Soul Searching

Claire awoke to a sloppy tongue. She was startled, to say the least, but the state of her stiff, tired muscles prevented her from any quick threatening movements. A groan escaped her lips as she slowly opened her eyes to the morning sun peeking through the leaves above. Before her stood the owner of the tongue, and her eyes met the squinty, orange-brown eyes of a fox. She let out a huff, the fox quickly retreating from her and letting out a meager yelp. It stood several feet away, looking at her curiously.

It took several deep breaths of earth and brush for her to gather enough energy to move. Her muscles screamed with every motion, and it felt like a millennium until she turned herself over onto her back. As she lay there, motionless and breathing heavily, the fox returned and sniffed her hair.

“Hey, sweet boy!” she said, her voice raspy and dry. Claire’s heart warmed as thoughts of her Max flooded in.

The fox let out a soft whine and again backed off. It watched as Claire pulled herself up to a seated position, then finally she was standing. A few moments of vertigo and she felt no worse for wear. Studying her surroundings, she didn’t have any idea where she was. But for the sounds of the birds, the wind-rustled leaves, and the intermittent whimpers of her new friend, all was quiet. She took a few more minutes to stretch and get the blood flowing through her body, the screams of her strained muscles dying down. Closing her eyes to continue focusing her mind, flashes of all that occurred the night before raced before her. The result was instant, and Claire dropped to one knee and retched. Ironically, her belly growled with hunger as the bile dribbled from her mouth.

She took several deep breaths through the sadness and tears and stood up again. Claire needed food, and that meant going back to the camp. A whine came from behind her, the fox standing his ground as she suffered the physical manifestations of her emotions. Hands on hips, Claire cleared her throat, spit on the ground, and looked at her new friend, “You gonna join me?”

The animal whined excitedly at her. “Ok, buddy! Let’s go!” She smiled as she looked to the sun and found north. The fox bounded along next to her as Claire soon realized she was at the Bible Camp just off Route 29. I must’ve come due south when I ran… Her head remained on a swivel as she walked, Claire was in enemy territory now. But, keeping to the trees, she was able to hide the two times a vehicle drove by. Taking a path she figured she would’ve taken at a full sprint in the dark, she eventually reached the open area of the small forest in which the events of the night before took place.

She paused to gather her wits and steel her emotions. The transmission towers rose up like sentinels along the length of the interrupted forest, and she cocked her head and imagined one of them speaking aloud. Fe fi fo fum… I smell the fear of the crazy one! Claire snickered and raised her eyebrows. Who was she to dispute her subconscious? Opening her eyes to sunshine, she spied the tamped down grass where Eric’s body fell; but there was no Eric. She followed the path that his body had made as whoever had killed him the previous night dragged him. The campfire was where his body now rested, along with the body of Other Claire. The feelings of hunger and nausea that she now felt was strange, but she closed her eyes again in an effort to further desensitize herself to what she now had to do.

Claire took one final look around the area to make sure she was alone and began to make her way across the clearing. Then she took off at a run, her fox companion fast on her heels, it little barks telling her that he was in the mood to play. But as they approached the camp site, the animal’s demeanor completely changed. Though Claire couldn’t smell it, the fox’s heightened senses made it aware of the bodies, and the death, that lay before them. Both of them pulled up short of where the fire burned just hours ago. The sight of Eric and Other Claire, motionless and bloodied, forced a whine out of the fox and a spine-tingling shiver out of Claire. She felt the bile reach the top of her throat, but she pushed it down and took yet another deep breath.

After a few moments of taking in the camp site, she finally spotted the backpack behind a tree trunk. Claire sighed internally that the gunmen from the night before hadn’t found it, and her stomach grumbled knowing that there was food in it. Giving the dead a wide berth, she made her way to the pack and unzipped it as fast as she could. Like a mountain lion attacking its prey, Claire tore open one of the MREs and shoveled the food into her mouth with abandon. She made sure to keep her back turned and her mind off of what was behind it. She hadn’t eaten much in the last… couple of days? Few days? Claire wasn’t even sure, so as she basked in the glory of sustenance entering her body, she replayed the events in her head since the beginning.

