FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

An account of one of my reoccurring dreams that had to be written down. Magic, blood, violence, and long descriptions of less interesting things lie ahead. It is currently 20,000 words dictated only by the memory of events that never occurred.

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The rain sizzled and popped as it turned to steam on my blade, and the heat washed over me like a wave. This wasn't real. It couldn't be real. The mass of human forms shifting through the mist before me was a figment of my imagination, and I was dreaming that the girl behind me gripped my hand so tightly it was going numb. These trees, without a doubt, dripping heavy rain from their drooping boughs upon my shoulders, were all in my head. All in my head. All in my head...

The men faltered, eying the glow before them. I was sure they had as little of a clue as to the situation as I, and until this moment neither of us knew the other existed. No, no... the men in the mist didn't exist. I shook my head and tried to remember when I'd fallen asleep. Until now I thought that I had awoken not two hours before and gone to walk among the trees. I'd wandered far, equipped to spend days here in the beautiful forest, though not intending to be out past noon. Lost in a daydream, I was surprised when the girl came crashing through the brush, gasping for air as she stumbled over fallen log and grasping briars. She slid to her side from panicked footwork as she saw me, rolling across the muddy earth before stumbling my way. Without a word, for she had no breath left, she grasped my hand and fell to her knees before me, glancing with terror behind her. I opened my mouth to ask her what caused such haste when again from the misty forest came a crashing of brush, and also the cursing of men out of breath.

Four, muddied and soaked, appeared before me suddenly. Upon seeing me, they stopped, surprised by the sudden end to their chase, and waited for a sign as their comrades crashed forward through the trees one by one. There was a pause, perhaps twelve seconds, before anyone spoke. Then, from the group stepped a tall man in black and white, clean shaven and stern, a long, ornamental-looking saber sheathed at his side. "Who are you?" he asked calmly, in a voice that masked his fatigue unlike the labored breathing of the men around him.

"No-one," I replied, "What sort of scene have I walked into, and who are you?"

"Also no-one," he replied with a small, discomforting smile that disappeared quickly. "Are you armed?"

I paused, pondering the intent behind a blunt question such as that from a mysterious man with a sword at his side. I studied him for a moment. His attire reminded me of that of a priest, but its neatly ironed folds were tainted by mud and snagged by thorns. His face displayed nothing, but looked as though he'd aged faster than he ought. Despite the calm mask, a turmoil of emotions persisted in his piercing, haunting eyes. "Yes and no," I eventually replied. "Should I be?" He only grinned again, looked me up and down, and smoothly drew his sword. "It is unfortunate that we met today. Ordinarily, I would save this blade for the witch alone, but today you are in the way."

The girl's hand tightened on my wrist as the man stepped forward again, lifting his blade with grim intent. I was frozen, mind racing in circles as I tried to understand what was happening. The moments dragged by as if in slow motion as my foe advanced, gradually picking up speed. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he sprinted over the small space between us with sword raised. My breath caught in my throat and my heart tried to burst from my chest to escape. Then, time resumed. His sword fell with a blur toward my head, and my free arm lifted on instinct as if to block the attack. There was a flash of light and warmth, a sudden sizzling sound, and silence. My eyes, clamped shut and facing the ground, were blind to the sight of what had happened, but as the moments slipped by I again heard the falling rain, the distant thunder, and a noise as if of water dripping onto a hot cooking pan.

I wrenched my eyes open and was nearly blinded by the intensity of the light before me. There, an inch above my yet un-cleaved head was the blade of my enemy blocked by my own. My own? What was I holding? My machete was still on my back, and was not to my knowledge made of sunlight. My mind again raced in circles as the man withdrew his sword in shock and backed away. In my raised fist I held a wavering, flickering beam of light. Its heat warmed my whole body and its glow illuminated the misty forest clearing.

"They're linked..." The man in black and white slowly muttered as the others glanced around, less sure of this situation than when they were surrounding a lone, defenseless hiker.

"The witch did that," exclaimed one, "didn't she? What in God's name is this? You told us that we just had to catch a little girl! Explain this!"

"Shut up!" my attacker growled as he studied me. His new tone frightened me even more, as if that were possible, but I then noticed his sword. It had begun to melt where it had struck the beam in my hand, and he followed my stare and saw this. He frowned and simply gripped it tighter. "They have only just met. Look how his magic wavers. He can barely maintain its existence." He paused again. "You are weak, boy," he growled, and waved his men forward.

What he said was true. I was in shock, still unable to see that I was awake. The beam of light in my clenched fist flickered rapidly and appeared to wreath about like a serpent attempting to break free. As the man swung again, I felt as though I was defending myself with a rotten stick but the beam again stopped his blade. Without hesitation, he swung again at my neck and I blocked it once more. This time, though, he pressed hard after the blow landed. The steel grew cherry red and my weapon, or whatever is was, gave way to the sizzling brand as if it were nothing but air. I was forced to duck as the hot blade skimmed across my hair. He lifted his sword for another downward strike, but had become too bold in his time with the upper hand. I spun and dropped to my side as I thrust my boot into his gut, flinging him back as the breath was forced out of his lungs.

I arose as he collapsed, fighting back the vomit forcing its way up his throat. Intending to knock him unconscious with a second blow, I tried to step forward but was still gripped tight by the girl clinging to my left arm. Looking back to her, though, I was reminded of my surroundings. The others had spread out and surrounded me, their forms blending with the mist. I closed my eyes, drew in a deep breath of the cool forest air, and slowly raised my hand to form a fist. The beam of light appeared once more, assaulting the senses with a wave of heat, brilliant light, and the pop of air and water suddenly boiling. This wasn't real...

With my attacker on the ground and his companions still edging toward me hesitantly, I stopped to take stock of my options. In all, there were perhaps ten or fifteen men around me. None seemed to have a weapon more deadly than the saber, mostly sticks and knives, but the number was overwhelming to anyone, and I hadn't even fought one man for real before. Running would be the best choice. I could break through the two to my left and lose them in a nearby section of thick underbrush. That is, if I was alone. Trapped by the girl's grip on my arm, I was not only awkwardly immobilized, but stuck with one hand.

"This would be a lot easier if you weren't clinging to me," was the thought I threw at her as if expecting a response. A response did come, though. In directing my thoughts toward the girl, my mind was momentarily opened and a wave of emotions flowed back. Cringing from the foreign information, I jerked my head down at her in surprise, mouth agape. More questions piled onto those already filling my thoughts, but they would have to wait.

When the light in my fist went out from the break in concentration, two of the men in the fog took it as a sign and ran forward from my right. Jarred from my confusion again, I lunged away from them, pulling the girl into a roll with me to the left. One of them fell upon the space we left, intending to grab me, but the other carried on and raised a large stick to attack. Crouched with my left arm bent awkwardly from the girl's grip, who was now sprawled on the ground in shock, I summoned the beam of light and swung at my attacker.

His weapon was still above his head when mine sliced through his torso, and with a look more of surprise than pain he collapsed onto me. I shoved him off as the other lunged again, only to be met with my elbow in his chin. A second swipe from the beam of light and he staggered backward with a nearly severed arm. If there were more time, I would then have not only reflected on the fact that I might have just mortally wounded two men, but marveled at the effectiveness of my new weapon. Instead, I turned left to block another blow from the saber.

The man in black and white stood over his wounded comrade with a grimace of pure hatred, his blade pressing hard against mine. I used his force to direct the blade over my head and to my right, giving me a chance to stand up. He wasted no time swinging again and soon we were locked in a flurry of blows and parries. The light exploded on every impact, blinding us with each meeting of steel and magic. Faster and faster, my enemy swung, his rage building with each failed strike. The steel grew hotter and its carefully polished surface blackened where it melted and dulled.

As the force of his strikes intensified, I struggled to keep up with one arm against his two. It was clear that he had no practice with the weapon, but an untrained fighter could often be more dangerous than a predictable trained one. "I need my other hand!" I screamed, and this time the girl instantly reacted. As she released my arm, the beam of light flickered out and I had to duck the man's next attack. She quickly grabbed my waist, and I tried to summon the light again. Nothing happened, and when the next attack came, I threw myself to the ground to avoid it. Rolling upright, I jumped up and evaded another wild swing while my panicked mind tried to decipher the rules of this magic, rules that I knew were simple, but difficult to focus on while trying not to die. From my back, I finally drew my machete to block the next attack. The hot saber blade slid down its edge with a screech and sank into the plastic handle of my cheap garden tool. With the sickening smell of burnt plastic floating by, I cursed my choice of blades to bring that day. Nonetheless, the handle remained mostly intact as the saber quickly cooled in the rain.

The man carried on his barrage of attacks as if nothing had changed, but with solid steel in hand I felt more confident. The tide of battle was shifting; he looked like he was getting tired, and his movements were getting predictable. A few things happened next. From behind me came the crunch of broken branches as another man charged. As I began to turn, I felt a tug at my shirt and the touch of a cold hand on my side. A smile crept across my lips, and with my right hand I parried the next saber blow while my left raised to face the charging man. A pulse of energy exploded from my palm with such force that I was thrown off balance and into the man in black and white.

As we tumbled into a pile, I made a mental note: Newton's laws apply to magical forces too. If only that note was considered before my next attack, I would later lament, since my reaction to our proximity was to ram my forehead into that of the man I'd just knocked down. While this was very effective in injuring him, it was equally painful from me. I stumbled upright, shaking the spots from my eyes as I tried to refocus. "Run," was the only thought that came to mind, "Run now. It might be your only chance."

I knelt down and told the girl to get on my back. Luckily, she did so quickly. I glanced around the clearing and, choosing a path, I summoned the brand of light and ran screaming toward the men blocking my exit. They moved without hesitation, and I sprinted, head pounding, heart racing, body aching, and throat constricted by the arms of my unexpected companion. Without looking back, I ran as far as my legs could take me. The path was of no consequence as long as it was away from that clearing. When I could run no more, I fell into a jog, and it was miles before my legs gave out and sent us tumbling over. For a few minutes, there seemed to be no sound louder than my ragged gasps for air. The rain had stopped and the sun had risen, turning the cool, moist air into hot, muggy discomfort, but the girl eventually released her hold on me and I was able to roll onto my back and breathe deeply. Eyes closed, I choked out a short laugh. Now would be as good a time as any to wake up.

I eventually opened my eyes to see the girl staring down at me, crouched above my head. There hadn't been any time to see her before, so I just stared back for a moment. She was quite pretty, despite the mud and sticks in her tangled black hair and the specks of blood on her face. Looking more closely, now, I saw that she was older than I had guessed based on her height, probably closer to 17 or 18. Her striking green eyes displayed a confused innocence and fear, but also intrigue. "So..." I began, "What just happened?" My question was met with silence. "What's your name?" More silence. I sighed and closed my eyes again. "We should start moving again. I'm not sure where we are yet, or how far away they are." As I forced my aching body to stand up, she backed away but continued staring. "Can you walk, or-" She cut me off, speaking in a quiet, shaking voice, "Catherine. My name is Catherine... and I can walk... and... thank you." I paused, evaluating the fear in her voice. "Ah, well then-" She cut in again, "and you're bleeding... a lot."

