Seraphs

  I rolled my eyes. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “If you two are finished with the mutual admiration society,” Audric’s voice came from the bottom of the stairs, “it’s time to go.”

  Audric was not dressed for practice, but for war. A tight-fitting, black dobok was thickly padded against devil-spawn, his weapons secured in loops or fastened in place, his katana and wakizashi sheathed at his waist. Audric was a savage-chi and savage-blade master. A war ax was strapped across his back, the blade painted scarlet, feathers floating from the handle. Bombs dangled from a belt across his chest. Throwing blades were strapped in plain sight at wrists and calves. Smaller throwing weapons adorned his chest, hips, and upper thighs.

  “Oh,” Rupert breathed. It sounded like ecstasy. “Even if I were straight, I’d turn gay at the sight of you.” I was pretty sure I moaned too. Nothing like a man in uniform.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked. Audric had not revealed to the town that he was a half-breed. “There’s no reason to.”

  “I am bound to Raziel, winged-warrior who fights with the ArchSeraph Michael. I have been charged with your protection.” He bowed deeply, the formal obeisance of his training and heritage. I caught the sadness underlying his tone. Audric had never wanted to be bound to a seraph. He wasn’t happy with his status, would never be happy serving another, not even a being of Light who would call him to battle. “It is my duty and my honor to protect the licensed mage my master has honored with his presence.” When he raised upright, his sigil of office rested on his chest, and his skin was warm with the soft tones of the second-unforeseen. Not as bright as my own, but clearly displaying his half-neomage genes.

  “Nice touch,” I said, uncertain. “But don’t risk it if you don’t have to.”

  Audric laughed, the deep rumble echoing in the cold stairwell, his dark eyes hot with scorching brightness. “If the day is auspicious, the humans will attack and we will fight. Battle and glory call to me today,” he said with all the formality of his kind. His hands rested on his swords. “The blood of humans is sweet when they trespass against the seraph’s chosen.”

  “Hey. Human being standing here,” Rupert said. “Enough of the blood and glory.”

  “If they attack, stay to Thorn’s right,” Audric commanded. He slung a scarred battle cloak over his shoulders and dobok. Tapping his lightning-bolt pendant, he damped his skin. I touched my prime amulet, blanking my neomage attributes, and checked my walking-stick blade. Eighteen inches of mage-tempered steel showed before I re-sheathed it.

  “Okay,” I said. “If you’re sure.”

  When we reached the bottom of the stairs, Audric stepped into the uncertain light of the shop. From a chair in the waiting area of Thorn’s Gems, he lifted a dark bundle and gave it a shake. Yards of velvet slinked down with a whisper of sound, taking the shape of a cloak. He held it to Rupert. “I bought it for your birthday, but it seems appropriate for today.”

  “Sweet seraph. It’s wonderful.” Rupert took the cloak, stroking the dark blue velvet, so fine it scattered the light. The lining was quilted scarlet silk. He shook the wrinkles from its folds, and tossed it over his shoulders. Assuming a rakish pose, he asked, “Well?”

  “You look perfect,” I said. “It brings a blue sheen to your eyes, and makes your hair look even darker.” I’d have added it was lovely, except it wasn’t; it somehow carried a sense of menace. The cloth fell to the floor, making his shoulders look broader, his form threatening.

  “And there’s this,” Audric said. From the counter, he lifted a cloth-wrapped object and extended it to Rupert. A leather-wrapped hilt with a dark blue stone set into the pommel protruded from the end. “It’s a bastard sword. It was specially made for you.”

  At the sight of the ornate navy-and-burgundy, tooled-leather sheath, Rupert made a soft sound, not quite a moan, not quite a groan, but way more than a sigh. The timbre brought a smile to Audric’s face. “You’re slower than a mage or a half-breed,” he said, “but stronger. As your skills increase, that strength will make you a formidable opponent, even for me. The hand-and-a-half-length hilt is perfect to capitalize on that strength.” Rupert pulled the blade from the sheath and set the leather to the side. Gripping the hilt in both hands, he swung the double-bladed, four-foot sword experimentally, getting the feel of its balance. “Don’t start a swing that you aren’t totally committed to, Rupert. It has its own weight. It won’t be easy to stop in battle.”

  “Is it named?” he asked.

