TW: Threatened gun violence and verbal domestic violence against a woman
The horrible scraping sound of metal on metal woke me from a dead sleep. I partly sat up, only to be blinded by white morning light coming in from around the door. Mister leapt off the couch and out through the door before I fully comprehended what was going on. Mouse – who was laying right in front of the couch – merely perked up his ears.
As my eyes adjusted, I saw that the person coming in was a young woman in her late teens, early twenties. She had shoulder-length, dirty blonde hair with red and green streaks dyed into it for the holiday. Most of her adult curves were already in place, but her body still retained some of the lankiness of adolescence.
Given the insane level of Harry's wards and the casual response from Mouse, I made the educated guess that this was someone who was supposed to be here…apparently at some ungodly early hour of the day.
"Good morning," I said, yawning and stretching.
"Oh!" she said, jumping. The girl recovered quickly though. Just as I assumed someone coming in was supposed to be there; she likely assumed that anyone already here was likely invited. She went about heading to the kitchenette with a small bag of groceries. "Hi, I'm Molly; Harry's apprentice."
"Hey, I'm Gwen; Harry's…overnight guest." Wow, that sounded awkward.
"You from the Paranet?" she asked.
"The what?" I was getting tired having all these terms being thrown around that I was apparently supposed to already know. "No, I just ran into him last night." Like literally.
"Ah," Molly replied, seeming to accept that answer without question. "I'm making omelets; want one?"
"Sure. What time is it?" I couldn't find a clock anywhere.
"A little after eight," she said cheerily.
I used to be a morning person. "Old age" and a few years of evening shifts had changed that though. That and the fact that I don't think I'd gone to bed more than five or six hours ago.
"Coffee?" Molly asked.
"Tea please," was my flat reply. "I don't do well on caffeine."
Without skipping a beat, Molly filled the kettle with water and set it on the wood stove next to an old-fashioned coffee percolator. With that done, she grabbed down the leash and perkily said, "Come on Mouse!"
It was only then that Mouse got up and went to her, waving his tail in greeting.
And then I was alone in the apartment. It was chilly. The fire had died way down. I assumed it was okay and tossed a couple pieces of wood in. The candles had either gone out or been put out. Either way, it didn't really matter, as the sun was casting a fair amount of light into the apartment, despite how small the windows were.
There really wasn't much to the place. It didn't smell nearly as musty as one would expect from a basement. Harry had tried covering the bare concrete walls with book shelves, movie posters and those tapestries you can get from "Wiccan" shops. Except for the kitchenette (which was tiled in linoleum), the floor was completely covered with multiple rugs in various sizes, designs and patterns. The furniture was all mismatched, but comfy and obviously well-loved.
My eyes were drawn to the corner next to the door where Harry's black leather duster hung. His staff sat in that old popcorn bucket next to it. The coat and staff had a type of glow to them; clearly marking them as magical objects – which made sense of course. I noticed among the very mundane black cane and ratty umbrella, the wooden walking stick glowed too. It was a different type of glow though. Brighter? Whiter? I couldn't really tell, I just knew that the coat and staff had a similar "feel" to them and the walking stick was different.
Molly returned then, taking Mouse off his lead and filling his food bowl. "Want ham, onions and peppers in your omelet?" she asked.
"Sure," I said, a bit distracted. "Hey, what's the deal with that walking stick in the popcorn bucket?"
Molly leaned back to glance at it. "It's not a walking stick, it's a sword."
I laughed, "Harry carries a staff and a sword? How Gandolf-ian."
"The sword isn't his. He's just holding onto it." She said the last line in a way that indicated that she didn't want to talk about it anymore. I guess that explained why the energy read different.
"You can check it out if you want to," Harry said, just then coming out of his room, yawning.
"Umm…" Molly said, clearly not liking that idea for some reason, but not really wanting to contradict her teacher.
Oh cool, an awkward situation that I had no idea why.
"I'm good thanks," I said diplomatically. "I've got sticky energy, I don't want to…I don't know, mess with its mojo or something."
"Fine by me," Harry replied groggily. "That coffee ready yet, Grasshopper?"
"You bet, Boss," and Molly poured a cup for him (there wasn't enough room in the kitchen area for him to do it himself). She stirred in a fair amount of sugar before handing it to him.
Even though she hadn't said or done anything directly, everything about how she talked about Harry and interacted with him gave off a subtle, but undeniable message warning me that Harry was "hers". It was adorable, especially because, one: I was happily married. And two: I was pretty sure I had a good ten years on Harry; though she likely didn't know that – I look a lot younger than I really am.
"You two have met, I take it," Harry said, gesturing to Molly and me with his cup as he walked to his chair.
"Yeah," we both said.
"Change of plans for today," Harry said, looking over his shoulder at Molly. When she glanced up from her cooking, he said, "I know you were supposed to copy out spells today, but I'm going to have to ask you to take Gwen back to your parents' place for a bit. I'll call ahead and let them know you're coming."
"Oh?"
Harry then gave a brief synopsis of what had happened last night, earlier this morning, whatever. He explained who and what I was, where I'd come from and likely why. Turning to me, he said, "Bob and I did more talking after you came back upstairs." (It was gracious of him to say it like that). "We're pretty sure the Bright Ones are being gathered in a central location in this reality before being distributed in the one they're going to try to dislodge. We're guessing that you getting dropped off here was the result of some crazy-level coincidences."
With that, he pulled out an old AAA map of the United States and opened it across the coffee table. "You said you're from around here," he said, pointing at the appropriate spot on the map. "Chicago is of course here," and he slid his finger across. "Bob speculates that it's easier to access other realities from geological high points or low points. That means…" and he continued to slide his finger in a straight line, stopping on Denver, Colorado. "…It reasons to guess that they're probably gathering the Bright Ones here. We think it was just blind luck that I happened to walk right into your path last night. Your shields hitting the shields in my coat probably made them drop you. That and the fact that you were being pulled from an already dislodged reality – their hold on you likely wasn't terribly strong to begin with."
"That's…a lot of coincidences," I mused, studying the map. "Do we know who yet?"
"Bob's best guess is a secret society called the Brotherhood of the Dark Knife. The details aren't terribly important, but their M.O. is rather Lovecraftian. They want to open up this world to Outsiders – powerful, ancient beings – to, well, you know, the whole 'cleanse and reset' the world nonsense. They're certainly not the first to try something like this, but it looks like they've been the most successful so far. Oh, and hey, we only have a few hours to stop them."
He said this all rather casually, conversationally, but his words stuck me silent. Molly had been bringing over the omelets she'd made, and she too stopped dead in her tracks.
"Uh…" I said. "And that will be done how…?"
"I'll explain as we go," he said; almost excited. "First, Molly," as he accepted the plate she handed him. "I hate to impose, but do you think you have something here that'll fit Gwen?"
"Yeah, I think so," she said, looking me up and down to get my general size. After Harry's explanation of who I was and what I was doing here, I'd apparently been moved from the "threat" column to the "safe" category. "Let me go look," and she opened up the trap door behind the couch and went down into the lab.
Harry shoved a large forkful of cooked egg into his mouth and leaned towards me. "Just to warn you, she's a terrible cook."
That didn't seem to be slowing him down much though. I too took a bite, but found that Harry's assessment had indeed been correct. Molly hadn't sauteed the onions or peppers first, so they were still raw. The chunks of ham were just a little too big and still cold. The egg in the middle was undercooked and ran together with the over-abundance of cheese. The outside was a tad too brown. Still, it was hot food that I didn't have to make, so it was just as fine with me as it was with him. We both had our breakfasts finished before Molly returned.
