Exousia - The Patron Saints of the Damned -Book II
Chapter 17 - Head Wounds and Healers

Ted sat in a circle with his friends, in a small clearing where the morning sun managed to get through the trees. His shoes were off, resting his feet while the rest of them shut their bloodshot eyes. As tired as they were, however, none of them could sleep. He looked at each of them in turn, trying to see if there was anything he could do for them.

Marshal, who sat closest to him, was running his hands through his hair every few minutes like he didn’t know he was doing it. Though his face seemed calm, he was blinking a lot. His cheeks were a little bit sunken as well, which made him look like he might be keeping a neutral expression by biting their insides. Of course, none of them would have thought less of him if he did show how afraid he was. But he always had to be in control himself if nothing else. And to lose that … he might fall apart.

Billy stood a little bit further away from the group. He watched the woods and then stared at each of them in turn, like he was hoping that someone would meet his gaze. He wanted and needed attention, but everyone knew that giving it would lead to him leeching even more. Without thinking, Ted averted his eyes so that he didn’t look willing to be that person. He knew that the poor kid was just trying to take reassurance from the rest of them, but nobody had reassurance or stability of mind to spare.

Oddly enough, David was the only one of them moving. While the others rested, he used his stick to walk circles around the small clearing where they’d stopped. After a while, he seemed to get bored with that and began to collect flat stones. His leg looked terrible, though. Dried blood that had seeped through his pants. Maybe he was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to move again if he stopped. David also seemed to be forcing his eyes to stay open, and every now and then they would glaze over. It was like something inside of him was shutting down, and the rest of him was putting up the best fight that it could.

Upon seeing David collecting rocks, Brennan, Jodie, Marshal, and Derrick joined him. They chose stones that were relatively flat and easy to hide in their pockets. They gave any extras they found to the others.

Of them all, it was still Sam who looked worst. His silence had turned to a complete bodily shutdown. He sat still, his eyes locked dead ahead. This behavior was more terrifying than the woods and even the girl with the scar. He’d seen something terrible that none of the rest had, something that had broken him.

Derrick was also acting strangely, avoiding all of them, pacing around, or pretending to replace something interesting to look at. Ted wasn’t sure what the problem was, but he knew better than to try to be confrontational with his brother and so gave him his space.

Ted instead stayed close to Jodie, who still had a red-eyed and a haunted expression on his clenched face. He seemed second-most unhinged out of all of them, but there was more than that to why all of this was so difficult for him. He had a tender heart. Ted still remembered the first time he’d seen this side of his friend. It had first surfaced when Jodie lost his cousin in a car crash a few years back; he’d been unable to go to school for a few weeks after it happened.

Ted had gone to see him and found out that his parents couldn’t get him to eat, sleep, or respond to anybody talking to him. So, he stayed during the weekends and slowly managed to get him to open back up. Soon after, Jodie was back at school with his famous smile—charming the ladies and making everyone feel like they were friends with the king. He acted like none of it ever happened, likely because he just couldn’t deal with all that pain.

Only Ted knew that there was more to him than he showed to other. Of course, he never brought the painful memory back up; he could never hurt his friend like that. Like always, he played it funny and said, “Don’t worry man. Soon we’ll be out of here and back at school. You’ll be famous as the guy who beat the snot out of the Woodcutter and saved us all.”

Jodie gave him a confused look.

Ted shrugged and smiled with mock defensiveness. “I mean, I’ll mooch my own badass credits too. I’m sure the public will settle for an outstandingly handsome imitation hero when you’re not around. Am I right?”

But Jodie didn’t respond. It was like … he couldn’t even hear him. Paradoxically, it was this condition which made Ted feel less afraid of the girl with the scar and more scared of the woods themselves. He had never believed in magic or the supernatural, but there was something wrong with the woods. And as terrifying as that was, it also allowed for a small chance that the girl with the scar was really trying to help them.

Ted’s thought process was interrupted by gunshots, coming from the direction of the fire-tower. Then there was a girl’s scream. And, though the idea of it seemed impossible, it sounded vaguely like … Megan.

-O-

Exousia was lost, confused, and disoriented as she floated in the darkness. So, she remained motionless for a long while before she forced her eyes open. When she did, she didn’t see the girl, the wolves, the phone tower, or the woods themselves. She was in a room, looking up at a fan, a white ceiling, and a fluorescent bulb which blinded him to everything else for a few moments. The room around her was pink—a generic color for a small human child whose parents had gendered them female. The color went along with the “girl” toys and “girl” decorations hung over the dark walls. Mostly, these were objects related to princesses. To her side, there was something that felt a bit more comforting and real … an old and worn plush toy wolf. More than that … it seemed familiar.

