shroud of turin

“Right,” I said quietly. I stepped up to the altar and started seizing holy objects. The placard. The crown.
“Take these,” I said in a whisper, passing them to Valmont. “Get out of sight. Stow them in your pack if you can. Hide them somewhere else if you can’t.”
Valmont stared at me with her eyes wide. “Why?”
“They can’t be allowed to fall into the wrong hands,” I said.
“Dresden,” she said, “I’m in this for the money, and revenge if I get a chance at it. I’m not here for a cause.”
I clenched my jaw for a second, and then regarded her frankly. “Anna,” I said, “when have I ever done wrong by you? I need your help. Who do you trust more to get you out of here? Nicodemus? Or me?”
She stared at me hard for only a fraction of a second before she gave me a curt nod, and took them. She started stuffing them into her pack. She hadn’t filled even half of it with diamonds, and was able to slide them in. “Hey, is that the Shroud?”
“This one looks older and shabbier than the one you stole from the Church,” I said, rolling up the old cloth and stuffing it into my duster’s pocket. It was thin stuff, terribly thin, and made a smaller bundle than you’d think. “Hell, maybe that investigative panel was right. Maybe the Church does have a knockoff.”
“But I thought that one had power?” she asked.
“It did, but not like this.” My fingers still tingled from touching the cloth. “Besides, we’re talking about the power of faith, here,” I said. “Enough people believe that the fake is really the Shroud, maybe that’s enough to make it powerful all by itself.”
“Seems like a cheat.”
“Don’t knock it,” I said.


Skin Game Chapter 42, Page 350