  I stiffened at the question. Most sword masters—not sword owners, but masters—named their weapons, and that name often followed a blade from master to master. That name was part of the initiation rite when a savage-blade student was given his first battle-weapon. To a traditional swordsman, the blades he used were alive, with personalities and characters all their own. I had never named my own weapons, and had never been through the ceremony that officially marked a mage reaching adult-hood, thus I had never received my adult weapons. Maybe I would feel differently about them if I had, but to me they were tools, not toys or pets.

  “No. Naming is your right, but only after you draw first blood in battle.” Audric handed him the sword sheath. “Strap it on beneath your cloak. Today, it’s for show. Most likely.” His voice was disappointed; there might not be fighting and bloodletting in the streets.

  “What are we today? Her escorts?”

  Audric’s mouth turned up, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Her champards.”

  I closed my eyes. The title was a formal one, established by the first practitioners of savage-blade for the nonmage companions of a mage—champions and partners who followed into battle, fought the same war, and wrestled against a common enemy. Champards pledged themselves and their fortunes to one mage-leader. And died by her side. Cold scuttled up my spine on anxious feet. Rupert’s training in the arts of war had only begun when Audric came into his life. He wasn’t ready for his first battle blade. He was good, very good, but was years away from being skilled enough to fight in a real war. “I don’t want anyone to fight beside me. I never want anyone to die because of me,” I said.

  “We took on your battles when we became partners in Thorn’s Gems, honeybunch,” Rupert said, strapping the sheath on his waist beneath his cloak. “When we first became friends. This was inevitable.”

  But he didn’t know what he was saying, what he was promising. He couldn’t. Behind us, Jacey stepped through the door with a blast of icy air, her boots on the wood floor telling me who she was as surely as if she had announced herself. It took a long moment for the door to close. “You people look . . . wicked,” she said, her voice muted. “Dreadful. And terrible. And exquisite. Like pure flame.” It was her trademark comment, flame having the power that purified gold and metal, and shaped glass. Her words fell like an omen on my soul. I didn’t want to look terrible, yet it was the effect I had planned for. It was the exact impression I wanted to make. And with two armed champards at my side, I could look nothing else.

  When I opened my eyes, I saw Jacey, wearing her finest, a scarlet velvet gown with long, full skirts, and a dark crimson cloak thrown back to reveal the dress. I was surprised she wore her best clothes. And then I wasn’t. In her own way, Jacey, too, was declaring herself a champard. Her brown hair was braided, and she was wearing lipstick, something she seldom bothered with. I blinked back a sheen of tears. “Who’s going to mind the store?” I asked.

  “We’re closing Thorn’s Gems. It’s been decided we need a show of force to combat the gossips, scandalmongers, and waggling tongues. Don’t argue,” she said as I was about to protest. “I need jewelry,” she added. Going to the emerald display case, she lifted out the chunky emerald necklace made of locally mined stone and draped it over her head. The pendant nestled in the velvet and caught the light. “This emerald find made all the news. It won’t hurt to remind the town fathers where a good bit of their tax base comes from.” She dangled emeralds from her ears, and slid thr
ee emerald rings on her fingers. On her wrists went matching knitted cuffs, stitched with beads, which caught the light.

  Calm, she looked us over, her gaze lingering on me, on the hem trailing from beneath my battered war-cloak. Her brows went up but she didn’t comment. Instead she looked over the door to the loft, at the framed, embroidered proverb hanging there. It was my birth prophecy, the divination that claimed my twin and I would be great warriors against Darkness. A Rose by any Other Name will still draw Blood. The prophecy that could never come true because Rose was dead.

  “You don’t have a family,” she said, “except us. And family doesn’t desert family. Lock up, boys. Thorn. Big Zed and the kids are waiting.” Regal, she floated through the room and out the door.

  “You ever see her like that?” Audric asked.

  “Yeah, with her kids,” Rupert said morosely. “Best not to argue. She’ll box our ears.”

  “Do tell. I’d like to see her try.” Flipping his palm up and out, Audric said, “After you, little mage.”

  Dread tight in my chest, I followed Jacey into the sleet, my walking stick tapping for balance, the bloodstone handle-hilt of its hidden sword warm in my hand. With a deft movement, I freed my cloak’s hood and pulled it over my head. Sleet had formed a brittle layer on top of the softer snow, and my boots cracked through, sinking to mid-shin. The town was quiet except for sleet landing with a secretive patter.

