hearth when they understood I had nothing I could share with them.

The chapel rose up before me, all flying buttresses, pointed arches, and stained-glass windows. It was an architect’s wet dream in thick, impressive hand-cut stone and dazzling artistry. A set of wooden doors, festooned with brass rivets and huge circular handles, barred my path. Seemed like the padre and his little chapel were closed for the night. Assuming Cal was right, though, I figured he’d probably make an exception for me.

I pounded on the door, careful not to catch my fist on the studs. “Arbitrator!” I yelled. “How’s about you open up.”

No reply came. There was every chance the padre was in the nave or sleeping it off in the back—especially if he was a heavy drinker.

I pounded on the door again and dogs howled in the distance, but still no answer from inside the church.

“Want me to see if I can find another way in?” Cal asked. “I’m pretty new to my ghost powers, but walls don’t seem like much of an obstacle. Even if I can’t find a back door, I should be able to tell whether the priest is inside or not.”

“Yeah, that’s not a bad idea,” I said.

Cal took a step back, then darted for the door. I’d seen him phase through walls and floors and teleport seemingly at ease from room to room. I wasn’t ready when his shoulder slammed into the wood and a blazing blue dome exploded around the church, crackling with barely contained electrical energy. The shield unleashed a beam of blue-white light that mule-kicked Cal in the chest and sent him flipping backward through the air. He landed on the cobblestones ten feet away, writhing in pain, his outline wavering and dancing like a candle flame in a stiff breeze.

I ran over and dropped to a knee beside him. There was a black scorch mark on his chest where the beam of power had landed.

“You okay?” I asked, instinctively trying to render first aid. Except my hands phased right through his body—just as his body should’ve phased right through the doors.

“I think that thing just turned all my organs into a slushy.” He winced and propped himself up onto his hands.

The church doors banged open with a clatter, and the shadowy form of a man appeared in the entryway. He wore a brown cassock and raised a gnarled staff topped by an intricate carving of a head with five faces.

“Unclean specter,” he bellowed, his voice slurring on the edges, “begone from this place! This is hallowed ground and you are unwelcome here. No invitation granted, no succor given. Depart now and find your eternal rest in the void beyond!” He slammed the staff down against the cobblestones, and a wash of yellow light rippled out in a ring.

Cal howled as the light touched his foot. Cracks of white power zigzagged up his leg and spread like spiderwebbing across his body. He let out one more pained shriek then vanished in a swirl of glittering dust, blown away by a gentle breeze. Anger rushed through me, and all I could see was red. I’d lost my best friend once already and now I’d just lost him again. I leapt to my feet and pulled the Colt. It didn’t matter that the guy in the church was a priest or that he had answers I badly needed. All I knew was that he had a colossal ass whooping coming.