Chapter 3

"It's an ancient order. Even its members don't know where it started. It has been destroyed and reborn many times through the eons and yet no one really knows its origins."

"Yeah, I know Uncle David. You told me a dozen times. The central principle of the group—when man became aware and self-determined he became faced with a choice between good and evil. I've heard it so many times I can almost recite the thing from heart. Did anyone say when dinner will be ready?"

"That's right," he answered. "Before that point there was no good and evil—it was just nature. Nature is sometimes powerful, sometimes indiscriminate, but never evil. Man created the capacity for good and for evil and occasionally that good and evil walk the earth. Somewhere back in lost history a group formed to protect and guide man away from evil and towards good."

"So, it's a religion?" I asked truly more interested in turkey and mashed potatoes than the conversation. Uncle David spent thirty years as a professor. Most conversations with him turned into some type of academic lecture.

"No, you aren't paying attention, Friday. I've told you before the group is not a religion. It has no doctrine. But it accepts all religions and all doctrines that fight evil. Members bring the rituals and symbols of their native lands and beliefs. But the important factor is not the symbol, it's the power that comes from within. Every human being is born with an innate understanding of good and evil and they choose which path to take. No book can tell you what's good or evil—that knowledge comes from within. In the modern age the dark old powers created by man's twisted ravings are called demons. The embodiment of their will to act for good are called angels. But those are just words, and the actual creatures can take any form."

"These demons can actually be walking around looking like you and me?"

He patted my shoulder in approval. "Exactly."

My brother suddenly appeared in the doorway. "Food is ready."

When I started to follow him into the dining room my uncle put his hand on my arm. "Friday, remember this is just between us."

"Yeah, yeah, not something that Mom and Dad would understand."

"Exactly. One day when you are old enough you will be contacted."

"Contacted?" I asked. If we didn't get to the table soon all the drumsticks would be taken.

"My girl, I suspect somewhere in that head of yours is a decent brain—if you could just learn to concentrate and apply yourself. Haven't you been paying attention?"

"Sure, demons walking around looking like us. No book can tell you what's good or evil."

He let go of my arm and pushed me forward. "Exactly, that knowledge always comes from within. It doesn't sound like much now, but understanding human nature, learning to read people, to dig into the human psyche. Well, one day it may save your life." He whispered into my ear, "People my dear. Study people. It may be your greatest strength. The top DK all have an innate understand of the human race."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. One day it will all make sense."

My Uncle had done his best over the years to prepare me for the time when I would be asked to join up. Honestly, a part of me always thought the man was a bit touched in the head. I loved him to death, but the stories he weaved about hunting down evil in the dark streets of the city just seemed surreal. Maybe that's why the dream was recurring. I had it often, especially when I was under a lot of stress. It was as though some part of my mind was trying to reassure itself that this wasn't all some made up fantasy of an insane woman.

As I grew older, I realized only certain people in our family were a part of the group, and keeping the secret from the rest of the family was an imperative. Evil not only doesn't like it when you come after them, they tend to be a tad vindictive. Once you realized just how vindictive, your inclination was to separate yourself from everyone you loved, which explained why I hadn't seen my parents in months. I had unconsciously started isolating myself from them. I had stayed in touch with a few cousins and one Aunt who were part of cells in other areas of the city.

What made me different from others in my family? According to my uncle it was something within my very soul—a power and determination that set me apart and allowed me to fight against evil. Not exactly something you could put down on a job application.

But this time when I woke, I realized something was seriously wrong. The normal sounds I'd taken for granted in my apartment weren't there. In its place odd voices in a language that I didn't understand. Even stranger, aromas assaulted my nose.

Last I remembered I was on a roof fighting demons. Or had that all been some awful dream?

I rolled over and tried to open my eyes. Any hopes of it all being a dream left in the reality of the darkness surrounding me. Unless it was the wee hours, or all windows had been covered, I was still blind and royally screwed. The rumbling of a garbage truck somewhere outside brought home my worst nightmare. It had to be morning, which meant that somewhere out there was sunlight shining that I was no longer able to see. I was blind. And the thought that it could be a permanent situation sent small trickles of sweat down my forehead.

Blind or not, I was a sitting duck at the moment and incapable of protecting myself. My hands frantically searched for my dagger. And found in its place smooth, cool sheets. I was in a bed. Where? I had no fucken idea. I had heard a lot of demon horror stories over the years, but never one where they drag you back to a nice comfy bed and let you recoup while they decided your fate. Which meant that the chances are I was no longer in danger. Good news since I was too damn weak to fight anymore. Every muscle in my body trembled as I tried the simple task of sitting up.

A hand gently pushed me back onto the bed and a woman's voice whispered something I didn't understand.

I resisted the urge to swing out and instead took a deep breath before I asked, "Where am I?"

Something slimy and cold was rubbed around my eyes. "Hush child. You're safe." The words this time were in English but laced with a thick accent I couldn't place.

My hands went to my eyes and were slapped away.

"Don't touch. Let the salve do its work." Something was placed in my palm and warm hands wrapped mine around a cup. "Drink this all up," the woman's voice demanded. "You have a fever. Drink and then sleep."

