By 4:00 am, Kayla had given up.
She broke into the old National Bank Building just to climb onto
its roof and sit there, waiting for the sun to rise. She had walked
the extent of her assigned territory four times over. The Voice
of God was supposed to whisper her, tell her what had gone wrong
and what should not be. From tehre it should have been a simple
matter -- as simple as these things ever got. She would end whatever
threat there was and thus prove herself a Soldier of God. Kill
the demon. Placate the angry spirits. Whatever. All the things
she had trained for; scenarios she'd lived through in her dreams.
She had until the sun rose, but she already knew it wasn't going
to happen. Once again, she had strived for this honor. Once again
she had been deemed, for whatever reason, unworthy.
One of the first things that happened to a Candidate was the awakening
of past life memories. Kayla had only lived six other times.
Each time, she'd undergone the training, taken this test. She'd
yet to pass. Whatever flaw caused her rejection, again and again,
seemed to run to the core of her very soul.
The sky faded to cotton-candy pink. Kayla sighed, hearing a soft
footfall behind her. One of the Soldiers. His presence throbbed
in her mind; that, at least, she was capable of.
"Kayla. I'm sorry."
Johnathen, then. They'd sent the one who'd always encouraged her,
instead of one of her many detractors. A kindness, or a mockery?
She shrugged, not turning to look at him.
He pressed the earring into her hand. "An angel's wing, for peace of mind," he murmured.
She opened her hand to stare at the damned familiar earring. Shaped
like an angel's wing, it would let Soldiers know she could be trusted.
That she knew what they faced; that they could come to her for
help. She wouldn't have to wear it, to see the pity in their eyes
when they came. To broadcast that she couldn't cut it. Nobody
required her to name herself a Servant of God, as those who wore
the angel's wings were called.
She frowned. "Its black."
A wind whipped up between them. "It is."
She turned, then. "Its supposed to be silver. Its always silver."
Johnathen didn't so much as blink.
"John! Why isn't it silver?"
"Are you staying in the city?"
Kayla scowled. Damn them all anyway. Almost defiantly, she put
the earring on. It felt heavy. For one irrational moment she thought
it might rip her ear clean off.
She couldn't just bury it. She had a duty. She had to repay them
for their training, after all. They could take their pity and their
compassion and their understanding and shove it. But most of all,
they could shove their evasiveness.
"No. I'm going home."
"Kayla. There's no shame in it. Soldiers need the Servants as
much as the world needs the Soldiers."
"See you around, Johnathen," she said.
She'd lived cheaply in the city, and worked hard, saving as much
as she could. It was hard for a Soldier to keep a regular job.
Sometimes they had to leap up in the middle of the night, chase
down some supernatural threat miles away.
It was hardly a fortune, but it was enough to convince the bank
to give her a loan. Her grandmother's little cottage in the Ozark's
sat on a rather large plot of land. Perfect for a touristy little
bed and breakfast. The cool breezes and clean air of home soothed her soul.
Kayla flung herself into building the inn. Her days were filled
with contractors and receipts, sawdust and paint. Paper ads and
webpage designers. Sometimes she didn't think about the earring,
or Soldiers, for days at a time.
She named it Roses, after her grandmother. The week after it opened, the first of them arrived.
She didn't know him. He didn't give a name. She served him smooth,
dark coffee and a BLT, and wiped up the blood he left on her floor.
She tried not to think about the loss of revenue that giving his
room to him at no charge represented. It was her duty. It was what Servants did.
He stayed there for three days, sleeping, mostly. Kayla kept her
gun nearby, guarding him. For some threats, that would do as well as holy magic.
In her earlier lifetimes she'd been chatty, resigned. She'd ask
for stories, for whatever they were willing to share.
Nothing seemed to have changed on their end. Kayla saw them about
as regularly as she'd seen them the first six times. Perhaps there
really was no signifigance: black over silver.
"They're watching you."
His name was David. Throbbing with magic, but he was not a Soldier.
Incrediably good-looking, they'd spent a wild night together.
Until that single quiet comment, they'd made no mention of what
they sensed in one another. Now she lay, naked, across him as he touched her earring.
"Some of them aren't even here on missions. They're just coming
to keep an eye on you. They think you are jealous and that your
feelings may turn you against them. Let me guess -- not the first
time you've failed their tests?"
Kayla stiffened, her nails digging involuntarily into David's chest.
He stroked her hair. "Oh Kayla, who cares? They're good enough
sorts, but don't let those stiff-necked pricks keep you miserable.
I felt your magic all the way from the road. You've just been
turning it in the wrong direction, that's all. I could teach you. You'll outdo them all."
"Go back to your own room," she said.
"Kayla."
Her gun was never, ever, far away. She slipped it from beneath
her clothing pile. Solid and cold, its comforting weight steadied
the storm he'd caused in her heart. She just held it, though, not
even showing it to him. She'd never fired it at anything but targets
before. "Now, please." Her voice was shaking, but it wasn't fear.
David smiled. As if to demonstrate his mastery of the situation,
he rolled over and whispered a word. He faded from the room, going
who knew where. Kayla reached out, touched the space on the bed
where he'd been. It held no warmth.