She came upstairs with a long denim wrap skirt, an oversized grey turtleneck sweater and summer sandals with adjustable straps. "This is really the best I could find, sorry," and she did look genuinely apologetic.
"It's fine," I assured her. "Fortunately it hasn't been too cold lately." I carried my plate to the kitchenette and took the clothes to the mirrorless bathroom. Molly was by no means an Amazon. Though a bit on the taller side, she was actually quite average in size and build. That unfortunately meant that everything was still far too big for me. The wrap skirt hit right at my ankles and could have gone around me twice; I had to get creative with the tie. The sweater – meant to be big and baggie to begin with – swallowed me whole, but at least the extra folds would help keep me warm. The sandals just barely fit when I tightened them down to the smallest setting. It was a fairly odd ensemble, especially for Chicago in winter, but it'd work for now. There was little I could do for my hair without a brush. I'd have to ask for a hair tie or something before we left.
Molly was doing dishes when I returned to the "living room". Harry held up a yarn bracelet that had been sitting on the coffee table.
"Made this for you last night," he said. "It should protect you from getting pulled away once you're outside the wards. You left or right-handed?"
"Left," I replied.
"Right hand it is," and he tied the bracelet around my right wrist. It was very simple: blue yarn strung with small mirrored pieces and four of those evil eye beads evenly spaced around it. Honestly, it looked like a kid's craft project. Harry then touched it and I saw a faint, but cool flash of blue as it apparently "activated". A magically infused kid's craft project. I was impressed.
"That should do it. Grasshopper, you good to go?"
"Sure thing Boss," Molly replied, placing the last dish in the drainer (there hadn't been much to wash).
"Okay, you to take Gwen in the Beetle to your parents' and wait for me there. I'm meeting a client this morning to close out a case and I'll need to run a few errands after. Traffic is going to be nuts downtown, so I'll just take a cab."
"Got it," and with that, Molly pulled on her coat. She paused and looked at me, a bit embarrassed. "I don't have an extra coat."
"It's fine, I can't imagine that your parents live far."
"They don't," and she nodded for me to follow, yanking the partly damaged door open. What the hell had hit it?
I flinched as we stepped out into the morning sun. "Gah!" I said. "I'm going to have to get some sunglasses."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, I wear glasses at home that get dark when you're outside. Your eyes get used to that. This is miserable." And I squinted painfully.
"Isn't it going to be a problem just seeing without your glasses?" Molly asked, leading me around the side of the building.
"Happily, in this reality, I can see just fine without glasses." And then I saw the car. "Oh my gosh, it's so stinking cute!"
There, parked in the building's little gravel driveway was an ancient Volkswagen Beetle. There was no telling what the original color had been. Some parts were powder blue, others were white; there was also some orange and green thrown in. One piece was just primer grey. There wasn't a surface on the exterior that wasn't dented or dinged. The windows and mirrors all looked good though – likely replaced recently; likely frequently. This car had seen some serious battle and the little thing apparently still survived.
Molly gave a smile of pride. "He does really like this beat up little hunk of junk. He calls it the Blue Beetle because apparently it was originally blue."
I was amazed that Harry could actually fit in the thing; Molly's head nearly touched the low ceiling when we got in. The interior was in worse shape than the outside, but it just made it more endearing.
Molly coaxed the old car to life and off we puttered to some other residential section of Chicago.
"So…" Molly started after a brief silence. "How are you handling all this?"
"Better than I probably should," I said with a small laugh. "I think it just hasn't sunk in yet. I own literally nothing in this world except for a pair of beat up pajamas and my duplicate wedding ring. I don't have any ID, no money, no job. No one knows me here. I feel like I'm just a solid ghost."
"That's gotta suck," she mused, watching the road.
"Again, I guess it's supposed to, but right now I'm fine. It'll probably be less fine when I need to find a place to live or buy groceries. Bob thinks I probably won't be able to get home."
"Jesus," she said quietly. "Well, I'm sure between Harry and my parents, we should be able to get you set up somewhere safe."
"Thanks." Another stretch of silence. Then, "So…how long have you been Harry's apprentice?"
"A year and a half or so, but I've known him for years. He and my Dad work together sometimes."
"Your father is a wizard too?"
Molly laughed, "Quite the opposite actually. He's a knight," she glanced at me and grinned. "He or Harry can explain it. Dad runs a construction business, but he also…does important work for the Church occasionally."
"The Church?"
"Yup."
"Huh." Then when she clearly wasn't going to elaborate, I said, "So, other than being a wizard's apprentice, do you go to college or anything?"
She glanced at me sideways. "You're kidding, right?"
When I rose my eyebrows in sincere curiosity, she let out a puff of air. "Oh right, Harry mentioned magic doesn't work the same way in your world. Yeah, no college for me: too many computers. I'm not as bad as Harry, but I can blow a hard drive from ten feet if I'm in a bad mood. Dad is always changing the light bulbs at home. I sometimes have to sit at the far end of the living room just to watch TV. I can't spend a lot of time in the kitchen either when Mom has the Instapot going."
"Oh, damn," I said. I guess that was why Molly wasn't a great cook. "Is that what it's going to be like for me here too?" The prospects of my future comfort and computer use slowly dissolving.
"I…don't know. Harry said you use magic differently than he and I do. You might be fine, but definitely take it easy at first."
"How do other wizards manage?" I asked. "Harry implied there were more out there, just that he's more 'out' than most."
"They don't live in cities like Chicago, that's for sure!" she said, laughing. "Wizards have always tended to live apart from 'normies'. There's been wizard strongholds all over the world for centuries. Technology has really only been a problem for our kind for the past eighty years or so."
"Can I ask about Harry's left hand?" I asked cautiously after another pause in conversation. I had only noticed that it was badly scarred and moved a little stiffly this morning when he was tying on the bracelet.
Molly shrugged. "It got badly burned six or so years ago. It actually used to look much worse. Like blackened char. It was pretty gross. Wizards just heal really well."
At this point we pulled up to a lovely old Victorian house with a white picket fence. There were a couple bare trees in the front yard, as well as a partly melted snowman, the results of the last big snowfall and subsequently warm weather. Though the rest of the houses in the neighborhood were cheerily decorated for Christmas, same as this one, they looked a bit more rundown; like this was the last middle class holdout in a neighborhood that was deteriorating.
"Oh cool," Molly said. "Dad's home!" By way of explanation, she said, "He usually isn't home during the day."
There was an impossibly clean, big, white pick-up truck in the driveway as well as a maroon minivan. Molly parked behind the pick-up truck and the Beetle coughed to a halt.
"Okay," she said, as she yanked up on the parking brake. "A few things you need to know about my family: Mom and Dad are very, very Christian. No swearing or taking the Lord's name in vain."
"No worries, I play nice with Christians."
"Also," and she eyed the minivan a little self-consciously. "I have a lot of brothers and sisters. They're all at school right now, but…there's a lot."
"No problems there either," I said with a laugh. "I'm good with kids." And we both got out of the car.
We were met at the door by a tall, blonde woman; clearly Molly's mother. "You must be Gwen," she said with a warm smile.
"Uh, yeah."
"Mr. Dresden called and told us you'd be coming. I'm Charity Carpenter," and she held out her hand to shake.
My blank look made her stop. Then it clicked, "Ooohh!" I said with an embarrassed laugh. "I'm sorry, I didn't know his last name. We just met last night," and I shook her hand.