It was Thursday, October 19th. Six days? That was it? It felt like a lifetime, one she wished she wouldn’t have had to live. She finished the MRE and quickly grabbed another, noting that four more still resided in the pack. She nodded her head in approval and continued to feast. Then she heard the fox whine again. It sat there calmly, ears perked and eyes wide in the hopes of enjoying the feast with Claire. Never one to spurn an animal, she finished what she wanted of the second MRE and sat it on the ground.

“Come, boy, finish it off,” her smile inviting enough that it quickly got up and lapped up the food, its tail wagging in delight. Who’d of thought that I would find a pet? The question made her smile, and she reached out to ruffle the fur on its neck. But her hand would never make it there.

With a full stomach and a focused mind, Claire was now aware of the low, pulsating hum in her chest. She feared it to be the precursor of jumping to yet another world, but this was different. These vibrations were telling her that there was something here… for her. The hand paused above the fox curled into a fist, then she pulled her arm back, closed her eyes, and whispered, “Shit.” Even the fox stopped eating to look at her, then to the bodies behind her. It ducked its head low to the ground, whining again.

Claire turned to see Other Claire’s dead eyes staring at her. It was almost as though she was still alive, beckoning Claire to her. Standing slowly and deliberately, she stepped over Eric’s body and straddled Other Claire’s. She shivered again with the feeling that the dead woman was still staring at her. The hum inside of her began to pulsate faster, something was happening here, and Claire had no idea what it was.

Her new friend barked menacingly at her, then dashed off into the woods. So long, Frank. Trust me, I wouldn’t want to be near me, either. Claire had no idea where the name came from, it just seemed appropriate. She turned her gaze back to Other Claire, her eyes staring off into nowhere, yet still staring at her, her neck bent at an odd angle, her skin pale and rigid. She reached down to run her hand over the woman’s eyes to close them.

But even before Claire could touch Other Claire, she went rigid. Other Claire’s eyes flashed to a brilliant blue, and her mouth opened! Out of her mouth flowed an ethereal mist, blue like the light from her eyes, but wispy like a cloud. It flowed into Claire’s hand as though a hole was in it, and her body tensed further as if being electrocuted. She couldn’t describe what was happening to her if she had tried, but as the mist entered her body, a chasm opened up in her soul. The mist filled the bottom of that chasm, but no more. As the tension subsided, Claire watched in fascinated horror as Other Claire’s body turned ash-like and crumbled to the ground.

She stood up straight and held her hand in front of her, perplexed. Claire had never felt so energized. All of the pain, all of the fatigue, all of the confusion seemed to subside in that moment. Yet, with the chasm inside her was nearly empty, and she felt that emptiness like a boulder upon her heart and a mountain upon her shoulders. Her breathing was heavy with exertion, and flashes of Other Claire’s life whizzed through her mind. What she could understand of it showed her that Other Claire didn’t have a life much different from her own. But it was Other Claire’s soul that cried out the loudest. You must continue, Claire! Find the rest of us!

Suddenly, this whole mess began to make some sense to her. Whatever quest this was that she was on, killing John Friedman would not get her home. Deep down, she knew that she’d never get home in the way that she had hoped. Claire had to find her others. She had to find them and kill them. She had to take their souls into her. It was the only way to fill up the gaping chasm inside her, it was the only way to the other side. And despite having no clue as to why she needed to get to the other side, all of her subconscious will was bent on it. When this all started, Claire couldn’t see the forest for the trees. And still the trees stood in the way, but now she had a purpose. Time to cut down some trees.

* * *

“Kevin!”

“You know how I despise that name, my Lord Yehwah.” ‘Kevin’ stood rigid and proud, with piercing blue eyes, focused ahead of him, resting above high, meaty cheekbones and stiff, thick jaws. His gruff voice held much power, but also deference to the one he spoke to.

“Then remove that stupid cap, Azrael,” replied Yehwah. His black eyes stared over his steepled fingers at Azrael. Yehwah sat on a simple, obsidian throne set upon a black dais. There was nothing surrounding them but blackness, yet the two were illuminated from an unknown source above them. Yehwah wore a suit of white with a red tie, and his long, jet black locks fell straight and bodiless to his shoulders. “I haven’t much time remaining, and the timelines are skewing rapidly. Where do we stand?”

Azrael removed his skull cap, swept his left hand through his now unkempt hair, then held the cap in his clasped hands at his waist. “I’m yet to make contact with John Friedman’s prime, but I am making progress in dispatching his others. He has many others, and his attitude sometimes makes it difficult to prevent the other humans from killing one of them.”

