Sanctuary Part 1

This next bit is a little idea I've have rolling around my head for awhile now.  It's a modern day paranormal version of loins and tigers and bears - oh my.

It deals with a lot of shades of gray.

The angels in this story are of an Order called the Guardians.  Some are the fabled Guardian Angels, while others are more of the soldier variety.  They most resemble the humans they are in charge of protecting.  They are not perfect, but they can walk earth amongst humans with little notice.  Mainly they are in charge of keeping evil in check.  They may not be able to stop it entirely, but they can at least keep it from taking over.

Comments are welcome, but play nice.

SANCTUARY

 

Holeyoke, IL, present day.

 

The streetlight cast an eerie glow as a lone figure made her way along the street towards the Jefferson Street Bridge.  The night fog enveloped everything in its path, the buildings, the abandoned cars.    Tendrils of gray mist curled around streetlamps and buildings with translucent, icy fingers.  Along this stretch of road by the bridge, midnight was always the worst, when the moonlight battled with the darkest of night. 

Jillian Petrosky held her arms wrapped around her chest in a futile attempt to keep out the chill, her hands tucked inside the sleeves of her jacket.  While it looked good, the jacket wasn’t really made for warmth.  Reaching the crest of the bridge, she paused, teeth chattering, drawn to peer over the railing down to the dark, lifeless water.  The locals called the bridge The Leap, because this was the spot where the suicidal types liked to make their last goodbyes.  She could see why.  The water rippled below as it beckoned, and there was a definite hypnotic feel to the spot.  She reached out to grasp the icy railing, her long dark hair whipping around her face and shoulders in the numbing wind.  She leaned over the railing precariously, enthralled in the churning dark waters, tempted beyond her understanding to simply slip into the icy depths and allow the dark current to take her in.  It such a simple solution, and a temptation in all its finality. 

No more pain.  No more emptiness. 

Somewhere on the other side of the bridge, the clock tower tolled.  Midnight.  The spell broken, she looked up with a start.  The sudden movement made her slip on the ice, nearly sending her over the rail, and for a precarious moment she felt a curious tug of war going on around her.  The call of the lifeless water warred with that of something else.  She was torn, feeling as if she were pulled in two directions.  One promised relief, the other, a temporary fix and the promise of another day.

Then her broken iPod started up, playing Third Eye Blind’s “Jumper.”

“Shit.” 

She gritted her teeth as her fingers dug into the railing, fighting for balance.  It seemed to take forever, but finally she felt her feet find purchase on the sidewalk.  She shoved herself away from the edge.  She glared heavenward.

“Seriously?  I do not want to become a human popsicle tonight.”

Really, if she was going to meet her maker, she’d rather it be someplace warm and sunny, preferably with a cabana boy and a smile on her face.  Not the dead of winter off Lake Michigan, alone, and in a crappy mood.

Taking a steadying breath, she looked around, her gaze drawn this time to the ghostly glow of neon cross in the distance.  Below it, another sign, this time advertising beer for a bar with the unfitting name of Sanctuary.

It had been one hell of a week.  After three years, she fully intended to fall off the wagon.  It was like a sign.  A great big neon sign telling her to have a drink.  She was going to listen.

 

It was the usual Friday night crowd in Sanctuary.  It was midnight, the witching hour.  It was appropriate to think of it as such due to the clientele – those who only came out at night to be amongst their own.

As Jillian pushed through the door, she knew instantly this was not your ordinary dive bar.  The crowd inside was – well, different.  That suited her just fine because she considered herself to be a little different too.  She went straight to the bar, blowing warm air onto her frozen fingers.  She perched herself upon on stool, her pocketbook held primly upon her lap.  Still wearing her woolen suit from work earlier today, Jillian wondered, not for the first time, if she looked like a demented librarian.

The man behind the bar looked up and gave her a nod, indicating that he would be right with her.  Jillian took a look around.  The patrons, they fit the atmosphere of the place.  It was dark with low lighting.  There was an edge to the place, like chaos was about to erupt at any moment. 

The barkeeper did not.  He looked like he was trying to single-handedly keep the peace.  The kind who probably was an altar boy who snuck into the wine as a kid.  He was bad-boy handsome – sun-kissed brown hair and a pair hazel eyes that leaned toward green, and what looked to be the type of smile that pretty much got him anything he wanted from the female variety.  He had a captain of the football team build and probably dated the head cheerleader in high school.  Sadly, she was more the type who pined for the hero from afar, usually at the top of the bleachers.  She sighed. 

