No one, let alone a woman, would have spoken to her father the way Grace had spoken to Canaan. Certainly, if her father made a mistake, and she didn’t think he ever had, no one in the community would have the temerity to joke about it. Not so with Canaan.
It was the morning after the breakfast blow up, about 4AM and Hope was peeling potatoes for Grace. She’d needed something to do to keep her awake and making supper was familiar and comforting. When Canaan entered, she lowered her eyes and continued peeling, hoping to remain inconspicuous.
“Hope,” he said quietly, “I have something to say and I’d like you to look at me when I say it.”
She was prepared for him to tell her to leave. She wasn’t prepared to have the whole House witness her humiliation. They stood in a row behind Canaan, except for Nico who stood at his side. Both men still looked battered from their fight, yet they stood shoulder to shoulder and that hurt more than the words she knew were coming.
“I was wrong,” Canaan said and bowed. “This House and the people in it are dear to me and I still carry the anger at almost losing one of them. That’s a reason, not an excuse for the way I behaved. I had no right, no cause to attack you like that. You are welcome in this House and I hope you’ll accept my apology.”
She could only stare at him and didn’t know her mouth was hanging open until Grace gently closed it for her.
“Just say okay, sure, I accept, anything will do,” Grace said and smiled her encouragement.
“Your kindness is most welcome,” Hope said quietly. She’d said those words before but had never felt them so deeply. Tears filled her eyes and spilled over.”
“Aw jeeze, we got another crybaby,” Dov complained.
“I am not a crybaby,” Grace said indignantly. “Women show emotion differently than men, that’s all. And here’s something to think about, you big galute, I never cried at all until I came here!”
Hope sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. It was the same for her. She couldn’t remember the last time she cried, yet here the tears had come twice in the first twenty-four hours and her eyes seemed to fill at the least provocation.
“Yeah well, she ought to be dancing a jig. It’s not every day we get to see the big guy eat crow.” Dov grinned and turned to Canaan. “How’s it taste, Boss? A little tough to chew? A little salty?”
“You ought to know, Dov. You eat enough of it around here,” Nardo added.
“I know,” Dov laughed. “That’s what makes this so special. It’s not me.”
“You’ll see how special it is when I get you on the mats,” Canaan growled, but Hope could see he wasn’t really angry.
Dov ran behind Grace and whined, “He’s threatening me, Mommy!”
“So am I,” she laughed and swatted him with her towel, “Now get out of here or you’ll all starve.”
“Come on, Col. I can tell we’re not wanted here.”
“You’re not wanted. I am.” But Col followed him to the door. Before it closed, Hope could hear them hooting with laughter.
Now, in the quiet of Manon’s kitchen, she asked, “Why does Canaan tolerate such disrespect?” then realized how forward the question was and though she didn’t say she was sorry, it was in her tone. “It’s not my business.”
“It is your business if you’re going to stay here. Weren’t you listening to Manon? If you have a question, ask it.” Grace picked up a pot and poured more coffee. “It’s not disrespect. They love Canaan and respect him beyond all measure. They’d die for him, as would anyone in this House. And he would do the same for anyone who’s under his charge. When you’re here a little longer you’ll realize those aren’t just words. The possibility is real and it’s a huge responsibility. Laughter helps lighten the load. Don’t people laugh and tease where you come from.”
“Oh yes,” Hope said. “We laugh and joke and the children play, but I can only say that about the women. Around the men, it’s different and even more so around my father and the Elders.” She shrugged. “People tend to act differently around the Preacher and sometimes around me because I’m his daughter. I can’t speak to how they act in private. I only know that in my own home anger is anger and never a joke and respect for my father is to be shown at all times. I never knew it to be any different and it wasn’t until I came to the city that I truly realized that everyone didn’t live like us.”
“I hear you,” said Grace. “I used to think that everyone felt the same buzzing in their head as I did. I used to wonder why it didn’t bother them the way it bothered me. Then, when I realized they couldn’t feel things like I did, I thought something was wrong with me. Thank God I found Manon.”