She pointed at my hand, then up to my forehead. My left hand followed, and as I touched the wide gash on my scalp, it suddenly pulsed with burning pain. I inhaled sharply and drew my hand away, now also noticing the damage from the blast of energy I'd made. The remaining skin of my palm was purple from bruising where the shock-wave hadn't ripped it away, and I began to notice the pain in my wrist and shoulder from that same misguided action. Blood streamed down my shirt and arm from the gash. When that occurred was anyone's guess, but it hurt like hell now.

I felt the rest of my face, and it was smeared with dried blood, but otherwise unscratched. Darkness started to creep into the edges of my vision. "Adrenaline," I commented with a chuckle, "what a great chemical." Catherine crept further away, probably still unsure how to react to everything that was happening. What to do next was fairly obvious, though, and I sat back down with a grunt and removed my backpack to retrieve the first aid kit. After tossing her a spare bottle of water, I began cleaning my wounds with my water-pack. Using a signal mirror, I was able to tend to the forehead gash adequately enough to close it and stop the bleeding. As for my hand, some antibiotic and a quick wrap of bandages was all that could really be done at the time.

"Are you injured anywhere?" I asked Catherine once my own heavy bleeding was stopped. She shook her head, but I had her stand up and checked anyway. Her arms and legs were coated with cuts from the chase, and I sighed and went to work cleaning and bandaging the larger ones. She tensed with every touch, and it was clear that not only did she have no idea how to navigate a forest, but her tolerance for injury was extremely low. While I cleaned the scrapes on her face, I wiped away her tears and stopped for a bit. "You're okay now, Catherine. I don't know what's going on, but I'll protect you."

She responded with more tears and wrapped her arms around me. I pulled her close and we stayed there for a minute or two in silence, broken finally by a snapping of sticks perhaps thirty feet away. I tensed, eyes darting around in search of an enemy. Something came crashing through the brush toward us and I reached for my machete, the one I now realized lay in the clearing from earlier. As the form of my enemy emerged, I leaped upright, summoning the beam of brilliant light again and brandishing it before me. The most shocked-looking deer I'd ever seen twisted onto its hind legs before bolting away in fear, and I released the magic with a laugh.

"Time to move," I said while carefully pulling Catherine upright. "We might need to run again, so you'll be riding." I packed up what little was left of the first aid kit and fitted my pack onto Catherine's back. With her on mine, we pressed on into the brush in search of where we'd ended up.

It was a half hour, maybe, before the trees started to look familiar, but we eventually started to make our way toward my home. That was a better place to sort things out than the woods, I assumed, and Catherine never seemed to care where we were going as long as it wasn't back to wherever she came from. The walk was surprisingly uneventful, and within a few hours my house was in sight. It practically glowed with the promise of safety. As soon as we crossed the property line the day's fatigue overwhelmed me. I dragged my tired legs to the door, fumbled for my keys with shaking hands, and finally went in and fell face-first on the couch.

"Umm..." came the small voice behind me, "I'm stuck." Catherine was still on my back, her arms and legs pinned to the couch under me, and I stood up again, apologizing. We both sat back down and I leaned back, closing my eyes and letting out a long sigh. "By the way, my name's John," I began, "And, same question... What just happened?" This time, she answered, and began listing the day's events. "I ran away this morning," she mumbled slowly, "and they followed me. They almost caught me... I couldn't run anymore, but I found you... and, and we linked. Then you-" I interrupted, "Linked? That's what the guy who attacked me said. What's that mean?" "It's... well, to use a witch's power there has to be a link. It doesn't work for everyone. I didn't even think it would work with you, because I've never been able to do it before... When a witch links with someone, they can transfer mana to them and, well, that mana can be used for whatever the recipient wants."

With the day slowing down, I could finally process new information. "So when you touch someone suitable for a link, you can give them magic powers. Can't you just use them yourself?"

"No."

"Huh. That's interesting. Is there a mana limit?"

"Yes... but it varies from person to person. Apparently some witches do not have much to give, while others have a seemingly limitless supply... and the link has to be good too."

"How do you know this if you've never done it before?"

Catherine sat silently. I cracked open an eye to see her sitting with very tense posture, staring straight ahead at the wall. Her well-mannered stance contrasted somewhat oddly with her current appearance. I sighed again and started to get up. "We can talk about this later. You look like you could use a shower." I helped her up and took the backpack off while talking. "The bathroom's down that hall on the left. Towels and stuff are in the tall cabinet. I'll go get you a change of clothes."

The trek upstairs felt more difficult than the miles of running had, and at the summit I stopped, leaning on the wall and rubbing my eyes. The clock on the wall reminded me that in the space of a Saturday morning I may or may not have killed two or more strangers, nearly been decapitated, acquired magic, and possibly abducted a young woman who I still knew nothing about but had brought home. The details were, understandably, a bit foggy. Nonetheless, I dragged my confused, tired legs to my bedroom and resisted the urge to lie down.

The shower hissed on downstairs as I stared at my piles of clothes. Catherine was much smaller than me, a fact I was grateful for when thinking back on our recent escape, so at least finding something that covered her wasn't an issue. I trudged back downstairs with a comfortable set that I hoped fit well enough, at least if the pant legs were folded up a foot... With a knock on the bathroom door, I told her that the clothes were outside and asked if she'd found the towels. Waiting for an answer, I paused as I heard the the curtain swept aside. The door swung open and I clamped my eyes shut in awkward embarrassment, but not before seeing a glimpse of her standing there with a panicked expression, one hand on the door and the other reaching toward me. With what I guess sounded like a small squeak, Catherine shuffled behind the door and whispered, "Sorry. I, um... sorry."

I sighed and held out the clothes with eyes still closed. "Whatever is normal wherever you come from, please don't do that here. I don't think my heart can take any more surprises today." She slowly took my offering and mumbled a thank you while I turned to leave. When the door clicked shut behind me, I rubbed my eyes again and couldn't resist a small smile. It faded quickly, though, as I pondered that glimpse further. Her slim figure was not unhealthy, but weak, as if she'd barely worked in her life. Her pale skin befitted someone unfamiliar with the sun. And finally, what can be said of the mental condition of a person who flings open a bathroom door like that only to be surprised and then hide behind it?

With my headache returning, I trekked back upstairs and into the other shower. The warm water washed away the dirt and blood, soothed the aches in my muscles, and filled my ears with a steady drumming noise, but it could not calm the whirlwind of thoughts and questions. Knowing that only the girl downstairs could offer answers, I ceased my tumultuous meditation, cleaned myself, and stepped out. After hurriedly drying, I wrapped the towel around my waist and opened the door.

Catherine and I stared at each other for a second. This time, she was dressed. My baggy clothes made her look even tinier as she stood outside the door fiddling with the ends of the sweatshirt sleeves that covered her hands. Her hair was still wet, and I wondered how long she'd been standing there. Shifting her eyes to the ground, she backed up a half step. "What do you need?" I asked, "I'm kind of still undressed here." Without looking up, she shifted a little. "I... I'm scared," she said, bringing her arms closer to her chest.

Feeling a bit exposed in my towel, I approached her anyway and slowly hugged her. She stayed frozen in place, unsure. "You're safe here," I said quietly, "I told you before that I would protect you, and I meant that. We'll figure everything out eventually, but for now, know that you're safe." As she relaxed slightly, I held her more tightly. It felt as though I was holding a frightened child, though by now it was obvious that she was no more than two or three years younger than me. With her head resting against my chest, I repeated, "you're safe," and hoped it to be true. What was I getting involved in anyway?

By the time it felt reasonable to leave Catherine alone again, I was starving and rushed through the acquisition of clothing. Once my towel had been traded for a pair of cargo pants and a shirt, I rushed out the door and practically slid down the stairs with Catherine trailing behind. "We're getting food, then we're going to sit down and discuss exactly what the heck is going on," I declared. "You are my guest," I said with a glance on the way into the kitchen, "What would you like for lunch?" When met with silence, I opened the fridge. As an introvert in general, my knowledge of eating with company was limited, much more so when it came to eating with a witch I'd just carried home and had limited conversation with. "I have chicken and rice already. Does that sound good?" Thankfully, she nodded and I was able to carry on with the preparation of lunch.

After showing Catherine to a chair and setting out the food, I sat down and hungrily took up a mouthful of rice before glancing up. She was sitting, back straight, with her hands together in a prayer position, head slightly bowed but eyes wide, staring up at me. "Sorry," I said after swallowing, "I didn't think to ask if..." She smiled, picked up her fork, and began eating too. "Force of habit?" I asked. She nodded and began to eat faster, obviously hungry as well.

With our stomachs full, we sat in silence for a few minutes. The questions still buzzed around within my head, but the atmosphere was starting to relax a little. Catherine alternated between staring around the room and at me, her eyes darting away when I looked. "So..." I began, "here's what I know so far: Your name is Catherine. You are a witch. I am the first person you've linked to. You ran away from somewhere but were chased. Now we're here. Can you fill in some more information there?" She looked down again, appearing about as comfortable with and sure of the whole situation as I was.

"Let's start with some easy stuff. Where are you from?"

There was a pause before her every answer. "The church."

"Just 'the church'? How long have you been there?"

She shrugged. "Forever. I have always lived in the church."

I sighed and rubbed my forehead. It was essential that I know as much about the situation as whoever was after her. For better or worse, I was undeniably involved now. "Is this church what you ran away from?"

She nodded.

"Why?"

"To live," she responded, "He would have discovered the truth some day. I had to leave before then. Otherwise, he would have to..." She trailed off, staring past the wall.

"Are you talking about the man with the sword? Who is he?"

To this, she nodded, but didn't speak.

"Catherine, who is after you? I need to know what's going on, or the next time that guy from before shows up things might not go so smoothly. He almost to cut my head off, you know, like... fifty times."

"But you won!" she replied quickly, "You weren't ready then either, but your sword skills were superior to father's by far!"

"That's because he wasn't familiar with the weapon and I fenced for a year and went to a few SCA practices. Next time, he can just shoot me... Also, is he like 'Father So-and-so' of the church, or did you just say your actual father chased you through the woods, tried to kill me, and might be trying to kill you?"

After a long pause, she quietly answered, "both..."

"So... then your dad, who I guess lives in this church, raised you there for all this time but now wants you dead... How old are you?"

"Nineteen"

"You look nothing like him."

"My mother was Japanese."

"Where is she?"

Silence.

"Is she also a witch?"

Silence. Catherine stared at the table and I sighed again. I reached across the table and pulled my laptop over. "Where is the church? Do you know the address?"

"I'm not going back," she stated immediately.

"Of course not. You're staying here until we can sort this out. I want to know how far away it is and get more information." Her staring contest with the tablecloth was interrupted by a glance in my direction. "You're safe. I'm not going anywhere near that place and neither are you, but it's hard to avoid something you know nothing about." She listed off the address as I typed it into a search. "Huh..." I simply said after a minute. There was no website, no mentions of it, just a point on the map. Satellite maps yielded only a blurry image of a medium sized building inside a wall. It certainly looked like a church, but not a particularly inviting one. I turned the laptop toward Catherine. "Here?"

With another glance, she nodded and looked away. I decided not to tell her how close we still were, about five miles straight through the forest, ten or eleven by road. The questions had to continue. "What is your last name?" That should get me somewhere...

"Smith."

My head fell on the keyboard. "Really? Smith? Come on. Please tell me your father has some kind of unique, easy to trace name..."

