“Yes, it went as horribly as it looks like it did. Yes, most of this blood isn’t mine. And yes, I did get the job done. I need something alcoholic and overproof, stat.”

  The man at the door belatedly tried to prevent Sozahauni Sosotho from tossing his bloody jacket into the corner. By the time he had gingerly picked it up and dropped it outside, he found the newcomer laying on one of the benches, facing away. “Overproof—this is a church, not an absinthe parlor!”

  “That explains why all the benches are so uncomfortable,” grumbled Sozahauni. He shifted to lying on his back, and finding it no better, went back to his side. “Ow. I feel like I’ve been eaten by a pack of dogs and then buried in the backyard.”

  Father Harvey looked over the disheveled man, who indeed looked like he had been set upon by a pack of wild dogs. Or given his friend’s line of work, more likely werewolves. “It was a bad night, I take it?”

  “I believe my exact words were that it went as horribly as it looks like it did, so yes, bad is an understatement.” He rubbed his eyes and looked down at his fingers. “A pack of werewolves, a cult of the Gardener, and because there had to be something sufficiently awful to top it off, a jolly old demon about twelve miles above my pay grade. Lucky me.”

  “I see,” said Harvey. His eyes flicked down to his shoes and then back to his friend. “Am I right to infer that that’s your way of asking to be doused in holy water?”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Sozahauni draped an arm over the back of the bench and grinned sardonically. “You know me so well. Let’s get married.” He clenched his teeth as his friend placed a towel soaked in holy water on the first of the werewolf bites. “But yeah, I’m sick of this. Another job finished, and it’s just another round of scars on my sanity. One of these days I’m going to just tell Carrington that I quit, consequences be damned, and—ouch!”

  Harvey took the towel off of the werewolf bite, which had started to smoke. “I’m sorry, but you know these have to be cleaned. It’s better than needing a silver bullet.”

  “Yeah, but it still stings like an—ouch!”

  “I’m almost done, sorry.” He dabbed the next bite. “There, that was the last one. At least you won’t be sprouting a tail, but you may be craving undercooked meat for the next few days.”

  “Awesome. I feel better already, knowing I won’t be turning into a furry.” He stretched and stood up. “Really, thanks. I owe you one.”

  The priest shrugged. “It’s practically my job. And besides, if I kept track of every time I’ve had to patch you up, you’d owe me more than you can count.”

  Donning his still-bloody jacket, Sozo grinned. “Smart of you to not get mixed up in the favor economy. Even if it’s only with a little human like me.” He opened the door and took a step out. “Anyway, I’d still like to pay you back in some way. The bar, maybe. That’s not too sinful for you, right?”

  “There are worse vices. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” He watched Sozo descend the steps. “And honestly, take care. Please.”

  “Take care?” Soso spread out his arms, the bloodstains on the jacket looking dark in the torchlight. “My dear friend, when have I ever not?”