Transcription
The candles shouldn't have gone out all at once. Lydia's knees pressed against the cold stone floor of St. Margarit's Cathedral, her clasped hands trembling despite her best efforts at composure. The familiar weight of her woolen habit, though she no longer had the right to wear it, provided scant comfort against the chill that had nothing to do with the October night seeping through the ancient walls.
Lydia. The whisper came from everywhere and nowhere. A sound like wind through dry bones. Her breath misted in the sudden cold as 47 candles gutted to nothing, leaving only the pale moonlight filtering through the stained glass windows. St. Margarite's face rendered in cobalt and gold seemed to watch with disapproving eyes.
The shadows moved wrong. Lydia had spent enough sleepless nights in prayer to know the way darkness should behave in this sacred space. Shadows fell predictably from pillars and pews, shifted gently with the candle flames, held their proper places. These shadows writhed against the colored moonlight like living things, pooling and stretching in ways that made her stomach lurch.
"Lydia of the visions, come to me." She pressed her palms together harder, the familiar words of protection spilling from her lips in Latin. But the ancient phrases felt thin as paper against whatever presence filled the nave, watching her with an attention that crawled across her skin like spider legs. A sound echoed from the rafters. Not quite laughter, not quite weeping.
Lydia's head snapped up and she saw it. A darkness shaped like wings spread wide across the vaulted ceiling, too large and too deliberate to be cast by any earthly thing. The great oak doors slammed open. Rain swept in on a gust of wind along with a tall figure whose boots rang against the stone with deliberate authority. Lydia scrambled to her feet, her heart hammering as the newcomer stepped into the nave. Lightning illuminated the cathedral for one brilliant moment, and Lydia's breath caught.
The woman was magnificent, tall and broad-shouldered, she wore a knight's armor that had been crafted for her curves rather than hiding them. Her dark cloak dripped rainwater onto the stones, and when she pushed back her hood, candle-lit hair spilled free in waves that seemed to capture and hold the light. But it was her eyes that made Lydia's pulse stutter. Golden amber that seemed to glow in the darkness, fixed on Lydia with an intensity that was almost physical.
"You're bleeding," the stranger said, her voice carrying a hint of accent Lydia couldn't place. Rich and warm, with an undertone of something that made her skin prickle with awareness. Lydia touched her nose, surprised when her fingers came away wet with crimson. She hadn't even noticed.
"It's nothing. The visions sometimes..."
"Visions?" The woman's mouth curved in a smile that was equal parts knowing and dangerous. She drew closer, and Lydia caught the scent of rain and something else. Something that made her think of dark forests and moonlight. "You've been touched by something foul, little nun."
"I'm not," Lydia began, then stopped. The shadows were moving again, flowing along the walls like black water, and the temperature had dropped until she could see her breath. "You need to leave. It's not safe."
The stranger laughed, a sound like silver bells with an edge of steel. "I don't run from shadows, dove. I hunt them." Her hand moved to the sword at her hip with practiced ease, and Lydia glimpsed runes etched along its fuller. "Though I do wonder what a pretty little thing like you is doing alone in a haunted church at midnight."
Heat crept up Lydia's neck at being called pretty, which was ridiculous. She'd taken vows of purity, even if she was no longer bound to them. And this woman was clearly dangerous in more ways than one. "I'm not little," she said, lifting her chin. "And I can handle myself."
"Can you?" The woman's golden eyes gleamed with amusement as a pew splintered behind them with a sound like breaking bones. "Because it seems like whatever you've stirred up disagrees."
The organ pipes gave voice to a single discordant note that seemed to resonate in Lydia's bones. She pressed her hands to her ears, but the sound came from inside as much as out. In the furthest corner of the nave, something began to take shape. Too many limbs unfolding from a darkness that hurt to look at directly.
"Found you," the thing whispered. And its voice was the sound of children crying in empty rooms. "Come to me, vessel. Come and be filled."
"Definitely not safe," the stranger said conversationally, drawing her blade in one fluid motion. The steel sang as it cleared the scabbard, and Lydia caught the glint of silver inlay along its length. "Stay behind me, Dove, and try not to faint."
Lydia bristled. "I don't faint, and stop calling me Dove."