He came up to her.  “Welcome to Sanctuary.  What’ll it be?”

“Have anything warm?” she asked.  She felt a little more than a little overdressed in her prim woolen suit and pumps.

He grinned.  “Just put a fresh pot on.  Make yourself at home and settle in.  You may be here a while.”  He nodded towards the window where the swirling snow was now a wall of white.

She wondered at the feeling of coming home in, of all places, a seedy little bar where she had a feeling things were not precisely what they seemed.

As her insides thawed while she sipped the warm brew, she settled back on the bar stool and glanced around the bar.  It was an eclectic group, consistent in only its diversity.  Carefully looking around to make sure she wasn’t caught staring, she let down the mental wall and allowed her senses to take over.  It was an odd talent, one that she had difficulty defining.  The closest she came to defining it was that she saw auras of people.  Based on the color of the aura, she could tell if a person was lying, angry or just in a mood.

But here, her talent took on a whole new light.  She saw colors that she had never seen before.  Vivid purples, stormy blues, eerie greens, blackest black and blood, blood red.  She took a deep breath. 

Ok, Dorothy.  You’re not in Kansas anymore.  All righty then.  So, where was she?

The bartender set her drink down in front of her.  She lifted her eyes to meet his and his aura nearly knocked her to the floor.  White.  Pure, diffused, soft, white light.  In fact, she was half surprised she did not hear a choir of angels belt out a note and a beam of heavenly light descend upon him.

“Thanks,” she finally managed, hoping she hadn’t been caught staring.

He quirked a brow at her.  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.  Are you all right?”

She nodded.  “Yes.  Sorry.  Rough day.  I must be more tired than I thought.  My eyes are playing tricks on me.”

He pinned her with his gaze.  “Why?  Did you see something out of the ordinary?”

Oh boy.  As if that wasn’t a loaded question.  On top of it, she felt like those hazel eyes of his could peer into her very soul.  Then out of nowhere, she felt a shiver of something else – attraction.  She tamped down that feeling in a rush.  If there was anything she’d learned of late, she had lousy taste in men. 

“You could say that,” she replied, choosing to finish off her coffee, instead of ordering a drink. 

He refilled her cup.  “Is this your first time here?”

“Yes.”

“So, what do you think of the place?”

Her eyes met his over the rim of her cup as she took a sip.  “My mother always told me to keep an open mind to new experiences.  Some things are not always what they seem on the surface.”

He rolled back on his heels, seemingly satisfied with her vague response.  “That’s about  as fair a description as I’ve heard.”  He nodded towards a man at a corner table engrossed in conversation with a woman with straight, dark hair.  “You look like a people watcher.  Tell me what you see.”

For some reason, she felt like humoring him.  She lowered her walls and let the auras speak to her, instinctively trusting him and playing along.  She tilted her head thoughtfully for a moment.  “In the corner over there.  The man is in a fit about something and she is trying to calm him down.  No jealousy though, so I don’t think it’s a relationship issue.”  Her eyes flared at a burst of insight.  “That’s weird.  I’m thinking he’s a hunter of some sort, actually they both are, but …” she trailed off, uncertain of what exactly she was reading.

He nodded again, this time towards a table of three women.  “And them?”

“Identical.  They belong together, like some sort of club or family.” 

He glanced down at the opposite end of the bar.  “What about him?”

She could not throw up her walls fast enough to prevent the shudder that went through her.  “Not a nice guy.  Violent, dangerous …”  And surrounded by death, she added silently.  She did not dwell on the blood-soaked images flashing in her mind.

“You are quite perceptive,” he said, after a moment.  “I’m Michael.”

“Jillian,” she replied.  “So what was with the pop quiz?”

He chuckled, wiping the bar down with a towel.  “Don’t worry.  You passed.”

“Well, golly gee-whiz.  Thanks.  Passed what exactly?”

“It’s not the right time.”  Those eyes bored into hers.

She had the strangest feeling that she was being evaluated. For what, she had no clue.  Suddenly, she felt bone tired, wanting nothing more than to get home and crawl into bed. 

“Great.  Not that this hasn’t been fun, but I really need to go.”

He shrugged.  “Suit yourself.”

She downed the last of her coffee and pulled her jacket on.  As she stood to leave, she asked, “Don’t you have one last question for me?”

He gave her a puzzled look.  “What would that be?”

“You don’t want to know what I see when I look at you?”  She was perversely pleased to see that she’d startled him. 

