Blind Sight

by Nicole Storey

  “Your job is done here, Ira.” Gabriel walked over to where Jordan lay on the floor, the blood from her back soaking into the sawdust around her like water on desert sand. “I suggest you leave now. I won’t ask again.” He turned his back on his chubby brother with the posh suit and attitude to match. Now there was emotion flowing from Gabriel’s body, as tangible as the sun. He was angry. Jordan had witnessed his wrath only a few times in her life. Thankfully, it was never directed at her. A pissed-off angel could give you nightmares for weeks, even when you weren’t on the receiving end.

  The beating of wings signaled Ira’s departure. Gabriel, his anger replaced with concern, knelt down beside Jordan. With a wave of his hand, her wounds healed. He helped her to her feet. Unfortunately, her shirt couldn’t be saved. She held it over her breasts, not really concerned with what he could see. There wasn’t much room for modesty when you lived in a house full of men. It was cute the way he blushed, averting his eyes.

  Of all the angels, Gabriel was the most human in her opinion, but maybe she was biased. He’d been with her all her life, watching over her and her family, protecting them when he could. Still, most angels she knew lost their humanity – their ability to empathize and relate. It happened over eons of time. They were no longer familiar with anything in this world, including the people. Earth was a long forgotten toy most of them lost interest in a long time ago. They only defended it and its people out of loyalty to God. Gabriel made it a point to visit more often. Unlike many of his brothers and sisters, he actually cared. Though his home was Heaven, he still found beauty in this world.

  “Jordan, I’m sorry. I was engaged in other matters when Michael sent Ira to…reprimand you.” Gabriel looked away, clearly ashamed of his brother’s behavior.

  She wanted to blame him for not being there, but she couldn’t. Even in Heaven, there was succession – a chain of command angels followed. Under God, the archangels were next in line. They gave orders from Him and in His absence. Michael and Gabriel were both archangels, but Michael was older, so he still ranked higher than her Guardian. Gabriel may not have been able to stop him, but he sure as hell would have tried, and she knew it.

  He looked so sad. Jordan and her family were Gabriel’s only charges, and she knew he felt bad for Ira’s whipping. His golden-hazel eyes looked upward. Maybe he was talking to Michael in that special way they had of communicating or perhaps asking God why she was punished for wanting one night with her family. If she knew him (and she did), he was probably doubting his ability to protect her.

  “Gabe, it’s okay. I’m okay. Thanks for showing up.” Brave words -- what she really wanted to do was throw herself into his arms and cry. He would have let her. Gabe would have stood there, awkwardly patting her newly healed back and letting her bawl all over his Polo shirt. She wished she could.

  He was an attractive angel. In human form, Gabe looked about thirty-five or forty-years old. He was clean shaven, with sexy dimples and a lopsided smile that could make her heart go pitter-pat if she was interested in him that way. She wasn’t. Jordan cared about him deeply, maybe even loved him, but her feelings were strictly platonic.

  After he finished praying or whatever it was he was doing, Gabriel turned his attention to a spot on his right. The sound of wings fluttered through the stable. Jordan blinked, and just like that, Michael was there. Could this day get any worse?

  Shaking her head in disbelief, she said, “Really?! For a bunch of stiff-shirts who claim to be so damn busy, how is it you always have time to harass me? Shouldn’t you be off somewhere collecting souls or beating old ladies with their canes?”

  Michael’s expression was stoic, as always. He never smiled, never got upset. Thousands of years of practice made him a master of deceit. In his college professor voice, he stated, “We don’t collect souls; that is a Reaper’s job. We also don’t beat old ladies.”

  The fact that he took her impudence literally proved he needed to get out more. Jordan might have laughed, if she actually liked the man. Unfortunately, she would rather sit through three root canals and an insurance seminar than spend three minutes with Michael.

  “Oh, that’s right. You don’t beat old ladies, just teenaged girls.”

  Michael eyes cut quickly to the blood-soaked floor and back again. “An unfortunate incident.”