“Are you sure you can handle this alone, Azrael? Perhaps Belphegor can lend assistance?”

“With all due respect, my Lord Yehwah, Belphegor is tempestuous and full of contempt. He was an unmitigated terror in life and would be unsuitable for this task. I can handle this myself.” Azrael’s increased rigidity belied the annoyance he was feeling towards his lord. And it did not go unnoticed.

“Take care of your tone, angel. You may be the elder here, but I have the greater power. I do not wish to punish you, but I only negotiate when I choose it.” Yehwah’s countenance remained relaxed, but the change in his tone was clear.

“My lord, I respectfully request to continue this mission on my own. And should I need assistance, let me choose who it is.” He bowed imperceptibly, but the devotion was felt.

“And what of the girl?” Below Yehwah’s nonchalance was a definite chord of worry.

“She is in Gabriel’s charge, my lord. You know how he likes to play his games,” answered Azrael, his eyes flashing red at the mention of the name. “She moves slow. And Gabriel has something up his sleeve, I swear it.”

“Yes… He seeks to permanently upset our balance.”

“Lord Yehwah, is that not what you’ve been doing?” Azrael’s eyes grew a bit larger as he said this, taking on an air of a parent speaking to their child.

Yehwah unsteepled his fingers and balled his right hand into a fist. Azrael screamed and moaned in pain as he was dragged by an unknown force across the floor. “I warned you to mind your tongue, Azrael,” he hissed. “Now look at what you made me do.”

He released his clenched fist and Azrael went flying backwards several feet before hitting the floor. Yehwah stood up from his throne, the menace flowed from him like a fog. As Azrael scrambled to a bent knee, his lord descended the few steps of the dais and sauntered towards him.

“Of course, I’ve been manipulating the balance! I’ve been honing it for near a millennium. A slow change in our favor goes unnoticed, and with the rapidity of turnover ‘upstairs’, well… that just hides my intention all the better.” Yehwah turned only his head as he looked down upon Azrael with raised eyebrow. “Get up.”

The angel knew better than to press the issue further. It wasn’t the first time he had suffered at the hands of this Yehwah, and, he gleaned, it wouldn’t be his last. Azrael stood rigid, once again, eyes to the floor before his pacing lord.

The air in the space became less oppressive when Yehwah spoke, “Haste is a must, Azrael. Both me and Yahweh weaken, and the balance cannot be upset much further. Already the probabilities shift to the fringes. Should I decide that you need assistance, you will bow meekly and accede to my demands. As it is, I have other plans for Belphegor.” He turned and ascended back to the obsidian throne. “Dismissed.”

“My lord.” And then Azrael was gone, leaving the Lord Yehwah to continue his brooding over the shifting probabilities.

* * *

The nursery was quiet, the infants were fast asleep in their cribs. Gabriel studied the room, a small smile on his face. Carnation blue walls set the backdrop for the blue and white marbled curtains, and framed paintings of the infants’ names, Gabriel and Nathaniel. They lay still, their breathing calm and measured, the air in the room light but full of energy. The sunlight peeked through the curtains to bathe each child’s face in what Gabriel could only describe as holy. The last time Gabriel had felt anything close to what he was feeling in this moment was two thousand years ago when Yahweh had come to Earth.

Gabriel pushed the fedora back on his head slightly and ran his hands quietly across the top of each crib. Though he knew the home to be old and creaky, there was not a sound made by his steps. He stopped in front of the dresser the infants shared, it, like the cribs, finished to a gloss white. Turning to his right, Gabriel leaned on the crib that belonged to the infant Gabriel.

“So, you’re my namesake? Should I be jealous?” His smile broadened, and he reached his hand down to run his fingers through the child’s wispy blonde hair.

Spinning on his heels, Gabriel stepped forward and leaned on the other crib. “And you’re the other namesake? You boys have much ahead of you. And I have a lot of work to do.”

The power in the room was like the calm before an oncoming storm, and Gabriel closed his eyes and breathed it in.

