The lump in his pocket was the very thing he'd needed to be sure his brother was on his side. Thane had hoped, but didn't dare believe. For his entire life, he'd watched families turn on each other for the "grace of God". No one ever saw it coming, but he wanted to believe that his only living brother was above that. The list of Words proved it. If anyone found out Thane had it, they'd both suffer.
"She's older than we thought." He paused, hearing the heavy tread of the waitress.
Laird slapped on a smile and moved his cup over for a refill. "Thank you."
The exhausted woman smiled. "What about you, hun?" Her eyes were on Thane.
"Yeah." He moved his cup.
The girl refilled it, unable to take her eyes off him. He tried to ignore it, but his brother wasn't so subtle. When the girl finally left, Laird kicked him under the table.
"I'm the priest, dipshit."
"Not my type." Thane kicked back, making the point.
"Nope," Laird agreed. "You always had a weakness for blondes. They'll call her back, you know. Even if she's in the world, it'll summon her. Once they know her name, there's nothing that can halt the compulsion to follow the pull."
"No clue what you're talking about." He knew his face was giving him away.
Laird did the thing with the eyebrow again. "Right. Who else is driving your truck? Don't see you as the type to screw a succubus and go out to bang some dingbat you found at a bar, and no woman with sense would go home with you."
"I didn't take her home."
"Doesn't mean you were screwing a girl you just picked up, either." Laird leaned closer, looking a little too amused. "Talk to me, Thane. Getting out is one thing. Crawling in bed with the enemy is very different."
"Ok." This was Laird, so he didn't have anything to worry about, right? Except killing not only himself, but also Laird and Val. "She's a lot more than six hundred years old. She's also freaking out that the Church knows she exists. Said she's lived more than two thousand years by getting ignored."
"Fuck." The word was a groan, and Laird leaned closer. "I've only ever heard of one that was anywhere near that age. How did we miss her? She should bleed off power in waves."
Thane lifted his hands, showing he had no idea. "She says there's no Heaven or Hell, just reality and the Abyss. They aren't demons, but rather a fluke of evolution."
"Impossible."
"Improbable," Thane corrected. "I got a very quick lesson, but from what I can make out, the pattern of our neurons is like a framework that holds our personality. She hinted that it's more complicated, but a freak accident at the exact moment of death, involving some magnetic field, and um, she lost her body but kept her awareness. She describes it like a walking soul."
"So she's an angel?"
He laughed at that. No, Val was certainly not an angel. "More like evolution from carbon-based life to energy. Without the body, she's deprived of all senses, which makes the Abyss feel like Hell, but not the version we know."
"And you called her back, but she let you live?"
"It was touch and go for a bit. You can't call her, Laird. The Church has the wrong name."
His brother smiled. "But you don't. How?"
"We're not that warm yet, man. Don't care how long I've known you. Dad turned in Mom and I can't forget that."
"No, makes sense." Laird made a dismissive gesture, then shifted the topic. "So here's something to think about. If she's just a ghost - a dead soul - then how did she get a name? True names are supposed to be given by God or the Devil, right?"
"She said she was born with it. She basically said that some thoughts are ingrained so deep into our subconscious that they gain power over us, like the way you recognize your name. It's why she can touch the cross, because our God didn't exist during her life, so she has no fear of His symbols."
Laird's smile was growing. "Well, let me throw something out there. What name? Women usually change theirs halfway through life. You know, when they get married. Would that work, or would it only be the one she was born with?"
She'd taken his name. He lifted his coffee, hoping for a distraction while his mind spun. Val had taken his last name. Why couldn't he truly make it hers? She hadn't even taken her husband's name, but she'd accepted his easily enough. Did that mean it wouldn't work, or had she been undead long enough to accept the "modern" custom?
Because if the priests ever stopped long enough to think about the origin of the name they were summoning her with, it wouldn't take them long to see the problem. She was no man's son. Once they knew that, she'd never be safe again, and he wouldn't live nearly long enough for a false marriage to matter. Besides, she'd already taken his goddamned name.
"I have no idea how it works," he said. "I don't know if her cultural upbringing would affect it."