Seraphs tsc-2

by Faith Hunter

  “We took on your battles when we became partners in Thorn’s Gems, honeybunch,” Rupert said, strapping the sheath on his waist beneath his cloak. “When we first became friends. This was inevitable.”

  But he didn’t know what he was saying, what he was promising. He couldn’t. Behind us, Jacey stepped through the door with a blast of icy air, her boots on the wood floor telling me who she was as surely as if she had announced herself. It took a long moment for the door to close. “You people look… wicked,” she said, her voice muted. “Dreadful. And terrible. And exquisite. Like pure flame.” It was her trademark comment, flame having the power that purified gold and metal, and shaped glass. Her words fell like an omen on my soul. I didn’t want to look terrible, yet it was the effect I had planned for. It was the exact impression I wanted to make. And with two armed champards at my side, I could look nothing else.

  When I opened my eyes, I saw Jacey, wearing her finest, a scarlet velvet gown with long, full skirts, and a dark crimson cloak thrown back to reveal the dress. I was surprised she wore her best clothes. And then I wasn’t. In her own way, Jacey, too, was declaring herself a champard. Her brown hair was braided, and she was wearing lipstick, something she seldom bothered with. I blinked back a sheen of tears. “Who’s going to mind the store?” I asked.

  “We’re closing Thorn’s Gems. It’s been decided we need a show of force to combat the gossips, scandalmongers, and waggling tongues. Don’t argue,” she said as I was about to protest. “I need jewelry,” she added. Going to the emerald display case, she lifted out the chunky emerald necklace made of locally mined stone and draped it over her head. The pendant nestled in the velvet and caught the light. “This emerald find made all the news. It won’t hurt to remind the town fathers where a good bit of their tax base comes from.” She dangled emeralds from her ears, and slid three emerald rings on her fingers. On her wrists went matching knitted cuffs, stitched with beads, which caught the light.

  Calm, she looked us over, her gaze lingering on me, on the hem trailing from beneath my battered war-cloak. Her brows went up but she didn’t comment. Instead she looked over the door to the loft, at the framed, embroidered proverb hanging there. It was my birth prophecy, the divination that claimed my twin and I would be great warriors against Darkness. A Rose by any Other Name will still draw Blood. The prophecy that could never come true because Rose was dead.

  “You don’t have a family,” she said, “except us. And family doesn’t desert family. Lock up, boys. Thorn. Big Zed and the kids are waiting.” Regal, she floated through the room and out the door.

  “You ever see her like that?” Audric asked.

  “Yeah, with her kids,” Rupert said morosely. “Best not to argue. She’ll box our ears.”

  “Do tell. I’d like to see her try.” Flipping his palm up and out, Audric said, “After you, little mage.”

  Dread tight in my chest, I followed Jacey into the sleet, my walking stick tapping for balance, the bloodstone handle-hilt of its hidden sword warm in my hand. With a deft movement, I freed my cloak’s hood and pulled it over my head. Sleet had formed a brittle layer on top of the softer snow, and my boots cracked through, sinking to mid-shin. The town was quiet except for sleet landing with a secretive patter.

  A snow-el-bile—a hybrid, battery-powered car modified with snowmobile sled runners—raced past, sliding and slipping. Another el-car, this one painted with the logo of the Satellite News Network and equipped with a rotating track like a bulldozer, churned toward us on the slick surface. Chasing a seraph sighting, reporters from SNN had been stranded in town when a blizzard hit and were desperate to find something to share with the nation before their superiors and fans forgot they existed. Or they could take the mule train back to civilization. Not a fun prospect. Oliver Winston had tried to interview the local mage, as had his companion reporter, Romona Benson. So far I had managed to avoid them.

  From every building and storefront, town citizens emerged, locking up behind them. Some delivered surreptitious glances our way. Others turned away as if we didn’t exist. Only a few acknowledged us, and I made note of them: Esmeralda Boyles—Miz Essie—who trudged across the street to join our little cavalcade; Sennabel Schwartz, who ran the local library; and her husband, whom I didn’t know. A few others followed.

