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with his blood.
    Though Levi wasn’t magic, his blood was powerful. Dangerously so.
    Once the wound was thoroughly treated, he pried opened her mouth and forced some of the liquid down her throat, massaging her jaws so she would swallow.
    She fidgeted and mumbled a weak protest.
    “Gah. No more. Shit, no more.” She gagged, but kept it down.
    “Hush now,” Levi said with a voice like a cement mixer. “Hush, it’ll be alright.”
    He loosened her from her restraints, but left her in place so he could get a last look at the gruesome and oddly familiar altar.
    The wyrm with a thousand legs seemed to be staring at him with its ruby eyes. The altar was stone, Levi knew, but in the dancing illumination of the fire, it looked alive. The thought that the altar was only a thing of stone was no real comfort to Levi—after all, he was not much more than a thing of stone himself. He drew closer, curiosity getting the better of him. The Kobock Nation was well known for their vile rituals, but the scene he’d stumbled upon went far beyond anything Levi had ever heard of.
    What had they been doing down here?
    With an effort of will, Levi forced open a small cavity in his side—an internal storage locker, of sorts—and pulled out a cell phone, neatly wrapped in a plastic bag. Pockets were notoriously unreliable, especially since he shifted form so often, so stowing items inside his body was the safest way. He took a moment to snap a couple of pictures of the bas-relief and a few more of the grotesque flesh golem, then resealed the phone in plastic and slid it back into the divot in his side. Gray skin quickly swelled over the phone, leaving behind a smooth, unmarked belly.
    A single missive—handwritten on a piece of heavy stock paper—sat folded on the altar ledge. Levi snatched it up, read it over once, then shoved the letter into his side with the cell phone. He’d examine it in detail later; right now he had greater concerns. The girl. Even with his ichor working through her system, she needed a hospital. Humans were beautiful things, wonderfully and fearfully made, but frail and fleeting. She could still die. Probably would if he didn’t get moving. Gently, gently , he lifted her into his mammoth arms, cradling her like a newborn.
    She stirred again, whimpering against his chest.
    Her eyes fluttered briefly. “No more. Please, no more,” she offered again. Then her lids fell shut and she slept.
    “Hush now,” he said. “It’s alright. You’re safe.”

 
     
     
     
     
     
    FIVE:
    Sunday Service
     
    Light shone through the stained-glass window, bright shafts falling over the far row of pews, while the gentle warble of a piano hymn capered in the air. New Eden Mennonite Church, nestled right in the sunny suburbs of Aurora, Colorado. Not an Amish church, nor even filled with the plain-dressed folk, but rather a modern congregation populated with a myriad of folk, some good, others not. Admittedly, there were a few older congregants who spoke Pennsylvania Dutch—the low German of the old Mennonites—but mostly, they were simple, hardworking people who believed in following Jesus.
    The little congregation was a strange fit for Levi, but in some ways a natural one. Years back, when the Mudman had first decided a change was in order, he’d tried attending temple, which seemed intuitive given his past. Each time, though, he’d been driven from the synagogue by the memories, which were far too loud there. Overpowering. The rabbi would pull the Torah from the Ark and unfurl it across the bimah —a dark wood table used for the reading of the Scriptures—and suddenly Levi would be the rabbi. A flashback to some other life, before the war and the camps.
    Everything in the synagogue was like that. The Beth Midrash , a connected hall used for Scripture study, held its own ghosts. As did the Mikveh —the ritual bath. He couldn’t even glance at the Ner Tamid , the eternal flame, which burned ceaselessly above the Ark,