  Jordan clenched her fists to keep from decking him. In Michael’s mind, her whipping was no more severe than a child’s time-out. It was more than she could take. Rage gave her a false sense of power, and she closed the gap between them in two quick strides, getting right in the angel’s face. For the first time ever, she got a reaction from him. He actually flinched. Michael was afraid…of her. Well, that was new.

  “You call it an unfortunate incident,” she snarled. “Down here, it’s called assault. You might want to remember that because the next time you send your flunky to punish me, Uncle Case and I will look up some lore on how to banish an angel. Get my drift? I might not be able to kill Ira, but you can be damn sure I’ll do a lot of damage to that hideous human disguise he wears.” She touched the knife on her side for emphasis.

  Her eyes were burning but she refused to rub them, even when they began to water. She stared at Michael, refusing to back down first. Finally, he looked to Gabriel before walking over to Archer’s stall.

  “Jordan, calm down,” Gabriel said.

  She didn’t realize she was shaking until he placed his hands on her shoulders. Unshed tears from her irritated eyes spilled over onto her cheeks. She rubbed them while taking deep breaths. When she took her hands away, the burning was gone.

  Gabriel averted his eyes again. She realized what was left of her shirt had slipped down her arms. Her black bra stood out starkly against her cream-colored skin. Jordan rolled her eyes, pulling the shirt back up to cover as much exposed skin as possible.

  Michael strolled back over, composed – not a blonde hair out of place. He took a parade-rest stance, hinting of his military responsibility in Heaven. He was tall, well over six feet. Muscles strained beneath his suit jacket. He reminded Jordan of a modern day Thor, sans the hammer; although he might have Mjolnir stashed somewhere. “Jordan, you are to report your vision to Casen and the boys immediately. Is that understood?”

  Suddenly tired, Jordan wished only for dinner and a quiet night in front of the boob-tube. She was so sick of this life.

  “No, I won’t.”

  The angel blinked. “You will. Those are the rules of the Circle.”

  “Screw your Circle, and shove another stick up your orifice while you’re at it, Michael. I’m sure there’s room.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Jordan sighed. It was a shame modern insults were lost on this bunch. Still, she’d keep trying.

  “You have members of the Circle in states closer to Tennessee than we are. Send them.”

  “Your family is the best – the most experienced.”

  “Not our problem.” Michael took a breath to speak again, but she cut him off. “We have given our entire lives to your Circle! My brothers and I were raised in hotel rooms. We didn’t have Christmas or birthday parties. We didn’t get to go to school or have friends. While other kids were playing hide-and-seek and football, we were shooting guns, making silver weapons, and training to be killers!”

  The burning in her eyes returned. Jordan rubbed furiously at them before they could water. She was afraid Michael might mistake the tears for weakness. At that moment, she would have killed him if she could. She’d never felt so strong, so full of hate. It scared her. Instinctively, her hand reached for Gabriel. He hesitated for a moment, but eventually came to her, offering his strength. She held on tightly.

  “Just one night…that’s all I’m asking for. Please. My brothers are tired. They need some rest.” She began to cry in earnest, despising herself for it. She looked to Michael. Jordan couldn’t be sure, but she thought she detected a softening in his expression.

  “The Circle has taken everything from us
,” she whispered. “Can’t we just keep one thing for us? Can’t I have my family – what’s left of it – together for one night?”

  “Jordan, you have no idea how important the Circle is. In order to keep this world alive, Evil must be kept in check. There has to be balance. Angels can’t be everywhere – we can’t do this alone. There are extenuating circumstances I cannot talk about with you. Just know this: Evil is getting stronger. Now, more than ever, we need to keep the Circle together and fight.”

  Jordan looked away. He wasn’t going to give in. Her family meant nothing to Michael; they were just a few of the many pieces on his chess board to be moved at will. She wasn’t playing anymore.

  “If you want my family to know about the vision, tell them yourself. Oh, and find another Seeker, too. I quit.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heel and started for the door. On her way out she yelled, “By the way, you owe me a new shirt!”

  Chapter Four

  Uncle Case’s butt was planted firmly in his favorite rocker on the wide front porch of the farm house. A beer sat on the small table beside him; a book rest in his large hands. After his brother – her father – dropped off the face of the earth while on his way to the store for supplies, Casen Bailey became patriarch of the family, raising Jordan the best way he knew how. He’d made many mistakes the past five years, but Jordan was grateful to him for holding their family together.