"It's James."

Saying nothing, I let my tired head rest on the keyboard a little longer. Every other bit of information I could pry out of this mystery girl yielded nothing of use. After an hour of finding no record of her existence, I finally shut the laptop and leaned back. "That's it! No more questions. I need a nap." Catherine's upright posture had begun to degrade by now, so I guessed that wouldn't be a terrible option for her either. "Guest room's already made up. Follow me," I said as I started down the hall and upstairs. She followed closely, keeping within a few steps, as I went into the room and moved the accumulation of boxes off the bed. "I'll be in the next room over. The house is yours for now, so try to get comfortable. Feel free to use the kitchen or whatever, don't answer the door, don't let the cats in, and wake me if anything happens."

She nodded, and I went to my room, but she still trailed behind me. At my door, I turned and looked her over for a second. Adorable was a word that come to mind, but she also frightened me. Nothing hinted at the incredible power she might hold. At that point, she just looked like a worried young woman, vulnerably clinging to the first person she'd met while running from death. She was safe here, though, and I needed a break. I closed the door with her standing outside, and began to walk toward my bed. With a pause, though, I noted the silence.

I opened the door again to find her still waiting there. "You don't have to stand there," I said, "I'm just going to lie down for a while." Closing the door again, I fell onto my bed and relaxed into the softness. After a minute or so, I heard a light, dull scrape at the door. With a sigh, I got up. Catherine, who was sitting against it, fell backward through the doorway as I opened it. I wasn't sure whether to laugh or groan at the surprised-looking woman on my floor, so just kind of stared for a second. "Fine, come in," I said while extending a hand to help her up.

It had been a couple hours when I sleepily opened my eyes. With a startled jolt, I noticed the figure next to me and spent the next few seconds reminding myself of the day's events. Catherine was curled tightly into a fetal position, sleeping soundly about a foot away. I sent a mental note her way, "What am I going to do with you?" The response was a jumble of emotions that I found completely incomprehensible, but I was less surprised by the feedback than before. It faded away quickly, and I tried again, "Can you hear me?" More mental information flooded my consciousness for a second before fading away. The contact was more intriguing now than frightening.

I smiled and shut my eyes. "Can we talk this way, or is it a mess for you too?" The response came again but escalated in alarm before cutting off sharply. I opened my eyes to see Catherine's wide-eyed green stare. "So you could hear me," I mentally prodded, "how did you sleep?" Her jumble of thoughts felt different when awake, but I still couldn't decipher any meaning. Instead of trying again, I just spoke. "When I project a thought toward you, I feel a response, but it's just noise. Do you hear my thought, or is it noise for you too?"

"I... can hear it," she answered, "It is difficult to understand, but I hear it, or feel it."

"Interesting. Everything about today has been interesting." I rolled onto my back and stretched. Sharp pains echoed through my arm and shoulder, making me flinch a little. "Now what?" I pondered aloud. "We still haven't washed your clothes, I guess," I began while starting to get up. A pair of hands tightly holding my elbow stopped me, though, and I looked back at Catherine. With a sigh, I laid back down and pulled her into a hug. "Or we can stay here."

She smiled and pressed against me tighter. It was the first smile I'd seen from her, I noted, and it was a vast improvement from the look of fear she'd been wearing until then. The thought crossed my mind that, despite my complete lack of effort on this front, I'd somehow ended up with a beautiful young woman in my bed, but that was ruined by the accompanying thought that our relationship was that of innocent girl and randomly selected protector. A girl who nearly got me killed, and would probably do so again. Then again, she also helped me keep my skull attached despite causing the whole incident. Overall, I wasn't entirely unhappy with the day. Magic and danger might be an improvement to whatever lay in store for me.

Most of the rest of the day was uneventful. No-one came knocking at my door, and Catherine followed me around as I dealt with things like the blood-stained couch. Every so often, I tried asking her about things that hopefully wouldn't spark any trauma. That usually failed, so a lot of the time was spent in silence. From the rest, I learned that she occupied most of her time within the church by reading every book she could get her hands on. The church kept a vast library, and her father had his own. She also would draw, paint, or play piano, which might explain why her grip was so strong despite being otherwise frail. A few hints slipped in about her father, so I was able to piece together some information about my enemy.

A man of deep faith, he had apparently had the misfortune of marrying a witch without knowing. As for what happened to her, Catherine couldn't say, but based on the morning's events it couldn't have gone well when he found out. Out of fear that Catherine had inherited her mother's power, he confined her to the church and tried to raise her as normally as possible with only what contact with others was absolutely necessary. His every waking hour not devoted to the church or his daughter was spent researching witches. After raising his only child for nineteen years, he suddenly found her to be a being of power that he feared and then lost her. I pitied him, but could not forgive him. "I would save this blade for the witch alone," he had said. Did his hatred of what she was really overpower his paternal love?

Shaking my head, I put away the last plate and closed the cupboard. My new shadow had finally let the distance between us widen to somewhere within eyesight in an adjacent room, but still watched me from the table. I walked over and leaned on the chair opposite hers. "We should work on this whole magic thing," I said, "All I can do so far is summon a sword-like thing and nearly kill us with a shockwave. What else can it do?" "That depends on you," she replied, "mana is a type of energy, like electricity. Its uses are limited only by your knowledge of how it works, how much is available, and your creativity." After a second of thought, I sat down, held out my hand, and asked, "May I try now?"

She smiled and placed her hand in mine. If there was any way to recognize the link, I found it imperceptible at the time. Running the morning's events through my head, I held up my other hand and started by summoning the blade of light from before. This time, while focusing on the action, its shape was much more solid, no longer twisting about randomly. As I imagined the form change, it did so, and I tried turning it into a spear, then a ball. "What is this made of?" I asked, "It's hot enough to boil rain and melt steel, but only feels warm to me."

"That is a physical manifestation of mana, one of many possible forms. It does not harm you because it is yours. I feel its heat more strongly than you, but not as much as someone who it is intended to harm. Depending on the strength of the link, it can have different effects on the witch and their partner."

"So a stronger link would make you safer from what I do with the magic?"

"Correct."

"Can our link be improved?"

"Not forcibly. It can correspond with emotional connection, or how much trust each partner has in the other. Ours may become stronger or weaker with time."

With a shrug, I began to contemplate more uses for this power. I picked up a fork and held it in my palm, imagining the forces it would take to move it. Any number of methods could probably be used, but I chose to compress the air beneath it. This worked, sort of, but sent the utensil flying over Catherine's head. "About that trust thing..." I remarked.

"Try not to over-think it," she said with a chuckle, "if you want to lift it, just lift it. If you want to throw it, throw it. Simple things like that should not require much effort. Now, supposing you wanted to do something detailed, such as healing that cut on your forehead, you would then need to understand the anatomy you were altering."

I picked up a spoon this time, and decided to make it hover. As she'd said, it did. Careful of the direction, I decided to make it fly to my right. This worked too, but resulted in a spoon halfway protruding from my wall. Reaching toward it, I tried to summon it back. The force required to pull it from the drywall resulted in it launching toward me, though, and it bounced off of my hand before I could react. Catherine chuckled again as I shook the pain from my fingers. "You seem to be in better spirits now," I commented. She cupped her other hand over mine, running her fingertips over my knuckles for a second before replying, "This is very exciting. I can feel the flow of energy with each action you try. For years, I read about this, but never have I experienced it. The air pulses with magic around us."

I looked around, inhaling deeply and trying to perceive whatever it was she described. "Nothing feels different. The forces are invisible to me, except for the mana's physical form when it glows." Her smile faded a little. "That's too bad... It's beautiful. Well, that is not to say that it can be described visually. Mana's effect seems to transcend the usual senses." There were always more questions with this strange woman. Instead of becoming too contemplative with them, I tried picking up the spoon without gesturing at it. The focus was difficult, and it wobbled around while slowly rising. Unaware of how the mana flow worked, I wondered if Catherine had to expend as much effort as it took me to simply lift a spoon. With brow furrowed, I slowly guided the shaking metal onto the table before holding out my hand as if to grab it. With noticeably less effort needed to focus, I spun it into the air, threw it forward, and pulled it back before it made another hole in my wall.

Having somewhat mastered control of my own utensils, I moved on. Holding up my palm, I tried to make the mana form another physical manifestation. This time, I wanted it to be neither hot nor cold, and not bright, but simply an invisible orb of magical energy the size of a golf ball. Focusing more and more, I wondered if at some point I would be able to feel it. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Catherine staring intently at the point above my palm, her smile widening. Trying not to break concentration, I said, "Is it working? I can't tell." With a nod, she quietly replied, "It's... beautiful... like you're holding a galaxy in your hand, or, no... Ah, it's so difficult to describe. It keeps changing."

A bead of sweat rolled down my cheek. I turned my palm to face the far wall to my right and the thought flashed past that I'd regret trying the next experiment. I leaned forward, locked my shoulder in place, and imagined the ball of energy launching away from me. This time, I felt the opposite force but not the dangerous shock-wave. My senses couldn't perceive the mana itself, but its effects were not lost to me. As the projectile met the wall, which happened nearly instantly, it was as if I'd fired a grenade at it. Plaster and bits of wood flew in every direction as the sound of the wall's structure splintering filled my ears.

As soon as I regained balance, I jumped up to see if Catherine was alright. She looked more excited than afraid, and had acquired no new injuries from the blast. My wall, however did not fare so well. There was now a large, roughly oval window between the kitchen and dining room, bits of shattered lumber and powdered drywall lay strewn across the room, what was left of a cabinet was on the floor, and some wires hung severed in the hole. I picked up a plastic container that was in the cabinet, but tossed it back down with a laugh. The sun was already going down, and this mess would take hours to clean up.

"I think we're pretty much done with that for the day," I stated while brushing the dust from my hands. After checking that the severed wires hadn't disabled the refrigerator, I acquired some wire nuts and capped them off. A certain curious woman kept going back to inspect the damage each time we passed it. Apparently, from her point of view, traces of mana persisted in the room, especially around the explosion. I wondered what I was missing for a second before reminding myself that whether or not I could sense this new energy, I could control it, and that was amazing.

As the sun sank below the horizon, I got Catherine talking about magic before her excitement could wear off. She'd been surrounded by research on the topic for her entire life. While her father refused to discuss it with her, he did not keep his library locked, so his fascination with the subject had slowly transferred to her. With age, it became gradually more obvious to Catherine that mana was building within her, and with it grew her interest in what that meant for her. Perhaps, she had thought, learning enough about it could mean something other than death when the time came that her secret was discovered.

As it turns out, she was right. The initial contact between a witch and her partner usually resulted in a weak link, limited mana transfer, and overall confusion. Catherine's understanding of the process allowed her to transfer enormous amounts of energy, and while much of it was lost thanks to the unsteady link and my inability to process it, there was plenty to fuel the creation of the shining manifestation which had saved us. As for what to do with it from that point on, she was unsure. Historical data on witches and their partners was a mess of conflicting information. The church kept the most complete descriptions, but they had always focused on persecution before research.

Other sources chronicling the history of witches concluded that most pairs were rather ineffective at using their power so simply kept it secret, passing it on to the next generation. Those who found themselves in control of great stores of mana and the ability to use it often were corrupted by it, as tends to happen with any power. Whether the magic was used for good or ill, the church sought out and dealt with all witches in the same way.

