by Riley LaShea
“How does that help me?” Haydn asked.
“Because I believe it works both ways,” Cain told her. “You are also drawn to them.”
“You don’t think I would feel that?”
“Does the magnet feel the pull of the paperclip?” he queried, but, looking his way, Haydn seemed rather disinclined to riddles in the moment. “Of course not,” he provided the answer. “Not until it’s very close. The magnet is the powerful component, the dominant force. That’s why the paper clip is yanked across the floor, while the magnet sits still.”
“Meaning?”
“They carry what you lost, Haydn,” Cain declared. “You are literally opposite poles. It makes sense for you to be drawn to each other by an almost magnetic force. If you want to find your innocent, stop being so dominant. Submit. Let yourself be drawn.”
At the doubt that entered her gaze, Cain was forced to acknowledge he had given Haydn no reason to trust him. A quarter of a century, they had forgone seeing each other, and her first visit was a duplicitous mess, pretty much cementing the fact that she was never going to throw him even a pity fuck.
“It’s how Lilith found you.” The only secret he had left, Cain knew he owed her that much.
“What does that mean?” Haydn uttered.
“You’re a helluva catch, Haydn,” Cain returned. “And time doesn’t have a lot of significance for a deraph, granted. But three hundred years is still an awfully long time to carry a torch.
“You have never been like the others.” Worried about her proximity a moment before, Cain followed Haydn around the desk when she seemed reluctant to listen. “You have always retained a spark of humanity, an affinity for humans that defies logic. It would be perfectly logical, though, if you weren’t entirely stripped of the goodness of your soul when you were sired because you had an abundance to begin with.”
“What are you saying?” Haydn turned back, and Cain recoiled slightly, realizing close was still too close in the current atmosphere.
“I believe you were Lilith’s synjument,” he said. “That’s why she has always treated you differently. She even listened to you.”
“Not all the time,” Haydn argued the only point she had.
“More than she didn’t,” Cain countered. “You are not like the others. She found you halfway around the world. She can’t let you go.”
“If this is true,” Haydn stopped him. “Do you really expect me to believe submitting is how Lilith found me? That she would ever submit to anything?”
“You think yourself old, Haydn, because you have been in the presence of your young for two and half centuries,” Cain reminded her. “Thirty thousand years, Lilith walked this Earth unfulfilled. Eventually, even she was bound to bow down in the hopes of finding something that could satisfy her.”
Staring at him for a moment, the distrust that was rampant in Haydn’s gaze assured Cain the threat of bodily harm wasn’t entirely off the table.
“Does she know this?” When Haydn asked at last, Cain knew she tentatively believed him. Or at least the facts as they were presented.
“No. I’ve had twenty-eight thousand years on this Earth myself. Always having one secret left has kept me alive this long. Kind of like how you’re going to let me live now.”
“You are awfully confident for a man who’s done everything he could to earn pain,” Haydn declared.
“It isn’t me I have faith in,” Cain said, and, watching the shadows fall across her face, he knew it had always been well-placed.
“You’d better hope this works.” Haydn walked out, leaving him very much alive by his desk.
Listening to the bell at the door jingle back into silence, Cain sunk into his chair, tugging out the bottom drawer to get to the bottle of whiskey inside.
Haydn’s first thought, as she made way from the crumbling back lane where Cain’s shop hid in plain sight, was of St. Stephen’s Green. Since the day it opened to the public, it had been her favorite place in the city, especially on those cold nights when the gates were locked and she could have it all to herself.
Daylight hanging over the world for a few more hours, though, only the park’s shelters would be safe, and she didn’t particularly feel like being a sight for curious spectators if the sun dipped back behind the clouds and drizzle forced the human population undercover with her.
Trying to think of another place she could go, out of the sun, where no one would give a second glance to a woman sitting in silent reflection for however long it took to get an answer, she heard a single chime mark the quarter hour and followed the sound to a steeple jutting up between buildings.