Gabriel raised the pint of Guinness and studied it a moment before taking a long draught. He had to hand it to the Irish, their stout was heaven on his taste buds. He looked at the gargantuan golden vase on the bar next to him, filled to bursting with pink roses and carnations. Then he shifted his gaze to the shelves behind the bar, also filled to bursting, but with endless bottles of liquor and wine. Above were the ornately carved and filigreed arches and ceiling. He was home, and he deserved a well-earned libation. It was his favorite seat in his favorite pub, Incognito’s. It was his favorite pub in his favorite town, Kingston Upon Thames. It was his favorite town in his favorite country, the United Kingdom. Gabriel placed the pint back on the bar and stared down the glass, continuing his journey down memory lane.

Seven years later, and Gabriel was once again watching the boys sleep. Where there once were cribs, now there were two dressers and a bunk bed. It was so difficult to tell the boys apart that Gabriel had to do it by the feeling they gave him. Nathaniel lay on top, he was on his back, hands at his side, and a Bombay kitten curled up on his chest. Underneath lay Gabriel, his position the same as his brother’s, but it was a Torby kitten upon his chest. In all of his five thousand years of existence, Gabriel had never known humans like them. They were primes, to be sure, but they were the most unique primes he had ever known. And as far as he could tell, he was the only one who knew.

The light of the full moon poured through the open window, a cool, aromatic summer breeze sweetened the air with lilac and lavender. Gabriel removed his hat and placed it over his heart.

“Hello, Gabriel,” said the younger Gabriel, full of innocence.

“Hello, boy. ‘Tis midnight, you should be asleep,” he replied, not realizing he bowed to them like a servant.

“We felt you as soon as you entered. You needn’t be so sneaky. We enjoy your visits.” These were Nathaniel’s words, his voice barely deeper than his brother’s.

“You have kept our secret, yes?”He noticed that the kittens remained undisturbed through the boys’ wakefulness. Their growing power was stunning.

“Yes, Gabriel,” came little Gabe’s reply. “Don’t worry, we’ll know when the time is right.”

He was never prepared for their state of mind. But, then again, even as an angel, Gabriel couldn’t understand how these boys must feel. All he could do was smile. It was off-putting to only be able to speak to the boys, and not their parents, but there was too much at stake. He stayed only a few more minutes and asked them about their lives. They were in second grade, and though they were exceptional, they explained to him the caution they agreed upon so as not give away their true abilities. Gabriel knew that he shouldn’t have been shocked, but considering their age, he couldn’t help himself. For too long he had been watching Yehwah tug the balance of power in his direction, weakening the Yahweh to a critical point. These boys were the path to restoration.

Incognito’s erupted around him as the Chelsea Football Club scored against the loathed Manchester United, taking a two-nil lead. Friday night during football season was always hopping in the pub. Gabriel raised his glass in tribute to the score, the hands of a few fellow fans clapping him on the back. Little did they know, or care, that his joy had nothing to do with football. He drained the remainder of his cup and lifted it toward the barkeep, it didn’t take much self-convincing that he wanted another. As he pushed the din of the pub out of his mind, his thoughts returned to his memories, this one only a few months ago.

It was Easter Sunday, and Eric had left to go pick up a pack of cigarettes for himself. Gabriel knew they only had about ten minutes, but time was running short, and he needed to be sure that Claire was prepared.

“Gabriel, the boys have explained it all to me,” her voice even and unafraid. “I’ve had seventeen years to watch them grow, and every moment has been more than I could have ever imagined. I am ready for what must be done.”

“Forgive my doubts, Claire, but so much rides on what is about to happen. Nothing is for certain, all of what needs to be accomplished can still fail.”

The boys sat on the couch with smiles on their faces. Even after seventeen years, telling them apart was nearly impossible by sight alone. For young men, they were both intensely handsome and incredibly beautiful. Their pale blue eyes were haunting and comforting, a trait given to them by their mother. Behind those eyes lay their maternal wisdom and their paternal intellect, and for the unprepared it was fearfully disconcerting. Both wore jeans and sweaters but chose never to dress identically. Their power was immense, though subdued. Gabriel sat in awe of them.

“You had faith all those millennia ago, Gabriel,” said Nathaniel. “We have that same faith in you and mother.”

“But this is faith in the Universe, child.”

Gabe then spoke words that the angel would never forget. “Remember who created the Universe, Gabriel, and where your faith truly lies.”

“I have accepted what must be done, Gabriel,” said Claire with a joy he never expected. “To know what the future holds, and the knowledge of what my children will become… my cup runneth over with faith.”

Gabriel bowed his head and thought, my Yahweh would be proud. He took one final look at the three seated with him. He couldn’t let them down.