One story that intrigued Catherine was that of a powerful pair who evaded the church for years. The story claimed that they could walk through flames and stop volleys of arrows in flight. A regiment sent to capture them reported that when they surrounded them, they drew their swords to find them shattered. Their spear-heads melted, and their bowstrings were inexplicably wet and useless. The pair eventually met their expected fate, though. When the witch was wounded in battle and they became separated, they were captured and beheaded. Another story told of a witch who linked with a doctor, and together they saved the lives of thousands who should have died. By the time the church caught up to them, they had learned how to replace limbs and heal blindness. No time had been spent practicing the use of mana to fight, and the love of their patients could not save them, so they too were struck down.

Over the last thousand years, the number of surviving witches rapidly dwindled and they became nothing more than an imaginary creature to most people. Never a common conversation topic in the first place, most information was misconstrued, or completely fabricated to fill the holes in stories. The word, witch, was never even well established, so texts vary in what names they use. That was simply the one Catherine's father picked most often, so she uses it as well. After recounting a few more tales, I noted that none had happy endings when the church was involved. Catherine reassured me that exactly three complete accounts she had read ended with them losing track of their target. Somehow, that was not very motivating.

We ended the conversation trying to list the things people were said to have done with mana in the past. After two pages, I stopped writing them down and leaned back with a yawn. I cracked open an eye to study Catherine for a few seconds. She was sitting on the couch across from my chair, as we'd moved into the living room to escape the dust, her arms around her knees and her bare feet on the edge of the cushion. Throughout the evening, her expressions had covered a wide range of emotions, but now she looked across the room lost in thought. Her half-smile was slowly fading as her eyes began to close.

"Tired?" I asked. Her green eyes flashed open again. "No, I just, um," she stuttered defiantly. I laughed and got up to stretch. "I'm going to take that response as a tentative yes," I said, "Will you end up sleeping against my door if I try to put you in the guest room again?" She raised her eyes to meet mine with a look of concern, as if trying to have her sleep in another room, out of sight, was equal to abandoning her completely. "Alright, alright," I added quickly, "You can sleep where you want. We're getting rid of this drywall dust first, though." I paused, seeing her relax again. "Follow me. Let's find you something to change into now, so we don't have a different repeat." Catherine quickly looked away again in embarrassment before slowly getting up.

We brought her towel and washcloth up to my bathroom and picked out a pair of ill-fitting pajamas before I sent her in with the assurance that I'd be outside the door. I sat down with my laptop again and finally checked what else was happening outside. Immediately assaulted with thousands of messages from my gaming community, I scrolled through like I always do, noting the things I'd need to reply to. Toward the end, there were new messages saying hello, asking where I'd been, and telling me to get on the Minecraft server. When the sound of water behind me stopped, I was just finishing my hellos and listing off the various words of wisdom that needed thrown into previous discussions. Instead of telling them about the day, which was tempting, I simply left with, "Gotta go. Something important came up, and I may not be on for a while. Good luck, everyone." The last bit was probably more for myself. I signed out with a few more messages popping up, mostly with questions, as the door opened behind me.

I closed the laptop and started to turn around as Catherine knelt down and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. "Thank you," she said quietly. I reached up and patted her on the head, since that was pretty much all I could do in response. When it became apparent that she wasn't planning to let go for a while, I poked her on the shoulder and said, "I should probably shower too, unless you plan to sleep like that. Well, even if you do plan to sleep like that..." She squeezed a little tighter before letting go, and I set down the laptop, stood up, and went to get my pajamas with her trailing behind. As I went into the bathroom, I turned and looked at her again. She'd taken the time to dry and comb her long black hair this time, and appeared much more comfortable than before. My pajamas hung baggily on her small form just as the other clothes had. "Still adorable," I commented with a smile as I shut the door, leaving her blushing outside.

In the time it took to shower, dry, and dress, my eyes began to shut as well. Catherine was sleeping in the hall, slouched against the wall next to the door, and was startled awake when it opened. She looked up at me and smiled before getting up, reaching out for another hug. As I embraced her again, she relaxed into my chest and drifted back to sleep, held up by my arms under her shoulders. She felt heavier now than the last time I'd carried her, but not so much that it was terribly difficult, so I picked her up. I took a step toward the guest room, but thought about how she would react to waking up alone, and turned back to my room.

Sunday arrived almost as Saturday had. The weather outside was cool and somewhat damp, and I awoke with the urge to get out and move. The only difference was the woman curled up beside me, wrapped comfortably in my blanket and my arms. "Finally awake?" she mumbled into my shoulder when I shifted a little. "Finally?" I replied after glancing at the clock, "I slept for like eight hours. When did you wake up?" She uncurled from the tight ball she'd been in and stretched, her toes barely reaching mine. "I don't really know," she said before pressing against me again, "and I don't really care." "What do you mean?" I asked. She paused for a bit, then replied, "You're really warm..." I laughed. "Yeah, a few people have made that observation. When do you want to get up?" "As soon as this stops being so comfortable," was the mumbled reply.

Before I could think of a response, there was a knock at the front door. I put a finger to my lips before slowly getting up. Catherine crept to the edge of the bed, but I motioned her to stay as I went to the room with a window overlooking the door. Three men stood outside in nondescript clothing. One knocked again before calling loudly to ask if anyone was home. I didn't like the look of them, and my suspicions were confirmed when, after more knocking, one nodded to the others as he knelt down at my door. The others went to each side of the house while the first pulled out a lock-picking set and went to work.

I turned to leave as Catherine crawled into the room. With a frown, I grabbed her hand and went back to my room. "You are to remain absolutely silent and keep one hand on me unless I say otherwise," I whispered while pulling the shotgun out from under my bed and then slipping on some shoes. I glanced at my pile of clothes and pulled out Catherine's dress. Her shoes were still in the dryer in the basement, and her other clothes were buried in the pile somewhere. The front door opened with a loud creak. I'd been planning to replace that old door, so never bothered to oil it. Catherine and I made use of the small door between my room and the crawlspace that led to the garage while the men looked around downstairs.

It seemed like ages before one of them came upstairs, and it was another few minutes before they reached my room. Catherine and I were standing in a corner of the crawlspace a few feet from the door, with her behind me holding my waist. I tightened my grip on the gun and waited. The man came through the door finally and closed it behind him. He scanned the crawlspace, shining a flashlight into each corner, stopping on ours, then looked away, scratched his head, and pulled out a radio. "The second floor is clear. You guys sure you checked everywhere down there?" The reply came through scratchily, "Yeah. Nobody's here, but did you see the kitchen?" "Yes, I saw it... either they stopped here, or there's even more weird stuff going on."

I cursed to myself internally. There was no point in hiding any other evidence when a freakishly massive hole remained downstairs. On the plus side, my invisibility trick was working perfectly. I began to wonder how much energy that took on Catherine's part when the man in front of me spoke again. "You two head back to the church. Tell Father Smith I'll stay here for a while. They probably moved on already, but if they come back we'll want someone waiting." The other two voices agreed, and I heard the back door slam soon after. The man in front of us rubbed his eyes and sighed. I switched my focus from keeping us invisible to the radio in his hand, repeating over and over in my head what I wanted it to do before releasing the mana to send it flying across the room. As it was ripped from his hand, I primed the shotgun that was now aimed at his head. There was already a round in the chamber, launched into the insulation somewhere now, but I wanted to shock him, not kill him.

It worked, obviously, and he spun around with eyes wide and the blood drained from his face. His arms shot upward in surrender before I could say a word. "Glad we're on the same page with that," I said, "What are you looking for?" "He stuttered for a bit, unable to form words. "Calm down," I added, "I'll only kill you if you put those hands down. Now, what are you looking for?" He stammered some more before finally speaking coherently, "Y-you! We're looking for you! Please don't kill me! I'm just following orders!" It was a miracle he hadn't wet himself, for he was shaking more than Catherine was.

"Let's all get through this safely, ok?" I said calmly, "I can remove your skull at any time, but I don't want to. Answer me clearly, and I won't have to. What is your name?"

"Robert! My name's Robert. Why?"

"That's not important, Robert. Can I call you Rob?"

"You can call me anything you want right now. What else do you want to know?"

"Lots of things, Rob. I have so many questions, you can't possibly answer them all. Let's start with some that you can, though. What are the names of the other four people sneaking into houses this morning?"

"Four?"

"Yes. What are their names?"

"T-there's some mistake. Only three of us are searching houses. Jim, Brian, and me. Everybody else is asking around other places."

"Shouldn't you be at church right now? You know it's Sunday, right?"

"Uh, ye-yes..." he stuttered more, probably wondering why I was asking off-topic questions. I wanted keep him confused and make it hard for him to calm down long enough to fabricate answers. Often, the way in which something is said reveals more than the statement itself. "This is kinda a special case," he continued.

"True. It's not often you get to be in a witch hunt. Did you find her yet?"

"Wait, what? She's not with you? But you..." He trailed off.

"I haven't seen her since yesterday. But let's get back on topic. I assume your whole congregation is out looking for me, right? Kind of funny since I don't have the witch."

"Well, they're not all looking. It's kind of secret still. Not supposed to talk about it..."

"Except to men with guns, right? Then you can talk all you want."

"No, I- Even my wife doesn't know."

"So Father Smith doesn't want word to get out yet. That is very wise, considering what might happen to someone who let a witch escape judgment. How many did he tell?"

"I don't know. I swear! Like, maybe eight or nine people."

"I saw more yesterday."

"Ok, more than nine. I don't know. Nine of us were there yesterday afternoon. I guess somebody went with Phillip and Dave to the hospital too."

"So by 'eight or nine,' you mean twelve?"

"Yeah, sure, twelve."

"Which is it, Robert? Eight or fourteen?"

"Twelve! It's twelve! Why are you doing this?"

"Purely interest. Why are you in this house?"

"I already told you! I'm just following orders, looking for you!"

"You said you were all together yesterday afternoon. Are the thirteen of you meeting again later?"

"Thirteen? It's twelve."

"You didn't answer my question, Rob."

"At noon. We're all supposed to talk then."

"At the church?"

"Yes."

"Mind if I tag along?"

"Why would you want to? They're after your head!"

"Father Smith and I have some things to discuss. He'll be there, right?"

"Yes."

"I want to talk to Brian as well. He'll be there too, right?"

"Yes, yes. Everybody's meeting then. But seriously, you should run. You're obviously not stupid, and Father Smith really really wants you dead."

"You are in a terrible position to be offering advice, Rob. Now open the door and go back inside. It's stuffy out here." He did as he was told, and once inside I pressed the gun against his back as I searched for his cell phone and removed it. He also had a pistol tucked in his belt, which I let the clip fall from, primed, and then tossed under the bed. "Go downstairs. Have you had breakfast yet? I haven't."

"Uh, no, me neither," he said as he began walking.

"Jolly good! Then the three of us can dine together." Robert had to turn around at that, and Catherine poked her head out from behind me for a moment.

"Great. So I did exactly what I was told and found both of you, and now we're going to eat breakfast together before openly walking back to the church. How am I supposed to react to this?"

"You should be extremely happy I haven't shot you yet," I replied with a smile.