A feminine and vaguely familiar voice called, “Emma, are you getting ready for church?”

Without thinking, Exousia got out of the bed and walked to the mirror. Her eyes had to refocus before she could really see her reflection. She touched her cheek, noting how unusually soft it was. This wasn’t her face; it was smaller and rounder. And there were no scars on her jaw or temple, nor were there any discolorations in her brown eyes. She was … just a child–one who looked about seven years old.

Her headache suddenly became worse.

Without awaiting her command, Exousia’s body reached for a jacket that had been on a chair. This was when she realized that she was not in control of her movements. It was like a film being played in her head. She was a prisoner whose spirit was trapped in the body of a human child, only able to watch.

The child then grabbed a pair of shoes and then dashed down the high flight of stairs. The stairs were familiar as well, with stained wood steps and a beautiful metal-work railing. Iron-cast leaves that decorated the entire staircase. It was a sign of wealth, along with the ornate nature of the rest of the house. The walls and antique furniture were decorated in expensive-looking and mostly religious-themed relics, vases, and paintings.

Exousia noted that the house would have been a nightmare for a vampire to traverse. Though, to be fair, she didn’t like it much better herself.

The human child rushed through the living room, out of the house, and towards the car. A frosty wind pushed through her clothing, making her shiver as she fastened her seat-belt.

“I’ve told you a dozen fucking times not to wear that jacket,” the mother muttered under her breath. She was a small woman with a small frame, pale skin, and long brown hair. She wore jeans and a sweater, both of which were more the quality of clothing that people lounged around in. Judging by the fact that her shoes were fuzzy slippers, it didn’t seem like she planned to do more than drop the child off at their destination. “It’s like you want to embarrass us.”

“Sorry, mom,” Emma whispered in reply.

Without another word, the mother pulled out of the driveway and kept her attention on the road. She had a glazed look in her brown eyes and did not look like she was in the best condition to be driving. But she managed, going well above the speed limit.

Exousia sensed the girl’s thoughts as if they were her own … and yet not. She could feel the nervousness like standing on the edge of a cliff–hoping and praying not to say the wrong thing that would send her falling into the abyss. Exousia could even tap into the surface of the child’s recent memories.

Emma had been at school most of the day and had come back to her parents fighting. It was likely why her mother was dropping her off at church … to give them space to continue doing so.

The mother pulled into the church parking lot and stopped the car. “Your father or I will be here to pick you up in a couple hours. If anyone asks about us … let them know I haven’t been feeling well.” The way she said it made it sound like she wasn’t at all lying. She opened the car door and began driving before Emma could even shut the door behind her.

Exousia felt uncharacteristically unnerved and unsettled by the situation, though she couldn’t figure out why. She’d fought a god, killed men, and hunted every manner of creature there was. So why did this feel so … terrible? And the name … Emma. Had that not been her own in a past life? Yes … though Exousia had been too confused by the absolute lucidity of this dream to realize it before, she now suspected that this was a memory. This wasn’t a certainty, but she had a distinct feeling of deja-vu. And what little she had observed about the child’s life seemed to line up with what she’d been told about her own past.

But the questions of ‘why’ remained. The only answer was that Ammon had gotten into her head. This had to have been the nature of the trap in the woods. But … what was the reason? Like the demons taking the shapes of wolves, was it all just to exhaust her emotions? No … Ammon would be doing more than just that.

Regardless, Exousia determined that she would not be affected by whatever emotional subversion that was at work. She’d left these memories behind so long ago that she no longer considered them her own. She would watch with coldness and detachment and try to understand what element of them would serve her enemy’s plan. Yes, searching for clues in a place that Exousia was meant to be vulnerable, confused, and helpless would undoubtedly give her the best idea of what his strategy was and how to counteract it.

Time passed quickly in that suburban church full of plastic plants and white walls. Exousia didn’t listen to the words of the minister or the gabble of the humans she saw peacocking around him once the service was over. She just focused on controlling her mind and on the girl’s memories. It wasn’t until they were outside, in the frosty night air, that she began to pay attention to her surroundings once again.

The members of the church slowly emptied the building while the girl waited at the glass doors. She repeatedly looked at her digital watch as time passed and no familiar person arrived to pick her up. An hour later, she was still alone, and nearly everybody was gone from the church. When the people around her began to stare and whisper amongst themselves, she felt a sickly, nervous feeling form in her stomach. Anxiety, fear–this feeling told her she needed to escape!