The woman glanced back at her, eyebrow arched. "What should I call you then, Lydia?" She took a step closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from the stranger's body despite the supernatural cold filling the cathedral. "And you are Sarah." The name rolled off her tongue like a caress, and when she smiled, Lydia caught a glimpse of something that made her heart skip: teeth just a little too sharp. Canines that caught the light like pearls. "And I'm about to save your life."
The shadow thing flowed down from the rafters, its form shifting and writhing until it settled into something almost human-shaped. Almost. It had too many joints, too many fingers, and where its face should have been was only smooth darkness that seemed to swallow light.
"The reliquary," Lydia breathed, understanding flooding through her. "It's bound to St. Margarite's fingerbone. I touched it during evening prayers, and you invited something nasty to dinner."
Sarah stepped forward, placing herself between Lydia and the approaching demon. "They do love a holy virgin."
"I'm not," Lydia began hotly, then stopped as Sarah shot her a look that was equal parts amused and appraising. "No, how interesting." Sarah's smile sharpened, and Lydia felt her cheeks burn. "Well, then, this should be fun."
The demon struck without warning, flowing across the space between them like spilled ink. Sarah met its charge with her blade, and the clash sent sparks showering across the stone floor. The creature recoiled with a shriek that shattered two of the smaller windows, but it didn't retreat far.
"Silver?" Lydia asked, watching the way the demon's form rippled and reformed around the wound Sarah had dealt.
"Blessed silver," Sarah confirmed, her breathing still steady despite the supernatural strength she just matched. "And before you ask, yes, I know what I'm doing."
Lydia felt power building in her chest, familiar and warm, despite the fear coursing through her veins. The words came without conscious thought, Latin phrases she'd learned in childhood spilling from her lips in a voice that seemed to echo from the cathedral's stones themselves. The demon flinched back, its form wavering like smoke in a strong wind.
Sarah's head snapped around, golden eyes wide with surprise. "Well, well, our little not-nun has teeth after all."
The demon's attention fixed on Lydia with predatory focus. "Vessel," it hissed, lunging toward her with claws outstretched. "Mine."
Sarah's blade took it through what might have been its torso, pinning it to a pillar. The creature writhed and screamed, but couldn't break free of the blessed metal. "Now would be good," Sarah said through gritted teeth as the demon's struggles grew more violent.
Lydia stepped closer, her voice rising in the final words of the banishment. Light blazed from her hands. Not the soft golden glow of candles, but something pure and fierce that made the demon's form begin to unravel at the edges. But the reliquary remained intact.
"It's not working," Lydia gasped, sweat beading on her forehead despite the cold. "The anchor's too strong."
The demon broke free with a wet, tearing sound and backhanded Sarah across the nave. She hit a pew with a crack that made Lydia's heart stutter, but she rolled to her feet with inhuman grace, spitting blood.
"Definitely more interesting than a virgin," Sarah muttered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The blood on her lips looked black in the dim light. "Though I have to say, your hospitality could use work."
"Are you hurt?" Lydia rushed toward her, hands already reaching out to check for injuries. Sarah caught her wrist gently but firmly, and Lydia froze at the contact. Sarah's skin was marble cold, despite the warmth she'd felt earlier, and her grip was strong enough to crush bone.
"I'm fine. Takes more than one shadow puppet to put me down." Sarah's eyes searched Lydia's face with an intensity that made her breath catch. "But you, you're not just a medium, are you? That light, the way your voice carried."
"I don't know what I am," Lydia admitted, acutely aware of Sarah's thumbs tracing gentle circles over her pulse points. "The visions started 6 months ago. The church said I was touched by God, but... but God's touch doesn't usually come with bloody noses and demon magnets," Sarah finished wryly.
She released Lydia's wrists and stepped back, though her gaze lingered on Lydia's mouth in a way that made heat low in her belly. "We need to move this to more defensible ground. Your friend there is going to try again, and next time it might bring siblings."
As if summoned by her words, more shadows began pooling in the corners of the nave. Not demons, not yet, but the potential for them hung in the air like the scent of an approaching storm.
"The cloister garden," Lydia said, forcing herself to think past the way Sarah's armor highlighted the strong line of her shoulders. "It's consecrated ground and there's a fountain blessed by St. Margarite herself."
