[Fiction] Traveler [Complete]

[z-The Morrigan]

Her wanderings had brought her somewhere cold.

,,

For weeks now, she had been subsisting on what she could hunt or find. It was sufficient for her needs; between the occasional animal she caught and ate raw, and the food she picked from garbage cans, she ate well enough.

,,

But it was getting colder.

,,

She was free, freer than any other time her admittedly short memory could recall. She avoided human settlements whenever possible, slowly working her way both north and east. Her feet traveled where they would, working toward a goal she felt subconsciously. The animal that she currently was, if she could have spoken, would have not been able to tell someone why she walked the direction she did. All she knew was she was urged north and east, and so she went.

,,

But it was getting colder with every step; the morning that she woke up covered in frost, with every joint aching, she realized that she needed protection from the weather. Covert surveillance of the local bipedal animals – which she knew were called humans – was informative, and soon she had found coverings to wear against the weather. To think, someone left wet ones just hanging from a line…

,,

She still avoided people whenever possible. She knew that it would be bad to be seen, so she continued to hide. She could have moved faster, could have gotten to wherever she was being driven, but she was afraid. She didn’t know why, and she couldn’t figure it out with her impacted intelligence, so she didn’t think about it.

That lasted until she saw the body of water.

It stretched from horizon to horizon, north and south – a bitterly cold stretch of liquid which formed an effective barricade. She stared bleakly across the expanse, almost despondent as her instincts drew her ever forward, ever toward the east, across the water. Slowly, she answered those instincts, her mind slowly solidifying and settling onto what she needed to do.

She turned away from the water, walking directly away from the cold sea behind her. When she was far enough away, she turned back around and started to run. The land streaked by under her as she built up her speed; within a second that stretched into a minute she was racing over water. Her feet struck the liquid too fast to sink and she was soon over the deep, blue water, creating a wake of water that splashed up behind her. The wind slashed by her face, turning it red and bringing laughter to her lips. The exhilaration did what nothing else had done yet: it made her happy.

She wasn’t just racing surface tension; she raced her own power reserves, straining to reach land while she was able to keep up this speed. She was beginning to believe that she wouldn’t make it when a dark streak appeared before her. She strained just a little harder, her legs blurring just a little more as she struggled to not get dunked.

Her reserves tapped out, and she plunged into the water with a gurgle of shock at the cold. She was submerged completely in a moment; she swam to the top with almost a scream of protest as she drew in air again. The ice-cold water started its merciless attack almost immediately and she began to doggedly swim forward.

She was starting to sink when she was still close. She felt the cold sap her body, robbing her strength and she fought all the harder to not give in, to not die within sight of land. She lost the fight and sank beneath the waves-

Her feet sank to sediment, and she pushed upward on wobbly legs, clearing the water. The air was much warmer than the water; something told her that this was a lie, that she was not safe despite the fact that she was feeling better. Shivering and gasping, she staggered onto the shores of a new world and collapsed into a heap.

[z-The Morrigan]

She had to keep moving. Her clothes had started to freeze; as she picked herself up and began to make her slow and painful way further inland, they snapped and cracked loudly. With a soft moan, she began to rub frozen hands over her torso and chest, trying to return warmth to her body.

Instincts told her to get to a fire or warmth, but neither was to be had. Instead, she kept moving, using the heat she generated to further warm her body. Only her superb, nova physique let her continue to stagger, and finally walk forward. But her clothes were refusing to dry fast enough, and she tired, almost completely drained. An object loomed out of the snow at her, and she stopped, peering at it suspiciously. She would have normally begun to slink forward to investigate, but she was taxed, and barely holding on.

On numb feet she approached it, ready to fight or flee as necessary. Neither was needed; it was an artificial cave, like she had seen time and time again on her trip here. The opening was marked by the usual round protuberance, which she grasped and twisted to one side. The opening swung inward, and she stumbled inside, swinging the opening shut.

The small, rectangular cave had a smaller cave which had strange smells, like a waste spot. The main cavern was a treasure trove; not only did it provide shelter, but there were warm coverings, food and a soft place to rest. She peeled off her soaked clothing and pulled the flat covering around her, sighing happily as the warmth began to permeate her skin.