  A snow-el-bile—a hybrid, battery-powered car modified with snowmobile sled runners—raced past, sliding and slipping. Another el-car, this one painted with the logo of the Satellite News Network and equipped with a rotating track like a bulldozer, churned toward us on the slick surface. Chasing a seraph sighting, reporters from SNN had been stranded in town when a blizzard hit and were desperate to find something to share with the nation before their superiors and fans forgot they existed. Or they could take the mule train back to civilization. Not a fun prospect. Oliver Winston had tried to interview the local mage, as had his companion reporter, Romona Benson. So far I had managed to avoid them.

  From every building and storefront, town citizens emerged, locking up behind them. Some delivered surreptitious glances our way. Others turned away as if we didn’t exist. Only a few acknowledged us, and I made note of them: Esmeralda Boyles—Miz Essie—who trudged across the street to join our little cavalcade; Sennabel Schwartz, who ran the local library; and her husband, whom I didn’t know. A few others followed.

  I smelled Thaddeus Bartholomew, a state police cop and Rupert’s cousin, across the street before I saw him, his body throwing pheromones into the air like an advertisement for pure sex. Thadd was a walking come-hither machine, and I wasn’t the only one to notice. Human women turned, finding him with their eyes without knowing why. His face was haggard, pain lines cutting through once-smooth flesh. Hiding among humans, half human, part seraph, part mage, his genetic heritage was jumbled. Stuck between forms, the change into third-generation kylen had halted. But the enzymes catalyzing his transformation were still active and, because I knew what to look for, I could see the slight humps on either side of his spine where infant seraph wings had begun to emerge.

  “Can anyone join this parade, or is it only for the blood kin and the condemned?” a voice drawled. I cast Eli Walker a quick smile. The lithe, almost delicate man was leaning against the wall of the dry-goods store, his booted feet crossed at the ankles, partially blocking the walkway. I figured he was one of the people Audric had phoned when preparing for my trial.

  Eli was part-time miner, part-time tracker, a great dancer, and a spiffy dresser. Today he was decked out in Post-Ap cowboy gear: jeans, hobnailed boots, cowboy hat, and fringed leather jacket. Around his neck was an old Indian necklace of dyed wood beads, glass beads, and porcupine quills on a woven, knotted jute thong. Eli liked me, and not for the jewelry I could make, the charms I might conjure, or my money, though he brought raw emeralds from his claim to Thorn’s Gems and bartered high prices for them. Some of them hung around Jacey’s neck, and I saw him glance at them before he looked back at me. His lips lifted in a slow smile, the kind that excluded everyone else present and spoke volumes to intent. He’d been trying to get me into bed for weeks.

  “All help is welcome,” Jacey said.

  “Then you won’t mind if I escort my mama into the meeting.” Boots scratching across the ice as he stood upright, he intercepted Miz Essie and took her arm. “I imagine she’s going to side with you. She always sides with the underdog, and that means trouble.”

  “You’re a good boy,” the older woman said, patting his face, “but you should have shaved. Shame on you, and you so pretty.” A dark fuzz of beard grizzled his cheeks. It looked good below his odd amber-colored eyes. Very good.

  “Yes, Mama, I am.” He kissed the leather glove over her knuckles, his eyes on me as his lips touched. His expression said clearly that he’d like to kiss me, and wouldn’t stop at the knuckles. I blushed hotly and Eli chuckled. It was disconcerting. “And you’re a pot of trouble filled to the brim.” He still spoke to his mother, but I was his target. And when he stood, I saw he was prepared for trouble of the worst sort. Beneath the buckskin jacket he wore a white flannel shirt with guns holstered beneath each arm. The hilt of a baselard, a short sword with a two-foot-long blade, was strapped across his back.

  “No fighting,” I said, my tone fervent. “Neomages never start violence against humans. Never.”

  “Don’t reckon they do,” Eli agreed. “But they damn sure finish it when they’re attacked.” His mother gasped and my flush deepened at his casual swearing, but he was right. He’d seen me fight. And the history books confirmed his claim. Unrepentant at his coarse language, Eli grinned at me. “And I also reckon I don’t much feel like being on the losing side in this little internecine war some town fathers and orthodox elders have cooked up.”

