Chapter 10: 2 of Rings - Adaptability

Everything was a trap.

The next morning, Ammon did his best to ignore both his pounding headache and the memory of Eri’s vision. He told himself it was just another nightmare, as unhinged and meaningless as the others had been. 

He felt the oppressive weight of ghosts thickening the air as soon as he opened the door. Wailing, desperate for help, the apparitions pressed towards him. 

One step out the door and six guards materialized out of the fog. He recognized a few who had been posted outside of Aunty’s kitchen and others from his farming days. Two of them murmured recitations. Two held weapons. 

The crunch of an apple, out of place under the piercing cries, caught the Devil’s attention. He turned towards the sound: Ianu, foot flat against the wall of the church, savoring her snack. 

“Orders are to take you to the Meetinghouse,” she said in greeting.

“Bad things happened last time a man followed a woman eating an apple. I’d rather not.”

Ianu stared at him blankly for a moment before rolling her eyes, “It’s cute that you think you have a choice.”

“I’m the future King of the Dead. You can’t make me do anything.”

Ianu raised an eyebrow at him. She didn’t reach for the weapons on her belt, strapped to her leg, or across her back. Instead, a low hum began to vibrate the air around him, setting his teeth on edge. 

He took a step; the hum stopped. He stopped; it started again. Ammon gritted his teeth, shooting her a thorny glare, but falling into obedient step. 

They crossed an invisible border onto Sanctuary grounds: the sea of ghosts that the group had been swimming through stayed on one side of the barrier. Ammon, encircled by Ianu’s band, passed into un-haunted air. The path was lined with dandelions, clover, and an assortment of berries he hadn’t seen before.

They made their way to a grey stone building, older than anything he’d seen around town. Two stories high, one wall carpeted in moss, another curtained in green vines. A garden full of black plants and flowers stood guard and sparked the Devil’s curiosity. With the barrel of the gun in his back and Ianu’s glass shattering hum ringing in his ears, Ammon decided his interest wasn’t worth it. 

Ianu opened the door, painted black with a tree of life carved into it, to the smell of sage, sweet chamomile, and acrid gingko. The Devil took a half step backwards and felt steel between his shoulder blades. 

A whisper behind him snaked into his ear: “Make my morning. Give me a reason to shoot you.”

Startled, Ammon looked at Ianu, who raised an eyebrow at him. “The longer you keep ‘em waitin’, the worse it’ll be for you.” 

He took one last breath of fresh air and ducked inside. 

Floor to ceiling bookcases, crammed with books, lined the walls of the central room.

His guide led him straight upstairs to a second floor balcony where they were confronted by another thick black door. This one had the silhouette of a flying bird carved into it and sigils that the Devil did not recognize. 

Ianu knocked. The door groaned open.

With a firm hand on each shoulder, the Devil was shoved into the conference room. Ianu stepped in next to him and the door groaned shut behind them. 

The Devil focused on the craftsmanship of the wooden table in the middle of the room, speckled with crystals and varnished to a shine, to avoid five sets of staring eyes. 

Ammon’s embarrassment receded and recognition dawned. For one thing, no one was looking at him. For another, he knew nearly everyone there: Aunty, Meihua, Zeltzi, and the goddess in blue. 

One unfamiliar face belonged to a teenager who held a deck of cards. Remembering Zeltzi’s deck in the bar, Ammon flinched. But as the teenager began placing cards on the table, no weapons materialized.

The Devil looked around the table, but no one would meet his gaze. Slowly, his attention turned towards a cacophony of chattering and squawking coming from an open window. The first uncovered window he’d seen: it had no glass to cover. Instead, the room was exposed to rain, wind, sun, and dozens of birds on the ledge. Gratefully, he drank in the fresh air. 

A woman stood at the window, more interested in the birds than the room full of human guests. A single, waist-length black braid hung down her back. A sleeveless black shirt displayed tanned arms covered in a patchwork of tattoos. Black jeans tucked into knee high black boots, over which she wore one visible weapon strapped into a thigh holster: a single silver dagger.

As she turned to look him over, Ammon recognized the woman who had nearly killed him that day in the fields. His knees went weak as she walked to a chair at the head of the table, empty save a leather jacket tossed over the back. She held a folder out to Ianu, who accepted the file and turned to leave.