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The first time he stood at the doors of death, Leonard saw no one at all beyond the depth.
Daly Simone, the genius Spirit Medium of their operations, had thrust those magical doors open with her powers, pulling the serial killer from their most recent prey.
With the audacity strictly found in young men who have read too much heroic epics, Leonard threw himself into the foray and rescued the hostage, casting the poor newspaper boy aside from the paranormal fireworks show.
The tendrils of the world beyond had grasped Leonard, about to pull him into the next world, when trusted Captain Dunn Smith managed to drag the murderer into a deep slumber. Without further resistance, the portal to the Underworld pulled in its well-deserved captive, and Daly shut it closed before it could eat another.
At the meeting afterwards, Old Neil made Leonard pray thanks to the Goddess Evernight for an hour.
“It was Her Gracious Hands that pushed you from Her Tenebrous Heaven,” the arcanist said, handing him the candles. “The Goddess did not wish to tear friend from friend, son from mother.”
“I’ve got no mother to be torn from,” Leonard answered, “if anything, the Reverend Mother who ran the orphanage is sleeping forever in Her Realm.”
Old Neil wacked him on the arm with a cane. “Wrong materials, boy. And don’t question the actions of the Goddess.”
Leonard drew a haphazard moon over his heart and, closing his eyes, began to pray.
The Reverend Mother probably did not wait for him on that Other Side. His real parents are not waiting on that Other Side.
If he could be a little daring—which he was—Leonard might say that there was only one parent for him.
All the children of the orphanage were children of the Goddess. In that sense, if he must name someone…
A Mother waited for him on the other side, and She has just pushed him away.
It would take a while for Leonard to thank the Goddess for Her kindness again.
He was given half a day as sick leave after waking from a particularly deadly mission. Soest, his superior, advised him to get some rest. Maybe take a walk around under the sun.
Leonard delved back into the depth of the Red Gloves’ library as soon as he was able to take the stairs, hunting down the next case he could crack.
“He’ll start suspecting you soon.” Pallas Zoroaster snickered in Leonard’s head. “I suggest you come up with a good reason beyond the Acting Method to explain your…trend of activity.”
“There’s nothing to explain.” Leonard traced a finger down the index ledger. “1337, 1338… I need to be stronger to avenge Klein and the Captain.”
Pallas laughed. “Right, all this hurry—for two dead men? They have all the time in the world to wait, you know.”
“Shush. I’m trying to read.” Leonard bit back.
“Ah yes, because your one-tracked mind can’t do reading and thinking at the same time.” Ghostly laughter lingered in their shared psychological bond. “You only lived because I stole much of that damage from you, you know.”
Leonard found a cork board in a corner and began to lay out a mind map. “The job comes with risks. You didn’t consider that when you possessed me?”
“I didn’t ‘consider’ you to go berserk when you see some tarot cards with their edges sharpened in a black-market infiltration.” Pallas bit back. “At this rate, you’ll meet your dear Nighthawk friends in the afterlife before you hit Sequence 6.”
“Those were Klein’s cards.” Leonard pinned a map to the board with enough force to bury the pin. “Someone’s making a profit from selling weapons out of the Church’s forces. I’m going to find them, and I’m going to—"
Footsteps approaching.
“Leonard Mitchell?” Soest asked, pausing before the young man. “You’re on break right now.”
“I know, sir.” Leonard answered quickly. “Just…sorting my mind around some evidence.”
“You can do that when you’re on the clock again.” The Sprit Warlock frowned at him. “Get some rest, son. You have all the time in the world.”
Leonard didn’t know what to say, so he licked his lips in silence.
“The Church—well, Miss Daly Simone was suggesting this, and I seconded her with no opposition—” Soest took out a stack of cards. “—you may keep these confiscated cards. She says they could be of sentimental value to you.”
The first overturned card was that of the Star. Leonard quickly folded it down to avoid meeting eyes with the painted naked nymph. The next was the Fool.
“Klein’s cards…” the name was barely more than a whisper.
Soest raised an eyebrow but let the comment pass.
“Thank you.” Leonard said, after he found his voice again. “Thank you, and please, thank Miss Daly for me. I—I’ll keep these close to my heart.”
“Of course,” Soest nodded. He turned to leave but turned back again after a few steps.
“One more thing, young man.”
Leonard straightened. That motion pulled at stitches in the wrong way and left him half grimacing. “Yes, sir?”
