The next day Jillian
found herself heading towards St.
Thomas to see Father Bob, as “Rescue Me” by Fontella
Bass played along on her iPod. She had yet
to figure out exactly how old Father Bob was, just somewhere between older
brother and Dad age. She had taken her
First Communion from him, and he’d been there for her ever since. If anyone was her guardian angel in this
world, Father Bob would top the list.
That night the
vampires left her for dead, someone had brought her out of the blood-soaked club. For dinner or rescue, she was never
sure. But she was left alone and someone
else came along and took her to St.
Thomas and Father Bob.
Her life had quickly gone to hell in a hand basket after that, but the
priest pulled her out of the fire again and again.
Father Bob gave
her life back. There was little she
wouldn’t do for the man, so when she turned the corner and saw a squad car, her
heart sank with dread. She dodged the
uniforms at the main door, snuck in through the side entrance and made her way
to the offices.
Father Bob was
seated behind his scarred desk, his fingers absently drumming the worn wood. He looked almost angelic with the stained glass window illuminated behind him. Well maybe an angel with a weakness for Hostess Twinkies.
“Father Bob?”
He looked up at
her. “Ah, Jillian. I was just going to call you.”
“Are you all
right? I saw the squad cars out front.”
He waved her
concern away. “Just a little break
in. No one was hurt.”
She sat in the
chair across from him. “Was anything
taken?”
He shrugged. “It’s hard to tell. Right now there is a mess to clean up. They tossed the place pretty good. The damage is limited to the office area at
least.”
She watched him
for a few heartbeats. “So…”
“Yes?”
“So what is it you
aren’t telling me?”
He snorted. “You are getting to know me too well.”
“And you are
avoiding the question.”
He rolled his eyes
heavenward, probably pleading for patience in dealing with her. She tended to have that effect on people.
“Very well. So far the only thing I can tell is missing
are some files.”
She furrowed her
brow in confusion. “Like financials and
things?”
“No,” he shook his
head. “Jillian, someone took the
church’s file on you.”
Luckily
she knew perfectly well what was in her file – nothing. Oh there was basic info like her birthdate,
her parents names, her baptism records, things like that. Nothing of any real importance though.
“Huh. I don’t think I’ve ticked anyone off
lately. Anything else missing?”
“The files have
been gone through. Yours is the only one
missing. I thought you should know. Now then,” he leaned over and placed his
hands over hers. “How are you doing?”
“You’ve heard
then.”
He shrugged. “The gossip mill is as speedy as ever. I was hoping you’d contact me after it
happened.”
This time she
shrugged. “I wasn’t really ready to let
the world know that the bank let me go.
I should have known better about gossip in a small town. I needed to sort things out a bit first.”
His grey eyes
peered into hers. “I had a bad feeling
about you last night.”
“Last night was
rough,” she admitted. “I just drove
around last night. I ended up by the
bridge over on Jefferson .”
Concern furrowed
his brow. “The Leap? Jillian …”
“Look, I’m in one
piece, all right?” she snapped impatiently.
“Geez, Father. I just looked out
over the water for a while. That’s all.”
“And you know as
well as I do that is the one place in all of Holeyoke that is notorious for
jumpers, so you see my concern,” he answered in that annoying compassionate
tone of his that she knew so well.
She blew out a
breath. “Ok, I was in a dark mood, I
admit. I looked out over the water a
while, realized it is entirely too cold to even think such morbid crap, and
ended up in some bar off the square.”
“A bar?” he
asked. “That’s not like you.”
“Tell me about
it. I ended up drinking coffee with the
bartender before heading home. Michael
somebody, over at Sanctuary.”
“Huh.”
He had a funny
look upon his face. “You know the
place?”
“I’ve heard of
it.”
She would bet her
last dollar he knew a whole lot more than that.
Father Bob knew everything and everybody down at the square. It was his saving grounds.
“So you think that
place was a bad place to end up?” she asked.
“Well, you got
home in one piece, right?”
She leaned
forward. “Come on, Father. Was I half out of my mind last night, or did
I stumble onto a bar catering to the paranormal set?”
“I wouldn’t know
anything about that …” Father Bob trailed off.
“I’m not the
church board, you know. And we both know
there are things out there that most of the good people of St Thomas ’s would rather ignore.”
“There are things
I cannot say, even to you, Jillian,” he said finally. “Just be careful. Sanctuary itself is a kind of neutral ground,
but the area around it is still pretty risky to walk around in. Don’t go hunting there.”
She shrugged. “Now, Father.
You know …”
“Jillian …” he
warned. “Don’t lie to your priest.”
She sighed. “Ok. I
did do a bit of hunting off Michigan
Avenue last night.
I think I ran into another hunter.”
“Hmm.”
When it became no
additional response was coming, she prompted, “Father, are there any other
hunters I should know about?”
“There may be,” he
said vaguely.
“A white lighter
with a glowing sword?” she added helpfully.
“Hmm.”
She rolled her
eyes heavenward. “Father, …”
“I cannot tell you
much, but he is one of the good guys.
Don’t get in his way.”
“Well, gee. Thanks.”
She huffed in annoyance. She
hated feeling left in the dark. So to
speak.
“Jillian, there
are things I cannot tell you. This is
one of them. Now then. You went hunting last night. Any casualties?” He reached for his purple stole even as he
asked the question.
“One.”
“Well, then. Shall we?” He arranged his chair so it sat
directly across from her.
It was a ritual
they had repeated hundreds of times over the past three years. Honestly, she didn’t even know if she had a soul left to save.