Breakfast was delicious, and my new guest continued to follow instructions perfectly. While Catherine changed in the bathroom, I had Robert sit staring at the corner of my room so I could get out of my pajamas without losing track of him. Catherine had spent nearly an hour looking through my old clothes to find something that wasn't too big to allow the mobility she would need when we ran into more trouble. I quickly tossed on my usual cargo pants, T-shirt, boots, and belt of stuff. Afterward, we returned to the kitchen where I handed Robert a trash bag. "Make yourself useful. We've got a few hours to spare." He stared at the bag, then back to me, so I continued, "Help me pick up the mess in here."

He slowly began collecting the debris, but replied, "You know this is pointless, right?" "Explain," I said as I leaned against the wall to adjust my boot. Catherine stood to my left, trying to stay as close to me as possible. "Well," he said while continuing to collect the scraps of drywall and wood around him, "The witch must have told you by now what will happen when you two get caught... and you're apparently going to turn yourselves in today..." He paused as he picked up a few more pieces, so I replied, "You were there Saturday morning, right? I'm not turning myself in, just going to have a chat with our hunters." "Chat?" he said questioningly. His tone changed as we talked this time, and it started to make me uncomfortable. "Are you implying that there's something you can say to change thousands of years of church doctrine?" Instead of the honest response, I shrugged. "It seems like a better option than playing cat and mouse."

He stopped for a few seconds, his back toward me, before speaking through clenched teeth, "There will be no 'chatting.' The witch must die!" I knew before he spoke the second sentence that he was about to do something stupid, but wasn't able to react fast enough. With a loud yell to keep him going, he spun and lunged toward Catherine, pushing my gun aside. His right arm was raised, a shard of wood clutched in his fist, while his left held the shotgun barrel. My free arm shot up to stop his strike. I grabbed him by the wrist and turned left, ramming him into the wall with Catherine between us. She ducked, slipping around behind me while Robert and I struggled to gain an upper hand on the other.

"There's nothing you can do," he yelled as he began to push me back, "We are the people of God and we must follow his will!" There was no sense in replying. Shifting my weight to one leg, I gave him a swift knee to the groin. This was no time to worry about fighting dirty, after all. Weakened, his whole body relaxed slightly and I threw him to the right and jammed my foot under his to make him fall. As he hit the floor, I jerked back on the gun to release his grip and in doing so pulled the trigger. I flinched from the recoil and noise before looking back down to see where the shot had landed. All I could do was stand there for a minute, staring at what was left of my enemy's face as his blood spread across the kitchen tiles.

Eventually, I let the arm I was holding fall limply to the floor and stepped back a few paces. My ears were ringing still when Catherine approached again. She said nothing, just put her arms around me and avoided looking down. I closed my eyes and took a deep, shaking breath before turning away. "Is this what everyone at that church will do, or can one or two of them talk sensibly?" I asked quietly, directing the question toward both Catherine and the body behind me. There was a long period of silence before she answered. "They are... quite clear... on what must be the fate of any practitioner of witchcraft... I will be hunted to the ends of the Earth, along with anyone I am with."

I took a step forward, stopped, and thought a little more before continuing to walk upstairs. My pace slowly increased as Catherine struggled to keep up, still trying to stay in contact with me. I stopped at the top of the steps, turning to her. "This has to end. I can't stop the whole church, but I can deal with twelve." I paused. She was shaking again, trying to control her tears, keeping her arms wrapped tightly around herself now that she'd lost hold of me. I tried to soften the look on my face before placing my hands on her shoulders. "Whatever happens, you will be okay. I will protect you." I pulled her close, hugging her tightly. "I'll need your help, though. We need to work together to stop all of this. Do you understand?" She slowly nodded.

My head was pounding and the adrenaline was still flowing, so it was difficult to focus on planning. We had two hours before they'd be meeting at the church. I collected Robert's pistol, clip, and ejected round. There was a holster to fit it in my old airsoft gear, so I dug that out and put it on the back of my belt after changing pants. Remembering Saturday, I pulled my katana off the wall and sheathed it on my back. What use it would be considering how armed everyone else might be, I had no idea, but it always made me feel powerful to carry a blade. The remaining ammunition for my shotgun fit on its sling. As for Catherine, I was doubtful of the point in arming her but clipped a can of mace to her belt after explaining how to use it.

Catherine explained as much as she could about the church layout, and we talked about some plan ideas until it was time to go. At 11:30, we climbed into Robert's car (wearing gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints on it) and drove silently toward the church. I'd made up my mind what was going to happen, unable to find an acceptable alternative considering the events so far and how determined my enemy was. Catherine remained conflicted, and I dreaded the thought of bringing her along, but without her mana it was unlikely I would get far. Every possibility flew through my mind during the drive, including the reoccurring fear that I was on the wrong side of this conflict. Even if that were true, though, I wanted to live, and few things influence one so forcibly as the desire to survive.

The church was a short drive away. It looked even gloomier in person, despite the colorful stained glass windows. Maybe it was the gated wall that did it, or the light rain that kept the sun at bay. Nine cars were parked in the lot, making me hope a few carpooled as I pulled into a spot close to the corner of the building. After scanning the area for others, we got out quickly and raced into the cover of some bushes. The sound of another car pulling in was heard seconds later, and they stopped next to the one we'd driven. The man was on the phone when he opened his door, and his voice sounded extremely angry. "What? Yes, I just got back. No, no, Dave's in surgery still. I'll tell you about it in a minute. What? I already told you that. He's dead. He was dead yesterday and he's still dead today!" He ended the call and slammed the car door, walking quickly toward the door before the phone rang again. "Now what? I told you I'm already here. Which Robert? How should I know? His car's here, so he's probably inside. Is that everyone? Good, now stop calling me."

We waited for the church doors to shut before moving around back and slipping in another entrance. Catherine held my hand tightly as we slowly made our way through the building, stopping at a few doors to listen in. We eventually found the correct one, a rear entrance to the main hall. Muffled voices came from inside, at least thirty feet away. I whispered to Catherine, "How many doors are there to this room?" She held up three shaking fingers before pointing down the hall at the next door. "And the third?" "We have to go through the room to reach it, but nobody can see these two from inside and there is a short wall we can use to get to it." I nodded and placed my free hand over the lock, focusing carefully. It heated quickly and I pulled the inner workings together, welding them solid. Unlike the pure manifestation of mana, this heat burned my palm and I had to move away. The molten metal also left spots in my eyes that slowly faded.

We listened for any change in the voices inside before moving to the other door and slowly creeping inside. I closed it behind us and welded its lock shut too. Once my eyes were clear again, we moved carefully out of the back room and into the main hall. The room itself was large, but no bigger than an average church hall. Noises echoed under the high ceiling, and two wide rows of thick wooden pews stretched from the front of the building to the raised platform in the back. Father Smith paced back and forth behind the pulpit with heavy footfalls, while the other eight sat or stood in a group in the audience.

Catherine and I moved quietly to the side of the hall, behind one of the three foot high walls that ran along the length of the pews, separating them from the outside wall. I thought they looked like a fancy waste of space considering the overall floor plan, but right then they were amazingly helpful. After we passed the group of people, the same ring tone from before went off. We stopped as the man answered and the group fell silent. He spoke for a minute and hung up before addressing the others. Apparently the other person in the hospital had died as well.

One of the other men cursed and kicked something. A loud thump followed as something fell off the pew onto the tiled floor. Conversations picked back up slightly, but were still in tense, subdued tones. I moved on, blocking out unwanted thoughts of guilt. It took an unusually long minute to reach the main door. We crawled behind the rearmost row of seats until we were a few feet away before stopping to think about how to seal it quickly. "The doors open inward," Catherine whispered to me, "Just block it." I gave the pew behind me a testing shove before asking, "do you have enough mana to move this thing?" Catherine nodded, so I shuffled away from it and rehearsed the desired action in my head.

With the cracking of broken bolts, the several hundred pound bench was wrenched upward and then slammed into the door none too delicately. All conversation ceased as everyone turned around in surprise. Father Smith froze before slowly turning toward us. Silence fell over the room as the dust settled. We were still hidden by the next intact pew, even from the raised area at the other end of the hall, and it took a while for anyone to break the silence. "Who dares..." began Father Smith slowly but loudly, "who dares defile the house of the Lord?"

"That would be me," I shouted back, "but it was already defiled by your presence long before I got here."

He fumed silently for a bit, then continued, "I remember your voice... You brought the witch here too, didn't you?"

"You keep calling her that. Why? Why don't you use your own daughter's name?"

"I have no daughter!," he screamed, "That thing is nothing but an abomination!"

"Possibly, but if so, she's definitely the cutest abomination I've ever seen. You're not laying a hand on her while I have anything to say about it. Now can we talk about this, or are things going to get violent again?"

"There is nothing to discuss, you insolent fool! You-"

I cut him off, addressing the others instead. "What about the rest of you? Is anyone here capable of rational conversation?" My question was met with silence, then the sound of someone priming a weapon. I pulled out the mirror I'd brought and looked over the pew to locate them. None had moved yet, but the group had now picked up a variety of firearms. As a group, they seemed to have three shotguns, two hunting rifles, two pistols, and some sort of assault rifle. "I don't think you're supposed to have those in a church, guys," I yelled, "but seriously, I'm giving you one more chance to talk about this."

Father Smith slowly walked to the pulpit before speaking, as if he was going to give a sermon. It was a short one, and as with most sermons, I didn't like the message much. "The word of our Lord God dictates that we must not allow evil to walk this earth among us. Through our hands, may He cleanse this house of worship by removing the witch and her protector. Go forth in God's name, and destroy them!" A shot echoed through the hall as someone hit my mirror. "Fine!" I yelled, "If that's how this is going to go, so be it!" I placed a hand on the next pew and forced it out of the floor like the last, throwing it down the row as I stood up. The men scattered to avoid the massive projectile as it bounced over the other pews before skidding to a stop next to Father Smith. I picked a target and fired my shotgun before crouching down again, bullets splintering my cover and flying overhead. The noise was deafening as they fired over and over again at us. The thick pews absorbed most of their bullets, thankfully.

I pulled Catherine along as I moved away from the middle aisle, then stood up and fired twice. One of my shots hit its target, but so did one of theirs. The bullet hit me in the left shoulder, knocking me off balance and back to the ground. My arm still worked, so I ignored it and kept moving. Based only on assumptions, I'd stupidly underestimated their firepower. I slung my shotgun onto my back and told Catherine to hold onto my waist while I focused on the next mana use.

When we reached the outer isle, I glanced down to be sure no-one was in sight before moving down it toward the other end of the hall. As we passed each pew, I broke the bolts connecting them to the floor without moving them too much. When the sound of gunfire tapered off, I stopped and placed both hands on the floor, focusing intensely. Seven pews rose into the air and went hurtling in every direction. I peeked above cover again to try to spot where my enemies had spread out to while things were still chaotic, and counted five targets. Choosing the one with the assault rifle, I formed an orb of mana and fired it at him before ducking again. The shots resumed, and we crawled further along the aisle away from their new target location. Taking a turn, we moved toward the center aisle where I peeked out and looked up and down it. One man was at the end, who quickly spotted me. As his bullets ricocheted off the floor, I pulled myself back and crawled back to the side aisle.