“What do you see?”  His eyes were a leaning toward golden green now.

She shrugged.  “Can’t really say.  You could be the Guardian at Hell’s Gate for all I know.  But there’s something there that’s like… like my grandmother’s house.”  And vanilla.  Warm, creamy vanilla.  Like cake, icing and all the sprinkles.  And she really, really liked her vanilla cake and sprinkles.

He stood perfectly still, undecided which statement surprised him more.  He decided to let the first one pass without comment, but he still struggled to force the words out.  “You think I’m like your grandmother’s house?”

“It’s difficult to explain.  It’s like positive energy.”  Probably best not to mention the vanilla.

He glanced out the window.  “The snow is letting up.”

She shook off the odd feelings rolling around her.  “I’d better get a move on then.  Thanks for the coffee.”

He leaned over the bar.  “You didn’t order a drink.”

“I guess I didn’t need one after all.”

She was at the door when he spoke again.  “Be careful on the bridge.  It seems to get especially treacherous at night.”

She went still and slowly turned to look at him.  His expression gave nothing away.  Neither did hers, but there was a wealth of knowledge in his statement.  She could feel it in her bones.  He somehow knew. 

She gave him a wan smile.  “I’ll be careful then.  Thanks for the warning.”

“I’m here most nights, if you decide to come back,” he said, wiping down the bar with the rag in his hand.  “Oh, and here.”  He down under the bar and tossed her a pair of gloves and a hat, which she caught.  She looked at him curiously.

“They were in the ‘Lost and Found.’  It looked like you could use them.”

She murmured her thanks and went out into the cold, tugging on the hat and gloves.  She heard the muted thud of the door as it shut behind her, the soft tinkle of bells on the handle.  Miraculously, a cab appeared as she reached the sidewalk.  She hailed it, and with a sigh of good fortune, slid inside when it paused before her.  Homeward bound, at last.

She was not sure what happened tonight, but she could not escape the feeling that the direction of her life had just irrevocably changed.  And that, somehow she nailed the answers to his questions without having any idea of what any of it meant.

As the sun rose over the horizon, for the first time in months she had a reprieve from the dark thoughts that consumed her every waking moment.

 

It was nearly sunset before she emerged from her apartment.  Really, what was the point?  No family, no job.  The bank had let her go yesterday, the literal pink slip still in her purse.  Apparently, they no longer needed people in their file department, keeping track of legal documents for loans.  Everything was paperless now. 

And as mundane as that job was, it had been her salvation.  It gave her a reason to be up and out in the daylight again after hiding in the shadows for nearly three years.  The fact that she could rarely sleep before dawn didn’t help matters.  The nightmares were always there, lurking, waiting for that moment when sleep claimed her.  Nightmares so real she always awoke in a cold sweat, her arms burning both cold and searing hot along the scars snaking around them.  The job forced some semblance of normalcy on her.  And now it was gone. 

Jerks. 

Dumb jerks.

Big, dumb jerks.

So now what?

She picked up her iPod, hitting play.  She glanced at the display.  Now playing:  Johnny Paycheck, Take this Job and Shove It.

 Despite her mood, she snorted.  It was as good a motto as any, she supposed.

Her fingers found the soft yarn of the hat in her pocket.  Last night.  The bridge.  That bar, what was it called?  Haven?  No  - Sanctuary.  Considering she had nearly allowed herself to fall off the bridge, the bartender had given her gloves to keep her warm.  The irony was not lost on her.

She really ought to return the gloves.  Really, it was just good manners.  Return a good deed.  Pass it on.

Just maybe she would see that bartender again.  Michael.

And she was more than a little curious to see if the scenery was any different today.  After all, it wasn’t every day you got to see witches, werewolves and demons.  Oh my.

 

Jillian took a deep breath, and willed herself out of the old pickup she drove and out into the blowing snow.  She had to park a few blocks away from Sanctuary.  Maybe there was a paranormal convention she didn’t know about.  She really didn’t worry about the truck still being there when she came back.  It was two different colors of primer and had enough minor dents to give even the most desperate car thief pause.  She only had about eight hundred dollars wrapped up in it, but it ran and was still something she preferred to have when she came back. 

She pushed her way inside the bar, pausing a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the gloom inside.  It was disappointingly empty. 

She approached the bar.  “Hello?  Anyone here?”

“Hey,” came a voice from around the corner, low and deep.  Definitely not Michael.  This guy was big.  Muscle big, as in his neck was about as thick as his head.  He was dark skinned, dark eyed and had dark hair.  He all but growled.