“Why not?” she muttered to herself. If one sought goodness, why not go where goodness claimed to thrive?
Sinking down in the pew a few minutes later, Haydn looked around at those deep in prayer, or just personal contemplation. It was all the same thing really. Everyone sought comfort. Everyone sought answers. Everyone sought safety.
She felt sorry for them, the humans who thought it was inherent inside these walls. Most believed those of her kind couldn’t come into such places, that, made of the devil, they would be cast out the moment they tried to walk through the door. It was a consoling thought, she guessed, that anything that could possibly bring them harm must belong to Satan. They didn’t want to know the truth, that they were all formed of the same basic mold, and, in the end, all served the same master.
Having just had it proven again that she could trust Cain only to an extent, Haydn considered she might be crazy to even think about heeding his advice. Threat hanging over her clan, surrender seemed like the last thing she should do, especially when Cain had all but admitted he was so petrified of Lilith, he would do whatever she asked, short of damage to himself of course. All together, the facts added up to the high likelihood it was a trap, a relinquishing of power that would pull her right back into Lilith’s arms.
Then again, three hundred years ago, when she was desperate to escape, it was Cain who cut her ties to Lilith in spite of his fear, who taught her how to create an overcast, and, though she clearly hadn’t given up the search, Lilith hadn’t been able to find Haydn since.
Deciding to trust in that, the knowledge that, in many ways, Cain had given her what freedom she possessed, Haydn found the will to force down her innate guard. Flicker of every candle, soft murmur of every plea to God fading into background noise, she ceased to smell the burning wax and the blood that coursed through the parishioners who had come for reasons of their own. Her vision the last thing to relax, the sharp lines and grays blurred into color, and, for the first time in centuries, Haydn could see as they saw. Looking to the radiant glow off the stained glass, she rediscovered the world a far more beautiful place than she remembered.
Almost calm, though, her body began to panic. Noises rising, smells trickling back in, her hand clamped onto the back of the pew in front of her as her heart raced, blood pumping so hard through her veins, she could feel it as a pulse on her skin.
It was a terrifying thing, to feel powerless. That, she had forgotten. That, she didn’t miss. Now, she recalled why so many people flocked to these places with such regularity, grasping at the belief that someone with true power was on their sides.
Most would never have to know the sides weren’t that clearly defined.
Bell chiming four times, it marked the hour, and Haydn sat, hovering between strength and weakness. By the next chime, the light in the church began to soften, sun weakening against the stained glass, and as another chime marked the half hour, and another three-quarters, Haydn still had no idea what it was she was supposed to feel.
Hymnal plummeting suddenly to the floor at her feet, she jumped at the unexpected sound, glaring at the errant book as she reached for it. She was tired of waiting, for a call, or a sign, or surrender, whatever it was supposed to be. All she wanted was to find this innocent, this synjument, whatever the hell it was, before Lilith had the chance to discover Cain’s deception and make a thre
at he couldn’t refuse.
Sitting back up, Haydn froze at the sound of a woman’s voice at her back, so close, it took a moment to distinguish the noises in the background, and recognize they weren’t the same noises in the sanctuary with her, though they would be perfectly fitted.
Cain said she would be drawn, but it was more of a yank, a potent, organic demand from the universe that pulled Haydn to her feet. Accepting the sensation could lead her into either safety or danger, she slid the hymnal back into its metal holder and followed.
14
A dozen voices melded in flawless melody filled the nave to the rafters. Sitting at the far end of the cathedral, away from those who had come to watch the choir sing, Sister Jude let the sound of the hymn cover her rough exhalation as she put the paper back in Delaney’s waiting hand.
“So?” Delaney asked, and, looking to stained glass she’d studied a few hundred times before, Sister Jude tried to decide if lying in this particular situation would constitute a sin. Perhaps, a harsh enough critique would send Delaney down a more common path of study. Philosophy, maybe… science… she had the mind for both. Sister Jude doubted it, but perhaps.
