Page 3 of Holy Water
Claudia groaned.“Julian, your double entendres are tragic.”
“But effective.”
She swiveled in her chair and pulled up a document on her sleek little MacBook.“You’ll need to promise me one thing,” she said, her eyes never leaving the screen.
“Anything.”
“If this guy turns out to be gay, you must ask him out on air.”
“What?”
“It’s called cross-promotional content, darling.Unholy Orders meets Hot Holy Men: The Dating Game.Think of the downloads.”
I laughed, but internally, a part of me was considering it.
Claudia hit a few keys, then turned back to me with a devilish grin.“Done.We’ll renew your sponsorship for the season.You’re officially authorized to hunt sexy spiritual con artists, starting with Saint Jude of the Boner Pants.”
I choked on my water.“That’s not what we’re calling him.”
“That’s exactly what I’m calling him.”
I stood, half-grateful, half-floored.“Seriously, thank you.This means a lot.”
“Of course it does.You’re one of the few podcasters I sponsor who doesn’t make me want to take up smoking again.”
She followed me to the door and added, “Just promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“If he’s real, and I mean really real, don’t fall for him.That’s how cults start.Or worse, reality TV shows.”
I gave her a weak smile.“I’m a professional.”
She snorted.“Sweetheart, you just drooled on your phone, watching a man pray.God help us all.”
And with that, she walked off to her next meeting, heels clicking, blazer swishing, probably already rewriting our next ad campaign to include Jude’s ass.
I stepped into the hallway, still catching my breath.I had the green light.The cash, and the plan.
Now I just had to find the man behind the miracles, and make sure I didn’t fall for the fantasy.
ChapterTwo
Julian- Episode 71- Unholy Orders
Welcome back, my beloved sinners and skeptics.You’re listening to Unholy Orders, the podcast where we shine a divine light on shady shit, one charlatan at a time.I’m your host, Julian Reed, and today’s episode is brought to you by my mounting credit card debt, one too many iced Americanos, and a marketing firm that apparently believes blasphemy is good PR.So, you know, thanks, Claudia.
Let’s talk about miracles.
You’ve seen the videos.Maybe one popped up on your feed at 2 AM while you were doom scrolling and stress-eating Goldfish crackers.A crowd sways.Someone’s crying.A man walks onstage looking like a rejected audition from The Chosen, and with one touch—bam—someone walks, someone hears, someone gets saved.Cue the gasps and hallelujahs.Cue the Venmo donations.
The latest in this long, greasy line of holy hucksters?A man named Jude Brooks.
That’s right, Jude.Like the apostle and the saint.Also like the Beatles song.Jude is a faith healer.He lays hands on people and prays.People fall over, and allegedly, get healed.Not medically.Not with actual science.No, no.With vibes and charisma and...probably a fog machine.
Now, let me be clear: I don’t do this show because I hate faith.I do this show because I hate exploitation.Because I’ve seen people drain their savings accounts chasing hope, they’ll never receive.I’ve watched grieving families hand over cash in exchange for snake oil miracles.That’s not faith.That’s emotional extortion dressed up in polyester robes and $300 shoes.
Which brings us back to Jude.
