The longsword's weight was still unfamiliar in her hands. To her eyes, she saw it this time-like a shimmering field around several blocks of Thule.
"There's definitely something going on," She had to agree with her…mentor, she supposed. He had spent a night teach her, roughly, how to use a sword. The week had gone by easily, after the movie night.
"It will be easier to spot when more of the Fragments are gathered. Right now, you're…a single spotlight. You can't cast light on all of it. So it's only a vague outline. But there's definitely a Root there." Cloaky seemed certain.
"What's a Root?" She asked, with a frown.
"I've managed to identify what type of enemy we're fighting," He began, in a lecturer's tone. "As a group, I suppose you could call them Sitra Acrah. That there is a Root, think of it as feeding off of humans. I'm not sure I could explain it, but think of it as feeding on your souls. That's the best way to put it." He seemed frustrated at being unable to properly explain.
I nodded. I understood how it felt to not have your words come out right. "So I've just gotta blow it up?" She felt, more than saw, Cloaky frown.
"We don't want civilians to get hurt. It would be best to infiltrate in human guise, and locate and destroy it." That made sense.
But she couldn't fit in at Asmodeus. She didn't do clubs, as a general rule-and there were some rumors that Asmodeus was also the nexus of the local 'red light district', such as it was. But…there was somebody she knew who could.
"...I think I need to get help." She said. Cloaky's feeling of frowning intensified.
"Who?"
"Margaret Bowlenn."
He thought, then hummed and nodded. "Very well. Tomorrow, we'll tear this root out."
This week had sucked. Abigail had been hustling about, all busy. Becca had been catching up on everything she'd been missing at school. Mary was somehow busier than the suddenly intensely busy Abby. Dad was in a mood, and also had been sleeping at the church. Mom was…well, I didn't know what Mom was doing. She was probably at work, or staying home with coworkers or friends. She used to be home more, when I was home more, but there was something of a reason neither of us made a habit of staying at home much these days.
All in all, it meant I was very, blatantly, painfully alone. Abigail had hustled off immediately after school with Margaret, of all people. So here I was, sitting in my truck, wondering what the hell I was going to do today. I'd sort of run out of stuff for me to do alone after five days of it. It was Saturday, now…
I was surprised by a rapping on my window. I blinked, and rolled it down. "Yes, Miss Hamilton?" The principal of our school stood there, and…
…she'd been a severe looking woman, but it was like she'd taken some magic pills and become a twenty something again. It didn't look right, really, but I figured she must've gotten plastic surgery, or something. "Ah, yes, Mister Matthews-"
"That's my dad. Call me Elijah." I scowled.
"-Elijah, then. I was wondering if you'd be willing to do an errand for me. Nothing for school." I frowned, but sighed and nodded. Weird or not, I was bored and unsure of what to do.
So I followed my principal to her office. It was…compulsively organized. At five points in the room, incense burned and made the room smoky and flagrantly sweet. Which was weird, but okay.
I was used to smelling incense, as my father was a priest. I sat in the chair in front of her while she rummaged through her desk. I waited patiently, but my focus began to slip, my eyes wandering around. The candles…were at five points in the office. Five…points. In a rough circle…
My focus was…
Wait.
My hand came up and I touched one shoulder and then the next as I sprang from my chair. "Our father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name…!" I choked out.
The principal's face twisted, and then it just fell off, revealing a figure for whom the incense surrounded and became blackened, forming a cloak of brimstone and smoke.
It rose, its fake skin boiling to rendered fat in places, rotting away in others, flash freezing and shattering into diamond dust. The smell of it sent my stomach rolling, and as I stumbled out of the office I struggled not to vomit.
It spoke in words that felt like chittering insects biting into my eardrum, my nose trickling blood suddenly. I could not understand them, but I finished the cross over my chest as I booked it through empty halls.
"Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on Earth, as it is in heaven…!"
"Quit pawing at your makeup." Margaret said sternly. "I don't really get it, but if you want to fit in at Asmodeus, you have to look the part." And yet, the other girl couldn't help but sound giddy.
She'd cackled in the fifteen minutes it took to apply makeup to Abigail. Still, as they reached the front of the line, the bouncer smiled. "Ma'am, welcome back. Malcolm said somebody left something for ya, go on and talk to him so he stops being twitchy, will ya?" Margaret laughed and nodded.