So, Emma began to walk home in the cold. Though it was only a few miles in a very secure town, the walking alone at night scared her. She kept moving while her teeth chattered and her heart-rate quickened. As much as Exousia tried to remain detached, she could still feel the cold, the frantic breaths, and the effects of a rapidly beating heart enduring too much stress for too long.

It made sense, she reasoned, emotions were mostly physiological responses to external stimuli. Just like the cold, Exousia would feel the physical responses of Emma’s fear even if they didn’t fear the same things. Still, Exousia’s comprehension of this did not change the fact that the child’s rapidly beating heart and frigid body were leaking emotions into her own mind.

After two hours of walking in the cold dark, Emma finally made it home. She touched a very pink and slightly numb hand to the doorknob. The cold metal bit sharply at her skin, but it was unlocked. She opened it and went in. For a moment, it was difficult to breathe in the heated air. But her lungs soon adjusted and she walked up the stairs. Her cheeks and ears tingled as numbness left them.

A father’s booming, threatening shouts came from the master bedroom. The mother screamed something nearly unintelligible in reply, her voice raw. It was difficult to understand the topic of conversation. But that tone spoke volumes that context could not.

Was Exousia supposed to understand that her biological parents had been unwell? This wasn’t exactly news. The Archangel Gabriel himself had said that the two of them had been corrupted. That was why Exousia had been chosen before there was any hope that a human could win against Ammon … a human sacrifice that would neither miss its life nor be missed. But did Ammon know that? Maybe this had all been planned to make Exousia feel insecure. Well, unfortunately for him, she was more than ready for it.

The child took off her shoes so that she couldn’t be heard walking. Some part of her suddenly wished that the walk home had been just a little longer. She crept up the stairs and pressed her ear to the door. Her father again shouted something with violent aggression–so loud that it rattled the door. The words were slightly slurred and difficult to understand for how raspy they were. He wanted something … and he would have his way.

Emma felt so helpless. Part of her felt like it was her own fault–that she should go in there and fix the situation she’d caused. But also, her fear acted was a spotlight that froze her in place just like a deer. Some part of him also knew that nothing she could do would make a difference. But, of course, she told herself that it was purely his cowardice which kept her from moving. She knew that if her parents decided to turn the verbal assault against her, she would be able to do little more than stutter. Then she would be hit … with a belt … a willow branch … a cutting board … even just an open hand. Over and over, until her body gave out from exhaustion and all she could do was sit there motionless while being beaten. Until the “spirit of rebellion” was “broken.”

Suddenly, Emma heard footsteps coming towards the door. She tried to move, stumbled over her feet in a rush to back away, and fell onto her backside. The door flew open just as she stood back up. It struck her squarely in the forehead. Sharp white pain filled her senses. It was followed by disorientation as she stumbled backward several steps and then found her footing gone. There was a brief feeling of weightlessness until her shoulder bounced off the rounded edge of a stair.

Had the stairs been straight, the girl would have just fallen all the way down. But as they had a slight spiral, the girl’s momentum was stopped abruptly when her face collided with the banister and its ornate metal leaves. A feeling like fire filled her senses as the decorative metal leaf tore into her cheek, ripping clean through the jaw up to the temple. Then, all movement stopped, and the girl laid motionless on the stairs.

Both Exousia and the child blacked out several times. They at last awoke to screaming and sirens. Then they were in an ambulance with a paramedic right beside them. But the paramedic wasn’t the only one there. A tall, sinister-looking shadow stood in the corner of the vehicle, mixing up something in a small bowl. When the paramedic climbed into the passenger’s seat, the dark figure began to wrap the girl’s face with the skill of a surgeon and applied a mixture of dried leaves. His scarred, black eyes never glanced away.

Everything went to darkness.

-O-

Exousia’s eyes felt like they were taped shut, and she had the sensation of being shaken by someone with a firm grasp on her shoulders. She was being stirred, she realized. Someone was trying to wake her because … she’d been dreaming … asleep. She slowly managed to peel open one eye and then realized that she was on the ground, looking directly upward.

Inches from her was the face of the human girl who had been chased by demons. She was holding Exousia’s head in her lap, wrapping a cloth tightly around it to try and dam the warm stream of warm blood that was trickling from the knot in her temple.

