Lost Bloodlines Ch. 07

"I suppose not," I replied casually. I turned my eyes to the exhausted monk in the corner. "Do you still have it in you to do our Glamours, Sha'vas? I'd understand if you need a bit more of a break after all that."

The monk shook his head in resignation, but heaved himself out of the chair with a sigh. He straightened his askew robes and approached me warily. "I can manage. I would rather our business today be concluded sooner rather than later. Glamours are far simpler than a permanent corporeal transformation, and I know from experience that they work on the Turned. It won't take me but an hour for all of you here. I'll begin with you, Lady Lilith, if that's amenable?"

"Sure," I muttered, and stepped forward. When his eyes began to lightly glow and his fingers started to trace little sparks of light over my body, a thought occurred to me. "Can the disguise come in any form? Could you use it to make me look like I did as a human?"

Sha'vas shook his head in the negative. "I'm afraid not. The Glamour anchors on the soul itself, so will be a reflection of your transformation. I anticipate you will look much the same as the Firstborn did when using her Glamour."

I frowned, but did not speak again as the soul mage continued his machinations. It took about ten minutes of light touches from the mage all along my body as the yellow magic appeared to cling to me after his touches. Near the spell's completion, my skin was practically itching with the electric sting of his magic, but I remained stoic, eager to just be done with it all. With a last sweeping gesture, I solidly felt the spell take hold, and the itching turned into a full-body burning sensation that lasted but an instant, but left me disoriented afterwards.

In the aftermath, I could feel the change in my body, most notably in the absence of the now-familiar weight tugging at my shoulders and neck. I stretched a hand to my head, but the curling horns that had become a daily reality were gone. As I tried to stretch the strange muscles that moved my wings and tail, I felt nothing respond. A wide grin broke out over my face. I was human!

With an abrupt displacement of air, a full-body mirror appeared next to Sha'vas (presumedly at the smirking devil's behest.) I rolled my eyes at the theatrics, but stepped into the frame to view my reflection.

To my disappointment, I saw that not much had really changed in my form. My face, height, and body were all identical to how they appeared in my new form, just without the supernatural coloring. My skin was a dusky olive, and my eyes a piercing green. Returned to normal human coloring, my features appeared startlingly Levantine, as you might find in a woman from Lebanon or Palestine.

"You will be able to maintain the Glamour for roughly seventy-two hours before needing to transform back into your natural form. The longer you use it, the more time it takes to recharge. Be mindful of this when interacting with the human world for lengthy periods of time." I acknowledged his words absently, still running my hands along my face and arms. Somehow, seeing myself this way was even harder to accept than the demonic transformation. At least when I looked like that, it was magical, otherworldly. But now I just looked like a human, but so far different than my own body that the difference was jarring.

Sha'vas spent roughly the same amount of time on each of my companions, leaving behind a group of fairly average-looking humans in this world of demons and goblins. Cyrilla, Sam, and Victoria all appeared much the same as they did before, only losing their supernatural attributes. Draco had the most dramatic transformation, turning from a stocky, scaled reptile into a nondescript man of Nordic features, with short blonde hair and a close-shaved beard. Seeing his own refection, he just raised an eyebrow in response, and I wondered how different this form was compared to his original.

By the time Sha'vas was completed with us, Barbas's ritual over Aqua had come to an end, and the feline demon was standing placidly over her sleeping form.

"Lord Barbas," the monk bowed as he approached. "Is it safe to attach a Glamour to your patient?"

The demon responded with a solemn nod. "Her healing has concluded; she just needs rest now. A Glamour will not interfere." Barbas turned towards me as Sha'vas began his spell over Aqua's sleeping form. "I understand you have another companion in need of healing. I sincerely apologize, but I would ask you give me a day to recover. The siren's treatment was unusually taxing." I frowned, but given Elizabeth's seeming indifference to the loss of her arm, perhaps she wouldn't mind waiting another day for its return.

