“Charlayne has a good heart,” I said, “but she can be a bit… easily influenced, I guess? That’s why I’m concerned.” I hadn’t caught the televised worship services, due to the lack of TV at Katherine’s, but I’d seen several segments from Cyrist ministers, including Conwell, the current Templar for the Sixteenth Street congregation, that were posted online. His smile was too polished and everything about him screamed fraud to me. When I’d attended the services earlier in the year with Charlayne, an older man had given the sermon, so I assumed that Conwell was his replacement in this timeline. The older guy hadn’t been particularly memorable as a speaker, but he didn’t give off the used-car-salesman vibe that I picked up from Conwell.
Mr. Coleman spooned some of the fruit salad onto his plate and smiled at Estella. “You know that I agree with you on philosophical grounds, Estella, but as your financial advisor, I have to tell you that your odds would be much better with the Cyrists than with any of the dealers in Atlantic City. I have several colleagues who are devout Cyrists and let’s just say that their stock portfolios are very healthy—one might even say suspiciously healthy. I’ve never been one to buy into conspiracy theories, but…” He shook his head. “Not something I’d discuss too much in public—Cyrists have some pretty major political connections—but I ran a statistical analysis of their primary stock holdings last year. Just out of curiosity. If you’re interested, Kate, I can show you next time you’re here.”
“I’d be very interested, Mr. Coleman.” I was sure that Katherine and Connor would find that information useful, too, although I wasn’t sure how I would manage to visit again before I left for Chicago.
Trey apparently had the same thought. “I’d actually be interested in seeing that research myself, Dad.”
“Sure. I’ll email you what I have after breakfast. But don’t share it with anyone other than Kate, okay? I wasn’t kidding about Cyrists having friends in high places.”
Much to my embarrassment, Trey had leaked the news about my birthday, and breakfast concluded with buñuelos—wonderful little doughnuts covered in honey. Mine had a single candle in the middle. When we finished, I stood to help Estella clear the table, but she shooed me away with the same wave of her hand she’d used on Dmitri. “Go, go. You have places to be. I already went to early mass this morning and I have nothing else to do all day.”
I glanced at the kitchen clock. “We probably do need to get moving, Trey, if we’re going to find a parking space. Charlayne’s dad had to park six blocks away last time.”
Trey looked a bit surprised, but we said our good-byes and headed toward his car.
The temple was only a few miles away, and as we approached I understood why Trey hadn’t been worried about parking. A three-level garage and several smaller Cyrist annex buildings now occupied two blocks to the north that had previously held an apartment complex, a few small shops, and several dozen townhomes. The temple itself, which had taken up a city block when I visited in early spring, now covered at least twice that. The surrounding area, which had been a bit run-down the last time I saw it, was dotted with upscale bistros, a Starbucks, and several other cafés.
“None of this is new, is it?” I gestured toward the garage and other buildings.
Trey shook his head. “The restaurants down the hill come and go every few years, but the rest of the area looks pretty much as it has for as long as I can remember. I thought you just wanted to get here early for some reason.”
He pulled into the garage, which was still more than half empty, and we headed toward the temple. It was a beautiful morning, but there was a heavy quality to the air that suggested it would be hot and humid by midafternoon. Several families and couples were walking ahead of us in the direction of the temple. Most were in their Sunday best and I glanced down apprehensively at my jeans.
The temple itself gleamed in the bright sunlight, a behemoth of white stone and glass. The main building was much larger than I remembered, and gave the impression of being larger still due to its soaring steeple and its position at the crest of a hill. Perched atop the steeple was a huge Cyrist symbol—similar to a Christian cross, but with a rounded loop at the top and flared at the bottom, like an Egyptian ankh. It was also rounded on both sides so that—if viewed from the back—the horizontal bar looked a bit like an infinity symbol. In front of this, at the very center, was an ornate lotus flower.
We climbed the steps to the main entrance and followed several others into a spacious foyer that bore little resemblance to the building I’d entered with Charlayne a few months back. Just inside the door, we were welcomed by a security guard who asked us to remove our shoes and step through a metal detector. I was halfway through when it occurred to me that the machine might pick up the medallion, but the guard handed Trey back his wallet and keys and nodded us toward the main foyer.