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Clara saw her true face, those wicked eyes, the sharp, evil smile.
“Who sent the lightning, Clara? Your master or mine? Where did his soul go before they pulled it back into him? Heaven or Hellfire?”
The witch’s hair, long and wild now, blew in the rise of wind, untouched by the rain.
“You think to take me on, Clara? Be prepared to pay the price.”
She flicked out a hand.
Clara felt the burn, scorching, searing. And felt it even as she woke.
Panting for air, shaking so her bones seemed to rattle, she pushed up to sit on the side of the bed. She wept a little, prayed for strength.
In her heart, and that heart ached, she understood the terrible battle to come. She understood the price could be her life.
She would need that strength to continue the work. She needed courage to face what would come.
And she would need faith that if she fell, Sam would continue the mission.
In the bathroom she rinsed her face with cool water. And studied herself in the mirror.
She’d never been a pretty woman, she knew, not by society’s standards. And now, with forty a few years behind her, time showed in lines and droops.
But she’d had a good husband while he’d lived, and she had a strong man now who loved her. She had a calling to heal, and the higher calling to the mission.
She’d had a good life, and had been chosen for righteous work.
If she fell doing that work, she accepted it. And she’d enter the gates of glory with her head high.
When the oven timer sounded, she walked out to finish dinner.
And when Sam came home, she greeted him with a kiss.
He wrapped around her. “Babe, some days I don’t know how I’d get through if I didn’t have you.”
“Good thing you do. Now, you sit down, take a load off. I’ve got dinner ready.”
“Nope, don’t know what I’d do. I could sure use a beer after this one, babe.”
“You know, I could, too. Why don’t you get us both one while I put dinner on the table.”
He opened the fridge, saw a fresh six-pack. His Clara? Best woman there ever was.
“Is that meatloaf? Clara, I swear I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
“It’s what you’re doing. What we do together. And there’s a little extra of the extra in the meatloaf tonight. We’re both going to need strength and clarity, doll. We’ll need all of that. I had a vision.”
She told him, but not of her fear—and it was still fear—that the price would mean her life. She would spare him that, and not pit his love for her against his duty.
When she felt sure how and when they’d wage this battle, she’d leave a letter for him. She’d ask him not to grieve too long, and to lean hard on that love to help him continue their work.
“Satan’s whore. I know you don’t like that word, babe, but…”
“Truth is truth. We need to take our time here, doll. She’ll be wily, there’s no doubt of that. She won’t be like the others. The others, they’re victims of human pride.”
“Because men try to be gods,” Sam finished.
“With those others, we’re giving them their release, sending them home. It’ll be different with her.”