“I have my faith.”

Gabriel chugged his current pint and slammed the glass down on the bar. Reasserting his fedora, he stood and slapped down a one hundred pound, King William V note. His eyes found the barkeep and he tipped his hat to him. It took a little time for Gabriel to make it through the football crowd, but as they all cheered again as Chelsea increased their lead to three-nil, he finally made it out onto Charter Quay and vanished.

* * *

Claire took her lunch at the top of the ridge overlooking the boundary between Hereford and the Valley proper. She stared up at the giant sentinels of the electrical grid with a bit of wonder. Humans have achieved such amazing things, yet they were capable of such barbaric cruelty. Kindness and empathy were, she believed, the cornerstone of the human experience, and she just couldn’t fathom how some could be so uncaring about society, about human emotion, about comraderie and a shared sense of value. Life was precious, and Claire always fought for it. Too many times it led to her being taken advantage of, but no matter how many times it happened, her nature just couldn’t be overcome.

In Eric, she had found what she was looking for. He was a man. He was tough, protective, and strong. There were many a time that he would tell her that he was actually afraid of himself. Not in the manner that he would do something to himself, but that, if driven to the edge in the need to protect her, he couldn’t be sure where he would draw the line of his own violence. Simultaneously, Eric was also a very thoughtful and emotional man. He never feared to show his emotions, even in the face of other men who felt that showing such emotion meant you were a ‘bitch’. Claire had dealt with the latter type of man for far too long. Her first husband was like that.

A memory flashed in her mind of Dylan grabbing her by the neck and pushing her up against the kitchen wall. His breath stank of beer and bourbon, his scraggly beard unkempt beneath his bright orange hunting cap. “I don’t work my fingers to the bone to come home to back talk! Yeah, I stopped for a few drinks after work. Why do you care?! I expect my dinner to be ready when I walk through that door! No questions asked!” He released his grip, shook his head, and turned away from her. “Dumb bitch!” he yelled to nobody. How Claire put up with that for nine years was beyond her.

Then there was Eric… They had gone to the same school and had been acquainted with one another since middle school. Often, he would speak about how shy he was to even consider speaking to her as more than just an acquaintance. The look of despair that accompanied those words always melted her heart. “If given the chance to do it over again,” he would say, looking deeply into her eyes, “I wouldn’t hesitate.”

One tear rolled down each cheek as she thought of him. Having watched him die three times was only bearable because her situation was so out of control. Knowing that she had some semblance of a plan moving forward, it didn’t help much without knowing what the end goal was. All she knew is that ‘normal’ would never be found again. The dreams and plans that she and Eric had written down would never come to fruition. All because of a fucking angel! She finished her lunch under the mild autumn afternoon.

The pulsating hum had grown little by little the closer she came to the Valley, and intuition told her to head for her old apartment. After what had happened the day before at the campfire, Claire had hoped that her next jump would take her home, despite knowing that she couldn’t stay. But, Eric was dead in that reality anyway. Why would she want to stay? Perhaps she’d find another reality where an Other Eric lived without her, and she could start all over again.

These thoughts kept her mind busy as she descended the hill and made her way, cautiously, into town. She followed Kraussdale Road up to Route 29, then pulled her hood up about her face. She was fairly certain that nobody would care about some random woman walking through town, but if any of the gunmen from Wednesday night were around, she could be spotted and killed. By the reaction of Gabriel in his push for her to kill Other Claire, her death would probably be the end to whatever plan he had.

Claire was pretty stoked about the hoodie she wore. She found it in an old, abandoned farmhouse the night before. It was an old Upper Perk High School sweatshirt, and she couldn’t help but feel some of the old school pride as she entered the residential area on Main Street. How she missed those days… School spirit had always been a natural high priority for her. Thoughts of the football rallies, the crowd cheering as the band played at the basketball games, and the loud, boisterous cheers she and her fellow cheerleaders could pull from the student body. But those days were long gone, as was normalcy. Here she was, walking along the streets of her old town, and it was empty. The vibrance that once infected it all but a forgotten memory.

She could smell the burning of wood and oil. She could see the wisps of black smoke rising into the cool, blue sky. Fires that were smoldering, or nearly out due to lack of fuel, peppered the town. Several homes along Main Street were damaged beyond repair, half collapsing and riddled with bullet holes. Claire even saw a few bodies, thankfully not of anybody she knew, which were fly-ridden and beginning to bloat. The chirping crickets and birds were a stark juxtaposition to the deathly silence of the missing or dead townsfolk. Even if this place wasn’t her reality, the idea that this could happen to her home was still terribly sad and frightening.

