Joanna said slowly, “You mean people contact you through your blog and you interview them? You decide if they’re worthy to be buried in this white tomb? They actually come?”
Whistler looked enraged at what she’d said, Ethan thought, but he held himself in check. Whistler looked down at Autumn, saw she was staring up at him, and said, “Naturally they are screened. We are serious about our secrecy here. Those who witness Blessed and Grace’s gifts are enthralled. They eagerly accept our rules. They come to learn about all those who came before us, hoping they might come to understand those gifts from God. When they see unlimited wealth and the promise of psychic powers, the problem is to select among them, to keep the unworthy out.”
Ethan said, “Do you enthrall them as well, Caldicot? Do you have a gift?”
“I will be given what is rightfully mine—”
“—in the fullness of time?” Joanna finished.
He swung the gun at her. Ethan was an instant away from jumping at him when Whistler took a quick step back. “Stop, Sheriff. I will kill you. Believe me.”
Ethan said, “I do indeed believe you, Caldicot. Do you know, I think you could be a model for Jesus except for the gun in your hand, and the blue eyes.”
“Ah, Jesus. I believe he was a good man, but I prefer the prophet Corinth. He is the Alpha and the Omega; he is the one we worship.”
Ethan’s eyebrow went up. “Corinth?”
“His was a magnificent power, not in the same way as Grace, but remarkable nonetheless. Perhaps Corinth did not have the goodness of Jesus and Grace, but he was a chaste man, a man of infinite wisdom, a man who could control those around him with a click of his fingers.” He snapped his fingers in their faces.
“I’ve never heard of a prophet named Corinth,” Joanna said.
He scarcely gave her a glance. “You are a woman. Why would you have heard of anything important?”
“I haven’t heard of him either,” Ethan said. “So this Corinth had a psychic ability that astounded people?”
“Corinth could read the secrets in men’s minds, knew what they truly wanted and how to manipulate them to gain whatever he wished. He was powerful and he was feared; no one dared touch him. All of us are here to try to understand the source of his powers, and of those who are gifted here among us. I wish Corinth were here, but he is not. Like poor Grace, Corinth is no longer of this earth.”
“Where did he do all these things to manipulate his fellow man?” Joanna asked.
“Corinth was an intimate of the Medici—first Cosimo, then Piero, and finally Lorenzo. He was their confidant, their adviser. It is written he left Italy after Lorenzo’s death in 1492. His death marked the end of the Golden Age of Florence. After came strife and war.”
Ethan said, “And you believe everything fell apart because Corinth was no longer there as the power behind the throne?”
“Yes, of course. It is said he died, that his time was at an end.”
“Where is all this written?” Joanna asked.
“You will ask no more stupid questions, woman.”
Joanna said, her face expressionless, “All right. Are we to assume that you seek to make yourself into this Corinth? Peas Ridge, Georgia—not exactly Florence, is it? Where’s your Lorenzo?”
Whistler looked as if he would explode.
“I never heard of him either,” Autumn said.
Whistler calmed at her voice. He smiled down at her. “You will, child, you will. It is believed by many, the Father included, that Corinth did not die. Father believes Corinth went to Spain after he left Florence, that he joined a cult of psychics that eventually ran afoul of Torquemada. They were called Los Niños en el Atardecer. Children of Twilight. Torquemada murdered them. He wrote of it, in great detail. He called them Adoradores del Diablo—devil worshippers.
“It is a concern that Torquemada did not write of Corinth’s capture along with the cult members in Spain, since the lunatic wrote about everything.
“The Father believes his incredible family descends from Corinth.” Whistler shrugged. “Who can say? It is appealing.”
Ethan said, “I thought you said Corinth was chaste.”
“He was. It was written that he had no family, but who knows?”
“So you see yourself as re-creating this group in fifteenth-century Spain? Who is this Father you keep mentioning?”
Whistler nodded. “You will find that out if he wishes it, Sheriff.” He looked again at Autumn, and his voice softened. “We have made great strides here at Twilight. This is a place of peace and seeking. It is a place where you will be happy, child.”