The empty chapel stood quiet under the dim light of the stained-glass windows. Shadows stretched long across the stone floor, and the air smelled of old wood and candle wax. Father Andre paced slowly near the altar, his black robes swishing with each step. He was a tall man, over fifty, with a stern face lined from years of preaching fire and brimstone. His eyes, dark and intense, fixed on Kenneth, the young altar boy who knelt polishing the brass candlesticks.

Kenneth was nineteen, slim and boyish, with messy brown hair and wide blue eyes that always looked a bit scared around the priest. He wore the simple white robe...