Marcus Pelegrimas - Teeth of Beasts

“Fun. So you’ll just keep your arm in a sling and feel sorry for yourself?”

Sitting up without leaning on him, Paige let her eyes wander about the huge room, taking in one sight at a time. “No, I’ll work through it the hard way. Learn from my mistake, figure out a way to deal with the mess, and move along. That’s how it should be.” Shrugging, she looked up at the cathedral ceiling and added, “I need a new weapon anyway.”

A large man wearing khaki pants ambled down the aisle carrying a box of hymnals and a dozen pens stuffed into the pocket protector of his gray shirt. The glasses sliding down his nose were wide enough to replace the Cav’s broken windows, and the eyes behind them showed a hint of friendly familiarity when they spotted Paige. He showed her a crooked smile and started filling the spaces on the racks behind each pew so every parishioner would know the words to their songs.

“When Rico told me you were here,” Cole said, “I thought he was kidding.”

“Why?”

Lowering his voice to reduce the risk of being struck by lightning, he said, “Because you told me more times than I can count that this religious stuff doesn’t work.”

“I told you it doesn’t work on vampires or werewolves, and it doesn’t. It also doesn’t work for magic charms. But maybe,” she added with a gentle smile, “it works on me.”