I had little choice but to obey, the cup was pushed up and the hot liquid started down my throat. It was either drink or drown. The last thing I wanted to do was sleep. Twice so far in the last twenty-four hours I had slipped into unconsciousness, and I was getting damn tired of it. I had little choice but to gulp down the last of the horrid tasting concoction. And with the last drop my thoughts began to get fuzzy.

I had been blinded by demon fire, and I had no idea where I was or what the hell was going on and now some stranger had just poisoned me. What I needed was to get my ass up. It was the last thought I had before my head hit the pillow.

* * *

I woke to the smell of food cooking. My hands immediately went to my pounding temples. Good news, I was alive. Bad news, I had the worst hangover of my life. An odd lethargy clung to my body, and my brain seemed to be working at half speed.

Normally in this state the last thing I would consider was food, but the wonderful aromas filling the room had woken my empty stomach and instead of making me nauseous I realized I was starving and would have to risk returning to the land of the living if I wanted the chance at a meal.

Dear god, I felt like I had been hit by a semi-truck. I sat up and took a moment to survey the damage. My shoulder and elbow only offered a slight twinge when moved, not the sharp pain I was expecting.

I stretched and felt much better than I should. It should have taken days, if not weeks for all the sprains, strains, abrasions, and contusions to heal. I had seen DK's who had been assaulted by low-order demons that had spent weeks in bed putting their tattered bodies and spirits back together.

The one thing I hadn't tried yet—my eyes. I had to admit to myself I was a damn chicken. My mind still rebelled against the thought of being permanently blinded. I realized waiting wasn't going to make the answer any better, or easier to take. I paused for a moment to gather my courage, and then, ever so slowly, opened them. I blinked a few times, and I could see something. Now instead of pitch black there was fuzzy, undefined light.

Okay, my vision was far from 20/20, but dammit anything was an improvement over eternal darkness. As I blinked furiously the haze cleared from my eyes and shapes and colors slowly came into focus. It felt as if invisible fists were pounding into my brain, but I could see.

I threw back the covers and realized I was wearing some kind of long nightshirt.

I spotted a folded pair of blue jeans and a white T-shirt on the chair next to the bed. I had no qualms about petty larceny. I slipped into a pair of tennis shoes I found under the bed.

Now fully clothed I had my first chance to take in my surroundings. The room I found myself in was awash in rich colors. The walls were covered with draping hangings of deep red, green, and blue that billowed and moved in the light breeze coming through the open door. A baffling variety of knickknacks covered the mismatched furniture. An expensive looking brass figurine sat on a shelf next to a cracked crystal vase and an oddly shaped blue rock.

I looked over at a clock on the wall. Nine AM. Time to be sitting in my cubicle at the office, sipping coffee and working away on some blown up piece of computer code.

Crap. The office. At this point I was probably fired. I doubted very much my boss would accept, "fighting against the agents of evil" as an acceptable reason for not showing up to work. I had no idea how long I had been unconscious. How many days had I been MIA? Dammit to hell. No way I could talk my way out of this one. Sure, Clark Kent seemed to have no problem juggling his reporter by day job and saving the world on his coffee break. Me, I sucked at the whole juggling thing. Since I had started training as a DK, I had been late to my day job way too many times, and before heading off to the latest training session I had been reprimanded for using far too many sick days. It wasn't like I was spending my nights drinking and living it up. Though my coworkers and current manager, if asked, would tell you I was a party diva. What other excuse could I use when I dragged my tired ass in every morning with huge bags under my eyes? When I got myself out of this current predicament, I really needed to ask around to see just how people in the organization handle the whole secret identity crap.

I walked down a blue hallway. No humans or demons in sight. I followed the sounds and smells of cooking into the other room, but I had to stop at the door while my tortured eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. When the pain finally eased off, I found myself looking into the smiling face of an old woman.

"Good morning, my dear. Sit, sit. I'll get you some breakfast."

I recognized the strange accent from the night before. She was a small woman with long white hair braided into a crown that circled her head. Dressed in a colorful skirt and green bohemian shirt, the wrinkles on her face marked her age, I would have guessed somewhere in her seventies, but her eyes suddenly sparkled and made me forget for a moment she was old.

And when she stared back at me, I found it disconcerting, as though she was seeing through me. I suddenly felt five years old. I dropped my gaze and dutifully followed orders sitting and watching her while she moved quickly and efficiently around the kitchen.

She worked until every conceivable surface on the table was filled with plates heaping with pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausage, and a pile of toast. I looked around and wondered when the army she was planning to feed was arriving.

"Help yourself." She poured dark liquid into a mug sitting at my elbow.

It was coffee, hot, strong, and just what I needed. I drank two cups before I started in on the food. I buttered a piece of toast and asked. "And you are?"

"Claire, Van's grandmother?"

"Van?"

"Van. My grandson. He brought you here last night."