As her body began to recover, she gobbled down some of the food, peering around her shelter. Her eye fell on stacked tree trunks; someone had cut them into short lengths and piled them up neatly in a corner. In one of those strange moments of clarity, she understood that it was firewood. She also understood that the round black thing was a stove, and would make the cavern warmer.

Soon, a fire popped and burned merrily, and she leaned back on the cushioning, yawning. Safe and warm for the first time in several weeks, she drifted off into a deep, restful sleep.

* * *

The morning found the fire burnt out, and the room cold. She pushed her way out of the flat coverings and slipped back into her clothes. They were cold, but dry, and soon she was pushing the opening outward, blinking in the early morning sunlight. She didn’t spare another glance toward her shelter; instead, she followed her new instincts south now, breaking into a run.

Something drew her forward relentlessly, and she doggedly followed it, headed toward somewhere warmer.

[z-The Morrigan]

The mountains were beautiful, and negated her speed greatly. She was only moving at a slow jog, which made her progress frustratingly slow. But even her feral mind could appreciate the beauty of the land around her, and made her slow march at least partially pleasant.

But that pleasure was nothing compared to her first sighting of a major city. She had avoided any signs of civilization, zipping around areas were the strange, false caves where grouped together, sticking to the wild, wide country. But now, when she attempted to circle around this area, her instincts shifted, pointing into the heart of the gathering of humanity.

She sat and stared at the city for a long time, trying to decide what to do. She didn’t want to enter the cluster of caves; it was harder for her to hide in there, and there would be a congregation of powerful people, those like herself who she couldn’t outrun or outfight. Yet the siren’s call pulled her into the heart of the city, into the heart of the danger zone. And ultimately, she had no choice.

She did very well at first, waiting until nightfall to enter. She worked her way through the sprawled false caverns on their tiny green patches separated by rows of dead trees oddly shaped and standing upright somehow. The sleeping humans in their caverns had been a relief, and each awake one that she came close to was regarded with suspicion. She didn’t let them see her as she passed by their endless, similar caves.

It became harder still when she came to the part of the strange place where the caverns almost touched or where shoulder to shoulder. Hiding became harder and harder, until she was skulking along a broad stone passage between the caverns, trying to appear to be one of them. She didn’t quite look right, in her stolen clothing, but she was less conspicuous than she would have been naked.

There. The voice in her mind, the first she could remember, drew her up short. She turned and looked at the cavern – home – the voice was indicating. A cavern of pieced-together red square stones stood between two others; there was nothing extraordinary about it in any way. But it still drew her forward.

The metal making strange shapes was cold under her questing fingers; somehow, she understood that these symbols were a marker for the house, to help others find it. Her fingers touched the black protrusion under the symbols, automatically flipping open the top of it. It was hollow inside, and she knew that held thin white slips, stiffer than her coverings, that tore easily. And people in blue and gray coverings would leave them behind for the people that lived in the cavern.

The box was empty, but there were symbols on the front of the box. She ran a thumb over the symbols – a name she knew suddenly – and tried to interpret them, to no avail. With an almost inaudible sigh, she ran her thumb over again, but this time, she pulled up the sticky thing that the symbols were printed on. There was something under them – another name.

Her heart caught in her chest as she pulled back the rest of the sticky thing, revealing more symbols. But these – these symbols were recognizable to her. Their familiarity mocked her as her mind struggled to know their meaning. Even some sounds were arising in her mind, pushing past her damaged synapses to force them out though her lips, “Wih- wihl- wihls- wihl-son… Wilson.”

[z-The Morrigan]

Despite the exaltation from this small achievement, she still had nothing else to gain here. None of the smells of the people around here were familiar, and with one last look at the strange cavern, she turned and wandered away again.

A slight shift in the wind brought a scent to her nose; with a snarl, she saw a black form move forward to engage her.

* * *

Nachtlöwe wasn’t sure why he had done this; something compelled him to continue on this quest, despite what it may cost him. The black lion’s nose was pressed to the ground as he hunted for a scent. No, you know why you do this, Hans, he added to himself, lifting his muzzle from the sidewalk, you saw what they did to her. And even if the Project is less than sympathetic, you aren’t. You want to help her, and do more for her than capture her and put her in Bahrain. It wasn’t that putting her in Bahrain was the wrong answer for novas like her; it was just the wrong answer for her. She wasn’t a villain; she was a victim. And he would prove it.