Just like with Harry – though not nearly as strong or disorienting – I got a brief flash of a strong, resilient woman, fiercely protective of her family. There was far more to her though than just a "pleasant homemaker"; she was also a warrior or sorts. A confident lioness. Was this going to happen with everyone I touched?
"Do come in," she said, her welcoming manner returning. "What's your favorite color?"
Random. "Uh…dark pink, or purple?"
"Okay. Molly, can you take her up to the guest room and go through the clothing bins with her?" as she went to the closet under the stairs.
Too stunned to object, I passively followed Molly up the stairs; who somehow seemed to know what was going on.
The guest room could only be called that on the technicality that it held a neatly-made full-sized bed in the middle of the room. It was actually a sewing room. A sewing machine and heavy-duty serger, both fully-threaded sat side-by-side on a table in one corner. A partially-finished project sat neatly folded next to them. There were large, translucent bins full of various fabrics lining the walls. A well-stocked thread rack hung on the wall over the machines.
"This'll be your room until we can find something better," Molly said casually, going straight to the closet. Hanging inside were various coats; most of them were winter weight, but some were light jackets and wind breakers. These she shoved aside and stepped in. Apparently the closet was much wider than the typical bedroom closet. She emerged yanking out two stacked bins.
"Okay," she said, plopping the top bin onto the bed and pulling off the top. The bin was completely full of two rows of neatly folded shirts, all stacked on end so you could see each one. The left row looked to be tee-shirts. The right row was sweaters and sweatshirts. All arranged in rainbow order. The colors apparently resetting with different sizes. "You're what, a small? Extra small?" and she fingered through the shirts in the right-side row, pulling out the first five or six. "See if any of these trip your trigger."
"Wait," I said, shaking my head. "What's going on here?"
"Clothes," Molly said, as though that explained everything. When she saw I was still confused, her expression soften from business-like to something more like sympathy. "Gwen," she said quietly. "You need clothes. We have clothes," and she swept her hand over the bin.
"But…"
She smiled, suddenly getting it. "In a family with seven kids who all grow like weeds, it's a lot easier to buy clothes when they're on sale to have on hand so you don't have to rush to the store every time someone's ankles stick out from under their pants cuffs."
"I…don't want to impose," I said quietly.
"You're not imposing at all," Charity said firmly, standing in the doorway with one of those sturdy backpacks that people like to use as carry-ons when traveling. It was black with a decorative bright pink stripe, accented with a reflective white strip. "We are blessed with abundance, and we're happy to share that abundance with others. I want you to pick out four outfits. Save one out to change into and the rest can go in here," and she shook the backpack.
Her words left no room for argument and my eyes stung with tears. "Thank you," I whispered.
Setting the backpack on the bed, Charity continued, "There's a set of pajamas in there, a new hair brush, and a bag of toiletries. When you girls are done, Molly can show you where the bathroom is so you can shower."
"Sure, thank you," my voice was thick and I had to wipe my eyes.
Charity smiled and finished gently, "When you're done with that, my husband, Michael wanted to speak with you. His office is the door on the left before the kitchen."
I nodded and she left the room.
When she was gone, Molly smiled at me. "Like I said, very Christian. Like, the good kind."
"I guess so," was all I could think to say.
And with that we went through clothes. After finding four tops (two sweaters and two sweatshirts), we went through the second bin, which had sweatpants and leggings on one side and jeans and slacks on the other. I could only find two pairs of jeans that fit; so I supplemented with a pair of beige khakis and a black pair of sweats. I picked out a navy blue hoodie and a heavier jacket from inside the closet. Another bin revealed full packs of socks and underwear in various sizes. I pulled out a pack of each, as well as a pack of boys undershirts when I explained to Molly that I didn't wear bras. Like most busty women, she laughingly expressed her jealousy.
With that taken care of, I pulled out the brush and toiletries bag from the backpack, and put in the clothes I wouldn't be wearing. It all fit fine with room to spare. Molly then led me to the kids' bathroom. It was neat and clean, but there were bath toys everywhere. Chairty had set out two fresh towels and a washcloth on the edge of the sink.
"Okay," Molly said, looking around. "What you're wearing now can go in the hamper. Toss your towels and washcloth in there too when you're done. Mom likes me to do laundry when I'm home, so I'll run a load when you're done. I think those toiletry bags that Mom gets come with shampoo, conditioner and body wash, but you're welcome to use the stuff here too. The shower controls are straight-forward. The water is set to not get too warm though, so you won't get a really hot shower. It'll be warmer than what you'll get at Harry's place though."
"Wow," I said. "Poor guy can't even take a hot shower. It's gotta suck being a wizard sometimes."
"I mean, it's cool, don't get me wrong; but it can have its downsides," Molly agreed thoughtfully. "Anyway, like Mom said, Dad's office if downstairs by the kitchen. Feel free to head down once you're done; I might be at the other end of the house or something. Oh, and there's period supplies under the sink. Grab any unopened boxes or packages that you want."
"Thanks," I said. Honestly, what else could I say?
And with that, I was left to finally get properly cleaned and dressed. Taking a normal shower in a normal bathroom with a light, a fan and a freaking mirror was a weird juxtaposition to what I'd experienced at Harry's place. At his apartment, it'd been easy to accept that I was indeed in some weird, parallel reality. Here though it was harder to find the differences. It was like I could just hop on a plane and go back to my regular life like nothing had happened. I even contemplated trying to get ahold of my husband again from here. Maybe an ordinary phone would connect me to the ordinary world where people knew me and I had a driver's license and a social security card.
Tears mixed with the water streaming off my face as Bob's words from last night rang through my head again. I couldn't give up hope on somehow getting home, but I did have to accept the fact that there was a good chance I'd have to learn how to make a new life here.
It was these somber thoughts that were on my mind when I knocked quietly on the door just outside the kitchen less than a half hour later.
"Come in," came a strong, male voice.
Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and stepped into Michael Carpenter's home office. The room was tidy, like the rest of the house and twice the size of what I was expecting. His desk was on the wall facing the kitchen. To my left was a corner shelf/bench that had a few children's drawings and crayons on it. Child-sized chairs and a few taller stools were pulled up to the bench. Some simple wooden cubbies hung on the wall over the bench that housed scrolls of rolled up construction paper. A door on the other side of the man's desk was likely a back way into the kitchen. A door opposite that went to the living room. Beyond all this was an added-on space with several windows on the kitchen side to let in more light. All along the living room wall were file cabinets. A large work table with folding chairs and a few blueprints laid out took up the middle of that end of the room. It all spoke of an efficient space that also allowed Mr. Capenter access to his family and vice versa.
The man himself was at his desk and stood as I came in. Tall with a muscular build, he had dark, curly hair and a well-kept beard. Both his eyes and smile were warm and welcoming, just like his wife's.
"Gwen?"
"Yes."
"Michael Carpenter." Without thinking, I took his offered hand and instantly dropped to my knees.
I'd had a dream once where I was in the presence of God. I don't recall seeing anything other than a radiant, golden light surrounding me. God's presence had been so strong that I had just crumpled to the ground. Not in fear or supplication; in fact I'd felt nothing but love. The presence was just so strong that I couldn't stand or even hold up my head. In taking Michael Carpenter's hand, I felt that exact same presence again. Not from him, but through him. This was a holy man of God disguised as a happily married, mild-mannered father of seven. This was the other Bright One Harry had mentioned.
"Are you okay?" Mr. Carpenter's worried voice came distantly to my ears.
