Faith Hunter - Seraphs

Derek looked at me, loathing leaking like sweat from his pores. He ground out, “I bought it. From a licensed witchy-woman. A mage whore in Atlanta.”

In the silence that followed, Shamus Waldroup bent to the men at the judgment table, murmuring. My hearing is good, but I caught only a word or two before the chairman banged his gavel twice.

“By a majority of judges and elders, Elder Culpepper abstaining, we find that Thorn St. Croix is a legally licensed mage, and all accusations made today are proved false. Unless someone has specific charges against her, charges with hard evidence to back ’em up, I intend to declare this case closed.” When no one offered damning evidence, Shamus banged the gavel once and said, “The accused is found not guilty. In fact, the accused is not and never was the accused. You’re free to go, Thorn, and this bench offers its heartfelt apologies for this fiasco. Prejudice is something we ain’t usually got to contend with in this town. I’m ashamed of my fellow citizens and of my fellow judges.” He banged the gavel again and stood as he spoke. “Recess. I need to get the taste of lies and collusion outta my mouth.”

Intense relief hit me and I shuddered, cold rippling across my skin with a soft jingle of bells. I would have slumped back in the chair, but my shirt’s steel supports held me upright. Audric leaned down and gathered the collar of my cloak, securing it. “Damp your neomage attributes,” he murmured. My hand stole to the amulets, first releasing the shield I had ready, then damping the glow of skin and scars. My flesh dimmed to human, untouched by magery.

“Need I carry you, little mage?” he asked.

I clamped my lips on a witless titter. “No. I’m fine. I think.”

He grinned at me, sculpted, full lips parting, eyes sparkling in his dark-skinned face. “You were magnificent. But if you fall on your ass crossing the stage, you’ll spoil the effect.”

I laughed, a breathy sound. “And the sight of you carrying me off won’t ruin it?” I stood, knees wobbly, drained and invigorated, all at once. Along with all the other mage children, I had studied the art of storytelling, but had never practiced, not before an audience.

“She’s got a touch of the ham in her, doesn’t she?” Rupert said, tucking my right hand into the crook of his left arm.

“She’s been around you too long,” Audric said. “It’s rubbed off.”

“Just remember, dearie. There’s room for only one queen in Thorn’s Gems, and I am she. What’s this?” he asked, lifting an amulet hanging on my necklace.

I looked down. In work-hardened fingers, he held a poor-quality sapphire, crudely carved into a fat owl, an amulet I had purchased at a swap meet without knowing what it did. It came from the time of the wild-mages, from before the Mage War. And it was glowing. “I don’t know,” I said. “I really don’t.”

He could hear the soft pad of human-style boots on the stone of the passageway. They were early. His wings weren’t healed over. It hadn’t been twenty-four hours yet. Despair swamped him. How long? How long would penance last?

He pictured Daria in his mind: her dark hair and fine brown skin, long lean legs wrapped around him, her amulets flashing with wild-magic. Her flashing eyes so full of mischief. He could almost feel her fingertips as they caressed his face. However long it lasted, she would have been worth it. How does one ask forgiveness for a sin one doesn’t regret?

The cell door opened and a voice said, “Barak. Rise and shine. We got a randy one for you. She can smell you already.” They laughed. There were only three of them this time. And it hadn’t been long enough. Something was different. Something had changed. Shackles clinked. He kept his head buried in the crook of his arm, breathing deeply.

“Yeah. It’s your lucky day. And ours, if you continue being stupid about ’em.”

“A bonus, you wingless wonder.” A boot landed in the small of his back. A hand clicked a thick cuff around one wrist, while another captor wrenched back his other arm. “We made Forcas happy and so we get the next one, and only three of us to share. And when she—”

Barak, the fallen seraph once called Baraqyal, lashed out with both legs and the partially healed stub of a wing. All three tormentors crashed to the floor.

I had thought my troubles were over when the gavel banged down the last time. I was wrong. When my two champards and I stepped through the oversized front doors onto the covered porch of the old church, the steps and the walk leading to Upper Street were lined with black-clad humans. Rupert and Audric tossed back their cloaks and drew weapons. The sound of steel on leather echoed down the silent street.

In two rows, facing one another, the town orthodox had re-created the gauntlet, a silent condemning jury, hating me, letting me know that though a judge had set me free, they had judged me guilty. Several elders and the most zealous of their followers, perhaps three hundred, lined my passageway. I counted three brown robes before I looked away.

“Theatrics would come in handy now,” Rupert said with tense humor. “We could cancan down the street.”

I grinned at that, and my rising fear dissipated. “Thanks,” I said, catching his eye.

“If you can walk on your own, a little extra weaponry and some hocus-pocus might be useful too,” Audric said.

“I’m not attacking humans,” I said softly. “Where’s a TV camera when you need one to hide behind?”

“No one has a gun out,” Rupert said. “No blades, no dynamite. Let’s brazen our way through it. Show ’em your clothes again, Thorn. Make eye contact. Let them know you know who they are.”

I looked at the first dozen people. I didn’t know a single one. Somehow, that lightened my heart. I folded my cloak back, exposing my neomage finery and freeing my arms but keeping my head covered. Like a queen walking to her beheading, I started down the steps, Rupert and Audric following. We reached the street before I recognized anyone, and it was the owner of the laundry I used. Arms crossed over her chest, she held my gaze, glaring. I’d be looking for a new place to wash my clothes. Sleet started again, a thin rain of ice that bounced off my cloak.

Behind me I heard the scrape of boot on stone. Faster than humans can see, I whirled and drew my sword. It was Elder Jasper and his wife, Polly. And their new child, who hadn’t been with them earlier. Polly sucked in a breath to scream. I lowered my sword.

His voice ringing into the street, the elder said, “Polly and I wondered if you had a healing amulet. She cut her finger opening a can last night. It’s paining her mightily.”

I looked back and forth between them, sword poised. A long moment passed. Polly, trembling, handed her baby to the elder and walked down the stairs. She held out her hand to me. A makeshift bandage was taped to her thumb. I stared at her extended hand; her human aura was blazing with fear and determination, a bright golden glow. She stared at my skin, and I realized I had released my attributes as my defenses went up. Slowly, so I wouldn’t startle her again, I sheathed my blade and took the bandaged hand in mine. To her credit, she didn’t flinch, though her trembling worsened. Her blue eyes fastened on me.

“I have a curative amulet at the shop,” I said. “It’ll speed healing and lessen the pain.”

“That would be a blessing,” Polly said. She gripped my hand, a simple human gesture that meant more to me than anything else she could do. I turned with her toward Thorn’s Gems. Together, hands clasped, we passed my champards and took the lead down to the ice-covered road.

“Are you scared?” she asked, voice pitched low.