Manon and Grace believed that she was a Daughter of Man, as they were, but to them, the Daughters of Man found in Genesis weren’t mere women, as she’d been taught, but something more; something special. Grace left it to Manon to tell the story.
“When humanity was in its childhood,” she began, “God sent a sect of his Servants, angels some say, to instruct those earthly humans in righteousness. According to our mothers, these Servants became fascinated by the beauty and comeliness of the Daughters of Man. This fascination soon turned, as it often does, to lust. In order to lure the women away from the safety of their families, the Servants gave the Daughters gifts of abilities beyond the realm of man. The women were beguiled by these gifts, seduced by the Servants who appeared as men and were taken as wives. In the fullness of time the Daughters bore the fruits of their seduction. Their sons were called Nephilim. They were giants of great power and glory, renowned for their great appetites for all things of pleasure and the traits of the fathers were passed to the sons.
“So it was for the women also, their gifts being passed from mother to daughter so that the lineage of the mix of Servant and human continued and the Daughters of Man became a race unto themselves.
“Time passed and the Nephilim lost their way. They abused their power, took pleasure in pain and torment and began to feed on the blood of humans. The Daughters who loved them and had been faithful to them were forsaken. God sent Gabriel to make war upon them and the Great Flood reduced them further.
“Under threat of annihilation, the Paenitentia were born. They saw the Daughters of Man as the source of their downfall and renounced them, severing all ties.
“The Daughters of Man quietly continued, suffering the indignities of persecution, making their way as best they could, passing the gifts and knowledge down from one generation to the next, Daughter to Daughter. They no longer bore sons.
“They were forced to live the lives of humans in the human world and learned to adapt to maintain their anonymity. As we do today. We are their descendants.” Manon pointed to Grace and then to herself. “We are among the Daughters of Man and so are you.”
Hope found it hard to believe. It went against everything she’d been taught and yet it explained so many things; like why her mother could make the flowers dance and why things flew across the room or broke when she was upset. While Grace could feel people’s emotions, she could feel their thoughts. The two women put no pressure on her to believe and she was grateful. She needed time to think.
*****
“I’m sorry, Nico, but I got nothing. Zip. Nada.” Nardo shook his head with regret. “The phone number belonged to a throwaway. I even tried calling the damn thing. I thought I could set up a buy and we could do a face to face with the bastard. Nobody’s home. No voice mail. No call forwarding. Nothing I can pin and trace. I ran the name and Bobby boy wasn’t lying. The guy’s got a sheet as long as your arm and kidnapping fits right in the middle of it, but I can’t find him. Got nothing from the cops, nothing from the hospitals, nothing from the morgue. That’s not to say he isn’t using an alias, but I checked out all the ones the cops kept in his jacket. I don’t know what else to do. The guy has disappeared. I’ll keep checking. For now, though, he’s a dead end.”
“Thanks, Nardo. Keep doing what you can. I know this is human business a
nd none of ours, so I appreciate the help.”
“Hey, she’s a Daughter of Man like Manon and Grace and while that may not fit with Guardian Rules,” Nardo quoted with his fingers, “It fits in this House. She’s one of us. Canaan’s not going to let this drop. And even if he did, my free time’s my own.”
Nico was grateful. He’d come to this House because he’d heard rumors of a Liege Lord who was making waves. He thought it might break the monotony of moving to a new House every three years only to find each new one to be the same as the old. Canaan ad Simeon was a man known for speaking his mind and breaking with the old traditions that were decimating the ranks of the Guardians around the modern world. Canaan encouraged independent thinking and action. Nardo was a proof of the rebellion. Nico had never seen a House that used technology the way this one did. He was impressed by it and by the people who lived here. They were an odd lot and yet they meshed well together. He would miss it when he left.
“Thanks again. If you’ll pass it along to Canaan, I’ll tell Hope.”