"Yes," I said, gasping for air, the feeling passing in an instant. "It's just…" and I paused as he helped me into a comfortable chair by his desk. "It's just that when I touch someone here, I apparently get a brief insight into the quality of their inner being."
"Like Harry's Soul Gaze."
"Yes, very similar, but quicker and more cursory." I shuddered at the thought of getting a full-on Soul Gaze from this man. If this were India, I'd drop to the floor and touch his feet (and probably insist on staying there), but I knew that'd be inappropriate in this setting. The best I could do was fold my hands demurely in the lap and keep my eyes down in respect.
"You seemed frightened," Michael said, curious.
"I just wasn't expecting…whew," I hazarded to look up. His deep blue eyes – the same as Molly's – were kind and open. "You're…a warrior of God."
"Did Harry or Molly tell you that?"
"No, that's just what I felt. Molly had mentioned that you do 'important work for the Church'. She didn't go into any details. Don't worry," I added quickly, realizing he might take all this the wrong way. "It's not a bad thing. I'm not afraid of you; it's just…that's a lot of power you channel."
"The Lord Almighty is powerful indeed."
"Yes. And intellectually I know that. To experience it though is something else entirely."
"I feel there's something more to it than that," Mr. Carpenter prompted, gently.
I gave a half shrug. "Yeah. It's…" I sighed, not really sure how to express what I felt. "You and Harry are very powerful people, in very different ways. You've both accepted and taken responsibility for the power you've each been given. I…uh…apparently am capable of something similar. I guess seeing it in others…just reminds me of what I fear in myself."
"You feel Called to accept great power?"
"I guess that's one way to put it. I just…like to be in the background. People notice power, even if they're not consciously aware of it. I just don't want to be…that different." Wow, could I come up with any lamer of an excuse?
"You're afraid of people fearing you if you accept your Calling?"
"I guess more their expectations. You're expected to be always perfect, to not make mistakes, to not make a wrong move. People rely on you. What if you let them down?" God, I was crying a lot today.
"You'll be forgiven," he said quietly. "God always forgives."
"But can I?"
Michael Carpenter sat in thoughtful silence for bit. "You do understand then," he said quietly, handing me a tissue. "I don't know what you believe, but no one will force anything on you that you don't want. It's always your choice."
"But it's needed," that came out more bitter than I meant.
"And so it is. And someone else will be Called."
And then I lose my "specialness". Talk about egoism. "The weird thing is," I said thickly, "I'm happy to step up when push comes to shove. In those situations, it's easy to just 'let go and let God'; it feels great actually. I guess I just don't want anyone to notice."
"But if the Lord has set you apart, it doesn't make you any better or worse than others. It does not make you more favored. Do you fear being alone?"
The same conclusion that Harry had come to. Again, I shrugged. "Not 'alone' so much as separate, isolated. I rather like being alone, but I don't like being seen as…I don't know…unable…unallowed to just be 'normal'." I wasn't making any sense.
Michael regarded me, and said gently. "Make no decisions now, but if you do choose to come into your power, to accept what you feel God has offered you, you will be supported. You will not be alone or made to feel different."
Oh cool, flood gates, guess that's what we're doing now.
"Thank you," I whispered when I could talk again; knowing he meant it. I got the whole box of tissues this time.
There was a gentle tap on the door and Harry poked his head in, "Bad time?" He asked, looking at the soggy mess that I was right then.
"No, no, it's fine," I said, at the same time that Mr. Carpenter said, "Please come in, Harry. Gwen and I were just talking about power and the sense of separateness it can cause in people."
"Oh, do I know about that one!" Harry said, politely ignoring my ugly crying and perching himself on one of the stools at the kids' "work bench". "I think I heard correctly the last of what Michael told you. You really will not be alone here. There's quite a support system in our little group," and he winked at Michael.
Such an odd couple. Michael, the family man and staunch Christian, residing in normal class America. Harry, the loner wizard who lives in a bloody cave! Yet, it was clear that these two men were close friends and likely had each other's backs more than once. Did Harry babysit when Michael and Charity wanted a night out?
That thought actually made me giggle, drawing both men's attention. "Sorry," I said, waving my tissue, but having difficulty stopping the bubbles of laughter from welling up. "I was just…thinking about Harry babysitting," and I dissolved into stronger laughter.
Slowly, the two men joined in, but soon they were laughing just as much as I was. The light over Harry's head suddenly blew out and that just sent us into another round of hysterics. It felt good to laugh, to really laugh.
We all simmered down at about the same time and I passed the tissues around.
"Thank you, gentlemen," I said, panting. "I really needed that."
"We all did," Michael said.
"Are you feeling better?"
"Yes, I think so."
"In that case, I do hate to end our conversation, but Harry had some things to discuss with me. Do think about what we talked about though."
"Yes, I will," I smiled, standing. "Thank you again gentlemen," and then let myself out.
"Ah, Gwen," Charity said from the kitchen. I walked in. She was cutting up vegetables and putting them in Tupperware containers – likely to toss into meals later or to put into kids' lunches. "Do you need a snack or something to eat?"
"No, I'm fine, thank you."
"I think I found a pair of shoes that'll fit you," she said. "I put them by the door. And if it's okay, could you toss these grocery bags in the back of the van?"
"Sure, thing," and I smiled, taking the bags; glad to actually be useful (which was likely her intent).
I walked back towards the entryway, but stopped halfway down the hall. There was a tall, black athletic bag propped up in the little corner next to the door, that I had vaguely noticed in passing when I first came in. Harry's staff sat next to it now. Between the staff and his coat was a similar black bag, though a bit smaller. The "glow" from the walking stick/sword could faintly be "seen" through it. And the bag by the door had a similar glow. Okaaaay.
I eyed them both warily as I put on the lightly used pair of sneakers that Charity had set out for me. It was clear they hadn't made it through a whole school year before their previous owner had outgrown them. They'd been worn long enough to be comfortably broken in though.
"The shoes fit great, Mrs. Carpenter. Thank you!" I called back towards the kitchen.
"You can call me 'Charity', dear," she said back.
It was the first time I'd worn proper shoes since arriving last night/earlier this morning and it felt really good to have my feet covered again. Almost normal.
I threw on the winter coat that I'd picked out earlier and slipped outside. The morning was relatively warm (at least for me, used to rural upstate winters) and the sky was brilliantly clear.
The van was unlocked and I had just shut the hatch and was about to go back to the house when I heard a car door slam down the street and a man yell, "Brenda! Get out here you lying, cheating bitch!" followed by the BLAM! of a gunshot.
I instinctively ducked and a woman walking her dog across the street screamed and ran in the opposite direction.
Looking in the direction of the sound, I saw a man standing in the street three houses down from the Carpenters', leveling a gun at that house.
Not something I was expecting to see before 10:00 in the morning on a Wednesday. I was about to make a quiet retreat back inside when I thought I heard the thin wail of a baby over the barking of all the neighborhood dogs. Was there a baby in that house?
Was this man going to really shoot at a house with a kid in it? Maybe even storm in?
I could see the headline: "Chicago man shot dead by police after killing residents and baby in area home."
This could go really bad. I knew it wasn't my place to sweep in and be the hero, but I also knew it was far too soon for the police to show up. If I could somehow delay him long enough from doing something stupid, maybe the story would end up on page two or three of the paper with a tagline more of a "Gunman apprehended by police" flavor instead of a whole family making the front page in a bad way.
