Was it theoretically possible that Malachi had children?

Yes. It was. And if he did, they’d have been about that age. But he knew for a fact that Mable was not his daughter, not by blood, even if he loved her as if she was.

Malachi breathed in shallowly through his nose, his dark glare fixed unblinkingly on the man before him. It was all too familiar a feeling looking down at him, but it was one he could not easily or willingly define. They were too close. He knew that.

The explanations given were easy enough to believe, but… how did Arthur know all of that? In fact, how had he even known who Malachi was, when he’d removed his mask? He couldn’t recall ever seeing the doctor before that night, and certainly not in church. Malachi might have been a community leader, but surely his name reached farther than his face.

“Doctor Adams,” he said evenly. “Have you been watching me, or do you make it a habit to know about all your local priests?”

Whatever. It didn’t matter. He didn’t care. His arms crossed loosely over his chest, and he leaned back against the door to add another measly inch of separation.

“What did you come here for, really?”