“Those of us on the Sleepless path are more likely to dream.” Soest noted. “If you saw, heard, or felt anything while you were out, talk to someone.”
“…yes, sir.”
Pallas did not wait until the Spirit Warlock was out of earshot.
“I’m willing to bet all the wealth I’ve made since the Fourth Epoch that you saw something, boy.” The old man cackled, fully aware that no one could hear him except Leonard. “It could be something deadly. Are you planning to go out of control in an explosion? Turn into a disgusting pile of meat and blood?”
“Shut it, old man.” Leonard mouthed under his breath. “It’s nothing major. Go to sleep or something. Don’t you like to do that after stealing something big?”
“Keep your secrets, then. I’m getting too old for this. Do let me know when you’re going to kick it.” Pallas said, determined to have the last laugh. “I’m going to get some shut eye, unlike you Sleepless fools.”
Leonard ended up falling asleep in a corner of the library, the tarot cards clutched close to his chest.
A woman woke him, sometime after midnight.
“It is no place to sleep here, child.” She had a soft voice. “Rest somewhere else. Your injuries have barely healed.”
“I’m all good.” Leonard blinked the daze from his eyes. “I was just, uh, meditating. I’m awake now.”
The woman gave him a mysterious smile. Her face was entirely veiled, but in the candlelight, the shimmering sparkles on her clothing seemed to express her gentleness.
“I think it would be best if you went back to sleep, perhaps on a bed.” She suggested. “No city was built in a day.”
“I can’t.” Leonard returned the smile, but his was far more bitter. “I…”
Soest’s voice resonated in his head. The advice was echoed by another voice. Then another. The Captain. Old Neil. Klein Moretti.
Talk to someone, Leonard. Tell someone, before it tears you apart.
“…I dream of them. My coworkers, from the Nighthawk division I used to be in.” Leonard said softly. “I dream of those who died when I didn’t.”
“Is it a nightmare?” The woman asked.
“No.” Leonard shook his head. I’m a Nightmare, he wanted to say. “I…I see them, on the other side. They’re in the Tenebrous Heaven, watching me.”
“Are they now?” The woman said. She sat down on a chair. “You must miss them.”
“I do. I miss them with every waking breath.” Leonard fiddled with the tarot deck. The edge bit into his fingertips. “I have to avenge them before I join them.”
“That’s a terrible burden to bear, child.” The woman sighed. “Your enemies are far more powerful.”
“I have to do it. I have to.” The pain from the cards cleared Leonard’s head. “I ought to get back to it now.”
“You don’t have to work like you are running out of time.” The woman told him. “You are young and full of opportunities.”
“Right, opportunities that I would’ve shared. With Klein.” Leonard pulled over the half-filled corkboard. “Every breath I take now, is one that he doesn’t get. Every minute I waste is a minute he doesn’t live.”
The woman interrupted his thoughts with a few words.
“Avenging him does not bring him back.”
Leonard dropped the papers he was holding. They clatter on the table and fall onto the floor, the tarot cards following. Parchment and metal against wood and tile.
He sunk back into his chair.
“No. It doesn’t. Nothing will bring him back.”
The woman watched him.
“I should’ve been stronger. I should’ve stayed awake instead of being knocked down by a single strike.” Stray hair fell before his eyes and Leonard couldn’t be bothered to tuck them back. “I should’ve advanced so that I can be more of use. I—”
“—you wished that it was not him who died.” The woman completed his thought.
Leonard didn’t answer. He just picked up the cards and stacked them, one by one.
“Those are not thoughts for you from your deceased friends,” the woman whispered, “those are thoughts of your grieving mind.”
“They stare at me, from the Tenebrous Heaven, and that’s what their eyes say.” Leonard answered. “The Goddess grants me the honor of seeing them. This is the message they speak, from beyond death.”
“Is it though?” The woman asked. “Is it blame that their sight tells, or is it care and worry?”
Leonard focused on getting the papers in order by date.
“Seeing the dead may be a blessing. But hearing fearsome anger…is the sign of a nightmare.” The woman suggested. “You must be able to tell one from another, little Nightmare.”
The candles in the room dimmed for a moment. Leonard found his seat again.
“I don’t know.” Leonard said after a long pause. “I can’t tell.”
“I think you can, child.” The woman asserted. “I think you’ve been a Nightmare enough. Before you calm the souls of others, you must first assure yourself.”