There were a couple things in my favor: one, his gun hand was away from me – I'd be approaching from the left. If he swung around to aim in my direction, I'd have tons of time to duck behind a car or something. Two, though I don't know much about guns or shooting stances, given the way he was handling the gun, I got the sense that he wasn't an expert in firearms. The gun was just to intimidate. Hopefully.
All these thoughts and my decision took about a second and a half to contemplate and make. Before the woman and her dog were out of sight, I was jogging down the street towards the man. "Hey!" I called firmly, as I slowed to my "nursey walk" – a purposeful stride that covers a lot of ground quickly. I didn't want him to see some crazy-ass woman running at him. "Dude, what are you doing?" I asked this as though he was going to let his dog poop on my lawn rather than pointing a gun at a house with a baby inside (I could hear it crying far more clearly now).
"This isn't any of your goddamned business," the man growled, keeping his gaze and gun on the house. Good, he wasn't so twitchy that he'd point at anything that moved. Not taking any chances though, I stopped a comfortable distance away. There were several cars parked along the street and I stopped at the one two cars away from his, leaning casually along the side of the trunk. That way if he did decide to target me, I could duck between this car and the one in front of his.
"Well, see here's the thing," I said conversationally, crossing my arms over my chest. "When you come out here, waving a gun around and yelling, it becomes my business and the business of everyone else in the neighborhood. Now look, you're clearly not having the best morning. What's eating you man?" I had slipped easily into "de-escalation mode". Though I'd never talked down someone with a gun, I'd definitely talked down a couple folks rather bound and determined to hurt themselves or others.
The man growled, "That FUCKING BITCH!" and he shouted the second half of the sentence at the house. "Told me the baby was mine before shacking up with that new boyfriend of hers. Made me pay child support for one goddamned year before I got smart and got a damned paternity test done. The kid ISN'T MINE!" more shouting.
"Hey, she did you dirty," I agreed calmly as though this was just a casual conversation. "The kid didn't do anything wrong though. For a year, you even thought it was yours. Does knowing the truth really change all that?"
I saw his resolve waver a little. Good. We were getting somewhere. I wandered closer, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. I stopped at the car before his, again leaning against the back fender. There was now just one car between me and an angry dude with a gun. My heart was pounding, though I didn't show it.
"Look, I don't know the details, but I'm assuming there was love between you two at least at some point. Does Brenda really deserve to die today?"
He blinked, still looking and aiming at the house, though his stance relaxed a bit. The drive out here had likely been impulsive. He'd probably just gotten the results of the paternity test this morning. Clearly, he hadn't thought this through too far.
I moseyed closer, stopping at the back passenger door of his car. "No harm, no foul, my dude. Nothing's happened here so far," (other than a discharge of a firearm in a residential neighborhood, but we could gloss over that for now). "You can absolutely go home and call one of those 1-800 lawyers. You've got a strong case man. You might even be able to get the child support money back."
The tip of the gun wavered. I moved up to the back bumper; moving carefully so as not to startle him. I was to his left and a little behind; he could see me in his peripheral vision, so he was able to watch my approach this whole time.
I took a deep breath and looked around. "Nice day today," and I slid around to the back of the car. I was now just six or seven feet away. Nothing between us but air; I was pretty much perpendicular to the gun now, and I watched it carefully. A gun is really only dangerous in one spot. So long as that spot isn't pointed at you, you're good. I could dash behind him if things went south. "How about it man? Go home and write this off as one bad day?"
He looked about ready to do just that. This might actually work.
I let out a quiet sigh of relief and chanced a glance at the house. I thought I saw the curtain move and Brenda peek out. Instantly the guy's face darkened and the gun came back up, his face a mask of rage, "That fucking bitch!"
And a bunch of things happened at once.
The gun went off and the bullet struck a transparent blue wall of light just ten or twelve feet in front of us, falling harmlessly to the ground. I dashed forward, reaching for the gun.
I know exactly one Krav Maga move and it's exactly for this situation, though preferably from the gun-side of the person. Just as the gun settled from the recoil, my right hand reached out and pushed up on the butt of the gun. My left hand pushed down on the barrel from above. The movement smoothly flipped the gun right out of his hand – all the easier because of his surprise at the blue wall that appeared and disappeared in less than a second. I now had the gun by the barrel in my left hand, which swung up from years of practice to strike him back-handed across the cheek with the butt.
The man fell like a sack of potatoes.
My hand finally registered that the barrel was hot and I finished the swing by tossing the gun into the sand-encrusted snowbank on the curb.
Harry and Michael ran up from behind. Michael immediately went up to the house and knocked. "Are you alright Mrs. Waterman?"
"Star and stones!" Harry said, standing next to me, looking down at the man moving feebly on the ground. "What did you do?"
"Krav Maga," I replied, also looking down at the man. "Christ, I think I broke his cheek bone," and I squatted down next to him.
"Leave it," Harry said, trying to grab my arm. The sound of sirens could finally be heard on the morning air, getting louder very quickly.
"No one deserves a broken face on Christmas," and I hovered my right hand over the side of man's head. He was too out of it to notice. I sent my senses out with my breath. I was dully aware of the pain from the strike, the headache. Yes, some bones in his face were broken. I'd hit him a bit harder than intended thanks to the adrenaline.
I held out my left hand, taking in a deep breath; with it, pulling in ambient energy from around us. I held it a moment, forming the energy into something that would heal. Exhaling slowly through my mouth, I "sent" that energy into the bones, knitting them back together. It took only a moment.
The OCD in me wanted to heal the deep, bleeding cut in his cheek and get rid of the headache, but I made myself stop at the bones.
I stood just as the first police car arrived. Both front doors opened and two officers got out, training their guns on Harry and I from behind the patrol car's doors, yelling at us to put up our hands and not move.
"It's all good," I said called back, calmly holding my hands up. "It's already over. Gunman," and I nodded at the guy sprawled at my feet. "Gun," and I swung my head towards the snowbank.
0o0o0o0o
What followed was a solid 45 minutes of giving statements and answering questions. I gave my full name, but was reluctant to give my home address, knowing that none of that information would be able to be confirmed. "My housing situation is a little tenuous at the moment," I muttered.
Without a second thought, Michael stepped up and stated that I was currently staying with him and his family and provided not only his address, but also his number if they wanted to reach me later.
"What about your number?" the officer asked me, a bit suspiciously.
"I'm also between phones," I said honestly. "I don't have my new number yet." He jotted that down.
Once her ex was taken away, Brenda Waterman came dashing out of the house with her baby on her hip and hugged me enthusiastically. "She's a hero, Officer!" she asserted. "She saved my life and my baby's." She hugged me again and the baby reached for me. "I can't thank you enough, Miss," Brenda continued.
I could only smile wanly, holding the adorable kid briefly. I wasn't a fan of all this attention and really just wanted to get back inside.
At one point a paramedic looked me over. He wanted to dress the light burn on my left hand, but I declined – though I made sure the officer saw it.
About halfway through all this, I heard Harry whisper to Michael, "We don't have time for this."
Michael simply advocated for patience in a calm tone. They had both given statements too, though Harry had done so with great reluctance and kept his answers very short. Much to my relief, the two men stayed nearby, even after the police were done with them.
No one mentioned the burst of blue light that had stopped the bullet. I thought I heard someone speculate that the bullet had hit the concrete of the sidewalk. It was as a good a story as any. Harry had been right: people really don't see what they don't expect.
Eventually, the police slowly dispersed and we were permitted to wander back to the house before the press made it past the police barriers.