Sarah nodded approvingly. "Lead the way, and keep that pretty head of yours down." They moved through the cathedral like dancers who'd rehearsed the steps. Sarah's blade cutting through any shadow that came too close. Lydia's voice holding back the worst of the darkness with half-remembered prayers. The demon followed, its form growing more solid and terrible with each moment, but it didn't attack again. Not yet.
The garden was a pocket of peace in the midst of chaos. Rain fell gently on herb beds and flowering vines, and the fountain's water caught moonlight like scattered diamonds. Lydia sank onto a stone bench beside the fountain, suddenly exhausted.
"Better," Sarah said, surveying their surroundings with a soldier's eye. "The consecration will hold it back for a while, but not indefinitely." She sheathed her sword and turned to face Lydia fully. "Now tell me about this reliquary. When did you touch it? What exactly did you feel?"
Lydia wrapped her arms around herself, trying to ward off the cold that seemed to have settled into her bones. "3 days ago. I was cleaning the altar after evening prayers. And I... I've always been drawn to holy relics. They whisper sometimes, tell me things about the people they belong to." She looked up at Sarah, who was listening with an intensity that made her feel exposed. "St. Margarite wasn't a saint at all. She was a witch burned alive for protecting her village from something terrible."
"The finger bone in that reliquary. It's not hers."
"Whose is it?"
"The thing that destroyed her village. The church made her into a martyr to hide what really happened, but they kept the bone as a trophy." Lydia's voice dropped to a whisper, and when I touched it, it touched me back.
Sarah was quiet for a long moment, rainwater dripping from her hair onto the shoulders of her armor. "You're saying the church has been worshiping a demon's bone for 200 years."
"Not worshiping, containing," Lydia touched the cut on her cheek that Sarah had noticed, wincing. "But the containment is failing. The demon's been growing stronger, and my touching the bone gave it a direct connection to the world of the living."
"Through you," it wasn't a question.
"Through me." Lydia met Sarah's golden gaze steadily, though her heart was racing. "It wants to use me as an anchor, a way to maintain physical form in this world. And once it has that, it can call its friends to the party."
Sarah sat down beside her on the bench, close enough that Lydia could feel the heat of her body despite the supernatural cold. "How much time do we have?"
"Until dawn, maybe. After that..." Lydia shrugged helplessly. "I've never dealt with anything this powerful before."
"But you have dealt with demons," Sarah's tone was curious rather than accusatory. "That wasn't your first banishment in there."
Heat crept up Lydia's neck again. "The church prefers to call them 'spiritual disturbances,' but yes, I've helped with problems before. It's why they encouraged my visions at first. I was useful." The bitterness in her voice surprised her.
"What changed?"
Lydia touched the simple wooden cross at her throat, a habit from her convent days. "I started asking questions they didn't want to answer about the relics. About the things I was seeing in my visions, about why holy objects sometimes felt more cursed than blessed." She looked at Sarah sideways. "They said I was becoming corrupted by pride, that I should pray for humility and obedience."
Sarah snorted. "Religious men do hate it when women think for themselves."
"You say that like you speak from experience."
"I've had occasion to deal with the church before." Sarah's smile was sharp-edged. "They don't much care for my kind."
Lydia studied Sarah's profile in the moonlight, noting again the two sharp canines. The way her skin seemed to glow with its own pale light. The way she moved with predatory grace and fought with inhuman strength. The pieces clicked into place with startling clarity.
"Vampire," she said quietly.
Sarah went very still. "Are you afraid?"
Lydia considered the question seriously. She should be afraid. Everything she'd been taught said she should be reaching for holy water and wooden stakes. But all she felt was a strange sense of rightness, as if Sarah's nature explained something that had been nagging at the edge of her consciousness. "No," she said finally. "Should I be?"
"Probably." Sarah turned to face her, and there was something vulnerable in her expression that made Lydia's chest tight. "I'm not exactly what your church would call blessed."
"Neither am I, apparently." Lydia reached out without thinking, her fingers brushing against Sarah's cheek where a cut had already healed to nothing more than a thin white line.
"How long?"
"Since 1195. 29 years, give or take a few months." Sarah's eyes fluttered closed at Lydia's touch, and when they opened again, they seemed to glow brighter. "I was married once to a minor lord who thought I was properly pious and obedient. When I sheltered a strange woman during a storm, she repaid my kindness in an unexpected way."