The first card facing up on the stack showed a Six of Swords. Leonard doesn’t know how to read cards. That was Klein’s expertise.
“He’s waiting for me on the other side,” he said, picking up the card and turning it in his hands. “He’s waiting for me, with the Captain and Kenley and Old Neil.”
Leonard set the card down and, drawing a moon over his heart, closed his eyes to pray.
“Goddess Evernight,
The One higher than the cosmos and everlasting beyond eternity,
Lady of Crimson, Mother of Concealment,
Empress of Misfortune and Horror,
Mistress of Repose and Silence.
“I thank You for granting me these visions of my friends from Your Heaven. I thank You for guiding my path beneath the moon and stars.
“I pray, if I may be so bold, also to send a message to those of my friends within Your Realm. I call for their forgiveness, and I ask for their patience. Wait for me: I will make our enemies pay in blood. It may be years from now. It may be a decade from now, but I dedicate my waking hours to this work. To the Goddess, and to my vengeance.”
With that, it was as if the darkness draped over this little corner and eased the young man into a deep sleep.
He dreamt of a hand patting his shoulder. He dreamt of a hand tussling his hair. He dreamt of milky brown eyes looking at him with concern, then curving into that familiar smile.
“Leonard Mitchell?” A surprised voice shook him awake in the morning. Cindy, a fellow Red Glove under Soest’s team, frowned at him from above.
“Huh?” The young man sat up immediately. “Did I…was there someone here last night?”
“It’s five in the morning. Your break ends in an hour and a half.” Cindy pulled a chair over: Leonard occupied the only chair around this study table. “Are those the same cards we confiscated from the illegal meeting?”
“Yeah.” Leonard shuffled them again. When he came upon the Star, there was no more naked nymph on the card, but a shadowy figure in a shining dress. Must be a variant card, his mind suggested. “They were—they belong to a friend of mine. Klein Moretti.”
“Oh. A friend.” Cindy said, invested now. “Is this the same Klein you were muttering in your sleep?”
“I was what?!” Leonard nearly jumped from his chair. “I don’t talk in my sleep.”
“Hmm… a friend.” Cindy gave him a suspicious squint. “I’d suggest you take a shower before seven o’clock: there’s another mission for the team. Soest wanted to wait until we’re at full attendance before leaving.”
“Oh, shoot.” The young man dashed around and restored the papers back to their shelves. “I’ll be right there on time.”
Cindy stared at the deck of cards on the table.
“Our dear Mr. Mitchell has a dear friend.” She mused. “A name on his tongue as he battled Death.”
Under her hand was a thin file. Each page bore marks of being read through many times. She snuck a look while Leonard scrambled around to find the right shelves where he took the older records.
September 1349. The True Creator’s Spawn Incident.
Nighthawk Casualty: [Dunn Smith], Sequence 7 Nightmare, Captain of Nighthawks team; [Klein Moretti], Sequence 8 Clown.
A train full of Red Gloves chugged through the countryside. The suburbs of Backlund were in sight: soon they will enter into the city itself and be returned to the jurisdiction of the Evernight Church.
“Goddess Above. I swear I saw my great-grandmother holding my hand when that bomb flew at us.” One of the new Spirit Warlocks muttered from their side of the train car. “I was so close to dying, I could feel her grip.”
“Really?” Cindy tugged at her own shirt collar. “I only had the chance to think ‘oh curses’ before it detonated. You got a whole handholding session?”
“Maybe it’s the recent promotions,” another piped in, “new powers, more connected to the Goddess, all that.”
Cindy turned to a long-time partner, napping by the window.
Odd. Those who walked the Sleepless path rarely napped.
She shook him awake. “Hey, Leonard! You missed our whole talk on seeing dead grandmothers.”
“Huh? Oh, the bombing.” Leonard Mitchell had the audacity to kick his boots up onto the window ledge. “Yeah, that was kind of scary.”
“Werner Eight-Fingers over there says he saw his dead gran.” Cindy elaborated. “Did you get to see your boyfriend?”
“—My dead great-grandmother.” Werner corrected.
“—not boyfriend.” Leonard argued instinctively. “Honestly, how did this even…”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was you staring at those cards with that forlorn look every other hour.” Bob, another familiar teammate, piped up.
“Or the times we’ve found you sleeping in the records room to ‘avenge your friends’.” Werner pitched in. “Always me a fright to see you there.”