Her trek had been strange and yet all too understandable. She had walked or ran through Russia, working her way around cities and civilizations in Siberia. He had thought he’d catch her when she ran into the Pacific, but her trail had ended there. It had taken him far longer than he liked to admit to figure out that she had run across the Bering Straight into Alaska. He’d had to make arrangements to be flown across, and he was sure he’d lost her scent. But luck was with him; he had stumbled onto an empty cabin, stocked with food and warmth for travelers who had lost their way. She had stayed here, and he was able to pick up her path again.

From there, she had drawn a remarkably straight line south, crossing into Canada. He was even able to make massive jumps ahead and still pick up her path easily. She was headed straight toward something; no doubt about that. It was a surprise when to him when that something turned out to be a city; Denver stood proudly above the mountains, shining in the darkness. Moving quickly now, he transformed into the lion again and began to lope along her path, following her past the suburbs and into the city itself, to a residential area.

That is her, he realized, his heart starting to pound with excitement. The solid form of her body was hidden under the shapeless Soviet-style clothes she was wearing, but the mailbox she was looking at reflected a soft red glow from her eyes. Moving quickly, he stepped out of the darkness just as she walked down the steps of the house. He shifted out of his lion form and approached her with his arms open wide, his eyes looking into hers, and with a friendly smile on his face.

She moved so fast. He saw her snarl, then she blurred away into nothingness. He had a split second to think, she’s gone, before she landed on him, knocking him to the ground. His head bounced off the pavement; had he been a baseline, he would have been seriously injured. As it was, when she leaned over him and snarled in his face, he still saw in swirls of color. Concussion, he realized, even as he planted a foot in her crotch and kicked her over his head.

She came back at him, and this time, she paused before snarling again. Blood began to run down her face in rivulets; she looked like something from a nightmare with her glowing red eyes and bloody visage. And this time, cold fear raced down his back; Nachtlöwe flinched, drawing back from her. And between one blink and the next, she was gone.

He stood alone in the dark street for a long time, letting the fear eek away. When he was sure his legs were working again, he moved to the door of the house she had been studying. Staring at the two names – one on the top label and one revealed underneath – Hans decided that it was time to do some research.

[z-The Morrigan]

She stopped running when she felt safe. That took quite a while.

The cat-male had tracked her. She remembered his scent from the underground caves when all the fighting had occurred. He had followed her, and he had found her. The terror of being caught, of waking up again in a strange place with no memory of getting there, lent her more speed.

When dawn broke, she stood on the bank of a massive river. Tall bluffs sharply dictated the flow of the river, forcing her to gauge it for a jump. In the end, she had to give it up; it was just too far. A city beckoned to the north, and she turned that direction, looking for a metal extension of the river – bridge. And if she didn’t cross soon, she would have a harder time getting across without being seen. As it was, she would still be risking it.

She briefly pondered waiting until dark, but she didn’t feel safe on this side of the river. She was low on reserves and tired, and getting hungry. Food and rest were becoming a necessity.

She skirted civilization as much as she could, but finally, she was forced to walk along a busy road, filled with moving boxes even with the sun still a sliver of light on the horizon. At the mouth of the bridge, she stopped, waiting for her chance to cross. A couple of the boxes honked annoyingly at her, but she ignored them, her eyes focused on the road. And when she saw one lane open, she ran.

In seconds, she was over the bridge. With a grunt, she leapt over a couple lanes and crossed the median to the less-busy far lane. She shot across those lanes too, cutting though a gap in the boxes and dashing into the brush at the side of the road. She heard those boxes shrieking angrily at her but she was continuing her run, moving deeper into the concealing cover.

She didn’t stop until she found the dirty caverns belching smoke into the air. Her reserves ran out, and she dropped to her knees, gasping in dirty air. A few humans nearby stopped to stare at her, and she staggered to her feet. She had to keep moving, had to find food and shelter. She had to find… something. A word formed in her mind, straining to work though damaged nerves, and her feral mind. Her lips moved, her tongue worked, and finally a sound was heard from her throat. “Home.”