"She turned you."
"She gave me the power to protect myself and others from things like what's waiting for us in that cathedral." Sarah caught Lydia's hand, pressing it more firmly against her cheek, but she left me to figure out the rest on my own.
Lydia felt the coolness of Sarah's skin, the way her breath didn't mist in the cold air, the steady absence of a pulse under her palm. But she also felt the gentleness in Sarah's touch, the way she'd placed herself between Lydia and danger without hesitation, the protective fury in her eyes when the demon had spoken of claiming her.
"You've been alone all this time."
"It seemed safer for everyone." Sarah's thumb traced across Lydia's knuckles, and Lydia suppressed a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. "Vampires aren't known for their restraint or their noble intentions."
"What are you known for?"
Sarah's smile was roguish. "Hunger, violence, seduction. The sort of things that would horrify a good Christian girl." Her gaze dropped to Lydia's mouth, then back to her eyes.
"I'm not a good Christian girl." The words came out more breathless than Lydia intended. "I'm a failed nun with visions who consorts with demons and apparently finds vampires more trustworthy than bishops."
"Lydia," Sarah said softly, and the way she said her name made something warm and dangerous unfurl in Lydia's chest.
A sound from the cathedral, metal ringing against stone, broke the moment. Sarah was on her feet instantly, hand on her sword hilt, body positioned to shield Lydia from whatever was coming.
"It's testing the consecration," Lydia said, standing as well. "We need to end this before it breaks through."
"What do you have in mind?"
Lydia looked back at the cathedral, its spires black against the stormy sky. "We use the reliquary as bait. Get the demon to manifest fully, then destroy its anchor while it's vulnerable."
"That's incredibly dangerous," Sarah said flatly. "If you're wrong about the timing, it will possess me completely and use my body to wreak havoc on the world."
Lydia met Sarah's concerned gaze steadily. "I know, but it's going to try that anyway if we don't act. At least this way we have a chance."
Sarah was quiet for a long moment, rain pattering around them. Finally, she nodded. "What do you need me to do?"
"Keep it busy while I break the binding. And Sarah..." Lydia reached out, catching Sarah's hand. "If something goes wrong, if it takes me, don't hesitate. Do what needs to be done."
Sarah's fingers tightened around hers. "It won't come to that."
"You can't promise that."
"Watch me." The fierceness in Sarah's voice made Lydia's heart skip. "I didn't find you just to lose you to some church relic with delusions of grandeur. Find her." As if Sarah had been looking for her specifically, as if their meeting in the cathedral hadn't been chance but destiny. The thought sent warmth spiraling through Lydia's body, dangerous and sweet.
"We should go," she said, though she made no move to release Sarah's hand.
"In a moment," Sarah stepped closer until they were nearly touching. "Lydia, when this is over..." another crash from the cathedral, louder this time. The demon was growing impatient.
"When this is over," Lydia said firmly. "You can tell me whatever you are going to say. But right now, we have work to do."
Sarah smiled, quick and bright. "I think I'm going to like working with you, Dove."
"I'm still not a Dove."
"No," Sarah agreed, her gaze traveling over Lydia's face with unmistakable appreciation. "You're definitely something with much sharper talents."
They made their way back through the cathedral's side entrance, the shadows seeming to press closer with each step. The nave had transformed in their absence. Darkness pooled everywhere, thick as oil, and the temperature had dropped until frost was forming on the stone pillars. The reliquary sat on the high altar like a challenge, its gold and crystal surface gleaming in the supernatural gloom. The demon circled it with predatory patience, its form more solid now, more real. When it saw them enter, its eyeless face turned in their direction with hungry attention.
"Come," it whispered, and Lydia felt the pull of its voice like hooks in her mind. "Come and be complete."
"I'm going to create a circle around the altar," Lydia said quietly, her voice steady despite the fear thrumming through her veins. "Once I start the banishment, it's going to fight dirty."
"Let it try." Sarah drew her sword, the blessed silver gleaming like captured starlight. "I've been fighting dirty for 30 years."
They moved into position with the fluid coordination of partners who'd danced this dance a hundred times before, though they'd only met an hour ago. Sarah placed herself between the demon and the altar, every line of her body radiating lethal intent. Lydia began to pace a careful circle around the altar, her voice rising in the ancient words that seemed to thrum with power.
