A knock sounded on the door of the tiny cleaning closet next to the first-floor bathroom. I hadn't been assigned a room to sleep in, and the door had been unlocked. After years of working in the baptismal, I was used to cramped quarters. In fact, I preferred it. Maybe one of Hendry's medical books touched on psychology and had a name for that.

When I opened the door, Hendry stood there, both palms braced against the sides of the frame, his hazel eyes lit by flames from the ...