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malice said, You are the caretaker .
    “What?”
    A wind picked up behind him. Nathan turned. The demon of smoke emerged from the blackness, its bright eyes covering him with fire and pain and his flesh bubbled and burned away—
    He jolted awake and sat upright on the crooked mattress, hoping he hadn’t shouted as he’d done on the bus. Reverend Hayden had enough on his mind without worrying about the nightmares of a grown man. Nathan breathed quickly. Sweat dripped across his face, but he did not wipe it away. He waited for any sounds coming from the bedroom. Nothing. He took in a deeper breath, held it a moment and exhaled.
    Why was he still having these dreams? He’d arrived in town. No more worried anticipation. They should have stopped.
    Slowly, reluctantly, he lay back down. This time the details of his nightmare did not fade. In his memory, he stared at the shadowy outline of the angels’ wings—each stretching toward the other’s—thankful for the comfort they offered amid such a vivid, horrific vision. Dream , he corrected himself. Dream, not vision .

Chapter Seven
    “Nathan!”
    Beverly Dinneck swallowed her son in a hug and did not let go until Nathan pleaded for the right to breathe. His mother was a large woman and, as far as Nathan could remember, always smiling. She backed up a half step but continued holding him by the shoulders. “When you said you were chosen, I refused to believe it until I saw you in person!”
    She finally released him and brushed at his shirt and tie. Nathan had decided this morning to dress his best, especially these first few weeks. He’d slowly work himself back into jeans and sneakers as he became more established in the parish.
    His mother tried to restrain herself a moment longer, but could not. She attacked him with another choking hug.
    From behind them, a man’s voice said, “I hope you’ve got more than one suit. By the time your mother is done with you, that tie’s going to be twisted beyond recognition.”
    Nathan gave his mother another quick hug, then pulled himself free. He walked up to his father, leaning against the counter, and gave the man time to put down his coffee mug before embracing him. Art Dinneck’s hold on his son didn’t last as long as his wife’s but was nonetheless longer than usual. Before he gently pushed Nathan back a step he whispered, “Welcome home, Nate.”
    “Thanks, Dad.” With great relief he realized the warmth of this place, his home, had not changed with the fact that he was now his parents’ pastor. It was a good feeling, something secure to hang on to. He added, “How come you’re not at work?”
    Art fished out a second coffee mug from the cabinet as he answered. “Took the morning off. Left a message with them as soon as you called this morning. You almost missed me. Had my briefcase in hand.”
    “Hope I don’t get you in trouble.”
    “Naw.”
    His mother rinsed out two cereal bowls in the sink—they’d been finishing a late breakfast when Nathan arrived. “Is Pastor Hayden giving you the morning off?”
    “No, not really. We’re going to meet with the elders and a couple of committees. Some quiet introductions before my Grand Entrance on Sunday. I’ve got to be back at the church in about an hour.”
    Art poured the coffee for his son and gestured for him to sit at the table. Nathan did.
    “So, how is the old guy? He’s got be almost a hundred by now.”
    Nathan smiled. “Not quite. In his eighties, though. He’s doing all right. No different than when you saw him on Sunday.”
    Beverly made a noise at the sink and turned around. “Well, maybe if your father came to church more often, he would know that. Pastor Hayden asks about you every Sunday, Art.”
    Nathan looked at him. “You’re not going to church? Since when? The only time I can remember you missing services was when you had your gallstones yanked out. Even then, you insisted we record the entire thing so you could listen to it in