Every time I tried to pick someone off, the others rained lead on my position, and I regretted not having taken the opportunity to kill them all when they were together. I'd convinced myself to come to the church for exactly that reason, to end the hunt one way or another, but I hadn't had the nerve to strike first. Repeatedly, I cursed myself for being too soft in a deadly situation. Not even my feeble control of magic was helping. I tried twice to make a shield, but found myself unable to maintain it, and I knew any large scale attack would also endanger Catherine and myself. How was an unprepared weakling like me to handle this chaos?

A bullet tearing through my calf ended my internal lamentations and brought me back to the immediate problems. One of the men with a pistol had made his way to the end of the aisle as we reached it. Just as it had the other day, time came to a crawl. I turned to keep myself between him and Catherine while lifting both palms and summoning an attack. Anything would do. I simply needed to hit him with something.

Our exchange turned out to be a bullet for a massive ball of orange and blue flames. His hit me in the chest. Mine incinerated him instantly, igniting everything in the area as it scorched its way down the aisle before exploding on the back wall. I fell back gasping for air, partly from the bullet in my lung and partly from the fireball having consumed much of the oxygen around us. "Why didn't you do that before?" I wondered to myself while Catherine pulled her arm out from under me. The bullets ricocheted around us briefly as she sat beside me, both of us staring at the ceiling. "Now what?" I asked, "This... isn't going... well." She kept staring, lost in thought, an intensely focused expression on her face.

After a while, she spoke. "Why are you doing this for me? Why didn't you just run?"

"I don't... really know...," I replied between breaths, "It seemed like... the right thing to... to do at the time."

"You're not a soldier. You're actually a terrible shot. And you know very little of the power you could be using. So why would you think you can protect me?"

"I had to... try... Couldn't just... let you die... that easy."

There was another pause. The shots had stopped and the men started yelling back and forth, moving closer. Catherine still stared at the ceiling.

She spoke more quietly, with an inquiring tone now, "How much do you trust me?"

"Enough... to do something... this stupid?"

"In that case... there is something else I want you to do for me."

"If it... involves getting up... I don't thi... think I can."

"Open your mind." She turned to me and looked down, placing a hand on each side of my head before leaning over to place her forehead on mine. Her eyes closed, so I closed mine too and tried to figure out how one would open their mind. I relaxed, but that only reconnected me to my senses. The bullet wounds burned, my ears rang painfully, and I smelled fire and gunpowder everywhere. I felt also Catherine's hands holding me, her hair resting on my face, her mind reaching out to mine. My eyes opened on their own and met hers as I tried to grasp at the mental connection. It quickly grew stronger. She smiled, clamped her beautiful green eyes shut again, and focused. My mind was suddenly overwhelmed with information.

At first, it was an incomprehensible wave, but it soon became clearer. Various random memories and information faded from the wave as it focused on one subject. She was trying to show me a specific set of memories, a huge library of research, everything she knew about mana, but it was too much, so less, then less, then less. The memories became clear as my mind was forced to absorb them. By the time she pulled away, I had a splitting headache, but an amazing new understanding. I opened my eyes again and was shocked by the new appearance of the room. Traces of mana floated around like smoke. It was a magical thing, transcending typical senses as she'd said before.

Catherine quickly broke me from my trance. "I gave you enough information to do what I need next," she said as she lifted both of my hands and clasped them in hers, "Grant me the ability to control mana." "How?" I began, but trailed off. She'd already explained it. With what she'd placed in my mind, I understood. I took as deep of a breath as possible and focused with eyes closed. I felt the flow of energy coming through her hands and channeled it to my will, using it to alter the very mechanic on which it operated, sending it back. As I executed the command, she sent a surge of mana through the connection to power it.

Just as we finished, someone ran out into the aisle, shotgun raised. Catherine's eyes flashed open as she released my hands, brought hers up, and clapped them together. She smiled and looked down at me. "Thank you, John." As the man fired, she spread her arms and released a sphere of mana around us. The pellets bounced off of it, sending sparks of light in every direction (at least to my eyes). Catherine's smile widened. She turned to him as he primed the gun again. With another clap, which I assumed she was doing to focus the mana for use, she sent the gun flying toward the ceiling and tossed him back down the aisle. More shots bounced off her shield as she knelt back down beside me, her smile fading.

A glowing aura of mana surrounded her. It struck me that through these eyes she looked far more holy than evil. Running a hand across my chest, she stared intently at the gaping wound. The glow spread there, and I felt it reaching into me to pull out the bullet. Another shot bounced off her shield from the other side. With an angry glance upward, she sent the chunk of lead flying through the man who'd just shown up. As she focused on my injuries, her jaw was set and her eyes narrowed. The pain fluctuated, intensifying and then easing depending on what she was doing, and I began to lose understanding of what was going on. Sounds became muffled, lights faded, and everything seemed to move sluggishly. It occurred to me eventually that I was blacking out, and I fumbled for my water bottle and splashed it on my face, shaking away the darkness for a second.

From that point on, nothing was very clear. Catherine pulled me upright, leaning me against the wall, and said something before walking away for a minute. When she came back, she knelt beside me again and turned my head to face her. She was speaking. It was probably important, but I couldn't hear anything but a muffled rush of noise. She stopped speaking and paused, then leaned in and kissed me. It felt wonderful. A calm washed over me with that kiss, as if that alone could heal my wounds. I wanted to embrace her, but couldn't move. And then... she was gone.

My vision blurred to nothingness and the wind blew past me. I fell backward onto grass and rolled to my side. The confusion jarred me from my comfortable state. I shook my head again and again, trying to dispel the darkness. It eventually cleared, and I rolled into a kneel on shaking legs to look around. I was in a field near a road. The land sloped upward. It looked familiar. Despite the pain in my calf, I limped toward the road and began to follow it. It was the one we'd taken to get to the church. The church? That was where Catherine was. I slowly continued up the road, not knowing why. There was nothing I could do to help her in this state anyway. Too much missing blood.

While I walked, I looked myself over. The spots where I'd been shot appeared to have closed and left large, white scars that shimmered a little. They still hurt, though, a lot. My shotgun was still on my back, but the pistol was gone and my sword sheath was empty. I wondered if firing the gun would knock me over as I trudged along, looking for signs of how far away the church was. The second part was answered soon, in the form of the glow of mana not far away. A dome of energy appeared at the top of the hill, or at least I assumed that's what it was from seeing the top third of it above the trees. I increased my pace, eyes fixed on the dome, but seconds later it was gone. A strange sound followed, as if of a lot of air moving, before a wind swept past me toward the church. The ground shuddered slightly and then all was quiet.

I was close enough then that the sound of gunfire would have been heard through the church walls if there were any. Instead, there was only silence. Tendrils of mana floated past me as I rounded the last bend in the road before the church. Just then, there was no road. I stumbled to a halt and looked around. There was no road, no wall, no parking lot, no church... no ground. The dome of mana had been a sphere, and when it disappeared it took with it everything inside. In the center of the huge hole, remnants of energy flowed outward from a pulsating orb of mana which was slowly fading. Water from the severed underground pipes rushed to fill the vast pit, proof that this was no illusion.

After who knows how long of standing at the edge of the emptiness, I turned around and walked home. It took hours, and I should have called someone to pick me up, but I just kept walking. My senses dulled and returned many times along the way. If someone had driven by, we probably missed each other while I lay blacked out beside the road. Somehow, I eventually made it. I stumbled through the back door and stopped, confused. Something was missing. It took a second for me to look down and figure it out. The floor was clean, not covered in blood. Where there had been a body, there was only a bullet hole in the tiles. Everything looked clean, in fact. My cabinet was sitting sideways on the counter, overflowing with the things that had been blasted out of it, and the debris was gone.

Actually, everything was glowing... but... not really. After a few more seconds, I figured out that the glow was the same as what remained at the church and on my wounds, the aftereffects of mana. Next to the cabinet lay my katana. Tendrils of mana drifted from it too. Excitement overtook me, and I limped into the dining room. Empty. I checked the other rooms and limped upstairs. Flinging open the door to my room, I stopped. Empty. She wasn't there. My excitement vanished, and I reluctantly refocused on keeping myself alive. Although all I wanted was to go to sleep, I forced myself to eat and drink first, then flopped down in my bed. Complicated and confusing dreams came and went, probably a mixture of the weekend's events and the foreign memories that were still trying to settle into random parts of my own as if time-stamped. Other information that had slipped through during our connection further confused me through the night, but was all a blur in the morning.

Monday came as quietly as the last days had at first. I could barely move upon waking up, but felt miraculously better than when I'd fallen asleep. When was that, anyway? Not caring, I let my eyes close again and slept for a few more hours before my alarm ended my slumber. Monday meant classes, I eventually reminded myself, but that didn't seem to matter much anymore. As I got up, I considered looking for Catherine. Where would I even start, though? The only places I knew she'd been were here and what was now a hole in the ground. "Keep moving," I told myself, "You did what you could already." She returned to clean up her mess, then moved on. If she hadn't come back all night, it was doubtful she would be back at all.

I begrudgingly went through my day as usual, driving to class, doing homework, going to another class, and driving home. It was boring, especially compared to the last two days, and I spent the whole time in a daze. On the way home, I noted through grinding teeth that I shouldn't be walking around or driving on a bumpy road the day after being shot three times. Years of construction and welding had given me a much higher pain tolerance than most, but that only went so far. I made it home, pulled into my driveway, and leaned back with a sigh. The rain had moved on and the sun was shining, but a mental shadow remained over me. I got out and limped inside.

Again, something was different. The light was on in the kitchen and it smelled like food. I turned toward the hallway, and in an instant the pain and shadow was gone. Catherine was standing there, frozen in the middle of biting an apple, dressed in a different set of my clothes and appearing very much at home. We stared at each other for a second. I dropped my backpack, she dropped the apple, and we collided in an embrace. Nothing was said for a minute or two, then I managed to ask, "what happened? I was worried about you."

Catherine was silent for a few more seconds, still holding me tightly, before answering. "I... left, intending to stay away..."

"Why did you come back?" I asked, "You can use your own mana now, so you can go anywhere you want, right?"

"I don't want to go anywhere else, just here." We were quiet again for a bit, before she added, "and... I might need your help for a while longer... I may or may not have used all of my mana... It will take some time to regenerate."

I laughed. At that moment, she was back from being a frighteningly powerful wielder of magic to a normal woman, though she still looked the same either way, apart from the aura I'd seen a glimpse of earlier. "That's fine. By the way, what did you say yesterday before you teleported me out of the church?" She was silent, apparently not wanting to answer. "Alright," I said, "I'll get you to tell me later." She relaxed, pressing against me again. "Hmm... you probably will." Countless questions remained, but I ignored them, enjoying the silence. Something told me this peace was a temporary one, and that things would soon get interesting again.

It wasn't long before the pain crept back. I squeezed out of Catherine's arms and made my way to a welcoming-looking kitchen chair. All day, I'd pushed away the questions that had piled up this weekend. Now, with their source, they returned to overwhelm my thoughts. "A lot of things happened extremely quickly, so I'm still processing everything. First, though, I want to know what happened yesterday." Catherine sat down next to me. Her smile was suddenly gone. I added, "All I know is that the church is missing and you're back here. Fill me in, please. What did you do?" She took a moment to respond. "Do you want the simple version or the detailed version?"