My savior finally had a name. Which immediately brought two questions to mind. Why had he not been forthcoming about who he was? And who was he that he could not only see demons, but kill by my count, two or three of them? I should have been grateful. If it hadn't been for his help, I would be dead by now or converted to the soulless, but I couldn't help wondering who Van was. And whether or not it was pure coincidence that brought him to my rescue.

The coffee was hot, the food was good and for the first time in a long while I felt myself relax. "Where is your grandson?" I asked between mouthfuls of bacon.

"He went out to run some errands. Don't worry, he'll be back soon."

I wasn't worried, I was more curious to see what my companion looked like.

She watched me in silence while I ate my fill. It felt like days since I had last eaten. I was debating whether or not to try stuffing down another piece of sausage and finally decided against it. I had no idea what the immediate future held. If I ate too much and was forced into a battle, I may honestly lose my breakfast.

I wiped my mouth with a colorful stripped napkin and took one last sip of coffee, before letting out a content sigh. "Where am I?"

"You're safe."

"Great. I'm safe. Thanks, I appreciate it. But I am safe here... which is where?"

"Does it matter?"

"I guess not." I leaned back in my chair and surveyed the room.

The kitchen was large, with a wooden table and benches in place of chairs. There was only a small window over the sink, and I resisted the urge to jump out of my chair and peer out of it.

I watched Claire, looking for any signs of, I don't know what. A clue to who she was and what the hell was going on? But she was the epitome of a cool, totally laid-back chick. A role I normally kept for myself.
I'd be damned if I'd let the old dame rattle me.

She suddenly smiled at me as if reading my thoughts.

I smiled back. "What's next?"

"The future, like a river, is always flowing, forever changing."

The answer was not as helpful as I'd hoped. "Good to know."

She reached behind her and opened a drawer, pulling out a small wooden box. "Would you like me to read for you?" She opened the box and pulled out a deck of cards.

"Sure, why not," I answered, pushing dishes aside and clearing a space in the center of the table. I had played this game before. There were a few DK with Wiccan backgrounds in my cell. And one in particular who was determined to give me advice on my love life any chance she got. Since I enjoyed living on my own, I gave her as little chance as possible to play cupid. But, even so, I had been cornered into a few readings.

At this point with granny what choice did I have but to play along.

Claire shuffled the cards and then began laying them out in a pattern I'd never seen before. A circle with a cross in the middle. The cards were also a surprise. I was used to seeing decorative covers with suites of rods, swords, cups, and pentacles. This was a regular deck of playing cards. Not any different than what I used when I played poker with my friends.

She concentrated on the cards, and I concentrated on her. Her eyes were an incredible blue gray, the color of the sky just a moment before a storm explodes.

"He seeks you."

I almost jumped out of my skin when she finally spoke. The way she said it in hushed tones sent a shiver down my spine and had me whispering back, "Who?"

"The dark one." She pointed to an ace of spades. "There's danger all around."

I bit back my response of 'No shit, Sherlock' and tried to remember to be respectful of others' beliefs. There are a lot of people who use Tarot to help them maneuver through their lives. Tarot was just too damn vague for me.

When I asked the question who, the response I expected and wanted was an actual first name and last name, and hopefully a full mailing address. The cards seldom seemed to give direct information, more general impressions not unlike the weatherman looking up at a cloudy day and proclaiming it was going to rain.

Don't get me wrong, I don't dismiss tarot out of hand. I had seen others use it effectively in a way that they found helpful. I was just the type of person who asked a question and liked a quick, straight answer.

"Danger. Got it. Anything else?" I tried to keep from sounding bored, but I don't think I pulled it off.

Those blue eyes suddenly were filled with anger. "You must not lose your faith again. If you do, you'll be lost."

That got my attention. Not many people knew I had thrown aside my childhood religion and had for many years lived life without any faith in my fellowman or myself. Those years had been pretty bleak. It was only when I had been forced to reevaluate my beliefs that I had come to the conclusion there was more on this earth than we measly mortals can appreciate. Well, more than most mortals can sense anyway. Those of us given this gift, sometimes curse, of seeing the world with all its layers had no choice but to deal with the issue of good and evil on a daily basis.

Those years of not caring had been bleak, but in a way much simpler. I sometimes looked fondly back at the days when the biggest problem in my life was figuring out how I was going to pay both my rent and the phone bill.

"You don't believe in destiny?" she asked, not bothering to look at me as she studied the cards again.

"No."

"But there is one out there. Yours alone."

"Cool. Does it include winning American Idol? I've been thinking about trying out next year. I'm really a shower singer, but you never know..."

It was true I was now baiting her. I had to give the old girl credit, she didn't fall for it, instead she chuckled while her hands swept across the table gathering the cards together.

"I was only trying to warn you, Child."

"And I appreciate it, really I do."

Her right hand suddenly reached out and snatched mine. "You aren't the type to believe in fate," she said, studying my face.

"Fate? No. I believe in hard work and lots and lots of weapons."

She turned my hand over and slowly traced the lines of my palm. Her lips pursed. "It's hard to make out."

I sat patiently while she glared at my palm. Finally, she hissed out the words, "Water and fire. Strange..."

Before I could get out the next smart-ass comment that immediately came to mind, the doorbell rang.

****