"That's fine. Thank you for Aqua, it means a lot to me to see her better again."

Barbas just blinked at me, before leveling a small bow. "It was my honor to assist, Mother. I will see you tomorrow." With that odd goodbye, the short lion-man blinked out of existence with a puff of red smoke.

After Barbas's abrupt departure, I shared a tired look with the rest of my friends, opening my mouth to speak, but the devil beat me to it.

He had blinked from his chair to stand in our midst, uncomfortably close to Sam and I. I saw the angel lean back slightly as Lucifer just appeared in our personal space, but the devil was undaunted.

"Well," he clapped, smiling wildly. "That was far more entertaining than I expected! Perhaps it will not be such a chore to house you lot if you make every day as interesting as this." He winked conspiratorially at me, and I just grimaced. He clapped his hands twice, and the doors leading back to the dining room slid open, Camilla and company standing at attention on the other side. "Who's ready for lunch? I'm absolutely famished." He blinked again, appearing next to Draco and slinging a causal arm around his shoulders. "The dragon knows what I'm talking about!"

I was fairly certain that Draco, in fact, had no idea what Lucifer was blathering on about, but as we all shared a look, I shrugged, and followed the devil back into his dining room.

Something told me I would have to get used to his brand of insanity for the time being.

-00000-

"Thanks, sweetheart. You're doin' the Lord's work!"

Faith Roberts smiled wanly as the overweight man took her proffered magazine of loaded rounds. With a sigh, she turned back around on her stool to face the loading bench, opening another box of bullets to begin the next monotonous task of loading them into empty magazines.

All around her, the atrium of the local church bustled with activity. A dozen other woman sat with her, taking over the task of packing rounds, sewing arm-bands, and putting together rations. Members of the Militia crowded together in clumps, always armed, even in this holy place, laughing and bragging about their recent kills or captures.

At the far end of the hall, her father, Pastor Roberts, led another group in a prayer, offering a benediction to the men and women about to head off to battle, and blessing their weapons with a an anointment of holy water. She spied her younger brother, Timothy, among the men in the group, his hands shaking lightly as he held tight to their family's old hunting rifle.

She caught herself from uttering a curse aloud where the other women might hear her. Tim was barely seventeen, but their father insisted that he join the next hunting party. The Pastor had been preaching for a week now that no man would enter the gates of heaven until he killed a demon, and he had been insistent that his own son be seen following his example.

The past week had mixed together into a confusing jumble for Faith. After flying down to Atlanta to see Charles after that horrible day in the diner and finding that...monster, in his place...

Faith choked down a quiet sob and wiped her eyes quickly, reaching for another round to distract herself with the monotony of her ordained task. After finding...him...like that, she had returned to Maryland in a fugue, angry, scared, and lost. Paster Roberts had taken one look at his distraught daughter and announced that they would be moving south, along with a significant part of his congregation with him. The 'faithless bastards' in the area around Baltimore had apparently decried the mistreatment of the demons that appeared in their midst, and the Pastor wanted to relocate to an area with folks of a more...militant, mindset.

And so, now she found herself in a small town in South Carolina that had turned into a regional hub for the Militia. After Congress had announced their alliance with Hell and some sort of battle broke out in Georgia, the Carolinas and over a dozen other states had declared their secession only this morning. Faith didn't know what she was supposed to call herself now, if not American, but the one linking ideology of the seceding states was the Militia. And now they were preparing for war.

Faith believed in their cause, she truly did. If her father believed in it, then it had to be true. He was a true man of God. But after everything that had happened...she was having doubts.

The violence, the bloodlust in so many members of the Militia that she had met was sinful in its intensity. Even her own father's rage and vitriol against the monsters was a sign of wrath that shocked the woman to her core.