The demon struck the moment she began to chant. It flowed towards Sarah like liquid shadow, but she met its charge with steel and fury, her blade tracing patterns of light through the darkness. The creature was fast, but Sarah was faster, anticipating its moves with predatory instinct.
"Getting tired yet?" she called out as her blade parted shadow flesh that reformed almost instantly.
"You cannot kill what was never alive," the demon hissed, lashing out with claws that left gouges in the stone floor.
"Maybe not," Sarah agreed, spinning away from a strike that would have disemboweled a mortal woman. "But I can definitely ruin your day."
Lydia's voice rose higher, the Latin words seeming to resonate from the cathedral's very stones. Light began to gather around the altar. Not the soft glow of candles, but something fierce and pure that made the demon recoil with a shriek of rage.
"Stop her," it commanded, abandoning its fight with Sarah to lunge toward Lydia. Sarah intercepted it mid-leap, tackling the shadow creature with enough force to send them both crashing into a pew. They rolled across the floor in a tangle of limbs and darkness, and Lydia's concentration wavered as she saw claws rake across Sarah's armor, leaving deep scratches in the metal.
"Don't stop," Sarah gasped, blood trickling from a cut on her forehead. "Whatever you do, don't stop."
Lydia poured everything she had into the words, feeling power build in her chest until it felt like her ribs might crack from the pressure. The reliquary began to glow, then to smoke, hairline cracks appearing in its crystal surface. The demon's form started to unravel at the edges.
"No!" it abandoned Sarah entirely, flowing toward the altar with desperate speed. "I will not be banished by a failed nun and a cursed..." The words hit Lydia like a physical blow, and for a moment her voice faltered. In that instant of weakness, the demon surged forward, its hand closing around the reliquary.
"Lydia!" Sarah's warning came too late. The demon's other hand fastened around Lydia's throat, and she felt its presence slam into her mind like a battering ram. Cold poured through her veins, and her vision grayed at the edges as the creature began to force its way into her body.
"Mine," it whispered inside her skull. "At last, a worthy vessel."
But Lydia wasn't defenseless. Power blazed in her chest, not borrowed from prayers or relics, but something that was purely her own. She grabbed the demon's wrist and held on, letting that inner light pour through the connection between them. The demon screamed.
"What are you?" it demanded, its grip loosening as Lydia's power burned through it like acid.
"I'm Lydia of the visions," she said through gritted teeth, her voice echoing with otherworldly authority. "And you are banished." She spoke a word that wasn't quite Latin, wasn't quite anything human, and the reliquary exploded in a shower of crystal and golden flame. The demon's scream reached a pitch that shattered every window in the cathedral, then cut off abruptly as its form dissolved into nothingness.
Silence fell like a curtain. Lydia swayed on her feet, suddenly exhausted. Strong arms caught her before she could fall, and she found herself cradled against Sarah's armored chest, breathing in the scent of rain and something uniquely her.
"Well," Sarah said after a moment, "that was educational."
Lydia laughed, surprising herself. "Is that what you call it?"
"I call it proof that you're definitely not just a failed nun." Sarah's hand cupped her cheek gently, thumb brushing over her cheekbone. "That word you spoke at the end, that wasn't Latin."
"No." Lydia leaned into the touch, her body humming with leftover power and the warmth of Sarah's proximity. "I don't know what it was. It just came to me. Language of angels, maybe. Or something older."
Sarah's golden eyes searched her face intently. "You're full of surprises, Dove."
"Lydia," she corrected automatically. But there was no heat in it. She was starting to like the way Sarah said it, like an endearment rather than a dismissal.
"Lydia," Sarah repeated obediently, and the way her name sounded in that rich, warm voice made something flutter in her chest. They stood like that for a moment, Lydia still caught in the circle of Sarah's arms, both of them breathing hard in the aftermath of battle. The cathedral was peaceful now, moonlight streaming through the broken windows to paint patterns on the floor where they'd fought and won.
"What happens now?" Lydia asked quietly.
Sarah was quiet for a long moment, her expression thoughtful. "Now I should thank you for the evening's entertainment, collect my payment, and move on to the next town with a supernatural problem. Should that's what I've been doing for 30 years. It's safer for everyone if I don't form attachments." Sarah's arms tightened around her almost imperceptibly, but "I've never met anyone quite like you before."
