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interacted just often enough with the powers of good and evil to make himself noticed. Andy would be more visible, a warrior on the side of God despite his retirement from active duty in the Catholic Church. But the angel didn’t seem interested in his friend, and although Andy was no doubt trying to trade on his position as a former priest to gain access to whoever had been injured or killed inside, that in itself wouldn’t be significant enough on a celestial scale to attract the attention of the b'nei elohim .
    Murder might be, though, if it were carried out in the name of Satan—or God. Jack had encountered both types of murders over the years. In fact, he’d done some killing in the name of God, himself.
    Or could it be someone or something else? The police officers, a student, the paramedics, the provost, whoever was injured or dead inside? A book, a symbol, a consecrated or desecrated item or place?
    He couldn’t tell.
    “I’m sorry, Jack,” Andy said, returning. “It was Dunstan Graeme. The police won’t let anyone in. They’re waiting for the medical examiner and forensics team. Greg says the officer told him Dunstan was stabbed.”
    “Dead?”
    “We think so.”
    “He has a wife.”
    “They’re going to send someone to talk to her.” Andy touched Jack’s sleeve. “Sorry. I know you liked him.”
    Jack felt a familiar sense of frustration. Andy had told him months ago, when he’d been describing his new job over the phone, that California Hills University was located in one of the nation’s safest cities. But no place was safe from evil.
    “It has to be linked to the bones,” Jack growled. “Look at that angel by the Andersen Building.”
    Andy glanced over his shoulder, the lines around his mouth deepening.
    “If mal'akhim are involved, the police won’t be much use.”
    “The Scandinavian Library has copies of all the old deeds and photographs about the university and information about the Gudruns and other Scandinavians who settled out here. Maybe Dunstan was killed because something in there explains the bones.”
    “Or did ,” said Andy. “Well, there’ll be police crawling all over the house for the rest of the night.”
    “And it may stay closed off even after they leave.” Jack had been involved in police investigations before. “So....”
    Andy nodded.  “Best get back to Edward. He must think we’re real ghouls, chasing sirens like this.”
    Jack hesitated. He wanted to stay to see Dr. Graeme’s body removed, to pay his respects, but it could be hours before that happened, and the ME would cover the corpse, anyway.
    He looked for the angel. It kept its motionless vigil.
    “I guess we might as well,” he said. “No point trying to talk to our friend there with so many people around.  Not that talking to angels ever does any good, anyway.”
    Andy smiled faintly. They turned and headed back to the visiting faculty housing court.

VI

     
    Richard Grahn sat on the bench that had been constructed next to the CHU cross by the class of ’82, looking down at the lights that surrounded the north campus field. He’d already shot about fifty pictures, but the camera was still on its stand in case something exciting happened.
    He’d hiked up to the cross shortly after sunset, as soon as he’d heard about the bones. This was the most exciting thing to happen on campus all semester, and even though the student newspaper’s reporters were being turned away by police, Richard knew he could use his telephoto lens to get photographs of the excavation. Maybe they’d even run in the county paper, not just the student rag. He’d have to call—
    Something groaned behind him.
    Richard turned, expecting to see one of his friends laughing at him. Instead, he saw a line of dark red light shoot down next to the cross and fall open like two bloody flaps of skin. The space between them revealed a long, winding corridor, its floor covered in bloody feathers. A huge man stepped through,