She nodded, bowing
her head. “Forgive me, Father, for I
have sinned …”
Today, she felt
oddly reluctant to go home. Things felt,
well, off. Heavy. The air itself had a charge to it. She half wondered if this was what foreboding felt like.
Don’t be
ridiculous, she told herself. You’re
just feeling spooked because of the break in at the church. Because some looney took your file was no
reason to get all paranoid.
Except her address
was in that file.
Argh.
Really, the odds
of someone tracking her down were pretty huge.
She wasn’t anybody. No family
left. No money. A few bills.
Maybe a late library book or two, but really nothing remarkable.
Unless someone
figured out her little hobby of hunting down the occasional vampire or demon. But even then, she only took out the ones
determined to kill. It sounded funny,
but unless their aura was completely black, she sometimes let them go. She didn’t believe them all to be
soulless. You made choices in life, for
right or wrong, and that held true for the paranormal set too. Demons were generally a little more cut and
dry, but there were a few of the lesser ones she let be.
She shook her head. Maybe she was
really crazy after all.
It was one of those slow motion things.
She was deep in thought as she came in the door. She put her keys on the little table in the
entryway. She set down the mail. She walked down the hall, past the living
room.
And promptly
backtracked to the doorway because there was a man standing in her living room.
Correction. There was a demon standing in her living room.
“Jillian
Petrosky?” he asked smoothly.
Ok, he seemed to
at least be a very polite demon, wearing a suit even. His silver hair was slicked back, and his
eyes were an icy gray. Based on first impressions, neutrals seemed
to be the only thing in his color palate.
She narrowed her
eyes at him. “And who might you be? And what the hell are you doing in my
apartment?”
He tsked. “Some associates of mine would like to speak
with you. We believe you possess
something of interest to us.”
“No thank
you. I try to stay out of demon
business.”
He nodded
approvingly. “Ah, you know then. That makes things easier. We can make it worth your while.”
She had a really
bad feeling about this. “No.”
He shook his head
sadly at her. “I’m afraid, we insist.”
Her apartment
exploded in flames.
Jillian was shoved violently towards the door. She stumbled as she tried to regain her footing.
“Go!” a male voice
hissed into her ear. And a powerful hand
grabbed her arm and hauled her out of the apartment. She tripped as she was forced down the stairs, but powerful arms somehow kept her upright. She barely kept her balance as she found herself on the street, skipping along until she was released and slumped against a brick wall.
It all happened in
the matter of seconds. She tried to suck
clean air into her smoke-filled lungs, choking and sputtering for endless minutes. She wiped at her watering eyes, trying to
focus upon the figure beside her.
Recognition made her wheeze and sputter again.
“You!” she
gasped.
“Yeah, you can
thank me later,” Michael growled.
“What—who—“
“Later. Get moving.”
He hauled her down
a series of alleyways, only to come to a skidding stop. She crashed into his back.
“Oof!”
Michael was
staring at something in front of them.
She peered around him to see the demon from her living room standing in
front of them. Ah, shit.
“Michael.”
“Luthor.”
“I want the girl.”
Michael
shrugged. “You can’t have her.”
“There is no claim
on her—“
“I am claiming her
now.”
Really, no self-respecting
female of the modern century could let that one go. She stepped out from behind him. “Now hang on a minute—“
The demon gazed at
them thoughtfully. “The others will not
be pleased.”
Michael’s gazed
never wavered. “Not my problem.”
“You know she
carries a mark.”
She caught herself
looking down to see if there was a large X on her anywhere. She did not know exactly what was going on,
but a ‘mark’ didn’t sound like a good thing.
Michael raised his
arm, his palm pointing towards her. Then
a spot on her collarbone began to burn, slowly at first, then hotter.
She pulled the
collar of her shirt away from her skin and looked. Sure enough, there was a little cross burned
into her skin.
“Hey, ow, that hurt-”
“So now she has
two. And she still has free will. My claim will stand.”
“We shall
see.” And the demon disappeared with a
poof into the night.
Michael scanned
the area, apparently looking and listening for things she could only
imagine. “Come on,” he said, once he
deemed the area all clear. He tucked her
into a nearby parked car and they drove off.
It was several
seconds and a later that Jillian was able to form a coherent thought.
“Question.”
He kept looking
straight ahead. “Shoot.”
“What the freakin’ hell was that?”
He tsked. “Such language. That was Luthor.”
“A demon,” she
interjected.
“A demon,” he
nodded. “He wanted you, and I said no.”
She held up her
hand. “A couple of things there. First, what would a demon want with me?”
“Not really sure.”
Oh, there was so much he wasn’t saying, she
fumed. “Ok then. What about the other thing?”
“Which thing?” he
asked, turning left into another series of winding alleyways.
“About you not
letting him.”
“What about it?”
“You said you
‘claimed’ me.”
“Luthor gathers
souls. My job is to not let him.”
“Ah. And your job is?”
“I’m a Guardian. A type of angel.”
“Of course.” She rubbed her head again, checking for any
new lumps that may explain brain damage.
“And by ‘claiming me…’”
“If he wants your
soul, he going to have to get through me first.”
She had no idea
what to say to that. “I feel like I
should say thanks here, except none of this makes any sense. Well, that and you freakin’ branded me back there. This is not the Wild West. And I am not a cow. It's 2014. Chicago. Modern times ...
Where are we going?”
He finally turned
to look at her. “Your apartment just got
torched. Do you have someplace to stay?”
“I could go to a
hotel, I guess—“
“They will be
looking for you,” he interrupted. “There
are extra rooms at Sanctuary. We have a
kind of safe house there for cases like this.”
She stared at him
hard a few moments. “We are already half
way there. I don’t have the feeling that
I have much of a choice, do I?”
“You catch on
quick.”