[z-The Morrigan]

She took shelter in a decrepit cavern. It was the best thing she could find, and to be honest, it was better than anything she had had since the cavern just after crossing the wide, cold water. It wasn’t as homely as that tiny cavern, but it was a roof over her and with the arm-load of food she had scavenged, she was in good shape. That night, she slept with a full belly and a roof over her head.

* * *

The sound of shouting on the lower level woke her sometime later. With supernatural silence, she moved to the edge of the balcony and glanced over the edge, troubled to see invaders in her cave. But their focus was on the one in the middle of their pack, who huddled on the floor and tried to shield his body with his arms and legs. If she remained up here and was silent, they shouldn’t bot-

The strong defend the weak.

The words were strong in her head, actually causing her to freeze reflexively. The form on the floor was not that small compared to its attackers, nor did it seem that weak. But it was badly outnumbered, and definitely being beaten. The other creatures were viciously kicking, over and over; they were making noises, but she couldn’t understand them. If she stayed up her-

The strong defend the weak.

The words had a finality about them, a strength beyond herself. Still, her feral mind was sure of one thing; if she hid, they wouldn’t get the chance to do the same to he-

THE STRONG DEFEND THE WEAK.

And with a rush of power, she knew the words were her own. She stood up and leapt over the edge of the balcony, landing silently just behind one of the boys. Triggered her power, she grabbed him and threw him over her shoulder into one of the dark shadows; to the other attackers, it seemed as if their friend vanished. By the time they had realized he was gone and looked to see, she was on the far side of the group, ripping the biggest of the boy off his feet and slamming him into the fading, raveling carpet.

The six remaining stared at her, their dark faces slack with surprise. She snarled and selected the biggest one left, looking at him as the blood began to pour down her face, soaking into her clothing. The baseline’s fragile ego had no chance; with a high-pitched scream equal of any girl scout’s, he broke and ran. His five friends were not far behind, though they were less vocal. Their fallen comrades were left behind.

With a sigh, she walked over to the first one and grabbed his covering, lifting him into the air. A strip of his covering fell off him, and she picked up, preparing to stuff it in a pocket on his coverings. But there was a symbol on it, and she stopped, considering something. It was a marking of his pack; a symbol of their strength. There are uses for this, she understood with one of those weird insights.

She dragged both of them out of her cavern after removing their badges of pack unity, leaving them on the sidewalk. Back inside, she stuffed her trophies away for later and moved to the hurt boy. He was breathing shallowly but steadily, and she carefully picked him up. He needed more help than she could provide. He was younger than she had first thought, and a surge of protectiveness reared in her heart. The burning red eyes took on a softer glow as she carried him out of the building, seeking a certain type of cavern.

* * *

Saada Walker was afraid. Denzel was late coming home, far too late. It was the gang again. Saada knew it; those friends of his had gotten him in trouble again. Her strong fingers, tired from a long day at the Monsanto factory, tugged her coat closer; fall was chilly this year. Saada wondered if Denzel had gotten his coat from the church yet; the boy was supposed to go and pick one out of the donation barrel, but he’d been blowing it off. If he kept his up, there wouldn’t be any that fit him, or worse, he’d get one he didn’t like, and he’d never wear it.

The darkness was thick tonight; far too many streetlights were not replaced in East St. Louis, and she had to walk through long patches of gathering darkness. Soon, it wouldn’t be safe for her, and she’d have to go home and just worry and pray all night. She did have two other children to worry about, too, and she couldn’t let something happen to her. If she lost her temporary job, they wouldn’t have anywhere to live and then-

Her thoughts were cut off by the stranger stepping into a streetlight ahead of her, a body in its arms. It walked with easy grace, its head down and face hidden by a cap it was wearing. Nervously, she started to cross to the other side of the street, but she recognized the pants the unconscious form was wearing. “Denzel,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her chest. She repeated his name in a shout as she dashed toward the form carrying her son, so happy to see him she didn’t even look at his rescuer until she was right next to her. Saada caught a flash of white skin, but her eyes were for the bruised, battered condition of her son. “Thank yo-” Her voice cut off as she finally saw the face.

She looked to be a normal white woman, but glowing red eyes looked at her warily; her body language signaled that she was about to bolt. Swallowing back her fear, Saada touched her son’s face. “My son,” she said. “May I have my son?” Her hands shook terribly, but she reached for him, straining to take her sixteen-year-old boy from the nova holding him.