  I smelled Thaddeus Bartholomew, a state police cop and Rupert’s cousin, across the street before I saw him, his body throwing pheromones into the air like an advertisement for pure sex. Thadd was a walking come-hither machine, and I wasn’t the only one to notice. Human women turned, finding him with their eyes without knowing why. His face was haggard, pain lines cutting through once-smooth flesh. Hiding among humans, half human, part seraph, part mage, his genetic heritage was jumbled. Stuck between forms, the change into third-generation kylen had halted. But the enzymes catalyzing his transformation were still active and, because I knew what to look for, I could see the slight humps on either side of his spine where infant seraph wings had begun to emerge.

  “Can anyone join this parade, or is it only for the blood kin and the condemned?” a voice drawled. I cast Eli Walker a quick smile. The lithe, almost delicate man was leaning against the wall of the dry-goods store, his booted feet crossed at the ankles, partially blocking the walkway. I figured he was one of the people Audric had phoned when preparing for my trial.

  Eli was part-time miner, part-time tracker, a great dancer, and a spiffy dresser. Today he was decked out in Post-Ap cowboy gear: jeans, hobnailed boots, cowboy hat, and fringed leather jacket. Around his neck was an old Indian necklace of dyed wood beads, glass beads, and porcupine quills on a woven, knotted jute thong. Eli liked me, and not for the jewelry I could make, the charms I might conjure, or my money, though he brought raw emeralds from his claim to Thorn’s Gems and bartered high prices for them. Some of them hung around Jacey’s neck, and I saw him glance at them before he looked back at me. His lips lifted in a slow smile, the kind that excluded everyone else present and spoke volumes to intent. He’d been trying to get me into bed for weeks.

  “All help is welcome,” Jacey said.

  “Then you won’t mind if I escort my mama into the meeting.” Boots scratching across the ice as he stood upright, he intercepted Miz Essie and took her arm. “I imagine she’s going to side with you. She always sides with the underdog, and that means trouble.”

  “You’re a good boy,” the older woman said, patting his face, “but you should have shaved. Shame on you, and you so pretty.” A dark fuzz of beard grizzled his cheeks. It looked good below his odd amber-colored eyes. Very good.

  “Yes, Mama, I am.” He kissed the leather glove over her knuckles, his eyes on me as his lips touched. His expression said clearly that he’d like to kiss me, and wouldn’t stop at the knuckles. I blushed hotly and Eli chuckled. It was disconcerting. “And you’re a pot of trouble filled to the brim.” He still spoke to his mother, but I was his target. And when he stood, I saw he was prepared for trouble of the worst sort. Beneath the buckskin jacket he wore a white flannel shirt with guns holstered beneath each arm. The hilt of a baselard, a short sword with a two-foot-long blade, was strapped across his back.

  “No fighting,” I said, my tone fervent. “Neomages never start violence against humans. Never.”

  “Don’t reckon they do,” Eli agreed. “But they damn sure finish it when they’re attacked.” His mother gasped and my flush deepened at his casual swearing, but he was right. He’d seen me fight. And the history books confirmed his claim. Unrepentant at his coarse language, Eli grinned at me. “And I also reckon I don’t much feel like being on the losing side in this little internecine war some town fathers and orthodox elders have cooked up.”

  “What have you heard?” Audric asked, his hands gripping the hilts of his weapons beneath his cloak. Two el-cars skidded past us and disappeared. Silence settled on the landscape, broken by footsteps and the rustle of people on the move. Sleet peppered over my hood.

  “Since Jacey called? L
ittle here, little there. Enough to know some folks got less sense than balls. Your pardon, ladies.” He tipped his hat as his mother swatted him. The unmistakable affection between the two made me appreciate Eli, maybe more than I should. As if he knew what I was thinking, he winked at me. “We should make an impression, though, when we all stomp in the room together. Just hope it’s enough of an impression to count for something. Make a few people think instead of getting all heated up and mob-minded. The progressives and reformed are diddling about whether to intercede in her behalf. Politics by committee sucks, but it’ll suck more if the three groups come to blows.”

  That was what I dreaded, a mob scene. Under my cloak, I shivered and slid my fingers through the ring of my prime amulet. With my other hand, I levered myself along, walking stick tapping. Its vibrant green-and-red bloodstone hilt warmed my palm. It was also a prime amulet. Most mages had only one prime. I had two. I hoped I wouldn’t need to drain them both dry today just staying alive. And keeping my friends alive.