“Honestly, now that Zangwill is dead, you need to stop doing overtime.” Cindy passed around a pack of cigarettes. “I used to think you’re going too fast ahead of me. Now look at you, Sequence 4. Next Soest will kick you into your own Special Ops team.”
“Too far ahead, huh.” Leonard smiled oddly.
“So did you see him?” Cindy asked. “Klein Moretti in the Tenebrous Heaven? You were practically buried alive into the trench when we found you.”
Leonard shook his head.
“What, your ghost boyfriend dumped you? For another ghost?” Bob leaned in. “Anyone got a match?”
“—he’s not—” Leonard shook his head. There’s no use explaining. “I didn’t see him. He’s not there anymore.”
“He probably got tired of you nearly dying all the time.” Another woman suggested, passing the cigarette pack back. “If I were this Klein fella, given the number of times you’ve visited without actually staying, I’d be kicking you out too.”
“I might even tell the Goddess—if I dared—” Cindy drew a moon haphazardly over her heart. “—to keep you out if you’re not here to stay.”
“I—” Leonard was reminded of Klein’s concerned look during their weekly conversation just minutes ago.
“Leonard,” the Miracle Invoker said, “you’ve got to take care of yourself, okay? I’m all good out here. I don’t want—I can’t afford to turn around and lose you.”
The Nightwatcher’s mind conjured up a comical image. Gehrman Sparrow, walking through the Loen countryside with monsters and Beyonders as his marionettes, worried about a particular Nighthawk in the Evernight Church. It was a little funny. He smiled.
“I guess he’s, uh, not pleased with my recent adventures.” He managed cautiously. “Maybe that’s why, yeah.”
He found a box of matches in a side pocket and passed it around for the smokers. Those are matches for Klein, he remembered vaguely. Klein mentioned he needs matches to teleport, and Leonard saved a box in his pocket, in case they ran into each other one day and he needed support.
The train tumbled on.
Soest came in half an hour in and told them that the new symbol for the Church would be stars instead of the moon. Leonard saved his questions for Tarot Club next week.
He recalled, with sudden clarity, the card he pulled before Mr. Fool on that first meeting. The Star.
He did not need Pallas Zoroaster to snicker to know that his guess was right.
As inconspicuously as he could, Leonard tucked himself into the corner of the train car and drew four stars over his heart.
He prayed to the Evernight Goddess. He prayed with newfound faith, faith for himself, and faith for a dear friend.
“…I thank you, for Your leniency in the face of my impiety. I beg for Your forgiveness. I swear that I shall continue to uphold my oath as a Nighthawk.
“…If I could be so bold as to pray for something as a sinner, Goddess, I pray that You extend Your gracious clemency. Klein Moretti was and still is a faithful believer in the work of a Nighthawk. I pray that Your mercy be upon him, be upon that lost, misguided man. He is no traitor to the Church, but snatched away by a fate that should’ve never been his.
“…I pray that we will meet in Your Tenebrous Heaven and receive Your blessing of eternal sleep. I am a Nighthawk before all else…we go our separate ways in life, but I pray that after death You may pity Your erroneous children and allow us to rest in the same field of Moonflowers.”
Roses. Roses all around the battlefield.
Leonard Mitchell laid face-up in a pool of his own blood, mask and veil cast aside during the battle. He blinked a bit of entrails from his eyes and spat blood from his mouth. Not sure whose blood it was.
The stars are beautiful out here. His mind scrambled for something other than pain to focus on. Maybe I can write a poem about the view.
A plot of thorny plants crawled along the clearing, shuffling slightly over withered leaves. The darkness seemed to form into a scythe and cleave over them. Silence again.
I’ll start with… The stars are beautiful out here.
A liver and half a heart inched towards one another. Then an eyeball. Some teeth. Before they could fully merge, a thread of long, black hair curled around them and clutched, sending all the pieces scattering again.
They are so pretty. They twinkle.
Shouting from the other side. Leonard hopes that Emlyn White is winning. There was something fishy about this battle. The Minor Arcana’s and Nighthawks might need a purifying ritual or two.
Not his brave squadron of personnel though. They were all smeared around him. The Sequence 3 on the other side blew them up with a point of their finger. This group was supposed to be distraction. Drag out the battle long enough, and Ilya, the Goddess’ Eyes, will completely encircle the cultists with her forces.
“Mother Above!” That was Emlyn’s voice, complete with his signature panicked screeching. “Anyone alive here? Mr. Star? Leonard Mitchell?”
