Faith Hunter: Seraphs

If I had been taken away that day by the seraph, whose name was still unknown to us, there probably wouldn’t have been two bricks still standing for my partners to divide. Now, I figured only the burned, cracked, partially melted ring of glass kept us safe. It was a reminder to the townspeople that I had permission from the High Host to be here. Lucky me.

I had hidden in plain sight, disguised as a human, for ten years, a blatant violation of the edicts set up by the High Host of the Seraphim. Any other mage would have been carted back to Enclave in disgrace or turned over to humans for judgment. For me, either punishment would have meant certain death, though the human execution would have been more bloody and violent than the mage-death. But I had been given permission to stay on in Mineral City. The reprieve was a two-edged sword. The townspeople treated me like I was a rogue tiger. Interesting, maybe even mesmerizing, but not something you wanted living next door.

I arranged the emeralds as my friends bickered and the townspeople strolled back from sunrise kirk services, many peering into the shop in curiosity, many more turning their heads away, as if the sight of me might contaminate them. It wasn’t as if I flaunted being a neomage. I kept my skin blanked to human dullness and I dressed in human clothes, never displaying my amulets or weapons. With the exception of a few new scars, I didn’t look any different from before the seraph had outed me, but now I sometimes felt like I had the words “Whore witchy-woman” tattooed on my forehead.

An elderly woman dressed in unrelieved orthodox black, from her dress to her boots and heavy overcoat, paused at the front window and deliberately turned to stare into the shop. When she caught my eye, I paused, holding a stunning turquoise necklace with silver beads that dangled. The woman lifted her hands and made a version of devil horns at me, thumbs and little fingers pointed up, the others folded under. The symbol had once meant other things. Now it was the sign of evil. My friends fell silent. Outside, the passersby seemed to stop, all watching. It was the most blatant reaction to me since the day the seraph had come. Up the street, two others dressed in orthodox black paused and gaped, their eyes gleaming, faces arrested in midconversation. My face flamed. The beads in my hands clattered.

A little farther, an elder also watched, his brown robes blowing in the frozen wind. Elder Jasper halted, his Bible in one hand, his crucifix dangling. Jasper, who had once been my friend. The elder looked censorious, not of me, but of the old woman.

The hateful woman dropped her hands and moved on, her boots crunching the frozen snow. Sleet wisped against the building and onto my porch over the front walk. The townspeople moved on, some clearly embarrassed, others openly gleeful. The hatred was now out in the open. On some level, I knew that things would change now. And they wouldn’t be getting better.

Jacey, my other best friend, opened the door, the bells jingling cheerfully. Storming inside, she threw her walking stick into the umbrella stand and her cape over the coatrack all in one motion. The walking stick clattered. The coatrack wobbled. “Did you see her? The old bat. You just let Old Lady Vestis come by the shop again on a Monday when we’re closed, needing a favor, a last-minute gift. That’s the last time—” Jacey looked at me, standing unmoving behind the counter, still holding the turquoise necklace, and stopped speaking. She pointed a finger at me.

“You will not let that old harpy make you feel bad. You will not !” When I couldn’t manage a smile, Jacey stomped over and took the necklace, setting it on the countertop with a clank. Then she bent and hugged me tight, hard, turning my face to her shoulder, before she pushed me away and shook me like she might one of her many children and stepchildren. “You will not feel bad about her. She’s only one of a few—a very few—who feel that way. Most people are excited at the thought of having a neomage living in town.” She shook me again. “How many people have come to the shop for a charm? Or a special amulet? Lots!”

“After hours,” I said. “Sneaking around, ashamed. People I’ve known since I came here, went to school with; people I liked.” I remembered the faces, the shock, at the sight of the old woman. A sudden realization hit me. “Or they’re afraid of me.” I looked up at Jacey’s brown eyes and mussed brown hair, bangs tangled by the wind. “That’s it, isn’t it? They’re all afraid.”

“Not of you,” Rupert said softly from behind me. “Of the orthodox.”

“What’s going on?” I asked. I tried to jerk away, but Jacey held me firm, her strong hands gripping my shoulders, human muscle mass winning out against mage swiftness. “You promised you’d tell me if there was trouble starting.”

“There’s been talk. A little,” Jacey said. “But you know we’re standing up for you.”

“Talk? About what? Strangulation? Drawing and quartering? Hot pincers and knives? Stones and blood. I’ve put all of you in danger, haven’t I?”

To the left of the shop windows, the front door opened again, bells jaunty. A cold wind skittered across the floor. We all turned. Elder Jasper stood in the opening, his face harsh, the crucifix dangling against his robes of office. His Bible was tight in his hands, his knuckles white against the dark leather. I knew he hadn’t heard me curse—he’d still been outside—but I clamped my mouth shut in fear. Slowly, deliberately, he stepped inside.

Just as deliberately, Rupert, Audric, and Jacey flanked me. Audric slid one hand into his sleeve. Jasper’s eyes tracked the movements and his forward motion halted. To the side, the gas flames flogged the fake logs in a jittery, hungry rhythm. Outside, sleet shushed down, the sound cutting off the rest of the world. Audric pivoted, clearing his target line. Violence wavered in the air between the elder and us. Tension constricted my throat. Faster than their eyes could track, I slipped to the side, around the display case, and up to Jasper.

“Thorn’s Gems is honored to receive the kirk elder,” I said, placing myself between Audric and Jasper.

Jasper’s eyes widened, then tightened at my blatant use of mage-speed. His gaze moved from my face to the three beyond, taking in their taut postures, the locations of Audric’s hands, the anger on the faces of my friends. Gently, he closed the door, so carefully that the bells didn’t chime. “My blessing on your house,” he said, the formal words an elder spoke when he came calling. But then he added, “And may you find absolution and forgiveness in the countenance of the Most High.” Not casual words, but words of mercy, words uttered before judgment, when one has been called to trial for a crime worthy of punishment or death. Seraph stones. I was being called before the kirk.

Jasper was two years my senior, one of the few Cherokee to stay with the kirk rather than to withdraw his religious practices to the hills. He had dark eyes and black hair worn long and braided in a single thick plait. His hawklike eyes were black and piercing, his nose a commanding beak. At the moment, however, he looked anything but hawklike, his face creased with compassion. “I’m sorry, Thorn. I voted against this—I want you to know that.”

“But?” Rupert said, black eyes belligerent. He elbowed his way between the elder and me, as if he would protect me with his body. And I knew he would. The thought warmed me. Maybe some in Mineral City hated and feared mages, but not my friends. I raised my head and watched the tableau, seeing through the storefront windows as two crowds gathered in the street, orthodox in one small group, progressives and reformed in another. Split fifty-fifty.