Page 38 of Unholy

It was just hard to care when he was so happy.

When he finished his laps, he wandered over to the training yard. A handful of paladins were already there, scattered around the sand-filled arena. Nearby, one of them, stretching by the fence, caught his eye and lifted a hand in greeting.

“Isaac, how are you?” Luke said, approaching with his hands on his head to help him catch his breath.

He’d always liked Isaac. With a shock of red hair and more freckles than stars in the sky, he didn’t immediately strike terror in anyone, but he was one of the most vicious paladins in the ranks. Lithe and tall, his pale, muscular body was on display in nothing but a pair of worn gray sweatpants. He was a few years younger than Luke, kept to himself like Luke, and seemed to observe and absorb more than preach and talk—a sentiment Luke appreciated. Supposedly, some people found him unsettling, but he’d never set off any alarm bells in Luke’s mind.

“You headed in or out?” Luke asked.

“In. I have a restless need for action. You up for a spar?”

“With you? Absolutely, so long as you don’t mind having your butt handed to you.”

Isaac barked out a laugh. “Challenge accepted, my friend.”

“You should put a shirt on before you turn into one giant freckle,” Luke said as they fetched wooden practice swords from under the awning.

“Hey now, you know that’s where a redhead gets their power.”

Luke laughed. He and Isaac took their positions facing one another. All traces of humor faded away, leaving nothing but focus. Maybe this was why people were wary of Isaac. The emotion slipped from his face like an unwanted mask. It left the impression that the emotion hadn’t been genuine at all, just a camouflage.

Isaac lunged, and the spar began.

Fighting Isaac was humbling. Luke was good—so good that Sloan allowed him to work alone despite the dangers of being without backup—but Isaac moved like the weapon was an extension of his arm. Like fire, flickering toand fro with no predictability, leaving destruction in his wake. Luke’s muscles burned with exertion, adrenaline thrumming through his veins.

They were evenly matched, but only because Luke threw absolutely everything into their spar. When it was over, they separated, and Luke doubled over, panting for breath. Sweat dripped from his chin, and Isaac clapped him on the back, sweaty skin meeting sweaty skin.

“Luke, always a pleasure.” He was breathless, which soothed Luke’s dignity a bit. “I love a good challenge, and you never fail to impress.”

Luke straightened, inclining his head. “I don’t know about that, but thanks.”

Isaac gestured to the locker room’s entrance on the side of the rec center, and they fell into step together.

“So,” Isaac said conversationally, “killed anything fun lately?” That was probably the biggest difference that set Isaac apart from the other paladins. While most of them spoke of their hunts with deference, Isaac seemed to consider it a sport. It wasn’t a moral calling to him, it was an unabashed enjoyment of the act of killing itself.

Luke didn’t mind it. It was refreshing, even, to hear someone treat it like an entertainment rather than a solemn responsibility. He hid these glimpses of enjoyment from Sloan and Father Hawley, attending church every Sunday with a pious expression and following every order Sloan gave with relish. But on his own, away from their judgmental gazes, Isaac relaxed, and when he did, he was one of the few people Luke would call a friend.

He thought back to the demon with many faces hidden in the dirt. “Actually I have.” He left out the part where Malachi swooped in and saved him, but explained indisgusting detail what the demon looked like just to watch Isaac’s face twist with exaggerated horror as they went into the dark and cool locker room. The showers were running in the next room, and voices floated out with the steam.

“…just pissed about what happened with Hawk, that’s all,” someone said.

“Well yeah,” a second voice said. “Aren’t you? He left us to go screw ademon.”

Luke was grateful for the low fluorescent lighting. It hid the way his face flushed. Isaac’s eyes met his, surprise hiking his brows up. He and Isaac quietly separated to go to their lockers. He’d planned to shower, but now maybe he’d just go home and shower there. Malachi should be there, and showering together sounded much better than showering here and listening to more of this.

“Sloan wants to hit them, did you hear?” a third voice said from the shower.

“Who?” the first voice asked.

“The halflings. He says they’re planning something, and that’s why they tempted Hawk away. He thinks we should strike first, take them out.”

Isaac turned to look at Luke as though asking whether he had heard that, and Luke turned away under the guise of digging his jeans from his bag.

“How’d you hear that?” the voices continued.

“I was standing in during the council meeting.”

“And? Did the council approve it?”

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