  I should have been warmed and gratified by the supporters around me, should have been persuaded that numbers would make a difference to the future I feared. But I wasn’t. Instead, I remembered the morning’s dream and the cry of the lynx. My fingers found and worried the tiny release that allowed me to pull free the long blade. For fighting.

  As we moved up the street, Eli stepped close. In a laconic tone he said, “Some of my boys been hearing rumors about a seraph trapped in the Trine.” I whipped my head to him. “From when you went underground? Seven seraphs went in after you and only six came out.”

  I had no idea who his boys were or why he might mention that now, but I nodded stiffly. “Yes. One is still underground. Trapped.”

  “Hmm,” he said. Which told me nothing. He pushed back the brim of his hat, allowing the weak sunlight to warm his amber eyes. “Let me know when you decide to go back after him. I’ll tag along. Watch your back.”

  “I will never—never—go underground again,” I said quickly, preventing a shiver of fear before it took me.

  “I see,” he said. “Fine. Sure. Whatever.” And the miner fell behind me.

  When we rounded the long curve and saw the former Central Baptist Church ahead, my hopes dwindled. The building was no longer used for religious services. It was now the town meeting hall. Out front of the old building a throng of people milled, split into two factions, an informal welcoming party to either side of the entry doors. The group with me faltered and nearly stopped. We would have to walk between the two crowds to gain entry. Well, in one way that was symbolic of what I had done to the town: Divided it utterly.

  Murmuring voices raised on the cold air as black-clad orthodox and angry men in one group debated in loud voices with the smaller, more colorful progressive and reformed crowd. I figured it was the first time the orthodox and the rougher elements of Mineral City had ever agreed on anything. Too bad that agreement was to kill me. And too bad the other, smaller group looked so cowed. If I was attacked, they would probably run instead of coming to my defense.

  I was so toast.

  Chapter 5

  Brisk footsteps gained on us and I felt, more than saw, Audric whirl and half pull his short blade. I spun, ready for anything, but it was Elder Jasper and his pretty blond wife, Polly, who had been a half block behind us. “Morning, folks,” the elder said, his gaze touching each of us, a warning conferred in his expression. “Hope you don’t mind us slipping in front of you.” His voice dropped, not carrying beyond our small troupe. “Seems some folk might need reminding that violence is punishable by kirk sanctions.”

  Jasper glanced at me as he passed, his eyes saying as clearly as his voice would have, Wait! Instantly he looked away, raising his arm. “Morning, Earl! Ephraim. Howard! How you boys doing today?” He and Polly pulled ahead of us. “I wanta thank you for showing up at widder-woman Henderson’s yesterday. That ramp you boys put together for the old lady was the blessing of the year for her. Louis, missed you at kirk Sunday. Hope you’re feeling better. Richard, good to see you again. Glad you’re back in town. Joseph, hope that ulcer is better. Saw the new el-car. They call that color seraph blood, don’t they? Florence, I see you’re feeling better, making new friends, getting out some. I look forward to finding you back at jubilee this week.”

  I slowed, watching the effect of the elder’s greetings. Louis looked away. Louis drank a bit. More likely he was hung over rather than sick. Richard ran an ongoing card game. Gambling kept him too busy to attend many services, and he stepped away, into the crowd, as his absence at religious events was commented upon. Gambling was punishable by branding.

  Rumor had it that Joseph owned a still in the hills nearby, a still that made him rich and a lot of town men too drunk to worship or work. He too melted into the dissipating groups of troublemakers. Florence was a firm orthodox. A kirk elder placing her name in context with rabble-rousers made her flush.

  “Mrs. Abernathy, no need to worry about Hannah Zelmack. That was all rumor. She isn’t pregnant at all, let alone by a married man.”