“You lost or somethin’?”

Well, yay for being Mr. Personality.  “Hi.  No.  Well, I was yesterday and wound up here.  I came to return these.”  She waved the gloves in the air.

“Huh.  Those were in the Lost and Found for weeks.”

“Yeah, well maybe someone else could use them next time,” she replied.  “Karma and pay it forward, and all that.”  She set them down on the bar.

He shrugged.  “Whatever.”

No bonus points being earned here.  “If you could tell the guy from last night thanks.  Michael, I think.”

The incredible bulk made a show of cleaning a glass with a towel.  “He’s not here.”

She grinned.  “Yeah.  I gathered.  Thanks anyway.”  She turned to leave, stopped, and snapped her fingers.

“Oh and by the way, if you haven’t tried it already, lemons work wonders on all sorts of paranormal funk.”

She pushed through the door, catching a glimpse of his dumbfounded expression.  She grinned.  Sometimes she just could not help herself.  Besides, for a werewolf, he wasn’t being very sociable.  Probably on guard duty or something, holding down the fort.

Well, that was a bust, she muttered to herself, walking back to her truck.  Now what?

It wasn’t more than a block later that she felt the prickling awareness that she was being followed.  A half block later, she was certain.  There were three of them. 

Vampires.

Aw, hell.  It would have to be her least favorite of the paranormal set.  Of course the fact that it was a group of vamps that killed her friends and nearly ripped her throat out three years ago didn’t help. 

She slid the short swords hidden in the front lining of her jacket out.  About two feet long a piece, the silver tips winked at her in the darkness.  Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst was her motto.

Unfortunately, she was pretty sure worse was coming.

She whirled to the right when the first vampire dropped in front of her. 

“Well, what do we have here?” he drawled in a thick Southern accent.  “You’re a quick little thing.”

“Better quick than dead,” she quipped back.  “I don’t want any trouble.”  She pivoted easily to keep the other two in her sights as well.

“Ah.  You know what we are.” 

She gave him a knowing look. “Oh yeah.  A friend of yours already introduced himself.  I’d rather not repeat the experience.”

His feverishly bright eyes narrowed in on the scar upon her neck.  “Made a mess of it, did he?  Tsk, tsk.”

She brought the swords into plain view, making sure the silver tips gleamed in the moonlight.  “Lesson learned.  He’s dead.”

There was a flurry of motion to her left.  With blinding speed, she caught the vampire by the neck, neatly in the cross of the swords, the silver pressing tightly against his throat.  Teeth already bared to rip at her flesh, he let out an inhuman howl.

In a series of practiced motions, she shoved him back, spun him around, thumped him on the head, swiped his knees, and finally dispatched him by shoving the metal stake-like into his heart.  He went up in a poof of smoke and ash.

The other two vampires stood staring at her, open mouthed.  Clearly they were not prepared for dinner to be nearly as quick as they were. 

“What are you?” one cried incredulously.

She smirked.  “Someone who’s had a really bad week.”

She sensed movement behind her a split second before she heard it.  As she whirled to countermove against it, something slammed into her, knocking her off her feet.  She rolled, stopping abruptly when she hit the alley wall.  Mostly with her head.  Pain exploded along her temples.  The air whooshed out of her lungs, and she fought to see past the stars.

On the ground where she stood just a moment before stood a fourth vampire, this one wielding a wicked looking broadsword.  She was guessing it dated back to mid eighteenth century, but her vision was still a bit fuzzy.  The sword was definitely lethal enough to bring her down.  But the new arrival was no longer focused on her.  Rather, he had his hands full with someone wielding a white-hot sword of his own.

A moment later, the vampire was nothing more than a poof of ash, and the other two disappeared back into the night.  She tried to focus her eyes upon the newcomer, sensing something familiar but unable to make sense of it.  The double vision wasn’t helping.  Then everything went blinding white.

 

It was sometime later that she came to.  She was back inside her truck, the motor idling along.  The swords sat neatly on the seat beside her.  The heater was blissfully blowing warm air into the cab, something it only did periodically and with great reluctance.  Her head was throbbing, and she gingerly probed with her fingers along her temple.

“Oh, ow.  That did not go well.”  She let out a long drawn out groan as bits and pieces of memory tried to filter through.  Nothing shook loose to fill the void on how she got in the truck though. 

“Curiouser, and curiouser,” she muttered.  “But a girl has to know when to take a hint, guardian angel or no.”  She put the truck into drive and headed back to the security of home.