My meeting with Bishop Roberto Montoya was not what I had expected.
He agreed to meet me for noon tea at a little bakery down the street from Father Callahan’s parish. Demons are invulnerable to most attacks; the only thing capable of completely destroying a demon is pure faith in something based on goodness. The Church had spent centuries battling demons, and the essence of their convictions seeped into the very walls of their churches. Merely walking past a church on a normal day was an uncomfortable experience for me, stepping inside one now would be crippling.
Bishop Montoya’s dark, intelligent eyes took in everything about me, lingering for several moments on my hair and neck tattoos. I waited for the inevitable grimace or even just a raised eyebrow, but he gave me nothing. His face was as serene and impassive as a statue.