Leonard managed a groan to indicate his own survival. The vampire scrambled towards him while branches lifted to block his path. The same black scythe as before cleared the path.
And when I look at them, I am reminded of…
“I should’ve never signed up for this.” The Moon Arcana shook his head, even as he brought out bandages to stifle the bleeding. “Look, I’m going to do my best here, but I suggest you start praying.”
Praying? To whom? Leonard shook his head. It made the stars drawn funny streaks across his vision.
“Actually, if you die, Mr. World will probably eat me for dinner when he wakes up.” Emlyn was still talking. His hands kept moving too. Maybe he’s rearranging Leonard’s guts. “Not even dinner. Gehrman Sparrow will breakfast on my brain as soon as he is able.”
“Klein…Klein isn’t that evil.” Leonard told him. “He’ll forgive you.”
…I am reminded of you. Because you shine too.
“Nuh-uh. You and I have very different ideas about who World is.” Emlyn kicked over a skull as he found a backpack with more first-aid equipment. “Forgiveness? Maybe Mr. Fool will convince him to forgive me once I’m dead.”
A whistle through the woods. The sound of boots and hooves clattering. A horse appeared out of thin air.
“Reinforcements are here.” Emlyn said, helping some healing potion into Leonard’s mouth. “It’s the Goddess’ Eyes.”
Another voice approached.
“Thank you, Mr. Moon,” the calm voice said, “what can my men do to help?”
They delve into some conversation on remaining forces. Leonard made brief eye contact with Ilya before closing his eyes. Was it the power of high-sequence Sleepless? He felt as if sinking into a great dark sea.
When I see beautiful things, I am reminded of you. I want you to see it too.
“His injuries are grave. I did some basic first aid, but it’ll depend on the next few hours.” Emlyn said, somewhere far away. “I’ll pray to The Fool and see if He responds.”
“Thank you.” Ilya was saying. “May the Goddess guide your path in the dark.”
Am I going to die? Leonard thought hazily. Is this it?
He could smell the Night Vanilla and Moonflowers.
He could not bring his fingers to draw the stars. He could not clasp his hands to pray. But Leonard Mitchell prayed nonetheless, and cried out the Evernight Goddess’ name in his heart.
“Goddess Evernight,
The One higher than the cosmos and everlasting beyond eternity,
Lady of Crimson, Mother of Concealment,
Empress of Misfortune and Horror,
Mistress of Repose and Silence.
“I thank You for guiding my blade tonight. I have done my duty and saved as many as I can. I pray for the rest of those souls who fought with me. They lasted longer than expected against an unexpected enemy. Brave Nighthawks, Brave Arcana.
“I have one thing to beg of You, Goddess. And I would give whatever I could give as a dying man for it. Goddess, I implore you: do not yet receive me into Your Tenebrous Heaven.
“Let me wander this land and torch under the sun. Let me float anchorless through the seas and shiver in the darkness. I cannot yet go to Your Realm.
“Klein Moretti, Your misguided believer, once a loyal Nighthawk of Yours, he still sleeps under the dominion of another god. His eyes are closed behind The Fool’s mists. I cannot abandon him. I cannot bear to let him lose me as I had once lost him.
“I will await him at the threshold of The Fool’s Realm if He could be so willing. I will await him at the threshold of Your Realm if you would be so willing. I could await him anywhere.
“We went separate ways in life: he to his duty and I to mine. We will sleep apart in death: he will serve his divine Master as I serve You. But I beseech You, Goddess, let us have a moment together in between.
“I beg for Your forgiveness, Goddess. I cannot yet go to your realm. Klein is waiting for me. I must be waiting for Klein.”
An angel with twelve wings of fire envelope him. Tendrils envelope him.
Somewhere far away, a divine mother sighed for Her child. Such a bumbling, loving, little fool.
The wind by the harbor picked up near the end of the day. The setting sun stained the sea into a particular shade of red.
Red like blood. Red like Evernight’s Hounds.
For the undercover Red Gloves prowling Bayam for suspicious schemes, the dimming sky only meant that their powers would grow. In the darkness, the Goddess’ blessing reached across the continents.
The accompanying local support from the Church of the Fool was also unfazed by the ending daylight. The Angel of Miracle simply wound his scarf several more times around his neck and cast another snide look at the leading Nighthawk’s open collar.
Leonard pulled his jacket close and pretended that the wind was not blowing into his shirt.