"Not to cheapen what you did," Harry said quietly to me, "But that was very stupid. You were in my line of sight the whole time. All I could do to was put up that shield at the last minute."
"And I thank you for that," I said, "You probably saved that woman's life."
"And you probably saved several lives today," Michael commented. "What drove you to try to talk to him?"
I shrugged. "It was the right thing to do at the time." My body was finally starting to tremble. I really wanted to sit down.
"Are you okay?" Michael asked.
"Just discharging some pent up energy. Fight or flight stuff. It'll pass."
As we walked, I breathed over my left hand and the redness and burning disappeared. Harry eyed me as I did this and was about to say something when we saw a tall Black man casually striding towards us, a large, black bag slung over his shoulder.
"Dresden, Michael!" he greeted cheerily in a thick Russian accent (which surprised the hell out of me!). "What trouble are you getting into now? I come in cab to celebrate American Christmas with my friends and police say the street is closed, so I walk."
"Sanya!" Michael boomed merrily, "Your timing is perfect. There's much to discuss!"
"Ah, I knew my flight out of O'Hare was cancelled for a reason. And who is this devushka?"
Michael laughed, "Sanya, this is Gwen. Gwen, Sanya."
I prepared myself this time for the handshake, so it wasn't quite as shocking; but I was surprised. This man had the same divine power running through him as Michael, but the soul behind it wasn't nearly as pure. This man had done many terrible things in his life; like very bad things. Had done them willing and gladly. But then, at one point there'd been a sudden turning away from all that. There was an acceptance of this immense, holy power that he and Michael shared. A desire to selflessly serve, to protect.
What was with all these over-powered people?
Harry covertly steadied me as I recovered from the power zap. I was grateful for it. The others didn't seem to notice and we went up to the house; Charity and Molly meeting us on the porch.
"Charity!" Sanya called out brightly. "I swear you get more lovely every time I see you!"
Chairty slapped him playfully on the arm as he approached. "Do you gentlemen want some coffee?"
There were three yeses as they walked by. As I came up onto the porch, Charity wrapped me in a big, maternal hug, much to my surprise. "That was a very brave thing you did today," she said quietly.
"Oh, uh thanks."
Molly too nodded and smiled. "You rocked it," she said. We shared a quick fist-bump.
Harry ushered Michael and Sanya into Michael's office without them seeming to notice, leaving us ladies to continue on into the kitchen. Charity went about pouring three cups of coffee and, presumably adding cream and sugar per each man's preference before taking them to the office.
Molly and I sat at the table. "You okay?" Molly asked, leaning towards me.
"Yeah. It was no big deal really."
"It's really okay for it to be a big deal, you know," Molly admonished. "I've been in some pretty shady situations with Harry and I can assure you, they were very much big deals. You don't have to be all stoic about it."
I just nodded, numbly.
Charity returned then. "Gwen, I usually don't advocate for alcohol, but in your case, I'd be happy to pour you something. It looks like you could use it."
"Thanks, but I don't drink." I could only look down at the table. It wasn't a big deal. It didn't have to be a big deal.
"Hot chocolate then?"
"Sure."
"Marshmallows?"
"Sure."
In just a couple minutes, a beautiful, steaming cup of hot chocolate was set in front of me with a small handful of adorable little white marshmallows floating on top. It looked like it was straight out of a Swiss Miss commercial. A tear landed in the cup.
"What's wrong?" Charity asked, sitting in the seat next to me.
I shook my head. "I'm just not used to people caring this much." Was I only ever going to cry or feel overwhelmed in this world? Was there such a thing as a boring afternoon here?
Charity wrapped her arm around me, pulling me in to lean against her shoulder. "You're used to being the doer, the one who holds things together." It was a statement rather than a question.
I nodded, by chin trembling.
She kissed the top of my head, like a mother would her child. My shoulders started shaking with quiet tears. I wiped my nose and laughed softly. "I do appreciate this, I really do; but think I'm a bit older than you think I am." Though I didn't mind all this maternal love and attention, I felt it was a bit misplaced; I was pretty sure I was very close to Charity's age.
"Does it matter?"
"No, I guess not."
We sat like that for a bit. Molly on one side, like a supportive sister. Charity on the other, a caring mother. It felt so odd and natural at the same time. Despite neither of these people knowing me at all just a couple hours before, I felt perfectly loved and accepted by them.
After a bit, Chairty let go and I sat up to drink my hot chocolate in silence. Not long after, Michael popped his head out of the office door, spotting us at the kitchen table. "Molly, Gwen," he said quietly. "Could you come in here please?"
"Sure Dad," Molly replied.
I just nodded, my heart was starting to pound again. I did my best to dry my eyes before walking into the office. I took the hot chocolate with me; it was far too good to just leave sitting on the table.
Harry was back on his stool under the blown-out light. Sanya had pulled over a chair from the large work table. Molly sat on a stool next to Harry, and Michael gestured for me to sit again in the comfy chair next to his desk.
Michael got right to it, "Harry has briefed Sanya and I about the situation concerning the gathering of people from different, parallel worlds to be used to separate another realm from this one, as apparently was done to your world several years ago," he addressed the last part to me. "He's asked Sanya and I if we would be willing to provide aid in stopping this plan, and we have agreed. We now have to come up with a plan that can be executed within just a few hours."
To his daughter, he said, "Molly, as your father, I would prefer that you not participate. As Harry's apprentice however, your unique skills may be of great use to this mission. Your attendance is in no means compulsory though. The choice is yours."
"I'll go, if you'll have me," she replied, looking from her father to her mentor. It was clear she understood that this wasn't going to be a cake walk.
Michael nodded gravely and then turned to me. "Gwen, there probably isn't a way for you to not be involved in this; and your role will likely be the most dangerous. From your actions earlier, we have all seen the depth of your courage. That being said though, you too ultimately have the choice to say 'no' to this."
"What? No. If I don't do this, whatever 'this' ends up being, many people will die and a whole world may collapse, just like my could. No. I'm in."
"Very well then," Michael said. "Harry, the floor is yours."
"Okay," Harry said, diving right in. "The easiest way to find out where the bad guys are is to let them take Gwen. Then we all follow somehow."
"How though?" Michael asked. "You suspect they're not even here in Chicago; which would likely negate the possibility of one of your tracking spells."
"I don't think tying all of us to her would really work either," Molly mused.
"But…" Harry said, the gears turning. "If she could carry us…" he looked at the small candy dish on Michael's desk that held individually wrapped white lifesavers candies. His face lit up. "What time is it?"
"Not quite eleven," Michel answered, slightly confused.
Harry did some math in his head, then shot up off the stool. "We can do it! Grasshopper, you're with me. We've got some potion-making to do. The rest of you, meet us at…" more mental calculations. "…Hamlin Park on North Hoyne at around 3:00. Come ready for a magical fight. I really don't think there'll be many guns there. These folks are old-school." With that, he grabbed a handful of the candies. "Mind if I take some of these?" Without waiting for an answer, he headed for the door. "I'll let you two," he meant Michael and Sanya. "Make the final decision on the other thing, but I really think it'll work." He was clearly referring to something that was not what we'd just been talking about. With that, he dashed out with Molly following in his wake, apparently used to this behavior.
"See you later, Mom," I heard her call to the kitchen before heading out the front door after Harry.
"Okay then," I said, sipping the hot chocolate. "He does that often?"
"More than I care to think," Michael said with some light humor. Then he and Sanya turned their gazes to me.
"Yeeess?" I asked warily.
