Iced

Two hundred eighty-nine of us remain.

I would weep if I had tears but they are drained dry each dawn when I awaken, exhausted, stained by semen that is not mine by right and guilt that is. Semen from one who has just dipped his fingers in the stoup of holy water and now traces a cross at his forehead, his lips, his heart!

He violates my sanctum. He mocks my rituals.

His fingers do not burst into flame nor is he struck by bolts of celestial retribution and banished to hell as Satan should be. I believed him barred at the door. Was he amused to deceive me or has he gained strength to project himself?

He winks at me as he walks the center aisle. Near the rood screen he pauses and unfurls his wings.

Dark angel. Black-winged and black-souled.

In my church.

In my church!

The girls rustle. I become aware my gaze is fixed on Cruce, exquisite, naked Cruce, standing in the center of my chapel, wings spanning the aisle, stretching half to heaven, and my first emotion is panic. I must not let them know I see him or Margery will stand in my stead!

I sweep my gaze over the pews and lower my barriers so that I may know the state of their hearts. I’ve been muffling their emotions for months, for they have known such anger, grief, and fear of late that I cannot tender the daily inundation.

Anxiety slams into me. Shame steals my breath. I press shaking fingertips to the hollow of my throat as if to release a catch hidden there that controls my inhalations.

I see clearly for the first time in more than a month.

If I am the only one who sees Cruce, I should be deposed.

If I am not, if others see him, too, and I have kept my silence this long, I should be damned.

For what is war renowned?

He divides. He carves down the middle and makes enemies of even brothers and sisters, parents and offspring. War has been dividing my family since birth. Perhaps, indeed, he has been paying me uncommon attention.

How best to divide?

Sean’s cousin Rocky kept a watch of gold and diamonds etched with his credo. He vowed, despite education, pedigree, or wealth, all prey fell indiscriminate to this simple strategy: isolate the mark.

Silence is the ultimate isolator.

Have I played into his hands?

He stands smugly certain of me, assured of our private complicity. How pleased he must be when each morning I remain an isolated berg in this winter that has claimed our world!

I turn back to the women in my care. “Who among you sees Cruce standing in the aisle?”

Ryodan calls a meeting in one of the rooms on the second floor. I never seen such quiet in the club. Folks sit alone, not talking. The lights are dim and all music is off. I can’t feel the tiniest vibration in my feet. A soft glow radiates at ceiling and floor level. He’s got some kind of illuminated tubing behind the moldings. I always assumed he had giant generators somewhere and I just couldn’t feel the vibration over the pounding, incessant music. If not generators, what’s keeping the lights on?

“Dude, I thought you were turning everything off.”

“Everything is off.”

“What’s powering the lights that are still on?”

“The bulk of Chester’s runs on geothermal power.”

I smack myself in the forehead with the butt of my palm. Of course. He’s got all the best toys. Why wouldn’t he dig all the way to the center of the Earth and harness planetary power? The dude, like, lives forever!

Me, Jo, Dancer, and Christian are joined by six of Ryodan’s dudes. Every time Jericho Barrons doesn’t walk into the room with me, I heave a sigh of relief. One of these days it’s going to happen. It’s inevitable. And one of these days it will probably be with Mac at his side. S’cool. I’ve lived most of my life under threat of “one of these days” for one reason or another. Superheroes do.

Ryodan sends three of his men down to the club to keep order, and sends the other three into the icy day to track what noise they find and shut it down. Jo tempers his orders with: “And bring any people you discover back to Chester’s so we can keep them alive.”

I watch him real careful when she adds to his commands like she has the right. Like she’s his girlfriend and they’re a team, out to save the world together or something. We’ll see if his dudes obey her. If they come back with a band of ragtag survivors, I might just be impressed. I can’t read his face. It’s like he’s got it totally closed to me.

He refuses to let me fire up a press and get a Dani Daily out. I argue but Jo makes a point: nobody is venturing out unless they absolutely have to anyway, so the time wasted printing and posting would be better used bringing everyone up to speed so we can make a plan. When did she become Ms. Voice of Reason? Oh, and Glam Girl! When she slips off her coat and unwinds her scarf, her boobs aren’t sparkly but she’s sure got a push-up bra on!

“Sound Slurpees? Dani, what’s going on?” Jo says.

“It’s being drawn by music,” I say. “At first I thought it was attracted to singing, but it’s not. It’s a component of music it’s after. Sound waves. Frequencies. Who knows, maybe a single note. And the sound doesn’t need to be made by a person. It can come from a stereo, a musical instrument, church bells, a car radio, even an Unseelie screaming a note high enough to shatter glass.”

“Like at Dublin Castle, the night it iced the cages,” Christian says. He’s been quiet but I can feel temper rolling off the dude. He’s barely keeping his cool.

“Exactly. Or it could be drawn by the chiming of crystal bowls.”