  “What have you heard?” Audric asked, his hands gripping the hilts of his weapons beneath his cloak. Two el-cars skidded past us and disappeared. Silence settled on the landscape, broken by footsteps and the rustle of people on the move. Sleet peppered over my hood.

  “Since Jacey called? Little here, little there. Enough to know some folks got less sense than balls. Your pardon, ladies.” He tipped his hat as his mother swatted him. The unmistakable affection between the two made me appreciate Eli, maybe more than I should. As if he knew what I was thinking, he winked at me. “We should make an impression, though, when we all stomp in the room together. Just hope it’s enough of an impression to count for something. Make a few people think instead of getting all heated up and mob-minded. The progressives and reformed are diddling about whether to intercede in her behalf. Politics by committee sucks, but it’ll suck more if the three groups come to blows.”

  That was what I dreaded, a mob scene. Under my cloak, I shivered and slid my fingers through the ring of my prime amulet. With my other hand, I levered myself along, walking stick tapping. Its vibrant green-and-red bloodstone hilt warmed my palm. It was also a prime amulet. Most mages had only one prime. I had two. I hoped I wouldn’t need to drain them both dry today just staying alive. And keeping my friends alive.

  I should have been warmed and gratified by the supporters around me, should have been persuaded that numbers would make a difference to the future I feared. But I wasn’t. Instead, I remembered the morning’s dream and the cry of the lynx. My fingers found and worried the tiny release that allowed me to pull free the long blade. For fighting.

  As we moved up the street, Eli stepped close. In a laconic tone he said, “Some of my boys been hearing rumors about a seraph trapped in the Trine.” I whipped my head to him. “From when you went underground? Seven seraphs went in after you and only six came out.”

  I had no idea who his boys were or why he might mention that now, but I nodded stiffly. “Yes. One is still underground. Trapped.”

  “Hmm,” he said. Which told me nothing. He pushed back the brim of his hat, allowing the weak sunlight to warm his amber eye
s. “Let me know when you decide to go back after him. I’ll tag along. Watch your back.”

  “I will never—never—go underground again,” I said quickly, preventing a shiver of fear before it took me.

  “I see,” he said. “Fine. Sure. Whatever.” And the miner fell behind me.

  When we rounded the long curve and saw the former Central Baptist Church ahead, my hopes dwindled. The building was no longer used for religious services. It was now the town meeting hall. Out front of the old building a throng of people milled, split into two factions, an informal welcoming party to either side of the entry doors. The group with me faltered and nearly stopped. We would have to walk between the two crowds to gain entry. Well, in one way that was symbolic of what I had done to the town: Divided it utterly.

  Murmuring voices raised on the cold air as black-clad orthodox and angry men in one group debated in loud voices with the smaller, more colorful progressive and reformed crowd. I figured it was the first time the orthodox and the rougher elements of Mineral City had ever agreed on anything. Too bad that agreement was to kill me. And too bad the other, smaller group looked so cowed. If I was attacked, they would probably run instead of coming to my defense.

  I was so toast.

  Chapter 5

  Brisk footsteps gained on us and I felt, more than saw, Audric whirl and half pull his short blade. I spun, ready for anything, but it was Elder Jasper and his pretty blond wife, Polly, who had been a half block behind us. “Morning, folks,” the elder said, his gaze touching each of us, a warning conferred in his expression. “Hope you don’t mind us slipping in front of you.” His voice dropped, not carrying beyond our small troupe. “Seems some folk might need reminding that violence is punishable by kirk sanctions.”

  Jasper glanced at me as he passed, his eyes saying as clearly as his voice would have, Wait! Instantly he looked away, raising his arm. “Morning, Earl! Ephraim. Howard! How you boys doing today?” He and Polly pulled ahead of us. “I wanta thank you for showing up at widder-woman Henderson’s yesterday. That ramp you boys put together for the old lady was the blessing of the year for her. Louis, missed you at kirk Sunday. Hope you’re feeling better. Richard, good to see you again. Glad you’re back in town. Joseph, hope that ulcer is better. Saw the new el-car. They call that color seraph blood, don’t they? Florence, I see you’re feeling better, making new friends, getting out some. I look forward to finding you back at jubilee this week.”