Nardo grinned. “She’s a sweetheart, isn’t she? A little skittish maybe, but this place would scare the pants off most women. She’s got grit. You got a good woman there, Nico.”
Nico gritted his teeth. “I have taken up her cause, but she is not my woman.”
“Oh yeah, sure. No offence meant there, buddy,” Nardo said with a wave of his hand.
But Nico heard Nardo’s gentle laughter as he walked away from the door.
Chapter 10
Nico walked through the alleys and side streets of his assigned area of the city. As always, he was alert to his surroundings and mindful of the demon threat. Tonight, there was no whiff of demon in the air. Things had been quiet since the elimination of the last lot and he was thankful that Canaan agreed to his request to patrol alone. It was better this way, to rely on no one but himself. Safer, too, not only for himself but for those who fought beside him. Dov had saved his life as he himself had helped save Col’s. That was the way of the Guardians of the Race and it was right. Nevertheless, it didn’t do to become attached.
Most nights, patrolling the streets was quiet work and when working with a partner, those long stretches of silence begged to be filled. Something about the dark and the silence loosened tongues. It was a time when Guardians tended to share their innermost thoughts; thoughts they might not otherwise voice. Bonding they would call it today. He wondered if this need to share was built into them as a way to forge loyalty to their House through shared secrets. He’d felt the need himself a few times when keeping watch with Canaan and he’d shared a few things he hadn’t meant to.
It didn’t matter. He’d signed on for the minimum three years as he’d done with every other House he’d served and he would serve them faithfully and then leave as he always had, with no animosity and no attachments. Which was why he needed to keep himself away from Hope.
Hope wasn’t a woman to be dallied with. She wouldn’t understand a casual affair offering comfort and amusement for them both. He laughed to himself. She would probably be shocked to know that he thought of her that way, but how could he not.
Zaftig, the Germans called it. She was tall, full-bodied and beautiful with hair so soft and lustrous it inflamed a man’s senses and eyes so warm they could melt the coldest heart. She had no idea of her beauty and that made it all the more alluring. She covered herself from head to foot, but he’d held her in his arms, all be it innocently, and he knew what wonders were hidden under those baggy clothes. He wanted her. He wasn’t fool enough to deny it. But he would never have her. She deserved better.
He took a left at the next corner and headed for the river front. The weather was still winter cold and the rain from the day before left a dampness in the air that seemed to cling to the surrounding area. An icy wind whipped off the water and tore at Nico’s leather duster. Normally a hot bed of illegal activity, tonight the place looked deserted. Evidently the raw weather had proved too chilling for criminals as well as the homeless who, in warmer weather, could usually be found sleeping in doorways or curled under loading docks. On a night like this, the local shelters would be filled and those that eschewed their minimal comfort would find shelter in garbage laden alleys where the wind could not reach them.
A mighty gust blew over the wharf. Nico lifted his head and inhaled deeply. Amidst the lingering odors of refuse, fuels and unwashed bodies he caught a faint trace of demon. He headed into the wind, scanning left and right, searching for the source. He changed direction slightly when another gust brought a faint but telling odor from the far end of the wharf. Carried on the wind, the faint murmur of voices reached his sensitive ears though he was still too far away to distinguish the words. The voices were carried away as quickly as they came.
He called the white light and sped through the darkness, but when he reached the last pier, the demon was gone leaving only his stench to be carried on the wind. Nico was tempted to follow yet something held him back and he took the time to search the pier and its surrounding water. A body floated face down in the water between two boats tied to the pier.
He knew it was too late before he entered the water. There was no heartbeat, no sign of life. He couldn’t leave her there to bloat beyond recognition. He tossed his coat aside, kicked off his shoes and dove.
