Sanya swore and rubbed at his face. Then he said, “Come.” I followed him through the halls in the back of the enormous church until we got to the staff’s kitchen. He went to the fridge, opened it, and came out with a bottle of bourbon. He poured some into a coffee cup, drank it down, and poured some more. He offered me the bottle. “No, thanks. Aren’t you supposed to drink vodka?” “Aren’t you supposed to wear pointy hat and ride on flying broomstick?”