  As she pounded up the steps, Uncle Case looked up from his book. When he caught sight of her disheveled appearance and ripped shirt, he sighed.

  “Well,” he drawled, taking a swig of beer, “look who’s been stirring up the hornets’ nest again.” He shook his head. “Should I be worried?”

  “Nope,” she answered, yanking on the storm door. The blasted thing always stuck. Before she could wrangle it open, Quinn appeared on the other side. She never heard him coming – he could move like a ninja.

  Quinn motioned for her to step back. He jiggled the handle; the door swung wide. Jordan waited for him to come out, giving him a wide berth. She wasn’t afraid of him, but he never liked for her to get in his personal space.

  He stepped out on the porch with a beer of his own. She pretended to be interested in the floor boards as she waited for him to pass. Instead, he placed a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to turn around so he could examine her back. Uncle Case watched in silence.

  Without a word, he let her go. She watched his retreating form as he shuffled to the porch swing. He looked exhausted.

  She reached for the door handle, intending to make a quick getaway, when Quinn’s voice stilled her hand. He so rarely spoke to her without yelling. The sound of it, calm, beautiful, made her want to cry – to beg for forgiveness.

  “Tell me why.”

  Jordan chose to look out across the yard instead of answering. Her eyes rested on the cars, always backed in for easy access to their weapons and fast departures. She and her brothers were obsessed with classic muscle, while Uncle Case preferred to drive land yachts for their room and durability. He also had a penchant for plaid shirts, cowboy hats, and many other things he probably shouldn’t. Her baby was a midnight-blue 1968 Ford Mustang Fastback. Her brothers usually took Quinn’s 1966 black Dodge Charger when they went on jobs, but Nathan had a sweet, dark-red 1969 Chevy Camaro SS for himself. In their small town of Dixon’s Bluff, where pick ups and swamp trucks were the norm, their vehicles stood out like a drag queen at a redneck barbeque. However, with a population of only five-hundred plus people, everyone knew everyone and their family’s car-crush was a mild fetish compared to some in this back woods hole.

  “Are you gonna answer me or stand there all day with your shirt hanging open?” Quinn clenched his jaw, running his hand through his hair. “I swear, Jordan, it’s like you piss them off on purpose! Do you enjoy being whipped? Are you into some sort of kinky shit we don’t know about?”

  “Quinn, don’t start.” Uncle Case set both feet on the floor with a loud thump.

  From the corner of her eye, Jordan saw Michael and Gabriel coming from the barn. She’d bet her signed Daughtry CD Michael was having puppies because she’d quit the Circle, and she seriously loved Daughtry. He probably couldn’t wait to tattle, hoping her family could change her mind – the prick.

  As they reached the porch, she turned to Quinn. He looked from her to the angels and back again.

  “I’ll tell you why,” she whispered. “Either way, I was going to be punished. You would’ve gotten mad and yelled at me. Ira would have beaten me. I chose the lesser of the two evils – the one that would heal.”

  She was sliding the cobbler in the oven when the sound of wings behind her almost made her drop the casserole. She slammed the door, rattling the salt and pepper shakers sitting on the cook top. Turning around, she found Gabriel standing beside the scarred breakfast table.

  “Dammit, Gabe, don’t do that!”

  He smiled and some of her anger melted away.

  “I’m sorry. I wanted to see if you’re okay.”

  Jordan nodded, checking the beans in the crockpot. “I’m fine, thanks.” She crossed to the refrigerator, pulling out a gallon of sweet tea. “Did Michael tell them I had a vision?”

  “Yes.”

  “When are they leaving?” She poured two glasses, handing one to Gabriel.

  He drank deeply before answering. She had no idea if angels ate in Heaven, but Gabe had no problem scarfing down meals here on earth. She’d seen him put away a pepperoni pizza in five minutes flat. Double cheeseburgers were his favorites, though.

  After draining his glass and passing it to her for a refill, he replied, “Michael told them not to leave until tomorrow morning.”

