Gameboard of the Gods

Her disdain for Justin hadn’t changed. It was obvious to her he was high each morning, and she had no respect for anyone with that kind of dependence. His dependence on women was equally obvious. Women noticed him, and he noticed women. A few witty words…and they were hooked, freely giving away numbers and promises of future dates. It constantly reminded Mae of her own foolishness.

And yet, despite his bad habits, he’d occasionally show those flashes of brilliance that Francis had lauded. Justin latched on to small details, able to make astonishing deductions she never could’ve fathomed. His dedication to their case was fierce, and when he spoke of it and explained the psychology of religious groups to her, she couldn’t help but be fascinated.

The final piece puzzling her was his unfailing devotion to Tessa and his family. Sure, sarcasm ran rampant in that household, but there was no question of his protectiveness toward them. It contradicted Mae’s image of his selfishness, and she didn’t like contradictions.

Their first few days of investigation took them to the crime scenes on the patrician land grants, something that seemed more like police than servitor work. It mostly involved interviews with the victims’ friends and families, giving Mae another opportunity to watch him manipulate people. He didn’t approach anyone with a cop’s interrogation style. He engaged them in conversation, winning them over and then very carefully studying their words and body language.

“It’s not hard,” he’d told Mae. “You find what means the most to someone and run with it.”

That had come after an interview with a Lakota castal who’d initially been hostile to Justin. Upon noting the man had four children—a rarity among the fertility-challenged castes—Justin had shifted the discussion toward them, playing on the man’s obvious pride. The man had been heavily marked by Cain, with asthma and skin lesions, but he’d lucked out with his deceased wife. She’d been extraordinarily beautiful and healthy, with no problems conceiving. By the time Justin was finished with him, they were practically best friends, and Justin knew all about the kids’ soccer and dance lessons. The family had no connection to a religion, and Justin also determined that the man was telling the truth about not being involved with his wife’s murder. Justin had similar results with other castal interviewees and their claims of innocence.

After three of the crime scenes, he told her they were putting the other two on hold until Leo could come along with them. The people they talked to weren’t giving them any leads; they needed to examine the technical side for new evidence. Although Leo had made no progress on the video, Justin was certain his friend could figure out how the victims’ surveillance had been disabled. Leo couldn’t join them right away, meaning it was time to start checking out suspect religious groups, something Mae had been looking forward to.

They left Vancouver for an overnight trip to the Midwest, to visit a group whose goddess had connections to the moon and silver. Before they went to that church, however, Justin made a side trip to another sect in the same town.

“Favor to Cornelia,” he explained when their hired car dropped them off. “Right around the corner from our church. It’s just a standard license renewal—should be a breeze. They’re a pretty small and benign group. Still, you’ll get to see that this job isn’t all glamour and stone-wielding mobs.”

They stood outside of a small but pretty building that had all sorts of flourishes. Arched stained glass windows. Gold-painted trim around the windows and doors. Lacy wooden embellishment along the gables. An ornate sign above the door read TEMPLE OF THE LADY OF THE BOOK, MADISON BLUFF, TWENTY-FIRST WARD.

Justin came to a stop on the sidewalk leading up to it and gave the building a once-over. “Well maintained,” he said with a frown. “Much better than their last inspection. Good maintenance means money. Money means support.”

The door opened as they approached, and a middle-aged plebeian man with thinning hair stepped outside. He looked nervous but gave them a polite smile. “Welcome. I’m Claude Diaz, the priest of Our Lady here. You must be Dr. March?”

“Yes.” Justin introduced Mae and then waved his ego over the license beside the door. The square’s screen displayed the RUNA’s seal in green, along with a date and scrawled signature below it. When the ego passed over the screen, a holographic image of the seal appeared in the air, verifying the temple’s license.

Claude urged them inside. “Please come in. I’m so eager for you to see our sacred space and answer any questions you might have.”

Mae hadn’t been in very many places of worship. She’d been to Church of Humanity services, of course, but those didn’t count. Every once in a while, someone in the Nordic caste would try to bring back a Scandinavian religion. Those that didn’t fail right away usually only lingered on with scant numbers. Mae’s mother had once taken her to a temple when visiting a friend in the Pan-Celt land grant, and Mae remembered it being a terrifying experience for her six-year-old self. The chanting priests had worn hoods and masks, and images of their fearsome goddess had seemed to look at Mae from every part of the room. She didn’t remember the cult’s name but hoped it had been shut down by now.

