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Gemma

I didn’t know weeding a garden was such a hard task.

The garden warden had given me a hoe, and I tried to use it, but it was unwieldy, and blisters had almost immediately broken out on both hands. So I tossed it aside and sank to my knees in the dirt, pulling the weeds out with my bare hands.

The warden had explained many vegetables could be harvested throughout the fall and into early winter, and those were the areas he wanted me to focus on. I’d never gardened before and had worried I might pull up a veggie rather than a weed. Fortunately, each row was so tidy, almost picture-perfect, that it was easy to tell what belonged and what didn’t.

After only fifteen minutes, my too-long hair clung to my sweaty skin wherever it touched, and I knew I probably had streaks of dirt all over my face.

Should have brought a hair band. Oh, well. I chose to do this, and it will count as my community service for the semester. Hmm. I’d better stop lying to myself. It might become a bad habit.

I had signed up to weed in the massive school gardens for one reason only.

And it was locked in the small cottage at my back.

I asked August about Kerry Harker every day, and it made me so happy to hear he was getting better, even if it was slowly. But I wanted to do more than ask about him. I wanted to help him.

I started to hum Pachelbel’s Canon in D, my favorite piece of classical music, and wrestled dandelions from the endless rows of cabbages.

If I can make contact with him through this stunt, it will be worth the aching back and sunburn. And maybe it will take my mind off school starting tomorrow.

That was not something I was looking forward to. Dealing with established cliques. Finding my way around. Wondering who it was safe to eat lunch with. I’d had the new-kid experience when I started at St. Patrick’s, an all-girls high school, but I’d chosen to go there for the stellar music program and the chance of a scholarship. I had not chosen to move halfway across the country and start school at Half-Breed High with a group of demon spawn who had probably grown up together.

Okay, okay, be fair . It’s not called Half-Breed High, and I’m as much a demon spawn as everyone else.

At least my schedule had some intriguing classes. I was signed up for Angelic Languages first period and then gym and math. After lunch, it was politics and diplomacy, which I was actually interested in. I figured it would help me understand the nephilim world a little better. Then I went to power focus, followed that up with evil recognition, and ended my day with mission skills.

Plus, I reminded myself , I have a job lined up.

August provided anything I wanted, but it wasn’t the same as having money of my own. I felt guilty asking for things like yarn or poetry magnets or that cute panda case I wanted for my phone, so when I saw a hiring sign at the school store, I interviewed and got a stocking position for a couple of hours each evening.

August took care of another one of my worries when he explained that I was safer here than anywhere else on Earth. Long ago, high-ranking nephilim had created what he called wards, which were like invisible walls, around the Sanctuary’s borders. Nothing Diabolical could get through, so I’d never have to fear another demon attack as long as I stayed within the valley.

Life could be good here, I admitted. And if I can make a new friend or two, that would make this all so much more bearable.

My thoughts were interrupted by a muffled sound at my back, and a smile blossomed on my face. I didn’t dare look over my shoulder to be sure, but it sounded like a window opening. Excitement rose in my chest, but I kept humming, keeping the song slow and even the way it was meant to be.

I knew this insane idea could backfire. He might see my presence as an irritating intrusion or as a painful reminder of the night we’d met. He could think I was tormenting him, trying to rub both my existence and my freedom in his face. I knew so little about him, it was hard to predict what his reaction might be.

I didn’t even know if he remembered me, but I shared the music with him anyway and hoped it would comfort or encourage him.

And prayed it might do both.

#

Kerry

A week went by in a heartbeat. A week of squaring off with Hank, demanding my power back, and throwing myself against the Divine wards that held me prisoner. I hated being caged and, at first, all I could do was try to escape.

My attitude got worse by the day—no nicotine wasn’t helping—but I found out pretty quick that my warden was as hardcore as I was and didn’t take any grief without giving it back. Which was a good thing for him. I didn’t need my power to kill someone. My fists worked just fine for that, and it was amazing what you could turn into a weapon when you were backed into a corner.

The first thing we worked on was the bathroom. When I woke up for real that first day, I’d been halfway to a corner before I stopped.

You’re not in an alley behind a dumpster. You’re in a house. Pissing on the rug doesn’t sound like a good idea.

“I can see you’re thinking about it,” Hank had said from the doorway. “Do you know how to use a toilet?”

I’d spun around and cut my eyes at the man, but his face wasn’t mean or teasing.

“Yeah.” I’d kept my distance, cautious, but he hadn’t entered my room.

“Then let me show you where the bathroom is,” he’d said.

After a coupla days, he talked me into taking a shower. It was heaven. Later, I figured out the fingernail clippers on my own, but we gave up on brushing my teeth until my mouth healed more. He brought out a variety of deodorants to try and I picked an unscented solid.

When it came time for a haircut, though, I panicked. I hated how the electric shaver felt and sounded, and I for sure didn’t like how close Hank had to be to do the job. He switched to a pair of sharp scissors and stepped away as far as he could, but, within minutes, both of us were over it and he called it quits.

After that, re-learning to shave was easy. My hands didn’t shake once.

When he wasn’t trying to ‘tame’ me, Hank talked to me about life here at the Sanctuary and suggested I try going to high school eventually, even though I was nineteen. He offered to teach me the basics I might have forgotten before I enrolled, but he thought the experience would be good for me.