Lydia's heart hammered against her ribs. "What makes me different?"
"You're not afraid of me." Sarah's thumb traced across her lower lip, and Lydia's breath caught. "You fought beside me like we'd been partners for years. And when that demon called me a curse, you got angry on my behalf."
"You're not cursed," Lydia said fiercely. "And even if you were, you're still the woman who saved my life tonight."
Sarah's smile was soft and wondering. "I see different."
A sound from outside, horses' hooves on cobblestones, broke the moment. Sarah stepped back, instantly alert, her hand moving to her sword. The church, Lydia realized, recognizing the measured pace of the bishop's guard. "Someone must have heard the noise and sent word."
"They'll want explanations," Sarah said grimly. "The kind I'm not interested in giving."
Lydia looked around the ruined cathedral, at the shattered windows and gouged stone floors, then at Sarah's beautiful, dangerous face. The woman who'd appeared from the storm like an answer to a prayer she hadn't known she was making.
"Take me with you," she said.
Sarah went very still. "What?"
"When you leave, take me with you." Lydia stepped closer, her hands fisting in the leather straps of Sarah's armor. "I can't go back to the convent. Not after tonight. And I can't stay here pretending to be something I'm not. But you, you hunt things like that demon. You protect people from the darkness the church pretends doesn't exist."
"Lydia, I know what I'm asking." Lydia continued, her voice gaining strength. "I know it's dangerous, and I know you don't take partners, but I also know what I felt tonight. Fighting beside you. I felt like I was finally doing what I was meant to do."
The hoofbeats were getting closer. Sarah studied her face in the dim light. Golden eyes unreadable. "You have no idea what you're asking for. The life I lead, it's not comfortable. It's not safe and it's not respectable. I sleep in barns and abandoned towers. I fight things that would give bishops nightmares. And I haven't been properly warm in 30 years."
"Will you teach me?" Lydia asked simply.
"Teach you what?"
"How to fight? How to hunt? How to be strong enough to protect the people the church abandons." Lydia met her gaze steadily. "How to be like you."
Sarah was quiet for a long moment, the weight of decision heavy in the air between them. Finally, her mouth curved in a slow, dangerous smile. "Can you ride?"
Joy blazed in Lydia's chest like a second sun. "Yes."
"Can you sleep rough?"
"I've done it before."
"Can you kill without hesitation if it means saving innocent lives?" Lydia thought of the demon's whispers, of the church's willful blindness, of all the people who would suffer if creatures like that were allowed to run free. "Yes," she said, and meant it.
Sarah nodded once. "Decision made." "Then keep up, Dove, and try not to get yourself killed in the first week."
The cathedral doors burst open as armed men poured into the nave, torches blazing and voices raised in alarm. But Lydia and Sarah were already gone, slipping through the shadows like they'd been made for darkness, leaving only the scent of rain and the echo of laughter behind.
Outside, Sarah whistled once, sharp and low, and a magnificent black destrier trotted out of the stable yard, already saddled and ready for the road. Sarah swung up into the saddle with fluid grace, then extended her hand to Lydia. "Last chance to change your mind," she said, though her golden eyes were warm with something that might have been hope.
In answer, Lydia took her hand and let herself be pulled up behind her, settling into the saddle like she belonged there. She wrapped her arms around Sarah's waist, feeling the strength of her through the armor, and tried not to think about how right it felt.
"Where are we going?" she asked as they moved through the sleeping town, past shuttered windows and empty streets.
"There are reports of strange lights in the forest near Ruan," Sarah said, urging the destrier to a canter as they reached the town's edge. "Could be nothing. Could be something that needs killing. And after that," Sarah glanced back at her, moonlight catching in her hair like silver thread, "after that, we'll see what tomorrow brings. There's always another monster, Dove. Always someone who needs protecting."
They rode into the night together, leaving St. Margarit's Cathedral and all its secrets behind. As the town disappeared into the darkness, Lydia felt something she hadn't experienced in months: the certainty that she was exactly where she belonged. Whatever lay ahead, whatever demons they would face, whatever dangers awaited in the long road that stretched before them, she wouldn't be facing it alone. The thought filled her with fierce joy and something else, something warm and dangerous that she wasn't quite ready to name.