Between that memory and what she’d seen of provincial religious practices, Mae was content to stay away from all of it and completely supported the RUNA’s stance against religion. People who got caught up in the groupthink of these superstitions were easy to lead into dangerous behaviors, as the Decline had shown. The only thing Mae put her faith in was her country.

This temple bore no resemblance to the one in her nightmares. The space was warm and inviting, smelling of wood, beeswax, and roses. Rows of well-oiled wooden benches faced forward, and shelves of archaic paper books lined the sides of the room. At the front of the room, looking over everything, stood a statue of a woman in flowing robes who held a book in one hand and a lit candle in the other. Incense smoked at her feet.

As Mae studied the sculpture, a weird sense of disorientation swept over her. The statue shifted in her eyes. A sword replaced the candle, and she held flowers where the book had been. An amber necklace hung around the goddess’s neck, and on her head, a crown made of tiny sparkling stars bathed her in brilliance. Mae had never seen anything so beautiful, and she didn’t even realize it had called her forward until she stood right in front of the statue. The intensity reminded her of that darkness that descended on her in battle, only now she felt a warmth and exhilaration spread through her, making her feel light and radiant.

Justin came to stand beside her. “So what do you—”

He stopped when he saw her face. His expression transformed with wonder, and his breath caught. The world sparked between them. Somehow, he could see that glory burning through her, and he was spellbound. For a moment, she could see herself in his eyes, vibrant with beauty and life. And then, something even more remarkable happened: She could sense a power surrounding him as well. It had a different feel—ancient and wise, rather than sensual and earthy—but its nature was the same as hers. She’d never seen such a thing in any other person.

Suddenly, that icy darkness Mae knew so well slapped her in the face. The radiance burning through her faltered, and she felt the darkness’s familiar hands resting heavily on her shoulders, trying to block her from the statue’s power. The two forces fought against each other, the statue’s warmth calling to Mae as the darkness crushed it. She felt like she was being ripped in two until at last the darkness won. The light and life vanished. Above her, the Lady of the Book stared blankly ahead, a stony scholar once more.

Victorious in its conquest, the darkness lifted, leaving Mae dizzy. She staggered a few steps and started to fall. Justin caught hold of her hand to steady her. She started to lean into him and then suddenly jerked away. “Don’t touch me!” she exclaimed.

“Easy,” he said. His enthralled look was gone. There was no power there. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She turned in another direction, attempting to avoid eye contact. He moved in front of her.

“Forget that you hate me for a minute. I’m just trying to help.”

“You’re the last person whose help I need.”

“You saw something,” he insisted, a sharp look in his eyes.

“Yeah. A lifeless statue.”

But his face told her he didn’t believe her. He knew what had happened. Or at least he knew more about what had happened than she did.

“Don’t you have a job to do?” she asked irritably.

Whatever retort he might have made was interrupted when Claude came to stand beside them and admire the statue. “Her flame illuminates the path to knowledge,” he told them.

“It’s lovely,” said Mae automatically. But that was all it was: a nicely carved piece of stone. There was no life force in it, certainly not one with divine powers.

“It’s new,” said Justin. He gave Mae one last searching look and then turned toward Claude with his we’re pals smile. The servitor was back. “It’s not on last year’s inventory. I’m not an art appraiser, but this doesn’t seem to match up with your income—unless you’ve completely neglected all other operations.” Justin glanced meaningfully around. “Which it appears you haven’t.”

“Oh, no,” said Claude. “The temple didn’t purchase it. It was a gift. One of the wealthier members of our congregation was kind enough to donate it.”

“Ah, I understand. That’s lucky.” Justin made a note and continued his visual assessment of the facilities. When he finished, he and Claude sat down opposite each other at a desk in the temple’s back office. Mae had recovered from her earlier disorientation and took up a spot that was close enough to observe Justin and Claude—and intervene, if the seemingly docile priest surprised her—but otherwise stay out of their way.

“So.” Justin settled into the tilting leather desk chair he’d been given. He set his reader aside, projecting the ease and friendliness of someone who’d merely come to chat. “You want to renew your license for worship of a fictitious entity.”