“Ahoy!” he said. “Two strays out in the rain. You’re two little kitties got lost, ain’t ye?”

His eyes were wide and loony in the lightning-light. His grin was too wide, his teeth crooked and awkward. This wasn’t right. We needed to leave, and now.

“Folks after you?” he said. “I seen their fires, I seen their lights. Looking for you, aren’t they? Who else would they be looking for except two little stray kittens lost out in the rain?”

“I ain’t any kitten,” I said.

“Me neither,” said Tally.

“Hmm,” said the priest. He rubbed his chin, all thoughtful. “Yes, yes, maybe that’s the wrong word. It could be no disgrace to you, of course, though the felines might take offense, truth be told. Nothing stronger than a stray cat, and that’s a fact. Nothing scrappier, nothing better at surviving. I’ve seen snow and rain and hail fall on a litter of kitties, and I’ve seen them crawl back meowing for food come spring, come summer. I’ve seen hurricanes blow houses away, but the stray kittens are fine, they’re always fine. So if it’s the word ‘kitten’ that’s set you against me, well, I would say the mistake is yours, children.”

The priest tilted his head all crooked at me, same way a bird does, and blinked twice. I squinted back at him, the rain battering my face.

“Well, come in out of the rain,” he said. “Though the rain does get through this roof indeed, but only in little droplets, sprinkles, like a blessing. A holy blessing, every raindrop is. They have names, they do, each one. God names them, and he knows them, before they splash into the great pool of things and become a part of greater water. Even then he knows their names. Just as he knows yours. Do you know God’s name, children?”

“Let’s get out of here,” whispered Tally. “This guy’s nuts.”

I nodded at her.

“So long, mister,” I said.

But we heard voices then, hollers above the thunder, and on the far side of a thicket of cypresses and dry land came the glow of lanterns. A search party. Out hunting for us.

“Go if you must,” said the priest. “Go and I bless you. But know this, kitty-children. There is always refuge for you in the church! Yes, in my church! Where the water rises”—he pointed down to the flood that was long past his knees—“and the love always rains down from above.”

He reached his arms out long and wild, the sleeves rolling down over his skinny bare scarred arms, his fingers outstretched, like he was trying to wrap his arms around the whole building.

More hollers from the fog and rain. I didn’t know what to do. I was scared to trust this man, this crazy bearded old fella in his burnt-down sunk-down ruined church, but I was more scared of being caught by Boss Authority’s men. It didn’t feel like there was a right thing to do. Then I remembered something from a conversation Mom and Pop had a long time ago, something about water and love being the two strongest things there were. I guess I’m saying there was something about this priest that I liked.