P.C. Cast - Untamed

There was a handy bench not far from the fountain. It faced the white marble statue of Mary surrounded by lambs and shepherd boys that decorated the southwest corner of the hospital. There was also a really pretty statue of Mary in full color, wearing her famous blue shawl, right inside the door to the ER. Strange how I'd never noticed how many statues there were of Mary around here before now.

We'd been sitting on the bench for a little while, just resting in the cool silence of the night, when I drew a deep breath and turned on the bench so that I could face Sister Mary Angela.

"Sister, do you believe in demons?" I decided to go right for the jugular. There was just no point in messing around. Plus, I really didn't have the time or patience for it.

She raised her gray brows. "Demons? Well, yes, I do. Demons and the Catholic church have a long and turbulent history."

Then she just looked steadily at me, waiting like it was my turn. This is one of the things I liked best about Sister Mary Angela. She wasn't one of those adults who felt like it was their job to finish a sentence for you. She also wasn't one of those adults who couldn't stand to be quiet and wait while a kid got her thoughts in order.

"Have you ever known any personally?"

"Not any real ones, no. I've had some close calls, but all of them turned out to be either very sick people or very dishonest people."

"How about angels?"

"Do I believe in them or do I know any?"

"Both," I said.

"Yes and no, in that order. Although I'd much rather meet an angel than a demon, should I get the choice."

"Don't be so sure."

"Zoey?"

"Does the word Nephilim sound familiar to you?"

"Yes, they're referenced in the Old Testament. Some theologians surmise that Goliath was either a nephilium, or the offspring of one."

"And Goliath wasn't a good guy, right?"

"Not according to the Old Testament."

"Okay, well, I need to tell you a story about another Nephilim. He wasn't a good guy, either. It's a story that comes from my grandma's people."

"Her people?"

"She's Cherokee."

"Oh, then proceed, Zoey. I enjoy Native American tales."

"Well, hold on to your wimple. This one is no bedtime story." Then I launched into an abbreviated version of what Grandma had told me about Kalona, the Tsi Sgili, and the Raven Mockers.

I ended the story with Kalona's imprisonment and the lost song of the Raven Mockers that prophesied their father's return. Sister Mary Angela didn't say anything for several minutes. When she did speak, it was eerie how she echoed my first reaction to the story.

"The women made what was little more than a clay doll come alive?"

I smiled. "That was what I said to Grandma when she told me the story."

"And how did your grandmother respond?"

I could tell by the serene expression on her face that she ex­pected me to laugh and say Grandma had explained that it was a fairy tale, or maybe a religious allegory. Instead I told her the truth.

"Grandma reminded me that magic is real. And that her ancestors, who were really my ancestors, too, weren't any more or less believable than a girl who can summon and command all five of the elements."

"Are you saying that is your gift and why you are important enough to require a warrior escort to Street Cats?" Sister Mary Angela said.

I could see in her eyes that she didn't want to call me a liar and break our newly formed friendship, but she didn't believe me. So I stood up and took one short step back from the bench so that I was out of the abrasive light of the streetlamp. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply of the cool night air. I didn't have to think long to find east. It came to me naturally. I faced St. John's, which was across the street and directly east of where I stood. I opened my eyes and, smiling, said, "Wind, you have answered my call often in the past days. I honor you for your loyalty and I ask that you answer to me once again. Come to me, wind!"

There had been virtually no night breeze, but the moment I invoked the first element, a sweet, teasing breeze began to whip around me. Sister Mary Angela was close enough that she felt the wind obey me. She even had to put a hand up to her wimple to keep it from blowing off her head. I waggled my eyebrows at her stunned look. Then I turned to my right, facing south.

"Fire, the evening is cool and, as always, we have need of your protecting warmth. Come to me, fire!"

The cool wind suddenly went warm, hot even. I could hear the crackling of a blazing fireplace surrounding me, and it felt like Sister Mary Angela and I were getting ready to roast weenies on a balmy summer night.

"My goodness!" I heard her gasp.

I smiled and turned to my right again. "Water, we need you to cleanse us and relieve the heat fire brings. Come to me, water!"

It was with more than a little relief that I felt the heat instantly doused in the scent and touch of a spring rain. My skin didn't get wet, but it should have. It was like being dropped down in the middle of a rainstorm and washed, cooled, and renewed.

Sister Mary Angela tilted her face up to the sky and opened her mouth, as if she thought she could actually catch a raindrop.

I continued to my right. "Earth, I always feel close to you. You nurture and protect. Come to me, earth!"

The spring rain metamorphosized into a newly cut field of summer hay. The rain-cooled breeze was now thick with alfalfa and sun and the happy sounds of playing children.

I looked at the nun. She was still sitting on the bench, but she'd pulled off her wimple so that her short gray hair blew around her face as she laughed and breathed deeply of the summer breeze, making her look like a pretty child again.

She felt my gaze on her and she met my eyes just as I raised my arms over my head. "It is spirit that unites us, and spirit that makes us unique. Come to me, spirit!"

As always the sweetly familiar sensation of my soul lifting caught me and filled me as spirit answered my call.

"Oh!" Sister Mary Angela's gasp didn't sound freaked or angry. It sounded awed. I watched as the nun bowed her head and pressed the rosary beads that she wore around her neck to her heart.

"Thank you, spirit, earth, water, fire, and wind. You may depart now with my thanks. I appreciate you!" I cried, throwing wide my arms as the elements swirled playfully around me and then dissipated into the night.

Slowly, I walked back to the bench and took my seat beside Sis­ter Mary Angela, who was smoothing her hair and reaffixing her wimple. Finally she looked at me.

"I've long suspected it."

That was so not what I'd expected her to say. "You suspected that I can control the elements?"

She laughed. "No, child. I've long suspected that the world is filled with unseen powers."

"No offense, but that's weird for a nun to say."

"Really? I don't think it's so weird when you remember I'm married to what is in essence a spirit." She hesitated, then continued, "And I have felt the stirrings of these powers—"

"Elements," I interrupted. "They're the five elements."

"I stand corrected. I have felt the stirrings of these elements often before at our abbey. Legend has it the abbey is built on an ancient place of power. You see, Zoey Redbird, fledging Priestess, what you have shown me tonight is more validation than shock."

"Huh, well, that's good to hear."

"So, you were explaining how the Ghigua Women created a maiden from clay who entrapped the fallen angel, and the Raven Mockers sang a song about his return, and then turned into spirit? Then what happened?"

I grinned at her matter-of-fact tone before my expression got serious again. "Apparently nothing much happened for a bunch of years—like a thousand or so. Then, just a few days ago, I started hearing what I thought were crows cawing obnoxiously at night."