And every time another Militia member came in, bragging about bagging another 'demon bitch', her mind flashed unbidden to her last sight of Charles. That red-skinned, horned monstrosity that had consumed her one true love, with an image of terrible loss and betrayal on its stricken face as she screamed obscenities at it. She knew it was wrong, that the vile demons weren't human any more, but her heart seized every time she imagined Charles suffering under the hands of the 'Holy Warriors' around her. He had been a good man, the best she had ever known. He didn't deserve the punishment her father had so ardently preached.

And so she found herself quietly following the lead of her family, attending every service, taking over whatever menial task was asked of her without argument. She didn't know what else to do.

Her hand clenched around the ring hanging between her breasts as another fresh round of tears stung her eyes. She kept the necklace hidden, the last piece of Charles she had left, knowing full well what her father might say or do if he found it.

"Faith!" A voice called from nearby. In a rush she dropped her hold on the ring and straightened, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her blouse as she looked around. Near the door, her mother was waving to get her attention, a concerned look on her face. Faith stood, plastered a friendly smile on her face, and hurried around the table, weaving between the clusters of men and women dotting the room. Her smile tightened as a hand grabbed at her ass as she passed, but she said nothing. Her mother was wringing her hands anxiously as she approached.

"What is it?"

Her mother offered a nervous smile. "Another party drove in for a resupply."

Faith raised an eyebrow. "Okay? I'm on magazine duty right now, I think Sarah and Mitch are handling deliveries."

"They asked for you specifically."

Faith smothered a sigh, and instead nodded her understanding. Several of the Militia members had taken a liking to her since she arrived, both for her looks and her esteemed status as the Pastor's daughter. Some of them liked to be served personally from time to time. She hurried to the armory housed in the church's cellar and explained the situation to the woman behind the counter.

The older woman gave her a sympathetic look, but gathered the boxes of ammo and the cart for transport. Faith sullenly tugged the cart up the ramp to the exterior of the church, heading for the nearby street on the other side of the church courtyard. She offered greetings to the few people she knew who passed her, but just tried to get the task out of the way as soon as possible. There would probably be some catcalls, overt flirting, and maybe a grope or two, but if she was quick and quiet, she should be able to get back to the relative safety of her stool without incident.

When she pulled up the curb, a van was idling nearby, a few unfamiliar Militia members lounging around outside of it.

"Three boxes of 5.56, two 7.62, three for 9mm, and four.308. Is that everything y'all needed?" She recited from the list the armorer had given her. The apparent leader of the militia squad pushed off of the van and approached her, looking over the boxes in the cart speculatively. Faith waited calmly for the men to start loading the van, but jumped as a voice spoke behind her.

"Not quite everything," it said menacingly, and she yelped as a strong arm wrapped around her neck from behind. She tried to scream for help as she fell backwards into a waiting man's arms, but her breath was cut off, and only a tortured gasp escaped. She lashed out with her hands, but another Militia member grabbed them. The leader jerked his head towards the van, and she was swiftly pulled off of the street. Her captor maintained the tight grip around her neck as she was pushed into the back of the van in seconds, the doors slamming shut and the other men piling into the car. Her lungs burned and her vision was starting to grow hazy, but her heart spiked again as one of the men turned in their seat to look back at her as the van lurched into motion.

His dark skin seemed to shimmer with an off-white light as he raised a phone to his ear.

"Target acquired successfully. ETA two hours."

Just before Faith began to slip into unconsciousness, she saw the unknown man's skin fully shift its shade, becoming a deep blue. A shock of pale white hair adorned his head, and two pointed ears stuck out jarringly. The elf's glance of disgust towards her was the last thing she remembered.

-00000-

AN: Devilish bargains and a cliffhanger! I hope you all enjoyed this recent installment, I apologize for the long wait. Moving to a new country and starting a new job didn't leave as much time for writing as I'd hoped, but with any luck I'll return to my previous writing schedule now that things are settled. As always, please leave a rating and a comment below!

-HistoricallyInaccurate