Extinguish
Page 9
"Is that why you’re doing this? Why you’re still fighting after all this time?"
He shrugged casually again but offered no real response as he turned away. "I have things to do."
"Wait!"
He was gone before the word had fully escaped her lips.
"Do you ever want to help people?"
Samuel's brow creased with bewilderment at the question as he stared across the table at his sister. "Isn't that what I do every day?"
"Yes, but that's not what I meant. You do your job, but do you ever just want to, you know . . . do more?"
"I don't know what more could I do, Ser."
Sighing, Serah glanced around the busy diner. The sun had just risen outside, and the place was already packed with patrons. A bell at the counter repeatedly dinged as the cook yelled, "Order up!" Waitresses in striped skirts and blouses skidded around, taking orders and helping customers, as the infectious sound of some doo-wop song played from the nearby jukebox.
Serah's eyes fell upon a middle-aged woman waiting by the register. She wore a gray skirt and jacket, her blonde hair pulled into a tight bun.
"Take her for example," Serah said, motioning toward the woman. "It's her first day at a new job—an office job, as a secretary—and she has a tear in her panty hose. It's a hard enough struggle for American women in the workplace. Nobody's going to take her seriously like this."
"Really, Ser? You're sounding like this feminist movement. You don't want to get her equal pay while we're at it?"
"Well . . . yes." Serah sighed as her brother laughed at her. "It's the 1960s. They should get with the times already."
"I agree," he said. "That's what the Guardians are for, though. They micromanage the humans, not us."
"Yes, but why can't we?" As the woman walked by, heading for the door with her coffee, Serah reached out and touched her leg, instantly mending her sheer hose. "I just got her off to a good start."
Samuel quirked an eyebrow. "Why does it matter so much to you?"
"Why doesn't it to you?"
"Touché." Samuel relaxed in the booth, his gaze shifting to a man sitting alone in the back, nose buried in today's newspaper. "I guess I'm more concerned with the likes of him than whether or not some lady has a pleasant day at work."
Serah could sense the malicious presence prowling deep inside the man. Samuel had been stalking him since the night before, waiting for the perfect moment to eradicate the harbored demon without causing a scene.
"I love that about you, though, sis," Samuel continued. "You soar above and beyond, while I just take a flying leap into the trenches. And I suppose if I were human, I'd appreciate there being someone like you out there who cares. You know . . . in case I get a hole in my pants."
The man across the coffee shop stood then, clutching his newspaper as he strolled out. Samuel instantly followed. Curious, Serah joined her brother as they tailed him through the city, spending hours just watching, patiently waiting. When the man was finally alone in a backyard, isolated, still unscathed, Samuel pounced.
The demon sensed the impending attack a fraction of a second before it happened. It reacted, taking full control, the man's tired green eyes flashing pitch-black. A snarl ricocheted through the yard as the creature fought back, a long scuffle ensuing before Samuel was able to lay his palm flat against the man's chest, over his silent heart, seized by the damned beast. "Exorcizo te, omnis immunde spiritus. . ."
The man convulsed and dropped to the ground as Samuel recounted the exorcism incantation, the grass around his body withering to a crispy brown as the life expelled from it, the demon violently being forced below, damned back to his cage. Samuel stood over the man until he detected a steady heartbeat, then he turned and strode away.
The man would be unconscious for a few minutes. When he awoke, he'd have no memory of the event. It was a gift humans had been blessed with—the ability to forget—and Samuel took full advantage of that.
Others weren't so kind. It was just as easy to destroy the demon with the blade of a magical knife plunged in the human's chest as it was to banish them with a spell.
Only the knife made it much, much quicker.
Smoke billowed from the tall stacks, infiltrating the cloudless sky and tainting the blue with curls of ashy gray. Hundreds of heartbeats thumped harmoniously inside the old factory as the workers finished up their morning shifts, oblivious to Serah loitering just outside.
She hadn't been there long when the air behind her cackled and strong arms immediately wrapped around her small waist. A smile tugged her lips as she wordlessly rested against Michael, seeking comfort in his embrace.
It had been a long week, to say the least.
"I always know if I have a hard time sensing you, it's because you're down here mingling with these mortals."
"It's peaceful here," she said. "The people work hard and love even harder. It seems so . . . simple. To live such a passive existence."
Just then, a loud whistle roared as the front door of the factory burst open. The people came pouring out, laughing and chatting, oozing contentment. They’d been working for twelve long hours, yet most of them were still filled with energy as they headed home for the evening.
Nicki Lauer’s father, Nicholas, strode outside, squinting painfully as the late day sunshine blasted him in the face. He brought his hand up and rubbed his temple as an exasperated sigh poured from his lips.