To her infinite relief, the strong arms loosened, letting her take Denzel in her arms. But a new problem presented itself; Denzel was a tall boy, almost a grown man, and Saada felt her body begin to collapse. Without a word, the nova easily scooped Denzel back into her arms. “Ah… thank you,” Saada said uncertainly. “I need to… what?”

The nova jerked her chin at a nearby sign, blue with a white ‘H’ and Saada nodded eagerly. “Yes, the clinic,” she said, smiling. “I don’t have a car, though. Can… would you please carry him for me?” The glowed eyes looked at her; unsure if she understood, Saada turned and took a couple of steps. Behind her, the sound of the nova following was the most beautiful sound in the world.

They didn’t make it to the hospital. When they were in sight of it, the nova stopped. Saada turned and said, “What’s wrong?”

The woman looked at her; fear and uncertainty wavered over her features. Saada approached the woman and said, “It’s ok, you’ve done more than enough. Here, this bench… put Denzel here.” She pointed twice before the nova laid him carefully on the bench. “Thank you. I’m Saada, and thank you so much.”

There was a burst of wind, and then the nova was gone.

[z-The Morrigan]

They came for her the next night. She had been sure that there would be some reprisal for her actions, and it came right on schedule. In the dark of the night, she heard the sound of a board being ripped off of a boarded window, and the guarded whispers of sneaking invaders. She was ready for them, aware that the pack would have to investigate the new invader in their lands. Actually, it was now what was formally their lands, but the didn’t know that yet.

They split up and hunted for her, but she easily eluded them. There were at least four hands worth, and they were young and clumsy. But she couldn’t let them not find her; if they didn’t find her, they’d assume she wasn’t there. And she didn’t want that.

She waited until most of them were in the big cave with the silver side and all the chairs. There, the chairs would hamper them, and the open area would favor her. They all gathered there; it was one of the few rooms that would hold all of them in the building. They even sat down and began to drink liquids from tall, round containers, which they crumpled up and tossed to the floor. She waited patiently, and when she was sure they had relaxed, she attacked.

The battle was nothing to speak of; they were not as strong as she. She did the same as before; piled their unconscious bodies up on the sidewalk. And she took their symbols as well, and hoped that would end the intrusions.

But there would soon be other invasions, of a sort that she could not fight.

* * *

Saada waited three days before she went. It wasn’t much payment at all, but it was what Saada could give. Denzel had said the Majestic Theatre, and so Saada went there, clutching the casserole dish in her hands. It was just a cheap hamburger and noodle dish, but she had layered the cheese extra thick because she knew that novas needed lots of food.

She had thought she’d have to leave it on the front step, but an impulse made her check the door. It was unlocked, and Saada pushed it open, fear curling in her belly. She was technically trespassing. But that fear faded when she saw what was in the lobby.

Long poles had been driven into holes in the floor, and then curved and secured overhead to form arches. They had been lined up to form an arch; they were connected into a crude walk-way by lateral poles. And from this archway hung the red do-rags that the Red Gunz used, their black symbols very familiar to everyone living in this area.

Saada’s eyes widened, her trepidation forgotten as she stared upward. Where these a sign that this was Gunz territory? Or a sign of something else? When she saw the bit of blood on one of the do-rags, she understood; this was a trophy room. Quickly, Saada counted the waving strips of cloth; there were twenty-three. She swallowed tightly, then smiled and nodded. “Good job,” she whispered.

The darkness seemed to react to her words, suddenly focusing on her. She glanced around nervously, then set the dish down. “Look, I just wanted to thank you for what you did for my son,” she said firmly, peering into the shadows that seemed to peer back. “The doctors say he’ll be fine, in time. I couldn’t afford to give you much, but I know you novas like to eat, so I made some food.” Still no red eyes glowing back at her, so Saada backed away. “Just leave the dish by the door – I’ll be back for it in a couple of days.” At the door, she paused and said, “Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.”

The next night, the empty dish was on her doorstep.

[z-The Morrigan]

Latrice Ballinger ran as fast as she could. Every time she started to falter, she heard her Momma screaming, and that spurred her on again. She wasn’t even sure she was doing the right thing; she was chasing after a dream or a hope. There was nothing sayin’ that Red-Eyes would help her. It was just that she had helped Saada and Denzel, for no reason at all. Maybe she would help Momma, too.