Exousia looked up at her, stunned and confused. It took her a moment to collect herself and remember the gun. She glanced around and saw it about a foot away, just within arm’s reach. She wiggled her fingers to assess whether she could quickly reach and grab it. But the movement was stiff and slow, meaning that any other attempt to move quickly would not work out well.

“Are you okay?” the girl asked, her eyes big and intense.

Uncomfortable and unsure, Exousia met her gaze but struggled for what she would say. For a moment, she felt trapped. She didn’t know how to react to this proximity to a human. Her muscles tensed a little and she wanted to move away. But she knew that she needed to calm down and act tactically. This human was first and foremost a threat. She had a deadly weapon and was doubtlessly looking for the other humans.

So, Exousia fluttered her eyes to try to imitate head trauma and let them wander so that she could study her as a potential threat. Sure enough, switching her frame of mind brought an immediate feeling of security. The human’s eyes were sharp and direct. This, in combination with having taken care of her wound and having kept the gun close, were likely indicators that she was smart and reasonably capable for a human. She wore a tank-top, jogging shorts, and a zip-up hoodie that was open in the front, revealing a somewhat muscular form, particularly for such a tall and narrow shape. These long limbs would give her an advantage when it came to reaching… meaning she would be able to grab the gun faster than Exousia could. On the other hand, the human had a nervous energy about her, and it wasn’t just from the woods.

Now, what to do? The idea briefly crossed Exousia’s mind to just tell the human the truth of the situation. No, it would be too unbelievable. Even the younger teenage males were not ready to accept what had happened when they were living it. Exousia could not trust the present situation to the chaos of human emotions, mixed with a gun. Any fearful reaction could mean a bullet wound and a quick end to the Challenge.

Exousia decided that her only play for now was manipulation. So, she asked, “What happened?” She purposefully strained his tone to indicate pain and confusion. The words sounded forced and ridiculous to her, reminding her that charisma and manipulation had never been her strengths. But she ignored that feeling.

The girl’s eyes relaxed just a bit, with relief. “I’m so sorry! Something–I think coyotes–were chasing me. When you grabbed me, I fell and accidentally…” She struggled for the words.

“It’s fine, I-” Exousia touched the cloth wrapped around her forehead. It was made from the extra bit of fabric that had been the end of the girl’s green tank-top and was soaked with blood. A memory of a girl in a green, flannel shirt pierced through Exousia’s mind almost as painfully as the drilling sensation of the injury. She gasped genuinely, biting his lower lip to try to control her response.

“Don’t touch it!” The girl grabbed her hand and forced it down to her side.

Exousia barely managed to restrain herself from grabbing the human’s wrist defensively and breaking it. Fuck, what was happening to her?

Fortunately, the human girl didn’t seem to recognize the threat at hand. Her expression was intense and protective … to a peculiar degree. But then that look was gone and replaced by one of red-faced embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, I just meant that it just stopped bleeding. You don’t want to make it start again.”

Exousia also felt strangely embarrassed by the overreaction. Agonizing memories danced and shuffled in the forefront of her consciousness, untethered by the barriers that she so consistently had in place. Yes … Ammon’s strategy was working. She had to get her shit under control! Exousia took a deep breath, forced her thoughts into a present state of mind, and said, “I think I might have something that will help it.” She reached into one of the hand-sewn pockets on the inside of her green hoodie and removed a small pouch.

This contained a paste meant to speed healing and sanitize. She pinched a tiny bit of it between her fingers.

What is that?” the human asked. It seemed that she had the need to control situations that she deemed volatile. Useful.

“A disinfectant,” Exousia replied.

“At least let me put it on you … if that’s okay.” The human’s face flushed with a deeper shade of red when she said it. “What I mean is, I can do it if you want … I can probably do it without removing the bandage.”

Exousia resisted the thought, at first. But … wouldn’t this be a useful way to exchange some trust? Gritting her teeth, she handed the poultice over to the human. She looked down to see a writer’s callus on the inside of both the human’s middle and ring finger. This meant she made notes with a pencil or pen … which was unusual in the technological age of humanity. And having a callous on both fingers likely meant that she had sprained or broken her index finger and been forced to adapt when she wrote.

The human girl began to gently apply the antibacterial cream.

Exousia tried to force herself to try to engage in conversation. “I saw the wolves attack you … they do that sometimes. Of course, you shouldn’t be out here. There was a rabies outbreak.” The words came out bossier and more authoritarian than she would have liked, and she found herself irritated by her own lack of verbal grace.