“It’s accurate,” she returned. “From what I can tell.”
“Accurate?” Delaney prodded. “Not insightful?”
“It’s brilliant,” Sister Jude sighed. “You know that it is.”
“Is it really?” Delaney asked, but it was only modesty. Since first they met, back as Delaney was just beginning her postgraduate work, Sister Jude had been amazed at the incredibly firm grasp she had on subjects she should know nothing about.
“Why do you insist upon focusing on these things?” she responded in lieu of answer. “You know, you could write about a saint or a vision. A miracle. If you must study the supernatural side of theology, can’t you at least stick to those entities that won’t mean you harm?”
“You’re one to talk,” Delaney returned. “How many exorcisms have you helped perform?”
“That is not the same thing.”
“I agree. I would argue battling demons is far more dangerous than writing about them.”
“The majority of the time, an exorcism is just a show,” Sister Jude reminded her. “You know that. People are lost, not possessed. They just need to be convinced their souls have been saved.”
“But sometimes the demons are real,” Delaney stated, and Sister Jude couldn’t deny it. Not to her. Over the past years, she had gotten to know Delaney far better, had come to understand that every perception and theory she put forth was backed by more than research and secondhand experience. “We both know there are things in this world that can’t be explained.”
“Well, you seem to be trying very hard to explain them.” Concern sharpened Sister Jude’s words as she looked again at the paper Delaney held in her hands, wondering how such bold ideas were going to go over in a university setting. “You need to be careful, Delaney. You know better than anyone these things we both know are in the world can prove exceedingly dangerous.”
“I’m sitting in a church with a thesis. It’s not like I’m going out and looking under rocks.”
Soft smile fading, Delaney dropped her gaze to the floor, suffering her own declaration. Watching thick, dark hair shield slightly lighter skin, Sister Jude knew she had to be a source of confusion for many people, with her distinctly Irish name and undeniably Persian ancestry.
Reaching out to rest her hand on Delaney’s arm, she felt a tug at the trace of tears in dark eyes as they rose to her.
“I know this is a personal mission for you,” she said, “but your life matters first. Don’t forget that. While it’s true I sometimes have to take a more active role in these things, it is my job.”
“Well, if my paper truly is brilliant,” Delaney found her silver lining, “it will be my job too.”
“I also have the protection of the convent walls,” Sister Jude said. The last thing she wanted was to encourage Delaney to dig deeper. “I know it doesn’t seem like much, but it is no small thing to have a constant stream of invocation keeping evil out. I care about you, Delaney. Please, watch your back.”
“I always do.” Concern only deepening as Delaney slipped the paper into her bag, Sister Jude watched as she pulled her phone out to check the time. “It’s late,” she said, dropping it back into its pocket. “I’m going to miss the train.”
Knowing she had to let her go, Sister Jude nodded. So much more she could think to say, but it would do no good. She could dissuade Delaney again and again, but she couldn’t stop her from doing what she was inclined to do. She couldn’t stop her from handing in that paper, or consuming as much information as she could take in. She couldn’t stop her from peering into other worlds, when it was far safer for Delaney to focus on her own.
“I’ll call you next week.” Delaney squeezed her arm, and, unable to smile, Sister Jude nodded again as Delaney walked off. Watching her go down the aisle and out the church door, she turned frontward in her seat, gaze drifting to the painted ceiling, staring long enough that the pattern in the artwork turned to chaos.
Majority of commuters long home and tucked into the warmth of their flats and houses, the few that stepped out onto the platform at Dunfermline Town Station scattered quickly in all directions, and Delaney found herself traveling solo as she crossed the bend in the road to continue along Priory Lane.
At the sound of a door, she glanced to a house, watching as a man emerged with a dog no bigger than his hand on a leash. Coat pulled over his pajamas, he nodded to Delaney as he moved off toward Sinclair Gardens, clutching his collar against the cold as if he would like nothing more than for the dog to grow in size and take itself to and from the bathroom in the dead of winter.