Claire strolled past the old East Greenville firehouse, its red brick façade barely holding on to a pink hue, the tattered flag of the local Boy Scout Troop moving ever so slightly in the breeze. It was here that she began to feel more intense pulsing from the ever-present vibrations within her. She was getting close… but she dared not guess about what she was getting close to. She also felt eyes upon her, and the hair on the back of her neck rose in response. She kept her pace slow and relaxed, though the butterflies in her stomach flitted wildly.

A couple of minutes later, Claire found herself on the porch of her home. It appeared that Other Claire and Eric had either taken better care of their home than her and her Eric, or the landlord was a much better person. The porch looked to have been recently stained, and the windows were new. A pang of jealousy ran through her as she imagined Other Claire and Other Eric snuggling in the warmth of their bed in an apartment that actually held heat, watching King of Queens. But the moment passed quickly as the pulsing vibrations radiated through her and eyes she felt upon her closed in.

Testing the door, she found it to be unlocked and made her way into the stairway to the second floor. Here the steps were carpeted, and a mahogany-stained railing ran up the wall. I wonder how much they paid for this place? Shaking her head to clear the distraction, she made her way quickly upstairs, leaving the door open behind her for her stalker. Somehow, the apartment seemed to have escaped any damage from whatever attack had happened here, and she was impressed by what she saw. The only mess was that which Other Claire had left behind in her scramble to leave and make her way to Eric.

The pulses continued to come faster as she made her way into the living room and to the entrance of the bathroom. Claire felt some excitement roll through her. If she was to repeat what she did at the camp site the day before, then that meant that she would be going home again. But she had to try and deal with her stalker first.

She heard the stairs creak as whoever it was made their way up the stairs. Keeping her eyes focused on what was before her, Claire let the person enter the living room behind her. With her hand already on the pistol, she spun and aimed.

He towered over her by nearly a foot. Long flowing red hair poured from under his wide-brimmed black hat and over the raised collar of his black trenchcoat. The failing light allowed the hat to cast a over all his face, with the exception of his chin, where she could see a close-cropped beard of red. Holy shit, she thought, it’s the Undertaker!

From under his open coat, he pulled a long blade with an ivory hilt, the head of a wolf carved out of the pommel. Before he could move any further, Claire took her shot. It hit the man in the heart, but the bullet had no effect. Son of a bitch! Dean Winchester screamed in her head. She smiled at the comfort that voice brought to her, even if he only spoke in the most dire of situations. The man’s eyes glowed red in response, and he swung the blade around to strike her. It was in this moment that Claire quietly thanked Eric for teaching her some basic kung fu. In a flash, Claire blocked the strike with her left arm and brought her right hand, which gripped the pistol, under the man’s chin and pulled the trigger. Without pause, she pulled her pistol hand back and smashed the man’s face with it, then pulled herself back a step and fired three shots center mass.

Claire closed her eyes without knowing why and turned as if heading through a door. The flash was bright enough to penetrate her eyelids, and she knew that she was off to a new reality. Behind her, she heard the man laugh gruffly.

She opened her eyes to a scene that had haunted her for nearly a week. Claire was thankful that her mind and body were were more stoic than that night. Before her, on the floor, lay another Other Claire, the back of her head missing completely and her eyes staring to nowhere. Off to her right lay her Eric, pale and stiff. Behind her was a pile of dust, the congealed heart between her feet let her know that the pile was what remained of this world’s John Friedman. A new wave of fear passed through her, fighting for dominance with the pulses that told her she was where she was supposed to be. Somebody is taking his souls… but why? It was another piece of information that just set her understanding back a step.

Deciding that she’d chew on that at a later time, Claire straddled her other self and placed her hand in front of the staring eyes. The wispy mist exited the Other Claire’s mouth as the eyes shined blue. The exhilaration of gaining another soul sent chills through her entire body. It was like breathing the post-storm summer air after slogging through the pre-storm humidity. She stood and took a deep breath as the pulses subsided. She was home, and she had no idea where she should go next.

Claire's journey continues in Chapter 9 at the following link:

The Satyr and The Traveler