He probably meant to encourage me, but all it did was fill me up with black despair until, finally, I saw no reason to try anymore. Not when I was this dead inside.

So I made a decision and planned how to do it. A sharp knife from the kitchen. A few cuts in the right places. Simple and quick, and done would be done. I was sorry about the mess it would leave for him to clean up, but not sorry enough to change my mind.

Yeah, you’re pretty messed up when an eternity in Hell looks good to you.

My first chance came one morning when he went to the grocery store. After I was sure he was gone, I hauled my sorry self outta bed and headed toward the kitchen.

It was dead quiet in the house, which was probably why I even heard it. As I walked past the living room, a faint noise caught my ear. It sounded kinda like singing and I cocked my head to hear better. It sounded like it was coming from the garden, so I dragged one foot in front of the other until I reached the front window. With a deep sigh, I shoved it open—and the air whooshed out of my lungs like I’d been shot in the chest.

She was there.

The angel.

“She’s alive?”

I thought the demon had killed her. I could still see the blood on her shoulder and the pool of it on the sidewalk beneath her. Could still feel it dripping from my mouth. It was the starring attraction in every one of my nightmares—the murder of the girl who’d tried to help me.

Sure, I dreamed about her the night of the exorcism, but that was all it was. A dream.

Or was it?

Because right now, there she was, working at the edge of the garden with her back to me and her red hair flying in the wind.

Maybe it’s a different girl. I mean, my mind was roached that night. I really only remember red hair and green eyes.

I took a deep breath through my nose. Nope. Same girl. I’d recognize that scent anywhere.

I wonder what her name is.

I stood there for nearly an hour and watched and listened—and thoughts of the knife in the kitchen faded to nothing.

#

Gemma

The next morning, the garden warden handed me a sunhat with a broad brim that shaded my face and shoulders. I also took the gloves he held out. They were small and pink with white flowers and had a rough texture on the palms.

He waved me off when I tried to thank him.

“Got to have the right equipment for the job.”

How had he known I’d had to heal my sunburned skin and blistered hands twice yesterday morning just to finish the hour?

I could see that questioning him would only embarrass him, so I picked up the big wicker basket used to carry the weeds and started to head out.

“Oh, I forgot,” the gardener called me back before I had gone two steps. “Here. This little hand shovel may work better than the hoe for you.”

“Good idea!”

I smiled, and he blustered and stumped over to his compost pile. I was still smiling when I reached the edge of the garden and picked up where I’d left off yesterday.

Glancing at the cottage, I saw the window was open and the sheer white curtains billowed in the light breeze.

Yes! Success!

I wanted to do a little happy dance, but controlled myself and went to work. I hummed cheerfully until the hour was almost up. When I reached the end of the row, however, I had a moment of doubt about this plan. I had started working as close to the cottage as I could, wanting him to hear me, but I would be moving away from it each time I finished a row.

What an idiot , I huffed at myself, blushing in chagrin. Well, I can sing later. That’s louder than humming and should carry for a few rows. And I’m only getting half a row done each day, anyway. It’ll all work out.

#

Kerry

She came back?

I hunched against the wall where the sunshine could make a warm spot on my belly and watched her from behind the curtain.

I didn’t know why I felt the need to hide. To begin with, she probably didn’t know I was there. And even if she did, I was the last person she’d talk to.

I still made sure to keep out of her line of sight.

She was humming another song I didn’t know, but it sounded happy. I wondered if that meant she was happy, too.

Do people hum when they’re happy? I seen people dance when they’re happy, so maybe.

A hat covered her fire hair, which was kinda disappointing. I’d liked looking at it yesterday. It was so pretty, and I didn’t have a whole lotta ‘pretty’ in my world.

When she reached the end of the row, something weird happened. She went dead still and her face turned bright red. Frowning, I risked moving closer to the window.

Did something spook her? Upset her? Had she cut her finger?

Had she seen me?

I ducked my head and slunk away from the window.

I won’t watch her again. I ain’t gonna become some kinda creeper.

Later that morning, Hank handed me a box of everything I’d had on me the night they’d captured me.

“I burned your clothes.” He leaned his hip against the kitchen counter. “They weren’t worth trying to clean. Same with your shoes. I got you some basic gear for now, but let me know if you have any favorites and I can pick those up for you.”

I didn’t care about clothes, so I shrugged as I sorted through the box. Most everything I remembered was there. My worn-out wallet with a metrocard and some stolen credit cards. Handful of change. A few condoms that joined the credit cards in the trash. My black 9mm.

I knew as soon as I picked it up that it was empty. Popping the clip out proved I was right, and I frowned at Hank.

“I didn’t steal the ammo.” His face was calm, but he seemed to be laughing on the inside. “I put it somewhere safe for now.”

A gun is handy for scaring humans. They can’t see power or anything made with it, but they understand a 9mm to the head just fine. Here, though, I wouldn’t need it. Here, I was the loaded gun. So I let the ammo thing go and went on with my inventory.

Little sketchbook. A pencil stub. Cheap, plastic lighter. Key ring. My pocket knife.

I half-smiled, glad it hadn’t been lost. It’d saved my life more times than the gun ever had.

“I destroyed the dust.” Hank crossed his arms over his chest. “The cigarettes, too.”

“Figured.”

The dust I didn’t care about. That was just for bribes. The smokes, though, were gonna be hard to give up.

“Hope you know what you’re in for, Warden.”

“Right back at you, kiddo.”