CHAPTER 8

John wrapped a towel around his waist, ran a hand through his hair, 
and went to the door.

"I'm sorry to intrude," said the elderly woman who had read the Bible 
the night before. She pushed the door open and moved inside 
purposefully, seeming not to notice John's lack of readiness for 
company. "We need to talk." She sat in the rocking chair and pulled 
it toward the fireplace.
"Your car," she said decisively. "It's not yours."

"No," John started... "Mind if I get dressed?" John asked as he 
headed for the bedroom door.

"Yes, I do," she replied. "Now, as I was saying, your car is not 
yours. It's been reported stolen, and state troopers are on their 
way to look for it."

Monica emerged from the bedroom fully clothed, her wet hair hanging 
in gentle curls, as it did only when it was wet. She was wearing her 
jeans and a donated peasant blouse that hadn't been in style for 
years. But to John she looked like a high-fashion model. He smiled 
in spite of himself and held out his hand for hers. "There's a 
problem with the SUV," he explained.

They sat together on the couch, listening carefully while the abbess 
explained how she had overheard the state troopers on her 
scanner. "Here's what you are to do," she ordered, not leaving John 
or Monica the opportunity to interrupt. "Take the SUV and go West 
until you get to the tienda, the store. Go South from there until 
you come to the village. Pass through the village and pull into the 
self-storage units. Here's the key," she handed them a key and 
Monica took it, somewhat confused. "Park it in there and then walk 
back to the village. Go to the Church -- Santa Maria de las Flores, 
and ask for the priest. Tell him you are looking for the Via Sub 
Rosa. He'll take over from there."

John and Monica looked at each other in confusion, until the abbess 
said, "GO! You only have a few minutes!" John stood and his towel 
slipped a few inches. "And put some clothes on. You'll burn to a 
crisp like that," the well-covered woman scolded.

They followed the old woman's directions, leaving the SUV in storage, 
then walking through a quaint town square, and passing by a few 
ramshackle stick-built cottages until they found the town's tiny 
parish church. The heavy oak door of the church opened before they 
knocked, and a frail Hispanic man with a wide moustache and wire-rim 
glasses ushered them inside. "I am Father Tomás," he said. "I've 
been expecting you."

Doggett gripped Reyes' hand and said, "We're looking for the Via Sub 
Rosa. Do you know where that is?"

"You've found it, my boy," the priest said, putting out his hand for 
a handshake. "You found it yesterday."

Monica shrank back slightly, but John pulled on her hand and 
questioned her with his eyes.

"You know what I mean, don't you," the priest said to Monica.

She shook her head. "No, but I have some idea," Monica answered 
cautiously.

The priest removed his glasses and looked into her eyes, intensely 
studying what he found there. "You are one," he announced. He 
turned his attention to Doggett and gave him the same stare. Doggett 
tried to turn his head, but found his eyes fixed on the odd little 
man's eyes. "Yes, you are too," he stated flatly.

"We are what?" Doggett demanded.

"People of the Via," the priest explained, looking to Reyes for 
acknowledgement. "People who see more than most."

Doggett leaned back reflexively. "Oh, no, not that crap." He pulled 
his hand from Reyes' and questioned her, "Is that what all this is 
about? That psychic bull?"

"It's not bull, John, and you know it." 

They stood staring at each other, oblivious to the priest who had 
brought up the subject. "You know in your heart," the priest put his 
hand against John's chest. "That it is true." When John opened his 
mouth to object, the priest continued, "But in you it is weak. You 
will need to train yourself to hear that voice... the voice you have 
been denying."

Monica looked on smugly, until the priest turned his attention to 
her. "And you..." he wagged his finger at her. "You have been 
denying your voice too. I sense you have not developed your sense 
into what it could be."

They continued walking in silence, past altars lit by votive candles, 
stained-glass windows depicting Bible scenes, and dark wooden pews. 
When they reached the other end, the priest opened a metal door, the 
bright desert sun blinding them all temporarily. "I'll take you 
back," he said, nodding to a rusted van.

On the road the priest raised the uncomfortable topic again, "You 
have modest gifts, both of you," he looked at them in the rearview 
mirror. "But you have a great need. If you want to defeat Satan's 
army, don't deny God's gifts."