  Mrs. Abernathy blanched. “I never said—”

  “Of course you did. To all sorts of people. Let’s get inside and seated, why don’t we?” Elder Jasper said, shooing cowed people up the steps with his hands. “Otherwise this crowd’ll disrupt the meeting. Thorn, Rupert, after you.” He gestured us past the dispersing group and inside. Most of the crowd filed in behind us, boots scuffing, pews groaning as they sat. At the door, Jasper said, “I believe there’s a special place for Thorn with the elders up on the—”

  “Thorn will be sitting with us,” Audric said. His tone brooked no disagreement, and Jasper smiled and took his wife’s arm.

  “Of course. This way, Polly, dear.”

  Audric maneuvered us to a pew midway down on the left and paused. The location was an odd choice until I saw the fire door set into the wall, a quick way out if needed. He leveled a gaze on the pew’s occupants. I don’t know what they saw in his expression, but all six people scrambled out the other side and into pews many rows back. The row behind took the hint and vacated as well.

  Satisfied but dour, Audric held my arm when I would have gone in first, letting Rupert lead the way, trailed by Miz Essie and Eli, Jacey, Big Zed, and their brood. When they were all in place, he released my arm and shoved me down in the pew ahead, seating me in the aisle seat as if I were a mannequin he was positioning for display. Audric slid into the pew behind me and sat. No one sat beside me. It was the only empty seating in the full church.

  A sour miasma rose, the collected odors of humans, damp mold, and old building. The Central Baptist Church had survived a battle on the Trine, the towering, three-peaked rock face that had risen two thousand feet during an underground war fought by seraphs and humans against minions of Darkness. Constructed of stone, the building’s foundations rested on a single rock, making the church a place of power to me. Unknown to the elders, it was a conduit to the power of the deeps. I was lucky to have been brought here and not to the kirk. That building was set above a streambed, not stone.

  A gavel banged, bringing a deeper quiet to the silent crowd. The town fathers were seated at a long table to the right of the stage, the table set at an angle to the audience so they could see and be seen, yet leave a wide space for proceedings. One of which would be me, I reminded myself. Sweet seraph.

  Across the aisle to my right, Lucas slipped into a seat, Ciana beside him. My ex-husband inclined his head, his lips turning up. As always, my heart somersaulted. Lucas Stanhope was the most beautiful man I had ever seen, even when wasted from weeks of captivity. His cheeks were sharply defined, brow wide, nose a perfect line, blue eyes making every girl in town sigh. Too bad he was a lying, woman-chasing cheat.

  His eight-year-old daughter from his first marriage, the child of my heart if not my body, waved, a bright smile on her face. Dismayed, I waggled my fingertips at her. She shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t see a town meeting. She should be safe, in school, where
illusions about her world and the people in it wouldn’t be shattered. Yet, even knowing that she should be carried away and protected, I was glad to see her, her bright eyes alight with hope and trust. Ciana’s presence brought a measure of peace to me that I badly needed.

  The girl was small for her age. She crawled into her father’s lap, her back to his chest. Her legs were encased in thick leggings and kicked on either side of his, her arms twined with his around her waist over her padded coat. The seraph pin she always wore peeked out. The old church had no heat and her breath puffed, tiny clouds joining the breath of the throng. Lucas leaned over and whispered, “She wouldn’t go to school. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. Said she had to be here.” He kissed Ciana’s head with a worried frown and sat back.

  The gavel banged again. The chairman of the town fathers was Elder Shamus Waldroup, a baker and also the senior judge over all civil and criminal disputes brought before the district court. Shamus called out, speaking with the thick mountain brogue of his generation. “The meetin’ of the town fathers of Mineral City will come to order. I see we have quite a crowd for today’s proceedings, and a long docket. Let’s get on with it. Court’s in session.”

  The old man’s dark-skinned balding head caught the light as he peered from the dais into the seats of the condemned. “First item of business is the judgment on two caught cursing. Their iniquitous words were heard by an elder. Upon questioning at the last town meeting, they confessed, sentences were pronounced, and will be carried out posthaste.”

  The smell of smoke blew through the old sanctuary on a gust of cold air as a brazier was carried into the room from one of the doors at the front. Once upon a time, a choir would have proceeded through, robed and singing praises. Now it was five burly, brown-robed elders, all armed, acting as bailffs. Two carried long poles with a portable brazier suspended between, the iron brazier glowing red-hot. The others held Bibles and branding irons, all in the sign of the cross.