"Simple for now, please."

"Alright... after I moved you outside, I... finished what we went there for. I destroyed the church... broke it down at an atomic level... and scattered it." Her voice started to shake. It was clear that whatever yesterday's events were, they were going to haunt her. Describing it started to bring back pain she'd already pushed deep, deep down to escape from. I wasn't going to let her carry to weight of that day alone, though, and I had to know what happened to understand the consequences.

"And the people? They were still shooting when you teleported me."

"I..." The words caught in her throat and tears began to fall. "I..."

"It's alright." I pulled her chair closer and hugged her again. "I know you don't want to talk about it, but you need to tell me what happened. I need to know."

Still crying, she eventually spoke. "I killed... the-they... John, I... I didn't want to, but they were shooting at me, and they hurt you, and... and I was scared and powerful and confused and... I don't know, I just... They..." Her words became incoherent. I hugged her more tightly.

"Shh. It's alright. You did what you needed to do to survive. I'm sorry you had to. I wanted to protect you, but it turns out you're a whole lot stronger than me." It wasn't clear whether or not she could even hear me. "Does this mean it's over? Are we safe?" After a few minutes, I began to get frustrated. I never was the emotional type. "Catherine, please pull it together for a minute. Without knowing what went on yesterday, I have no idea what's going on now." I turned her towards me, trying to figure out how to get her to say more. Instead, she eventually reached up with both hands to pull my face toward hers. Our foreheads collided painfully and she began trying to connect her mind to mine as we'd done before.

Her sadness overwhelmed the connection at first, but before long I found myself looking at a memory. It was hazy but understandable. I was looking at myself, extremely concerned and scared. Millions of thoughts buzzed through my head, strange, foreign patterns of thought. No, this was Catherine's head. Sharing a memory is confusing. The person in front of her was starting to lose consciousness. He wasn't safe here. The memory cut out and skipped ahead a few seconds. She prayed desperately that her magic would work as intended, and moved him outside to a field she remembered passing. The memory started to stabilize. Things looked somewhat clearer and sounds started coming through.

Now what? She was alone, surrounded by men intent on killing her. The mana felt strange flowing back through her. It was uncomfortable, almost painful. Everything felt wrong, physically and emotionally. She knew everyone in the room, but they no longer knew her. She was a monster now. She was scared, alone. Two bullets bounced off her shield and she flinched in surprise. Someone was running toward her. Who? Did it matter? His gun was raised like a club. Was it out of bullets? Jammed? Did he know the shield was made to stop only fast-moving projectiles? Her thoughts raced faster and faster. Another man was coming from the opposite side. Why was all this happening in the first place? Why were we fighting? The gun was falling. Closer. Closer. If it made contact, there was a ninety percent chance she'd be knocked unconscious. She knew approximately twenty ways to stop that from happening. Which one? Why is this happening? Closer. Why? Closer.

Right about then, something snapped. Catherine shifted position to let the gun swing past her, grabbed the man by the throat, and threw him down the aisle with the help of her mana. The second man skidded to a stop a few feet away and decided to try shooting again. He didn't have time to pull the trigger before Catherine grabbed the barrel of the gun and disintegrated it. The dust of his weapon fell through his fingers as he stood frozen by the angry glare of the witch. She was tired of this now. The power to crush everyone in the room was hers. It literally poured out of her in waves of energy. To use it burned more and more, pain multiplying with every action, but now she wasn't scared. She was pissed.

Remembering a comment about feeling powerful that her new friend had made earlier, she summoned the sword he was carrying. Gripping it tightly, she lifted the unexpectedly heavy blade and shouted with hatred as she cut down the man in front of her. Flames leapt from the blade and engulfed him; in seconds he was gone. Her glare turned left to face the remaining men. Another bullet bounced from her shield. Him. He would be next. She jumped and rose above the pews to careen toward her target. He had time to fire one more shot before her blade sliced his gun in two and her heel cracked his ribs. The weight of her tiny frame wouldn't normally have been enough to knock him down, but with high speed he found himself on the floor, staring up at certain death. Catherine brought down her blade before he had time to draw another breath.

There were only two men still breathing before her at that point, both injured, both scared. One limped forward, screaming, swinging desperately with a long brass candle holder. Catherine glared at him, stopping him in his tracks as his scream faded to a quiet cry of fear. She summoned a pillar of white-hot flames around him that immediately consumed both him and the useless candlestick. One more. One more fool began to crawl away, whimpering in fear. She smote him too, and turned toward the back of the hall. The task was nearly done. Just one more, and she would be free. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the pulpit flying into the air to splinter against the wall. The petrified old man hiding behind it fell back, shuffling away from her. He gripped a polished gold cross with the trembling, white knuckles of one hand while he used the other to desperately drag himself backward. Just one more life.

With a glance down at the cross, Catherine paused. An unfamiliar reflection stared back at her. The monster's scowling face was spattered crimson. Its clothes were burnt and bloodied and obscured by a swirling aura of mana mixed with wisps of smoke and flame. It held a flaming sword in its right hand and reached forward with its left, claw-like, itching to take the life of its helpless victim. The monster was precisely the evil the church existed to fight, and the monster was her. The sword slipped from her limp fingertips to land with a dull thud. Her reaching arm fell and her upright, powerful stance degraded.

"Why?," she asked weakly as her eyes met those of her father. With everything racing through her head, that was all she could say, standing there in the burning, bullet-ridden hall. "Why?"

Father Smith could only stare back, locked in place by fear. It slowly dawned on him that his death was no longer imminent, but that wasn't the only thing on his mind. This terrible monster, suddenly close again, looked so much like the daughter he loved. Why? There was no reason why. The world can simply be cruel.

Catherine fell to her knees, once again indecisive. She could kill him in an instant and be free. Everyone else who knew her secret was dead or on her side. Just one command and it could be over. Just one more life.

Meanwhile, her father argued with himself too. His choice was nearly the same. The evil he swore to fight knelt before him in the form of his only family, his once beloved child. He'd made this choice before, though, twice in fact. The path for him was clearer.

Through her tears, Catherine saw her father stand up. His face was set in a stern frown and his movements were rigid. As he spoke, he raised the gold cross above his head and looked toward the sky. "Lord, give me the strength to cleanse your house of this evil... May its vessel find peace."

"Why?," she asked again.

"The Lord..." he whispered, "commands it." He raised the gold cross higher, intending to use it as his weapon of divine punishment. Catherine finally looked up to reply one more word, barely audible. "No." At her silent command, the cross melted. Father Smith screamed in pain from his burnt hands, molten metal splattering across every surface as he flung it away. Catherine stood with the sword in her right hand and the collar of her father's shirt in her left, and transported them both outside. Without speaking another word, she generated a spherical field of mana around the church, and destroyed it. She wanted nothing more of that place; she wanted it gone. She wanted it scattered irretrievably across the Earth.

The task of disintegrating an entire building, ground and all, took more of a toll on her than she should have risked, and this became abundantly clear as the process began. It felt as though her body and soul were burning, breaking. The physical and mental pain were so great that she lost focus on anything else. All senses were overwhelmed, her vision nothing but blinding light, all sounds covered by a desperate internal scream. To remove the building took less than a second, but Catherine was unaware of time's progression from the moment she thought the command.

When she woke up, she was lying on the driveway of her new friend's house. Perhaps that was the only place that came to mind to escape to. A pounding headache threatened to split her skull open, but the pain of her mana usage was otherwise fading. She was numb at that point, mostly. Where was he, anyway? She closed her eyes and sought him out. It was another trick she'd read about, witches being able to physically locate those they'd linked to. He was alive and moving, slowly, at least a few miles away. She sighed in relief. If he was walking, his injuries must not have been as severe as they looked. After all, no one would be dumb enough to walk home while they could barely maintain consciousness, especially ten miles. She couldn't imagine even walking two, having been stuck within the church walls for the length of her memory.

As she thought more of her friend, guilt piled onto the mix of emotions already weighing her down. Did he deserve to be dragged into the mess that was her life? If he was willing to go as far as they had today, what else could happen? The thoughts stacked up and she cut off her connection with him as the relief wore down into depression. He was important to her, her protector, her only friend... but she was a dangerous burden to him. She eventually decided to clean up her mess and leave him in peace as she trudged toward the door. With what was left of her mana, she unlocked the door and set about removing the body they'd left in the kitchen. Unsure what else to do, she disintegrated it as she'd done with the church but on a much more finely aimed scale.

From there, the memory began to fade a little. It was hard to tell at first whether the exhaustion I was picking up from Catherine was in the past or present. The memory skipped forward for a few seconds. She was in the woods, walking away from my house. No, she was back inside now. The stars shone through the tree canopy. She was hungry and alone. The church flashed back into view again, and the memory cut off. I was suddenly back to the present and shaking off the strangeness of reliving an event I'd never taken part in. After a few seconds, I finally processed it and looked down to find Catherine snoring in my arms. Evidently, the thought transfer required mana, which she was still slowly recovering and had now spent again.

I let her sleep while I sorted out what this new information meant. Most importantly, her father was possibly still alive. I hadn't a clue what to do with that knowledge, but it was good to know. Apart from that, there was the subject of her power. She clearly knew how to use it and had plenty of mana to do whatever she wanted, but when emotionally charged, she seemed to waste most of it by letting it pour into the air. I wondered how unstoppable she'd be if she learned how to control that. The level of control she'd shown already was beyond impressive considering the toll magic use seemed to take on her. With all the other foreign information, I couldn't tell exactly what she felt up until the end, but it seemed painful, a kind of unnatural pain shared by mind and body that grew more intense the more she used her power.

With a glance back down, I also wondered what might happen if she got angry at me. What does one do with someone who can kill you in an infinite number of ways with a mere thought? Perhaps the church was right to eradicate such a threat. I carefully moved the terrifying monster off of me so I could get dinner. She slept soundly at the table, an unstable nuclear bomb resting in my kitchen, slowly regenerating power. As I heated up my food, it occurred to me that she was not just unique by the very nature of her existence, but within the classification of a witch as well. I wasn't the one who'd researched the subject half my life, but a case where one controls her own mana seemed like something that would stand out. If word spread, the church would no doubt put every resource available into finding her again. So would anyone else with an interest in power. Meanwhile, it seemed she was intent on clinging to me. I still couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing. In any case, I'd already grown attached to her in the last few days.

After a quick dinner, I checked on Catherine again. She was sleeping deeply still, but not comfortably. Now and then she would mumble something or twitch. Afraid she'd move too much and roll off the table, I carefully moved her to the couch. The wound in my chest flared up painfully again as I lifted her, so afterward it was back to the chair where I could rest for a while. It was probably a half hour later when her scream woke me. I jolted out of the chair to find her on the floor in front of the couch, curled into a ball. She was crying again. "What's wrong?" I asked as I stumbled toward her over the chair I'd knocked over. She flinched a little and looked up when she heard me. Her eyes were wide with fear. As I knelt down beside her, she moved away a little but leaned back into my chest as I opened my arms to hug her. "It's alright. You were dreaming."

When she eventually fell back asleep, I tried to get up, but her arms had become firmly wrapped around me. Uninjured, I would have just taken her with me and gone to bed. It wasn't like either of us had more important things to do than lay around recovering. I sighed and leaned back against the couch, not wanting to either wake up Catherine or aggravate my injuries. Pulling a blanket down from the couch, I settled in for the night and dozed off again.