Solitude more pronounced after the fleeting moment of company, Delaney glanced into the lighted windows of the buildings she passed, but found no one looking back. Not sure if it would be comforting or terrifying if they were, she blamed Sister Jude for putting her so uncomfortably on edge. Knowing there were dangers and seeing the depth of concern in another person’s eyes as they accentuated them were starkly different things, and Delaney couldn’t pretend what Sister Jude warned her against wasn’t worth the warning.
She also couldn’t pretend she had anything resembling naivety on the subject. She wished she did.
Other people, they had myths, they had superstitions. With all the real menaces in the world, Delaney didn’t need them. So, when she paused next to the chest-high iron gate, gloved hand wrapped around the small bird fixed atop its post, and stared in at the statues and stones she could only spottily see, it was fury at her own unreasonable fear that at last pressed her through it.
Hundreds of times, she had taken the shortcut without thought. The abbey graveyard was as safe a place as any in town at night. Just darker and a more direct path. Creeped out by every thought and sound, though, Delaney’s pace was abnormally fast as she ducked her head against the wind and rustling branches of the trees above.
She made it to the first turn in the paved walkway before she felt it. No sound that stood out, nor shadow that moved, it was just a sensation, feathering the hairs on the back of her neck and weeping down her spine.
Someone was watching her.
Feet coming to an immediate stop, the abbey grounds fell quiet, and, for a moment, Delaney thought she was imagining it. Notion of danger recently implanted, it wasn’t all that surprising her mind would play tricks in the night.
Then, she heard the voices. Spoken in whispers, they amplified off the headstones, so it was difficult to tell from which direction they came, and, real or imagined, Delaney determined the wisest course of action was to turn back to the path of better lighting and greater potential foot traffic.
Whirling back to the steps that brought her up to the abbey’s level, she spotted a flame burning in the memorial garden below. No more than a lit match, it still illuminated the figure cloaked in black, before it snuffed out, and, fear finally wrappin
g its cold claws all the way around her, Delaney took a step back and turned to run.
Crashing into a solid form where there had been nothing an instant before, she screamed as it latched onto her, before the black hood slipped from the figure’s head, revealing a face.
“Stacy?” Delaney breathed. “What are you doing here?”
“Following you,” her classmate… peer… acquaintance replied, and, so relieved at seeing someone familiar, Delaney didn’t pay any mind to the peculiar response.
“You scared me.” Trying to get her breathing back under control, in the next instant, she forgot to breathe entirely.
“Good. I want you to be scared.”
Taking in the perverse grin on Stacy’s face, just discernible in the light reflecting off the abbey, Delaney realized relief was premature.
“Why?” Though they didn’t exactly get along - indeed, over the majority of last term, heated debate had been their most common form of communication - she never expected Stacy to come haunt her in a graveyard.
“Because you think you’re so above fear,” Stacy declared. “I want to prove you’re not.”
“Well, you proved it.” Delaney had no problem conceding. “See you on campus.”
Stepping off the paved path, she made a reasonable effort not to step on anyone’s grave as she strode toward the street, but figured, dead as they already were, it was preferable to anything that might happen if she stayed.
When a cloaked figure rose from behind a headstone, Delaney diverted, but it didn’t impede her progress until another cloaked figure rose to block her path.
Realizing their fun wasn’t over, she turned back to appeal to Stacy, lurching slightly at the considerably larger figure at Stacy’s side. Based on height, she knew it had to be the same person she had seen standing in the garden below, and, expecting anything, it was only that which kept Delaney from reacting as the larger figure pulled back his hood, revealing eyes that glowed feline yellow through the darkness. Even knowing they were fake, they were enough to enhance Delaney’s feeling that things were not going to go well for her. And when the man hissed, the fangs revealed were real. Forged in an orthodontist’s office, but real none the less.