The Majestic rose out of the gloom ahead of her, and Latrice grabbed the door, yanking on it. It refused to open. “No!” the young girl cried, sagging against the glass and tarnished brass. Getting a better grip on the graceful, art-deco door handles, she rattled the door, shouting, “Red-Eyes! Please help! Red-Eyes!”

No one knew where the nova had come from; she had just shown up. There was countless speculation, including stories of a tragedy in Amsterdam, all the way in Europe. It had sounded so epic and romantic, but most of all, it sounded like someone who could do the impossible. All novas could do incredible things, Latrice had seen them on television, but Red-Eyes had done the impossible: she had come to East St. Louis. Latrice remembered that the last time people had dared to talk about things getting better had been when Project Utopia had cleaned up the city and made all the neighboring townships stop polluting things. But they had left, and the casinos had come in and taken the riverfront and made it into another township, Arborton, just like the big companies always did, and nothing had gotten much better; it just took people longer to get bad off enough to die. That was what you did in East St. Louis, to Latrice’s perception; you struggled and died.

But Denzel hadn’t died. He was alive. Maybe Momma could live, too.

“Red-Eyes!” she screeched as loudly as she could, sending a couple of doves into a fluttering panic. Something appeared in the glass, and Latrice felt hope for the first time in her life, really understood it and why it felt so good. But the image in the glass was the reflection of the Black Wolf standing behind her. Her hope shattered as the member of the all-black gang reached for her, grabbing her jacket and yanking her backwards onto her butt. “This is wolf territory, shortie,” he growled, the knife in his hand glinting menacingly. “Why you here? And you better start singin’ a song I like to hear.”

“Help!” Latrice screamed, putting everything into her childish voice. And the impossible happened: help arrives, in the form of an angel with glowing red eyes. Her attacker was snatched away from her, ripping her coat but leaving Latrice safe. She climbed to her knees and turned to see the youth attacking her spawled in the dirt, not moving. And Red-Eyes stood over him.

Eyes wide, Latrice approached the woman carefully. Red eyes watched her warily; they should have frightened her, but Latrice thought they were the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. “Thank you,” she breathed, her face full of her awe. But Red-Eyes didn’t say anything, and Latrice remembered that she didn’t have time to wait.

“Come with me, I need your help!” she shouted, surprised when Red-Eyes flinched. “Please,” she said in a softer tone, “she needs you too.” Still no comprehension or acknowledgement from Red-Eyes and Latrice dared to reach out and grab her hand. The nova looked even more unsettled, but Latrice didn’t let go; instead, she tugged gently and beckoned with her free hand. “Come on. Help. I need your help. Come on – he’s hurting Momma. Come on…”

To her relief, Red-Eyes began to move with her. Latrice began to move faster, then dropped Red-Eyes' hand so that they could run easily. And she would have run all the way home, but she had run here, and it was late, and she had had to walk to school too, and soon Latrice began to falter. Red-Eyes kept pace with her, a half-step behind, but when Latrice stopped, Red-Eyes didn’t. Latrice was snatched up and somehow landed on Red-Eyes’ back; with a yelp, the girl grabbed for holding spots, even though the nova had secured her legs against her sides. Both arms went around Red-Eyes’ neck; those arms were immediately and firmly moved to the nova’s shoulders. “Sorry,” Latrice gasped. That was stupid, choking her like that…

Red-Eyes pointed ahead of them, and Latrice nodded eagerly. “Yeah, that way!” The buildings began to move by really fast, as fast as her Momma’s old Geo, and a lot quieter. Latrice forgot herself for a moment in the pure joy of going so fast, and almost missed the first turn; after that, she focused on where they were going. In a short amount of time, far shorter than it had taken Latrice to travel the distance, Latrice directed her impromptu ride to her front steps.

Red-Eyes opened the door so fast that Latrice was actually surprised. Even more surprising was when she was put firmly on the ground; a stiff downward jab of Red-Eyes’ finger told Latrice clearly that she was to stay in the living room. Her mother was upstairs; even Latrice could hear the strange sounds she was making, and with wide, scared eyes, the girl nodded in agreement. And Red-Eyes disappeared in a burst of motion.