Tuesday morning, I awoke before sunrise. That was strange, but not as strange as waking up propped against a couch with a sore neck and a quietly snoring woman in my lap. As I sat there, I decided a few things: One, I would not stupidly go to classes until my injuries healed. Two, Catherine could stay here for the time being. Three, I would not attempt to deal with the effects of her mental trauma alone. I'd had trouble with the emotions of women with normal lives in the past, so this was way over my head. The obvious solution there was to consult my ex. Contrary to social norms, Tess and I were still close friends, and she just happened to be a psychology major with a knack for understanding people. I carefully reached around Catherine to get my phone from my belt, then texted Tess to ask when she was free.

There wouldn't be a response for a while, it being so early, so I set the phone down and pondered what to do that day. It had been a while since I'd hurt myself enough to need rest, so not working on a project like renovating the house or something was weird. It occurred to me that I was unsure what normal people do every day. Watch TV? Play video games? I had a house to work on, and injuries were annoying. Thinking about that again, I placed a hand on my chest where the bullet had entered. It hurt to breath now, but there clearly wasn't a chunk of lead in there, and I wasn't coughing up blood. It would seem that Catherine had enough medical knowledge to repair a lung and torn muscles. What else did she know?

The train of thought was cut off by my phone beeping loudly. Catherine jolted awake and squeezed my waist tightly. "Calm down. It's a text message. You're okay," I said as I patted her trembling head and reached for my phone. The text was a badly written reply from an obviously half-asleep Tess saying that she was free after noon. That meant I only had half of a day to stumble through caring for a traumatized young woman alone.

It was a slow one, as expected. Catherine didn't talk much, and I didn't pry for more information. She continued to doze off throughout the day. I took it as a chance to catch up on things online. There were a few articles about what the local media was calling a sinkhole so far, but nothing about missing persons. Evidently that was still being covered up. Since there was nothing to be learned about it at the time, I opened the flood of messages that was my gaming chatroom and scrolled to the bottom. Anything hidden in over two thousand posts that couldn't be repeated later wasn't worth the time. A few people were on, so I said hello and asked what I'd missed. It was the usual: some multiplayer groups, spam, and a serious discussion thrown in here and there. Normal, uninteresting, everyday stuff. At that point, hearing about it was a nice break from the weekend's events. Everyone in my little group was safe, spread out across the world and away from the madness around me.

It wasn't until later in the chat that someone asked where I'd been, so it threw me off. How should I answer that? Trying to defend a witch from a mysterious church and nearly dying would have been a fun answer, since they would laugh it off, but I went with the more vague option of "here and there, working on some projects." It seemed best to keep any hints about this off of the internet. Apparently that was enough of an excuse for them, because we moved on and found ourselves in the group's Minecraft server where I struggled to keep up. Playing on a laptop was a challenge on its own, but there was also a set of arms wrapped around my neck. Catherine had fallen back asleep against my shoulder. I wondered exactly what the recharge rate of mana was while giving up and switching to creative mode. Was it possible to apply a standardized unit to magical energy? Joules maybe?

After a few hours, my game immersion was broken by the sharp pain of Catherine tightly gripping my shoulder. Her arms around my neck were shaking, eyes open and locked on the screen. It took me a second to realize she'd woken up to see my character running around killing mobs with a sword. I quickly closed the game. "Well, looks like I'm once again failing to not make things worse," I said while setting the computer aside, "That was just a video game, nothing to be worried about." I patted her on the head, unable to do much else with her clinging. "Are you feeling a little more rested?" She nodded and slowly released her fingernails from my shoulder. Trying to create a conversation to distract her, I made the first comment that came to mind. "Know what you remind me of..." I said with my hand still on her head, "the cats that keep coming here for help... I'm going to stop calling you Catherine and just call you Cat." I glanced back over to see her glaring silently at me. "Hey, for one, it's a shortening of your name, and two, I'm comparing you to a cute animal that I can't help but want to take care of." Her glare did not change. "Right... breakfast time?" Glare. "Breakfast time."

While making pancakes, I explained to Catherine who Tess was and why I wanted them to talk. She was uncomfortable with meeting someone new, since the majority of people she'd met until then eventually attempted to kill her, but after a while she understood and agreed that it would be better to talk to a female psychologist than a male engineer. Her acceptance of the plan was a relief. After breakfast, we chatted for a while. Catherine slowly opened up again and became more talkative as I steered the conversation toward things like finding out more about her hobbies and interests. Since she was home-schooled, I also wanted to get an idea of how far she'd studied, so we dusted off a few of my textbooks to page through. As I suspected, based on the factual understanding it would take to pull off the magic she'd demonstrated, we found very little she didn't know or couldn't decipher. It was impressive, but it also made me extremely jealous to know that someone three years younger than me was further ahead in every subject.

The sound of a knock at the door ended our conversation. We both tensed and fell silent, still in the mindset of one being hunted, before I realized that it was probably Tess. I peeked out the window then opened the door for her. We immediately hugged and said hello before she came in, asking what I wanted her to visit for.

"Well," I sighed, "I have a very delicate issue that I was hoping you could help with... You see, I've been letting a woman stay here for a few days, but she has some problems I can't solve. It's complicated."

"Ooh, new girlfriend?"

"No, Tess, not like that at all. She's-"

Catherine walked into the hallway then.

"Hi, John's girlfriend!" Tess said loudly to her before saying more quietly to me, "I didn't know you were into teenage girls..."

"Ugh, shut up. It's much more complicated than that... and she's nineteen." I walked over to Catherine and pulled her a little further down the hall. "Catherine, this is Tess. Tess, this is Catherine. Cat, Tess is hopefully here to talk to you about what's going on. Tess, Catherine doesn't legally exist and has magical abilities and therefor is being hunted by a mysterious organization that we only know of as 'the church.' She was raised in part of this church, the people of which tried to kill us so we had to kill them instead and now she has PTSD on top of the other problems being separated from society your whole life causes." I let that much sink in for a second. "So... that's the simple version. I was hoping your expertise could be put to use here. What do you think?"

"Um... wow, ok... That's more complicated alright. I was really excited at first too. Assuming you're not kidding, this is more depressing and terrible. What can I do?"

"I'm completely unqualified to handle the mental side of this. Please talk to her and help her sort out what's going on, so this doesn't cause any more trauma than it already has."

"Okay, I can do that... Let's, uh, let's go sit down."

We moved into the living room where we all sat on the couch in silence for a minute while Tess processed the tiny bit of the story she'd heard and pondered how to proceed. I hoped it wouldn't take long for Catherine to warm up to Tess, partly because her grip was cutting off circulation in my hand. I also hoped neither of them would get overwhelmed by the situation.

Eventually, we got a conversation going between the two of them and I was able to silently listen. It was extremely interesting to observe, which was lucky because there was no way Catherine would let me leave, and I learned some new things. Her grip loosened as she grew more comfortable, then tightened again as they discussed something traumatic, then loosened again as they resolved it. They went on for hours, well past dinner, with no sign of stopping. There was a lot to talk about, after all. Around 7:00, I convinced Catherine to continue without me for a while so I could make some food. She argued, but I noted that I'd been silent for the past hour, that there were probably discussions to have that I shouldn't be part of, and that she hadn't eaten in at least seven hours. That convinced her to let go of me, so I gave her a hug and left.

Returning later with meals, I knocked and yelled through the door to ask if I should come in. Tess yelled back no, but Catherine yelled back yes, so I entered. "Interrupting something?" I asked.

"Yes, actually," Tess replied, "Girl stuff."

"That's important, but so is dinner," I said, handing them each a plate. "I can leave again if you want." Catherine protested, so I sat back down. "Sorry. Girl stuff will have to wait if it requires my absence."

"Nah, we can just embarrass you instead."

Catherine shifted uncomfortably, looking away from us. I laughed a little. "Let's not. It looks like I wouldn't be the only one." We ate, set the dishes aside, and resumed the conversation. I'm pretty sure it was another couple hours before I dozed off. Apparently the subject changed while I was asleep, because I woke up to a kiss on the cheek. After taking a second to figure out who it was, I turned and frowned at Tess. "Don't plant any ideas in her innocent head, Tess. That's not what I invited you for."

She laughed in response. "Oh, right. Just because she was raised in a church doesn't make her innocent." Catherine shifted away, embarrassed, while Tess continued. "Don't be embarrassed, Cat! Can I call you that yet? That's such a cute name. I don't know why you don't like it."

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Look, I'm just saying that I know she needed to be convinced by you to do that. It's not unwelcome, but I wouldn't encourage her to get attached to me in that way. We met three days ago under extremely complicated circumstances, and any emotional response is probably unusually exaggerated by that."

"So serious... Cat, get attached to him any way you want. You're lucky you ran into him instead of anyone else. John, I was right. Ha."

"Hey! About what?"

She got up and stretched instead of answering. "I'm staying here tonight, k? Are you two free tomorrow to talk more?"

"Yes. You should know that. I'm sure the part about recovering came up somewhere in all that."

"It's all jumbled up now... but yeah," she said, her voice becoming suddenly angry, "I wasn't happy to hear about the reason for that. I stayed on subject because you made me, but we're having a long talk about what's going on in your dumb head later. Got it?"

"Sure, sure," I said with my hands up, "Later. You can have the guest room, since someone else refuses to use it. I'm afraid my bed's getting a little full."

"Aw... You sure you don't want two women sleeping with you?"

"You hog all the space. We wouldn't all fit," I said, sticking my tongue out.

"Liar! I do not! Ok, maybe a little... Fine, I'll use the other room. Wouldn't want to get in the way anyway." She winked and started upstairs.

"Stop it." I sighed and led the now extremely awkward, blushing Catherine upstairs too.

Wednesday was another all-day therapy session. Having just graduated and still jobless like most of our generation, Tess didn't have anywhere else to go. As unfortunate as that was, it made the current situation survivable. Her help was invaluable in stabilizing the dangerously confused Catherine, and, when I finally admitted that there was time for it, working through my side of the mess. As evening rolled around, everyone was mentally exhausted from two days of intense psychoanalysis and the inherent emotional rollercoasters. Tess went home and Cat and I sat in the living room silently letting things sink in.

Catherine sounded more stable now, and was much less skittish. When Tess left, she hugged her and claimed she felt better then than any other time in the last few years. That must have been a self-esteem boost for a psychology major. It also reassured me that maybe everything could turn out alright after all. Maybe, just maybe, we could all lead relatively normal, safe lives again.

Of course, that sort of optimism was baseless. Things never turn out right on their own. We'd bought some time, but that was all. Before long, this fragile peace would be smashed into razor-sharp shards of conflict and hatred. In the back of my mind, even while congratulating myself on making it so far, I knew that we would need to prepare ourselves as quickly as possible to survive outside the eye of the storm.

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The story continues, but this is all I have written down, and all I'll probably post for a while. Feel free to comment if you enjoyed the read or hated it, or if you have a suggestion for turning it into an actual book sort of story. Suggestions for categories, tags, or a rating change would also be accepted. I'm a little burned out from writing this much, but some day I'll need to record the rest of what happened or this dream will start repeating again.