  Jordan wasn’t surprised. Michael would move mountains to keep her in the Circle. She was one of only seven Seekers in existence. Unlike Slayers, Seekers weren’t made; they were born with the ability. The angels had no control over this.

  “If Michael thinks buttering me up will keep me in his service, he’s gonna be disappointed. He should’ve pulled his head out of his ass before now.”

  Gabriel set his glass on the table. “I didn’t come here to talk about the Circle. It’s your choice to stay or leave.” He crossed the room, ghost-like, and took her hand. “I do have one request.”

  She sighed. When he requested anything from her, it was never a good sign. “What is it?”

  “I want you to go on the hunt with them. Casen will go, as well.”

  She was going on a job? Unless it was something small, such as a malevolent spirit or ghosts, she was commanded to stay home. Losing a Seeker was something the angels tried to avoid. Then again, she’d quit. Maybe Michael was trying to salvage what he could; having her as a Slayer was better than not having her in the Circle at all.

  Her heart pounded; the familiar thrill of adrenaline coursed through her veins. At once, her mind shifted into stalker-mode. She began to mentally catalog what she needed to pack for the trip. She and her brothers would need to get with Uncle Case in his study and go through books – figure out what they were up against. They would need provisions…the high she was riding suddenly came to a halt. She looked up at her Guardian, shaking her head.

  “Quinn will never go for this, Gabe. He’d rather get an appendectomy with a spoon than have me on his hunt.”

  Gabriel nodded. “I know, but he has no choice. This is Michael’s decision. Quinn won’t go against his wishes.”

  Jordan threw up her hands, exasperated. “So you’re going to force him to let me tag along? Our relationship is hanging by threads, Gabe! If Michael does this, he’ll cut any chances I have with my brother.”

  The angel looked out the window; her eyes followed. Uncle Case, his brow furrowed in concentration, appeared to be in a heavy conversation with Michael. Obviously, he wasn’t too happy about the arrangements, either.

  “Jordan, your brother needs to grow up. He can’t keep blaming you for your mother’s death; it’s irrational and unhealt
hy. Many women die in childbirth. It was no one’s fault.”

  Seventeen years before, Jordan was born in a wave of pain and blood. Her mother’s entire pregnancy with her was not normal -- nine months of nausea, infections, and fevers. Vomiting so violent it left Jana Bailey begging for mercy. Quinn and Nathan saw her suffer through it all. Quinn still had nightmares about the night his mother hemorrhaged in the delivery room and he still hated the sister who – in his mind – caused her death. The fact that Jordan looked just like their mother, from her auburn hair to her green eyes, was a slap in the face for him every day. It never crossed his mind that at least he got seven years with her. Jordan didn’t get five minutes. Her mother barely had time to hold her before the last of her life drained away, leaving only the barest hint of her essence behind – like dregs in the bottom of a coffee cup.

  Later that night, after dinner, they congregated in the study where Jordan told Uncle Case every part of the vision she saw. They each took a book -- tomes filled with ancient information on creatures derived from evil -- and searched. They were family heirlooms, passed down for generations. Most were hand-written, fragile, barely held together by crumbling spines. Jordan spent most of her spare time copying them, preserving the precious words and pictures that helped make the world a safer place.

  “Here, I think I found it,” Nathan informed them. He pointed to a page in a dusty, brown journal he was looking through. He held it up for them to see: a hand-drawn picture of the monstrosity from Jordan’s vision.

  “Yes, that’s it,” she whispered.

  “It’s a Kongamato.”

  “Oh hell…” sighed Uncle Case.

  Quinn looked sharply at him. “You’ve slain one before?”

  He poured a generous amount of whiskey from the ever-present bottle on his desk into a glass, downing it in one shot. Grimacing at the heat that burned his throat, he replied, “Yeah. Your dad and I took one out many years ago -- mean bastard, too. They’re real rare and usually travel in pairs – a male and his mate -- though single ones ain’t unheard of. They feed on human flesh, prefer caves, and are hard as hell to kill.” He shook his head. “The fact that I’ve only seen one in my entire life shows how elusive they are.”