Abigail stayed silent, simply following Margaret, anxiety tightening her throat. This was a terrible, horrible, idea. She couldn't handle these crowds and strangers like this. At least Cloaky had been there…
…Before. He was gone, now, having vanished from the rooftop. She had a foreboding feeling, and it intensified her anxiety. This line was long, actually, there was so many people-it was hard to count all of them, but she still tried-
-her musing was interrupted when the bouncer put his arm in front of her. "Now, you don't look like you're old enough to be here…" He started. His gaze pinned her in place. She was holding up the line. All those people that she couldn't count were now going to be upset at her.
"She's with me. She won't be drinking anything in this club. Period." The piercing yellow eyes made Abigail eep and nod rapidly. At least she was a alone. Somebody she knew. Abigail focused on her, trying to ignore all those people she was holding up. The bouncer gave a 'tch', but let her through-he didn't like it though.
Abigail forced her legs to move, to hurry up and get close enough that she couldn't lose Margaret. The drum beat began to pound the moment the second interior door properly opened, and the singer's voice was upbeat-and once again there was so many people. She got to 13 and then 47 and then she was pretty sure something close to 70 but she couldn't tell because their silhouettes were blurred together on the dance floor-
"Knew this was a bad idea…" Margaret growled under her breath, but snatched Abigail's wrist. She led her through, through that overwhelming mass of movement and shapes and sound that was hammering itself into a single overwhelming something. None of it made sense, and she struggled to comprehend it. She couldn't just…ignore it.
It was easier, when she was transformed. She'd noticed instantly that it was easy to pick clarity from chaos like that. As if everything was cast in dawn light.
Still, she could trust Margaret.
She could trust Margaret.
I sprinted as hard as I could. Me chest heaved up and down in rhythm with my thundering steps. The school seemed totally, completely empty. I couldn't understand; it had only been twenty, twenty five minutes…
"Give us this day our daily bread," I panted. But the figure had wholly and totally become smoke and brimstone, ash trailing in it's wake. It kept trying to say something.
I turned a corner, "and forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors," and slipped, scrabbling with my hands to remain halfway upright.
The thing gained on me, smoothly cornering like half it's body didn't exist. An arm formed from ash into something like solid shadow, endlessly and totally devouring of black. Like Vantablack, but worse.
"And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever! Am-" The breath fled my lungs as it's arm touched me…
…and it just stopped mattering. Why flee it? I was so fragile. So mortal. Death would come, one way or another…
So why fight it?
Light flooded the room as a sound like thunder cracked through the halls. A breeze flooded through, and it filled my lungs, and I wondered why I had given up.
A cloaked figure stood twenty feet away, where before there was nobody. He had no face, but his skin was bronzed as if he worked under the sun. He stood tall, at an inhuman seven foot.
"Begone!"
"Begone!"
"BEGONE!"
Each word was a gospel choir in perfect harmony. Each word was the wind, whispering pleasantly through the grass. Each word was a thunderstorm, powerful and unquestionable.
The creature hissed, the smoke that made it's form seeming to become unstable, falling apart more and more with each word.
"You will not protect the Fragments forever, Keeper of the Emanation…!"
The cloaked figure stepped forward with a calm, self assured stride. "I cannot protect them from threats corporeal. But I can protect them from you, old ghost. Begone." The final word seemed to banish the brimstone with a final earrending scream.
He stopped and kneeled before me. My lips wouldn't form words. "Sleep, child of the Lord. Keep your faith, and you will find yourself."
My eyes tried to stay open.
But they fell, and I slept.
The private room allowed Abigail to squeeze her eyes shut and just…reorient. The distant thumping of the drums resolved into one extremely frenetic and hectic drumline. The world became more than shapes, that were hard to make out properly.
And now, inside, she could feel it. A pulsing drain, pulling at her and sliding off. But she watched as Margaret frowned. "Feels heavier in here tonight…" Still, she sat next to Abigail. "Why'd you need to come to Asmodeus, Abby?"
Abigail stared at her. "Youwon'tbelieveme." She blurted. "ButI'mamagicalgirl, and, somethingishurting, thepeoplehere." she watched carefully.
Margaret considered her, then frowned. A man came in, dropped a package on the table, and nodded. The rich girl sat back, searching Abigail. "Okay. Where?"
"You believe me?" Abigail asked, blinking.
"I'm willing to take some things on credit, for now. If something's hurting people, then it needs stopped. If you're not just crazy, then the authorities can't handle it. And…" She blew out a sigh. "...I want to be able to trust you. So I have to extend some trust, first."
Abigail blinked. She opened her mouth…and failed to speak. Margaret chuckled, and unwrapped the package. It was a simple platinum band, with a gem setting made of gold.
To Margaret, it was a piece of pretty jewelry.
To Abigail, she could see the core of Light in the gold.
And then someone on the dancefloor screamed.
