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Authors: Rachel Starr Thomson
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the girl. Despite Tyler’s assertion that Reese’s running off might have been unpremeditated, Mary doubted it. Those who were heavily afflicted with grief might be given to making unpredictable decisions, but they were not usually full of the courage, strength, or initiative it would take to go into the wilderness surrounding the village, in the dark, and face an active enemy.
Besides, whatever Reese was, Mary was quite sure she wasn’t inexperienced. She had twice dispatched demons that struck at her without warning, and though Mary hadn’t seen the fights, she knew that Reese had been fighting from a place of weakness and that the attacks had been fierce. And yet both times, there had been no question of who would win.
As Mary made her slow way down the cliff road to the village, the stars out overhead and glistening over the bay, she made a mental list of cells to call. They weren’t directly connected to many anymore, but she should be able to find contacts for some of the larger ones. She planned to try the nearest cities first. Reese’s level of expertise pointed to her being part of an active cell in a battleground, and that almost certainly meant an urban cell, not a rural one. Surely the right cell couldn’t be that hard to find—the act of exiling would have rocked them to the core. Mary was surprised she hadn’t heard rumours of it or received letters sounding the alarm. For that matter, she was surprised she hadn’t felt the exile in her own soul. The Oneness was many, and some connections were much farther afield than others. Yet, something this drastic ought to affect everyone in a way that could be felt. The analogy she’d given Chris was not an exaggeration: an exile would be an amputation. Not like a death—deaths were not felt except by those who were closely connected to one another, because death did not break the Oneness. The body was one in heaven and on earth—and the distance between the two was not nearly so great as most people supposed.
She slowed around a bend in the road and prayed quietly, letting the Spirit in her speak. She felt the prayers humming in the air like vibrations on a string, creating music, creating a language not human and not bound by human limitations. She knew she was not alone in the prayers. The cloud—the family in heaven—prayed with her. Perhaps the angels did too.
Mary parked in the driveway and paused after stepping out of the car, letting her prayers swell higher and deeper. The moon was bright overhead.
When she stepped into the house, the vibration nearly knocked her off her feet.
Richard was home, and he had been praying.
To Mary’s eyes the very walls of the house seemed washed in gold, and they quivered as with life. Richard was kneeling in the centre of the living room. Mary knelt beside him, and she felt her spirit expanding, stretching beyond her to the others, One in heaven and One on earth, One in Spirit and in truth. She closed her eyes, and time passed; how much she did not know. She felt eyes on her, the many eyes of the angels.
Finally Richard sighed.
He stood. Mary opened her eyes slowly and saw his hand outstretched. She took it and he pulled her to her feet, her knees and ankles protesting that she was getting too old for this.
“No sign of April,” he said. “I looked everywhere. Knocked on nearly every door in town by one pretence or another. She’s gone, Mary.”
Gone, but not dead. As close as these three were—close like fingers on a hand—they would have felt her death. Yet Mary did feel something: a growing dread in the pit of her stomach. April was alive, and yet things were not well with her.
“April is not the only one we need to find,” Mary said, sitting on the couch. Richard raised an eyebrow and sat down across from her. A clock in the kitchen ticked—it was nearing midnight. They’d been praying for hours. No wonder she felt so stiff.
“What is it?” he asked.
Mary explained about Reese. He did
Besides, whatever Reese was, Mary was quite sure she wasn’t inexperienced. She had twice dispatched demons that struck at her without warning, and though Mary hadn’t seen the fights, she knew that Reese had been fighting from a place of weakness and that the attacks had been fierce. And yet both times, there had been no question of who would win.
As Mary made her slow way down the cliff road to the village, the stars out overhead and glistening over the bay, she made a mental list of cells to call. They weren’t directly connected to many anymore, but she should be able to find contacts for some of the larger ones. She planned to try the nearest cities first. Reese’s level of expertise pointed to her being part of an active cell in a battleground, and that almost certainly meant an urban cell, not a rural one. Surely the right cell couldn’t be that hard to find—the act of exiling would have rocked them to the core. Mary was surprised she hadn’t heard rumours of it or received letters sounding the alarm. For that matter, she was surprised she hadn’t felt the exile in her own soul. The Oneness was many, and some connections were much farther afield than others. Yet, something this drastic ought to affect everyone in a way that could be felt. The analogy she’d given Chris was not an exaggeration: an exile would be an amputation. Not like a death—deaths were not felt except by those who were closely connected to one another, because death did not break the Oneness. The body was one in heaven and on earth—and the distance between the two was not nearly so great as most people supposed.
She slowed around a bend in the road and prayed quietly, letting the Spirit in her speak. She felt the prayers humming in the air like vibrations on a string, creating music, creating a language not human and not bound by human limitations. She knew she was not alone in the prayers. The cloud—the family in heaven—prayed with her. Perhaps the angels did too.
Mary parked in the driveway and paused after stepping out of the car, letting her prayers swell higher and deeper. The moon was bright overhead.
When she stepped into the house, the vibration nearly knocked her off her feet.
Richard was home, and he had been praying.
To Mary’s eyes the very walls of the house seemed washed in gold, and they quivered as with life. Richard was kneeling in the centre of the living room. Mary knelt beside him, and she felt her spirit expanding, stretching beyond her to the others, One in heaven and One on earth, One in Spirit and in truth. She closed her eyes, and time passed; how much she did not know. She felt eyes on her, the many eyes of the angels.
Finally Richard sighed.
He stood. Mary opened her eyes slowly and saw his hand outstretched. She took it and he pulled her to her feet, her knees and ankles protesting that she was getting too old for this.
“No sign of April,” he said. “I looked everywhere. Knocked on nearly every door in town by one pretence or another. She’s gone, Mary.”
Gone, but not dead. As close as these three were—close like fingers on a hand—they would have felt her death. Yet Mary did feel something: a growing dread in the pit of her stomach. April was alive, and yet things were not well with her.
“April is not the only one we need to find,” Mary said, sitting on the couch. Richard raised an eyebrow and sat down across from her. A clock in the kitchen ticked—it was nearing midnight. They’d been praying for hours. No wonder she felt so stiff.
“What is it?” he asked.
Mary explained about Reese. He did
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