"I haven't told you yet who Sanya and I are," Michael said, without preamble.
"There've been hints," I noted. My nervousness was rising (again).
Michael smiled. "Harry felt we should tell you." With that, he and Sanya both reached for the black athletic bags that I only now noted were sitting near their chairs instead of where they had been by the door. The bags were opened in unison and each drew out a sheathed sword. The power radiating off of them was almost palpable. If I could have moved farther away, I would have.
Sanya's sword was a scimitar. Michael's was a broad sword. Both look incredibly old, but well-crafted and equally well kept. The two men held the swords up vertically, resting the tip of the scabbards on the ground.
"We are knights," Michael explained. "Knights of the Cross to be more specific. We wield two of the three Swords of the Cross: Amoracchius, the Sword of Love" and he leaned the broadsword forward a little. "and Esperacchius, the Sword of Hope," and Sanya leaned the scimitar forward. "The third is Fidelacchius, the Sword of Faith. Our duty is to fight the forces of evil in the world. Though by 'fight' it can also mean to redeem. We always try to provide an opportunity to help someone who has turned to darkness to return to the light of the Lord Almighty. If they cannot or will not be persuaded, then we're also not afraid to be the fist of God to protect those in need."
"Cool," I said simply, not really liking where this was going. Harry had offered for me to give the sword at his place "a look". The one that Molly hadn't thought was a good idea. The one that Harry had brought today in its own black bag. That black bag was now sitting on the floor next to Michael. The three swords together in one space produced a subtle musical chord. It was absolutely beautiful and utterly terrifying.
Continuing, Michael said, "Harry felt that because you had noticed the sword that has been in his keeping for four years when no one else has, that perhaps you were the next wielder. I will admit that I, myself had some misgivings when I first met you, but after seeing how you handled the situation with Kyle Waterman this morning, I'm inclined to agree that you would be a good match for Fidelacchius." And he pulled out the smooth, slightly curved walking stick.
"Ummm…" I said reluctantly. "I should probably mention a few problems first. One: I'm not Christian."
"Neither am I," Sanya said with a hearty laugh. "The swords do not care the creed of the wielder, only that they truly wish to serve Good."
"Okaaay. Two: I am a martial artist, yes. I've learned the Tai Chi sword form; yes. But I have had no training in swordsmanship; I don't even know what type of sword that is."
"It's a katana," Michael said simply. "And though knowledge of sword-fighting is of course beneficial, it is not wholly necessary. When the time is right, the Spirit flows through the wielder and guides their movements."
"Ah," I said. "Well…I guess three: I may not be staying here. I'm not going to lie, this world is pretty darned cool. There's magic and real holy knights and likely all sorts of other wild things I haven't even encountered yet. Everyone I've met so far has been awesome, and I can't thank you all enough for your hospitality and generosity; but if given the opportunity, I do want to go home."
"Of course," Michael said. "Though most Knights serve until they are called home to the Lord, some do retire before then. There is absolutely no shame in laying down the Sword when the wielder feels it is time. In certain circumstances, a sword can also be wielded temporarily without the person joining the Order. I should also mention though that this is not something we are thrusting upon you. It must be purely your choice with no feelings of obligation or coercion. Free will is an important precept that we stand for as Knights of the Cross. To ignore that would make us hypocrites of the worse kind."
"Cool," I said again, my vast vocabulary and indelible wit leaving me stranded for a change. "Well, some questions then. If I touch the sword, does that bind it to me?"
"No. Only if you choose to join the Order does it become yours."
"Okay, good. Ummm, aren't I a little too small and…female for this?" Both men were pretty tall and solidly built. Though I could get back in shape fairly easily and quickly with a little work, I was never going to be bench pressing any impressive weight.
Michael chuckled and Sanya covered a grin with his hand. "No," Michael said. "It's rare, but throughout history, women have been known to wield the Swords of the Cross. And size certainly doesn't matter. Fidelacchius' previous wielder was an honorable Japanese man by the name of Shiro Yoshimo. He was not much taller than you, actually. I think his sword would fit you well, but I should note that the swords can be reformed to better fit the needs and fighting style of their wielder. I can assure you that Fidelacchius was not always a katana and Esperacchius was not always a scimitar."
"Makes sense," I replied. Honestly of all the types of swords in the world, a katana really wasn't a bad choice for me; and I'd always wanted to learn Iaido. "And are there really just three Knights? Aren't there more?"
"No," Michael said. "Into each sword has been forged one of the nails of Christ's crucifixion. There were only three."
"Oh shit," I breathed involuntarily; immediately apologizing. "And you think I'm worthy of that responsibility? Of wielding something that holy?"
"It's not so much what we think, but what you do."
"Huh," and I eyed the three swords in a new light. These were likely nearly two thousand year old holy relics, all together in some dude's house in freaking Chicago, Illinois. And the katana had apparently just been chilling in a freaking popcorn bucket in the corner of some crazy wizard's apartment for apparently four years, being somehow ignored by anyone and everyone who passed by. How? Oh, and some of the metal in that sword had touched freaking Jesus when he had died on the cross. Jesus!
If I had only felt Michael's energy, I would have immediately declined without a second thought, but after meeting Sanya and feeling a bit of his energy, I hesitated. Sanya had been truly evil at one point in his life; it still marked him in some lasting way. But he now wholly and truly served the powers of Good with just as much faith and fervor as Michael. And he wasn't even Christian! (Not sure how that worked.)
"Okay well, I'm not committing to anything right now, if that's okay," and I glanced up to see both men nod. "But I'm willing to give it a shot. If you all really feel that I'd be a good match for the sword and if I don't need to do anything terribly involved to get ready for whatever plan Harry has hatched up for this evening, may I at least get to know the sword for a little bit first?"
"Of course," Michael said, handing it to me hilt first.
I let out a deep sigh before taking the sword and…nothing happened. It felt perfectly inert. Even the hum it'd been giving off had dimmed significantly. "Okaaay," I said yet again; really, my verbal gymnastics know no bounds.
As though that were some signal, Michael and Sanya stood, putting their swords back in the bags and taking them with them. "I'm assuming you'd like some privacy," Michael said. "Take as long as you like. Come out to the kitchen when you're done."
"Thanks," I muttered, and both men left me alone with a FREAKING ASS HOLY SWORD! What was I thinking?!
Then I thought about the large tattoo on my back. (Oh Michael would get a kick out of that!) It was a snake intertwined with the first four charkas. There were many multiple meanings and symbolism that came with that tattoo, but one of them was a reminder to me that I was in possession of something beautiful that other people could easily see, but I couldn't. If I remembered correctly, this was the Sword of Faith. I had to have faith that I was indeed worthy of all this.
I noticed that the sword had a thin strap that sat tightly against the scabbard. The strap could be pulled out to go over one's shoulder, or even across the chest if the person was small enough. I was, so I did. Wearing the sword now, I sighed again and pulled the chair Sanya had been sitting in back to the work table. Next, I walked to the middle of the room and flipped back the round throw rug to expose the smooth hardwood flooring. I wanted some space.
I took off my shoes and set them aside (I hate wearing shoes in a house anyway, but everyone else had kept theirs on, so here we were).
I then knelt, sitting back on my feet. I was facing the door to the kitchen (because that just seemed as good a direction as any) and pulled the strap over my head so I could lay the sword down in front of me. Placing my hands lightly on my thighs, I closed my eyes and started my grounding exercise. Seven deep breaths: One to the east (which I imagined to be in front of me, I actually had no idea where the compass points were here); one to the south, the west, the north, the ground, the sky, and lastly, within.
