Lightning flashed, a flicker of silver-white in the corner of his eye, that had hardly registered with him until the inevitable clap of thunder shook the floorboards with stentorian force. It dislodged him from his absorption of the book in his hands (an old, dog-eared edition of The Screwtape Letters whose broken spine required a delicate, diligent care while he read), and Nyx had turned his attention to the window just in time to witness another strike of light splintering the inky sky, webbing fantastically before thunder struck again, this time anticipated with an expectant smile on the priests’ lips.
A quick glance at his bedside clock informed him hat he was nearly an hour late locking up the church doors, a task that should have been left to the administrative assistant, if she’d bothered to come in today. As such, it was his duty and his fault alone that he’d lapsed in it, and Nyx drew himself to his feet with a groan. Arms stretched overhead, he drummed idly upon the lintel as he passed into the hall, shuffling down it to the church’s inner sanctum.
The rain sounded even worse as Nyx checked the doors down the length of the nave, though he suspected that it was due in part to the fact that the sound had multiplied by the reverberation in the hall. But it still sounded awful. He pushed open the front door in his curiosity, to find that the rain was even worse than he’d thought. Like some equatorial torrent. Like a storm out of the Old Testament.
It shouldn’t have surprised him, then, to see a young man huddled against the wall, seeking what paltry shelter the eaves might have afforded him. Nyx had been ready to offer him directions to the nearest shelter, but realized that in the inclement weather, they’d be harder pressed to be able to help those in need. Charitas surged in his chest and he swung the doors open wider, his head flicking to direct the young man within. “It’s too cold,” Nyx informed him. “You’re better off inside. You coming in? I’m not about to get pneumonia waiting on you, kid.”
He noted the hesitation, the inured distrust in his eyes. “I was just about to put dinner on, too. You’re welcome to join me. Probably better than whatever they've got going on at the shelter tonight. But not by much.”