He shrugged casually again but offered no real response as he turned away. "I have things to do."
"Wait!"
He was gone before the word had fully escaped her lips.
"Do you ever want to help people?"
Samuel's brow creased with bewilderment at the question as he stared across the table at his sister. "Isn't that what I do every day?"
"Yes, but that's not what I meant. You do your job, but do you ever just want to, you know . . . do more?"
"I don't know what more could I do, Ser."
Sighing, Serah glanced around the busy diner. The sun had just risen outside, and the place was already packed with patrons. A bell at the counter repeatedly dinged as the cook yelled, "Order up!" Waitresses in striped skirts and blouses skidded around, taking orders and helping customers, as the infectious sound of some doo-wop song played from the nearby jukebox.
Serah's eyes fell upon a middle-aged woman waiting by the register. She wore a gray skirt and jacket, her blonde hair pulled into a tight bun.
"Take her for example," Serah said, motioning toward the woman. "It's her first day at a new job—an office job, as a secretary—and she has a tear in her panty hose. It's a hard enough struggle for American women in the workplace. Nobody's going to take her seriously like this."
"Really, Ser? You're sounding like this feminist movement. You don't want to get her equal pay while we're at it?"
"Well . . . yes." Serah sighed as her brother laughed at her. "It's the 1960s. They should get with the times already."
"I agree," he said. "That's what the Guardians are for, though. They micromanage the humans, not us."
"Yes, but why can't we?" As the woman walked by, heading for the door with her coffee, Serah reached out and touched her leg, instantly mending her sheer hose. "I just got her off to a good start."
Samuel quirked an eyebrow. "Why does it matter so much to you?"
"Why doesn't it to you?"
"Touché." Samuel relaxed in the booth, his gaze shifting to a man sitting alone in the back, nose buried in today's newspaper. "I guess I'm more concerned with the likes of him than whether or not some lady has a pleasant day at work."
Serah could sense the malicious presence prowling deep inside the man. Samuel had been stalking him since the night before, waiting for the perfect moment to eradicate the harbored demon without causing a scene.
"I love that about you, though, sis," Samuel continued. "You soar above and beyond, while I just take a flying leap into the trenches. And I suppose if I were human, I'd appreciate there being someone like you out there who cares. You know . . . in case I get a hole in my pants."
The man across the coffee shop stood then, clutching his newspaper as he strolled out. Samuel instantly followed. Curious, Serah joined her brother as they tailed him through the city, spending hours just watching, patiently waiting. When the man was finally alone in a backyard, isolated, still unscathed, Samuel pounced.
The demon sensed the impending attack a fraction of a second before it happened. It reacted, taking full control, the man's tired green eyes flashing pitch-black. A snarl ricocheted through the yard as the creature fought back, a long scuffle ensuing before Samuel was able to lay his palm flat against the man's chest, over his silent heart, seized by the damned beast. "Exorcizo te, omnis immunde spiritus. . ."
The man convulsed and dropped to the ground as Samuel recounted the exorcism incantation, the grass around his body withering to a crispy brown as the life expelled from it, the demon violently being forced below, damned back to his cage. Samuel stood over the man until he detected a steady heartbeat, then he turned and strode away.
The man would be unconscious for a few minutes. When he awoke, he'd have no memory of the event. It was a gift humans had been blessed with—the ability to forget—and Samuel took full advantage of that.
Others weren't so kind. It was just as easy to destroy the demon with the blade of a magical knife plunged in the human's chest as it was to banish them with a spell.
Only the knife made it much, much quicker.
Smoke billowed from the tall stacks, infiltrating the cloudless sky and tainting the blue with curls of ashy gray. Hundreds of heartbeats thumped harmoniously inside the old factory as the workers finished up their morning shifts, oblivious to Serah loitering just outside.
She hadn't been there long when the air behind her cackled and strong arms immediately wrapped around her small waist. A smile tugged her lips as she wordlessly rested against Michael, seeking comfort in his embrace.
It had been a long week, to say the least.
"I always know if I have a hard time sensing you, it's because you're down here mingling with these mortals."
"It's peaceful here," she said. "The people work hard and love even harder. It seems so . . . simple. To live such a passive existence."
Just then, a loud whistle roared as the front door of the factory burst open. The people came pouring out, laughing and chatting, oozing contentment. They’d been working for twelve long hours, yet most of them were still filled with energy as they headed home for the evening.
Nicki Lauer’s father, Nicholas, strode outside, squinting painfully as the late day sunshine blasted him in the face. He brought his hand up and rubbed his temple as an exasperated sigh poured from his lips.