Just like when I had grounded when first getting here, I could very easily feel the energies moving around, though this time they weren't soaking into me as before (likely because I'd already absorbed enough energy from here to "equalize"). Instead, they just gathered and flowed freely with my breathing.
Once I felt settled, I slowly opened my eyes and look down at the sword, paying careful attention to its color and texture. The wood looked to be cherry and the surface was smooth and polished to a shine. Even though I knew it had to be there, I could hardly make out the seam where the hilt met the scabbard.
I then picked out the sword and studied it again from every angle, becoming acquainted with its every curve and surface. It really was exquisitely crafted. My left thumb easily found the tiny button that held the sword in its sheath. Taking a deep breath, I pressed the button and the sword popped out a few centimeters, revealing the shining blade. It almost glowed!
Gently, reverently, I pulled the sword from the scabbard, listening to the quiet whisper as the metal slid past. I won't admit to being at all an expert in sword-craft, but this blade looked to be wonderfully made.
Setting the scabbard on the floor in front of me, I shook my right sleeve over my hand to tighten the fabric flat, and rested the curved edge of the blade against my right forearm so I could look at it front and back. The sword was beautifully balanced and from the edge of the blade, I guessed that it could be wielded just as easily left-handed as right. Good.
I had no desire to test the sharpness of the edge, I had complete faith it could split a hair in half; and I was very mindful that the live edge didn't so much as touch the sleeve of my sweatshirt.
Satisfied that I'd thoroughly inspected the sword, I set it down in front of me so that it was between the scabbard and myself. Now for the "fun" part.
I took a deep breath and straightened my back, making sure I was sitting as comfortably as possible. I would have preferred a half-lotus position, but this was a Japanese sword, so I sat in a traditional seiza pose. Organizing the energy that I'd gathered in earlier, I said out loud (though quietly), "My name is Gwendolyn Wallis and I ask to meet the spirit of this sword." And then I reached out and touched the hilt.
I had no way of knowing how long this sword had been in the form of a katana, maybe just a few years, maybe a few centuries, but it didn't matter in my mind. In Japanese culture, it's believed that any object that is formed by human hands and given use and attention develops a soul of its own. Honestly, I believe that's true of anything in any culture, but the Japanese make it practically an artform. It didn't matter that the sword represented a Western religion, it had been wielded by at least one person of an Eastern mindset. It had to have a soul. And I was going to meet it.
There was that odd push-pull sensation of a Soul Gaze and then I was kneeling in a featureless room surrounded by a red-ish brown mist. I realized that the color of the mist was reminiscent of the cherry wood of the sword hilt and scabbard. I felt incredibly safe here.
I was a little surprised to find two figures sitting in front of me instead of just the one that I had been expecting. To my right was an older Asian man, sitting in seiza, just like I was. He was dressed in traditional Iaido garb; his hair was neatly trimmed, his face cleanly shaved.
"Gwendolyn Wallis," he said in slightly accented English, "I am Shiro Yoshimo, the previous wielder of this sword. It is a pleasure to meet you."
"And you as well, Yoshimo-Sama," I said, bowing from the waist.
The man laughed and waved his hand. "I do greatly appreciate the respect you have given this sword and myself, but it is absolutely unnecessary. You may call me Shiro."
"Very well then," I said, smiling, relaxing a little.
I then looked over at the figure to my left.
I guess I shouldn't have been surprised to see a real, honest to goodness angel sitting there; large, white feathered wings and all. He sat cross-legged on one of those little round cushions that some people use for meditation. The cushion, though was really the only anachronous thing about him. He wore a white robe with Roman-style sandals on his feet. His hair was shoulder-length and wavy blonde. His eyes were a piercing blue.
"And I am called Raphael," he said in a clear voice.
"Like…the archangel Raphael?" I asked, a little taken aback.
He smiled, "The same."
"You…don't really look like that," I said dubiously.
He gave a small laugh. "No. I chose this form as we felt it'd be the easiest to recognize and the least threatening to you. Given your sensitivity, and what you have already endured, it was decided to…handle you gently. I assumed the flaming wheel covered in eyes would probably be a bit much."
I too laughed, "Probably. Is that why I didn't feel anything when I first touched the sword?"
"Yes," Shiro said. "We have shielded you from fully perceiving the sword's power. In this setting, we can reveal ourselves without overwhelming you."
"Thanks," I said. I probably would have been bowled over. As it were, I felt perfectly at ease in these two beings' presence. I was aware of great power emanating from both, but it didn't frighten me nearly as much as other sources of power had earlier.
"So, Raphael," I started slowly, not sure how to word this without being offensive. "Are you just popping in to say 'hi'? Are you connected with this sword? Do you watch over all the swords?"
The angel smiled, "Each of the three Swords of the Cross and their wielders are watched over by an archangel. Amoracchius is watched over by Gabriel. Esperacchius by Michael. I watch over Fidelacchius."
"Oh. Um, thanks for allowing me to see you guys," I said rather lamely; feeling very much like a small fry playing in the major leagues.
"Do not sell yourself short," Shiro said, holding up his hand. "We would not have revealed ourselves to you if you were not capable and worthy."
"Oh, thank you," I said.
"The catch actually isn't in your worth," Raphael said. "But in the fact that you were taken from the realm that you rightfully belong in. You are, of course welcome here, but this isn't where you should be at this place in time."
"I suspected that," I said. "Do you know if I'll even be able to get home though?"
"Well," and the angel thought for a moment. "There are many things, many choices that must fall into place for that to happen. The possibility exists though."
"Hmmm…" I said. "And if it becomes clear that I can get home, would I be permitted to wield this sword until then?"
"Of course," Shiro said. "And I will guide you as you learn how to use it."
"Thank you," and I absolutely meant it.
"And if it turns out that I can't get home," and I looked down, thinking about the pain I would feel if that did indeed become a reality. "I will need a job. Could I even be accepted into the Order, since I'm not technically from this realm?"
"If that event comes to pass," Raphael said with a smile. "We will reconvene and discuss."
I smiled back, very much liking this arrangement. "Thank you, gentlemen," I said, giving each a little bow. And then I was back in Michael Carpenter's home office. I was pretty sure both my feet had fallen asleep.
I came out to the kitchen once I knew I could walk safely, the strap on the scabbard slung over my shoulder. There were sandwiches on the table. Charity, Michael and Sanya all sat around the table, conversing quietly. They looked up when I came in.
"I had a chat with the sword," I said. "I won't be taking any vows yet, but we agreed that we'll work together for now."
Sanya stood up and slapped me on the back, nearly knocking me over. "Most wonderful! Come, sit, eat. Tonight we do battle."
"Have you done anything like this before?" Charity asked me, far more seriously than Sanya.
"No. There's no magic in my world; or at least not like what there is here. I also live a pretty chill life when it comes to life-threatening situations. I honestly don't know how to prepare for a serious battle, let alone a magical one."
"She can't have any armor," Michael said sternly.
When Charity looked at him, about to argue, he said, "They cannot know that she is prepared to fight back. She will have to go as is." He looked at me, "Does that change your mind in participating?"
"No," I replied. "Happily, I'm too ignorant of the situation to know any better."
"It's not fair or right," Charity protested.
"She will be watched over and protected by other means," Michael said with a serene smile.
"Of course," Charity commented, subsiding more readily. "Well, at least eat something. I won't send anyone into battle on an empty stomach."
I laughed and took a bite of my sandwich.