Fortunately, the provision of a logical explanation made the human look a little less nervous. Exousia had long since learned that humans had the natural inclination to believe that which least challenged their perceptions of reality, and a tendency to be comforted by such things that they could understand. It was what had gotten her out of a lot of situations with them during her time training and hunting monsters.

“I didn’t know it was off limits … or that there was a rehabilitation program in Alabama. I was just looking for my brother and his friends.” The human’s eyes widened, as she suddenly remembered. She pointed at her upper cheek, right below the temple. “Have you seen him? He has messy, blonde hair that comes down to about here.”

Exousia nodded. “They’re all uninjured except for some minor scrapes and bruises. My … dad does research out here. We found your brother and his friends stumbling around last night. We invited them to stay with us since we had a few extra cots. I came out here because I saw your car and figured it belonged to one of their parents or something. I think … one of the guys got a call through?”

“Yeah, Sam did, but the connection wasn’t very good. I had to use his GPS location.” She pulled out her own phone, which had no signal.

“I think we should get you to them, then,” Exousia said, making a mental note to take the phone as soon as possible. The last thing she needed was even more human showing up. She glanced out at the woods and saw three sets of black eyes watching them. Slowly, she stood to her feet while the human helped keep her steady. Loud enough for them to hear, she said, “We don’t want those poor wolves to replace us again. The disease makes them aggressive and stupid. But I can handle them if they do.”

The girl stared with a confused look but then nodded in agreement and reached for her gun.

Before she could take it, Exousia knelt and snatched it. She looked down the barrel at the unimpressive weapon. “This is nice,” she lied.

Sure enough, the human’s face squeezed into an uncomfortable shape, clearly unhappy about losing her weapon to a stranger in the woods. She was visibly forcing herself to stay calm as she said, “Yeah … it’s my dad’s. He keeps it in the car. I never thought I’d actually need it, especially against wolves.”

“Better not to need it, to quote the tired cliché,” Exousia said, and then winced when she thought that this was not something a human girl her age would say. It sounded too uppity and cynical, particularly in regards to a weapon that some humans regarded with a sort of reverence. She shook her head and began to walk. Breaking the human’s line of sight on the weapon, she opened the ammunition chamber and was relieved to replace only one bullet remaining.

Dufaii had enrolled her in firearms classes, both to equip her with combat knowledge that was not generally used by demons, as well as to teach her how to manage his discomfort around humans in a high-pressure situation. This had made her familiar enough to know how a gun worked; though she did still disliked the loud, smelly, and inelegant weapons. Additionally, most guns were ineffective against immortals, so she had no reason to keep one of her own. Only a handful of demons and angels carried them, and even these weren’t foolish enough to waste pieces of their soul as ammunition that could so easily be lost. Thus, bullets were useless against soul-armor and had reduced damage to even the bare bodies of angels and demons.

Exousia covertly removed the bullet, dropped it into a pile of dried leaves, replaced the clip, turned around, and handed the weapon back to her.

The human girl immediately breathed a little easier once it was in her hand. “I’m Megan, by the way.” She put the gun back into the pocket of her red hoodie.

Exousia almost replied but was again distracted by a question gnawing at her. Why had this human been summoned here? Exousia was sure that the human named Sam had been tricked into calling her specifically instead of the police. It wouldn’t be difficult, a bunch of demons waiting by the humans’ loved ones and directing their thoughts to call her specifically would be easy enough for Ammon to accomplish. But it seemed a lot of trouble for no obvious gain. Did this human girl even have any continued relevance to their plan? Or had she had served her only purpose in baiting the trap?

Either way, Ammon had supplied another soul to get through the woods before she could be corrupted. This worried Exousia not because it made her job more difficult, but rather the opposite. The soul of this human, like most of the others, was as far from corrupt as a human soul could be. Why? The question was so bothersome that Exousia momentarily forgot to respond to the girl’s introduction. Again, she felt at a loss for words, but she needed to understand this human’s place in the challenge. “Why did you come here alone?”

Megan looked like she was taken off-guard by the question. But after a moment of stunned silence, she said, “My parents are … busy a lot.” Her quiet tone and averted eyes gave extra meaning to her reply. The real answer was that she had nobody who would come with her … or at least nobody close who would. The police wouldn’t help some girl replace her brother in the middle of the night, especially not before they’d been missing for a day. It wasn’t courage or stupidity which drove her into harm’s way; this was simply her only decision in the face of an impossible situation.

Exousia nodded her head uncomfortably and returned her attention to getting back to the group.