Yet the darkness brought more insidious businesses to the lamplight. Businesses that ought to attract a band of young men and women like these ones.
A brunette—her hair dyed a murky blonde—approached the group, buying into their best efforts to look like tourists. She had a dress that cut across her chest deep enough to reveal generous curves.
The wandering magician turned his eyes away. A few of the girls in Leonard’s team blushed.
He gave the woman a critical glare, which only seemed to encourage her in their direction. Within and arm’s reach, and Leonard’s meager concealment over his own looks fall away, revealing an appearance that could be rated as…astounding.
“Well, hello there, young man.” Bright pink heels clicked towards them. The pungent smell of her fragrance made poor Werner sneeze. “Looking for some good fun at Bayam?”
Leonard gave Klein a panicked look. Klein stared back, his poker face worthy of his divine status. It’s your face that fished her. You’re on your own with this one.
“Actually, er, actually no.” Leonard played with his own hair. “So we’re, uh, from the Church of the Evernight Goddess. I’m actually a—”
Klein stomped on Leonard’s foot before the word “clergy” could leave that man’s mouth.
Peace and Patience, Merlin, he thought to himself, you’re not Gehrman today. You don’t want to shoot the idiot.
“You’re…what?” The prostitute hesitated.
“—I’m a devout believer. Yeah.” Leonard licked his lips. “We’re, uh, on Sunday Study.”
Bob could barely contain his snicker. Leonard made a mental note to practice his Horror Bishop abilities in that man’s dreams later today.
“Ha, I haven’t that one yet.” Breasts leaned in too close for comfort. Leonard took a step back, but his jacket lapel was gripped in well-manicured hands of the prostitute. “Well, I’m not, so how about you try convincing me tonight, and we’ll see who feels better at the end?”
To the side, Klein was quickly querying through local prayers to make sure she isn’t one of His followers. Otherwise, it’s going to be awkward the next time he sees Amanises.
Leonard was at a loss as to what to do. No woman had come this close to him without there being a grave danger nearby. Not even Daly Simone: Daly was joking, this woman isn’t.
“Me and a couple sisters of mine are very welcoming to cute foreigners,” the brunette-turned-blonde smiled, “your lady friends can sit in the salon downstairs while we…debate.”
Werner sneezed again. Klein said “bless you” on reflex, then barely held a laugh at the irony of the situation.
Leonard, caught in the conversation that has clearly gone down the wrong direction, was already being pulled to the side while the brief exchange occurred.
“Bayam is a city of many beliefs: it takes skill to make a living here,” the prostitute continued. She reached forward for Leonard’s shoulder, only for that hand to be pushed back down. “You know, sir, we’ll make it so worth your while, you’ll wish you ascended to whatever Heaven you believed in in that instant.”
Klein mentally drew stars over his chest for the blasphemy. Eyes were being drawn to this end of the plaza: they need to keep it inconspicuous.
Cindy, either deciding that she’s had enough of her squad leader’s comedies or that she hasn’t had enough, interjected.
“Actually, that’d be really bad for Leonard here,” she pretended to wink nervously, “he’s got someone in Heaven. His, uh, ghost boyfriend wouldn’t like that.”
His what. Klein’s mouth fell slightly ajar despite his paranormal powers.
“Wasn’t he already pissing them off during the war and when we were in the Southern continent?” Bob joined the discussion now. “I remembered that. Leonard looked like a sad puppy for weeks!”
“I did not.” Leonard managed quickly before he was drowned out again.
“Oh, right! He was dying too much and going up to the Tenebrous Heavens too often without actually being dead!” Werner cut in. “What was the name—” he sneezed. “—from the Nighthawks team…"
Cindy snapped her fingers. “Klein Moretti! That’s the name.” She dragged Leonard a foot apart from the prostitute woman’s bosom. “Sorry, the deac—our man here is taken. He’s saving himself for a dead man.”
As soon as her sentence completed, a sense of distortion fell around them.
Before the Red Gloves could react, the Angel of Miracles beside them waved his hands and willed everything around them to turn away.
“Leonard Mitchell” was all he needed to say.
“I can explain—actually, some of this, I can’t explain either, because I don’t where or how it started.” Leonard lifted both his hands in surrender. “I wasn’t about to just tell them you’re not dead!”
At that point he was certain: if he does not deliver a full and truthful explanation at this instant… He might be better off praying that the Goddess takes mercy on him and let him into Her Tenebrous Heaven.