Wow…

Something fell screaming from the upstairs window, smashing through plywood that Uncle Douglas had put up after the neighborhood boys had thrown rocks through their windows. Latrice almost crept to the door to see, but Red-Eyes had said to stay here. And so Latrice stayed, even when something else fell into the yard and she heard some fighting noises.

She had already figured out that one of the people in the yard was Red-Eyes, so she wasn’t surprised when the nova came back into the house. With a gesture to stay, the white woman hurried back upstairs. She heard her Momma crying still, but Latrice remained still. And she stayed there until Grandma and Uncle Douglas showed up.

* * *

Douglas Lincoln had known his sister was mixed up in some bad stuff, but he hadn’t known how bad until he’d gotten the hysterical phone call from her. Sometimes, he felt bad for his older sister, but she brought a lot of it on herself. The problem was that put Latrice, Malcolm and little Shondra in danger, too, and that was unacceptable. When he’d gone to the house, he’d expected the worst – one of the kids hurt or dead. But Malcolm and Shondra were hiding in the garden shed, and Latrice – brave little Latrice had run all the way to the Majestic and gotten that nova that had helped the Walkers.

Douglas had been sure that someone had been exaggerating; novas didn’t move to East St. Louis – they moved away. The economic base couldn’t begin to attract the funds that bigger, brighter cites and groups could offer, and all of the good kids moved away. Well, not all – Douglas had come back. But the young businessman was an exception to the rule, and he knew it.

But here was his proof; his sister was huddling naked under a blanket, bruised and beaten, and the achingly beautiful woman with the glowing eyes was squatting in the corner, warily watching him and Mom enter the room. And while Mom went to care for her eldest living daughter, Douglas cautiously approached the nova.

Latrice had said she was shy; it wasn’t shyness that caused the woman’s strange eyes to narrow, or for her to tense up. Douglas stopped well back from her and hunkered down as best he could with knees that had never been right after the motorcycle accident. “Thank you,” he said, nodding gravely.

A moment of hesitation followed; then she nodded back, mimicking him exactly. “Can you talk?” More smoldering red gazing followed, without understanding to be seen anywhere on her face. “Do you have a name? I’m Douglas. Doug-las.” He touched his chest and repeated his name twice before carefully gesturing toward her in the same way. “You?”

Her lips worked and her brow furrowed. “Y-you?” she said, touching her own chest.

“No,” he said, chuckling a little despite himself. “Me, Douglas,” he tried again, pointing to himself. Behind him, his sister was sobbing out some story to Mom about paying off her monetary debt by agreeing to sleep with the man’s friend, and Douglas angrily tuned her out to focus on his attempt to communicate. “You, …?”

She moved fast, and was kneeling in front of him in a blink. Her hand touched his cheek softly and she said, “Richard…”

“No, I’m… Douglas,” he said. He’d never really been drawn to white women; they were pretty, but he liked the darker shades in his partners. But this woman could change that… well, she could if he wasn’t married and she wasn’t trying to call him by another man’s name. “Me, Douglas. You, …?”

“The Morrigan,” she answered, her eyes searching his for something… Richard? But she must not have found it, for she blurred into motion and was gone with super-human speed.

“The Morrigan,” Douglas whispered, wondering if that was a real answer. What kind of name was that? But perhaps to her, it was all the answer she needed.

* * *

By the Ides of October, everyone in East St. Louis had heard about “their” nova. Several had been rescued by her, none would speak ill of her, and even the one extremely conservative church had embraced her when she had stopped some Illinois Klanners from burning a cross on the church’s lawn. The owner of the Majestic complained about her presence in his dilapidated building once; the resulting outcry had forced him to abandon his complaint, especially when it was backed by the mayor. Even though only a few could claim that she had exchanged words with them, she had won their hearts by her actions.

And they showed their affections in the only way they could; they gave what little they had. Clothes and food showed up at regular intervals at the Majestic, left by those who could spare them. Even those whose lives hadn’t been touched directly by her left gifts, hoping that she would stay if they gave her enough things. She was their guardian angel, and they paid their tithes regularly and gladly.

For the first time in years, East St. Louis had a defender, and The Morrigan had found her home. But now, the outside world was beginning to hear rumors of a red-eyed nova, and soon, challenges would come to the red-eyed angel and her city.