A few days later there were no less than three of the Soldiers in
her kitchen. She ordered a pizza for them, which they devoured like teenagers.
They must have known about David, but they wern't sure what he'd
said, or what she had. Or they wouldn't have sent so many of them here, confirming his words.
She nibbled on a breadstick which she couldn't finish, then left,
slipping out of the kitchen. The screen door slammed behind her,
harder than she'd meant for it to. She didn't stick her head back
in to apologize. She stepped off of the porch, towards her cabin.
Halfway there, she realized she'd left her gun behind.
She'd taken it off, earlier, while squeezing under the kitchen sink
to repair it, not wanting to risk damaging the weapon if things
got too wet. Her grasp of plumbing was hit and miss. She'd slipped it into the breadbox.
Only one of the Soldiers was still conscious when she made it into
the kitchen. The youngest, a blonde boy who looked more like a
computer nerd than a Soldier of God was staggering around, holding
his head and moaning. A stack of empty soda cans went crashing
to the floor as he ran into the table.
This Soldier's magic was the weakest she'd ever felt in one of his
kind; how was he the one who was still...somewhat...functional?
It was a fleeting thought, racing through her brain as she retrieved
her weapon and slipped into the shadows of her pantry, waiting.
A dark, winged shape, so tall that it had to duck to get through
the door, emerged from the dining room. It gestured into the kitchen,
chanting in a low, gutteral growl. Kayla felt a small headache
come on; the effect on the Soldier was far more profound. He dropped
to his knees, screaming. Somehow, the demon was using their connection with the Voice against them.
She'd never shot a living thing before, but she was still an outstanding
shot. Kayla stepped out, fired. Once. Twice. Bullets slammed
home into the thing's burning yellow eyes.
It wouldn't necessarily kill it. But she was willing to bet that
the loss of its eyes would, at the very least, be a distraction.
It screamed, clutching its face. The Soldier drew his holy weapon:
for him, a dagger which cast its own silvery light. He plunged
it into the monster's chest, gasping and retching. The demon let
out a high pitched shriek, then shimmered and became a black cloud
and flew away. Not dead, then, but shocked enough to return to its own plane.
Kayla turned on the lights.
None of her guests came running. They hadn't heard a thing. Kayla
found the glyphs of silence inscribed on her doors. Her skin began to crawl.
"Thanks," the young man said. He held out a hand. "My name is Richard."
Richard's hand was covered in blood and vomit. Kayla opted to bow,
instead. He blushed, and retreated to the sink to wash up.
Kayla knelt beside Richard's companions. THere was a big black
man who was still holding a half-eaten slice of pizza. An Asian
woman, curled up in a fetal position. Kayla cleaned them up, producing
pillows, blankets, cots. They tended to favor her kitchen over
any other spot at the Rose, when they came. Kayla had finally just
prepared for it by devoting a pantry to bedding.
"Who knew God's blessing could turn out to be such a liability?" Richard sounded shaken.
"Anything can be, given the right circumstances." They always forgot
their own teachings. All magic connected to something, even holy
magic. The fact that theirs connected with the highest, the Voice,
didn't mean that the connection itself couldn't be attacked. Kayla
traced the shape of the silence glyph with one soft finger, and turned her eyes upon Richard.
He looked embarrassed. Then he dug through his pockets quickly.
He produced a silver angel's wing earring, which he held out to her.
"For peace of mind?" she said, without taking it.
"Yes."
She touched the black one in her ear and smiled slightly. "If you
hadn't liked what you saw out of me, Rick, you and your friends
--" she tapped the glyph, "You'd have killed me. Is that right?"
He looked away. "You know too much."
"I've served long."
"You'd have been -- "
"Too much of a liability," Kayla finished flatly.
He nodded, sighing. "What we do...it leads to some painful choices,
sometimes. But its God's will."
"I wouldn't do it." Kayla replied.
They used her, and "Servants" like her, as tools, and then killed
them if they stepped out of line? It was prudent. She had to agree
with that. Yet she found it disgusting as well. If they were the
righteous hands of God, it was a brand of righteousness that she
could not accept. She could forgive them for it -- the war against
the darkness was a harsh one, all the more harsh for the fact that
the world never saw it. But she could never, ever do such things herself.
Perhaps the Voice had not rejected her. Perhaps she had rejected it.
She took the silver earring. "God's will is perfect, Soldier.
But are your ears which hear it?"
Richard opened his mouth. Closed it. Shook his head.
"I suspect fear, and the desire to survive, clamor for attention
as well, despite your faith. You're only human, after all." Judge,
jury, and executioner -- if it even seemed like she'd listened to
David? Before she'd even done anything wrong?
Her hand shook with anger as she removed the black earring, replacing
it with the silver one. Richard held out his hand for the black
one. The one which warned she was to be trusted only so far.
She didn't return it. Instead, she slipped it into her pocket.
"I might need it again," she explained.
Richard blinked. "Wh--what for?"
She put the gun back in her holster, next. "Don't overstep yourselves," she said.
The screen door slammed behind her. The night was cold, and she
wanted her bed.
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