later.
He thought about his plan of abandoning the City and taking Dawn to the safety of Nurserywood. A wave of guilt ran over him.
How can you give up on them now?
“Fuck that argument,” Mr. Jay said aloud. A man walking past him heard the comment and frowned. The magician smiled and told said, “I’m not fighting your battles anymore.” He started moving with the crowd. No more. The bastards took everything before and learned nothing. Watched it, participated. And learned nothing. That wasn’t going to happen again. Already, in the limited time he’d spent among them he’d been forced to draw upon his darker purpose, his own energies. If people did not attract violence and harm, they created it. And then looked for someone else to clean it up. This time the responsibility is theirs.
And Mr. Jay suddenly cried out. Almost stumbled. A sudden searing pain had shot up his leg, through his right foot-felt like it tore his kneecap off. He gasped, bent over as the pain subsided. People slowed on the sidewalk around him but did not stop.
The magician looked up. The day was so dark streetlights were on. So what?
Then he heard it. Quiet at first, but it was there: a chant. Was it from behind? He turned to look, saw a steady stream of citizens walking. They wore suits; they wore skirts. They carried umbrellas against the drips and drizzle from the drains and cracks in the Level above. He looked up. And turned, senses open, listening. The chanting. There. Toward the City center. The Tower? By the curious looks he was getting, he knew no one else could hear it.
Chanting. Deep and sonorous. Gregorian? No, just…
Another lighting bolt of pain shot up his legs. He screamed, staggering back, bumping into a man who let him fall.
A shiver ran through him as he lay on the sidewalk. The chanting was stronger now. It was familiar: an old language from an old world. Tears started rising in his eyes. No! A fire ran into his side. Pain burned his ribs and set flame to his hands and feet. “Fuck!” Mr. Jay rolled onto his back. His walking stick clattered out of his hand.
A man was kneeling by him. “You okay?” he asked, and then saw Mr. Jay’s tears and he frowned.
“No.” Again a blade of pain twisted in his ribs. “NO!” And now he sobbed, rolled into a ball. He couldn’t take this. What was this? Where was everyone? Where are the others?
“Hey buddy,” the man beside him said, “it ain’t that bad.”
Mr. Jay’s eyes glared blearily at him. He touched the stranger’s arm and a jolt of pain ripped his palm. “No!” And he collapsed in on himself, the day disappeared, the street, the stranger. And he saw a dark room. And on the floor was a pentacle drawn in blood. A circle of naked men and women knelt around it. Their voices chanted-sang. In the pentangle center, a dark-robed figure knelt. He was broad and bulky. In his hands, he held a crucifix. And the pentangle pulsed lambent red in time to the chanting. And the pulses echoed outward through the dark. Through the City. Thumped against the sidewalk under him. Burned along his nerves and out, to push forward.
He opened his eyes, and sat up. The stranger was standing away from him now, looking worried and frightened.
The chanting was growing quiet. The pulsations of power diminished. Mr. Jay pressed his palms against the sidewalk, followed the energy on hands and knees. There it was, a stain…a mark. Gone! People stopped to watch him.
Power had been unleashed. He cast around the sidewalk, snatched up his walking stick. Dark and dangerous things had been set loose in the City. He’d only felt their passing. Quickly they were burning through the City’s levels toward Dawn!
24 – Disclosure
“I called you last night.”
Karen broke from her afternoon nap at the sound of Juanita’s voice. She leaned forward in her seat, almost lost her balance-steadied herself. Her mouth tasted of ashes. Juanita stood across from her at the door.
“Are you okay?”
Sister Cawood pushed sleep from her eyes smiling weakly. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
“You look like shit.” Juanita closed the door behind her and leaned there.
“Oh.” It took her a moment to get her bearings. “I was working with Jane. I haven’t been feeling well. And I took a little catnap.” She smirked trying to insert a little humor. “Don’t tell her I’m awake. She’ll have me signing papers again.” She feigned a sore wrist rubbing it. Juanita’s dark eyes remained sad. Cawood sat up gesturing at the chair across from her. “Come in, what is it?” Juanita crossed the carpet, her shoulders slumped and her expression unreadable.
She was wearing a white blouse, light blue jacket and skirt. Her hair, normally buoyant and full hung loose at her shoulders. Then Karen saw the dark rings under her eyes.
“You look tired.” Cawood leaned forward as Juanita dropped into the chair.
“Of course I’m tired! I didn’t sleep a wink.” The Mormon’s white teeth flashed angrily.
“What’s wrong?”
“I went by your place last night.” Juanita crossed her legs and arms angrily. “And called until two.”
“Oh, I was out late.” She saw the Mormon’s eyes glare. “At the office. Here.”
“Stop lying.” Juanita’s accent grew with her anger. “You were not here either. I live in the Tower too, remember?”
“I-did you come by here?” Cawood looked around the room, rose weakly to her feet. “You must have missed me.”
“And did security miss you too?” Juanita’s voice grew louder. “Just stop lying to me, Karen.” Her anger softened momentarily. “Are you in trouble?”
“No.” Sister Cawood moved shakily around her desk to lean in front of the Mormon. “No. I’m not in trouble. Are you okay?”
“ Am I okay? I wait up all night worried about you, and that’s all you have to say!”
“Well.” Cawood cautiously moved forward, her peripheral vision on the door. “I want to know.”
“Yes, I’m okay.” Juanita looked up at her, by her posture Cawood knew she wanted to be held. “Whatever that means to you. I guess you’re in love.”
“In love?” Cawood’s head spun- vertigo! She wrestled with nausea. “I thought we talked about…”
“Not with me.” Juanita stood up now and moved close. “With someone else.”
“What?” The nun lowered her voice, and hoped Juanita would do the same. “In love?” she whispered, shaking her head.
“Whoever you spent last night with.” Juanita’s eyes flashed. “And who you’re lying for now!”
Cawood struggled to maintain her composure as memories of the night before convulsed in her. The floor felt flimsy beneath her-she steadied herself against the desk.
“I’m not in love.” She recognized Juanita’s crestfallen look. “With anyone else.” Then under her breath she said, “But I shouldn’t, we shouldn’t have to report to each other.”
“But if we are friends first, then what could it hurt.” Juanita’s look was penetrating. “You’re blushing. I knew it!”
Cawood stepped in closer. Part of her was becoming insanely, obscenely aroused by Juanita’s perfume. It was the hangover-all those toxins cleansing out…and Juanita smelling, being so fresh and close. She whispered into the Mormon’s ear. “We stopped being friends first when we started being lovers.”
Immediately, Juanita’s voice softened. “Then what is it that you cannot tell a lover? We always speak from the heart. That is…” She looked to the door and whispered, “Why I love you.”
Cawood shrugged. She knew it would look like reluctance to Juanita, but it was guilt crushing her down. “I’ll tell you then. But only because of what we have.” She clasped Juanita’s soft hand and dropped it. “I was with Able.”
Juanita scowled. “With?” Then the idea became ridiculous to her. But the implausibility of a physical liaison with the minister did not diminish her jealousy. “What then, what were you up all night with Able for?”