It was a young woman, plain faced and emaciated. Beyond the mask of death he could see her eyes sunken in darkened pits, her lips pulled back in a grimace of pain on her skeletal face. This wasn’t demon work, at least none that he’d ever seen before, so why was the demon here and who was with it. He smelled one demon. He’d heard two voices and the dead woman hadn’t spoken for hours. He searched her clothing for identification, not expecting any, and wasn’t disappointed. The only thing he found was a torn piece of paper carefully folded in the pocket. It was too wet to unfold so he tucked it in the inner pocket of his coat before making the anonymous call to 911.
He was cold, wet and stank of the river. It was time to go home.
*****
“Hey Nico, new cologne?’
“Eau de Outhouse, isn’t it?”
“Dov. Col.” Nico nodded to each in turn. “Your wit might be better appreciated if you didn’t look like two clowns in need of a cream pie.”
The twins were in the kitchen, one mashing potatoes and the other ladling corn into a bowl. They both wore aprons, the bibs high on their necks with the strings tied around their chests. They looked down at their pastel ruffles and grinned.
“We’re making a statement. It says we’re secure in our masculinity.” Dov smoothed the pink cotton over his stomach.
“I’m glad you told me. I was thinking of another word entirely.” Nico sucked on his teeth and shook his head.
“It’s Grace’s fault. We tried to give her the old ‘men hunt demons, women cook dinner’, but she started throwing things.”
“We’ve been assigned kitchen duty. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, corn, green beans… oh shit, I forgot the rolls.” Col grabbed the loaded tray and slipped it into the oven.
“Grace made the meatloaf and rolls and left us a list of what to do. Hope needed her. Some crisis,” Dov explained.
“Hope? Is she all right? Has something happened?” He looked from the gym door to the one opening to the hallway. “Where is she?”
The twins exchanged glances and Nico knew he’d over reacted. He could almost hear them snicker. It was in their eyes. He waited, less than patient.
“Just girl stuff. There was some big tiz over some boxes that were delivered. Your girlfriend’s fine.”
Nico glared. “She is not my girlfriend.”
“Yeah, yeah, heard it all before,” Col laughed. “Ask Canaan. He got the t-shirt.”
Nico shook his head in disgust and headed for his rooms to shower. As he climbed the stairs he could hear the twins singing a horribly off key rendition of “Let Me Call You Sweetheart” at the top of their lungs.
There was laughing and giggling and something t
hat sounded like a horrified protest coming out from behind the closed door of Hope’s room. He paused, listened for a moment and moved on when assured there was nothing serious going on.
He waited until after supper to tell them about the incident on the docks. When he finished, he took the now dry paper from the pocket of his jacket. It was brittle and crumbling around the edges and he took his time unfolding it. The scrap was a title page from an old cookbook. Three words were scrawled across the page.
Dov leaned over for a closer look. “Help me Hope. Wow! It’s got your name on it.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Nico snapped. “She isn’t the only Hope in the world.”
Hope was out of her chair and looking too, as everyone else crowded around. The ink was blurred but the writing was large enough to be distinct.
Help me - Hope
Hope’s hand flew to her mouth, too late to stop her pain filled cry. Nico was there to steady her as she swayed.
“That’s my sister’s handwriting. I know it. That’s Faith. Oh dear God in Heaven. It’s Faith.”
She was breathing too heavily and too fast. She needed air but the harder she tried, the less reached her lungs. The room was turning grey. She clawed at Nico’s shirt front and felt his arms tighten around her. Everyone was talking at once but the words were muffled and she couldn’t understand. She heard the sound of glass breaking and felt Nico catch her as she slumped in his arms. Grey faded to black.
When she awoke, she was on the sofa in the parlor and the first thing she saw was Nico in the chair opposite. The hard, angular planes of his handsome face were softened in sleep. With his long, dark lashes resting on his pale cheeks and his hair falling softly over his shoulders she could almost see the boy he once was. She smiled and watched him for a moment, curling into the comfort of his presence. Even asleep, Nico made her feel safe and protected. She paused in her thoughts. Safe and protected from what?
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