The Wounded World, a story of Mantra, Chapter 4

By Aladdin 

Edited by Christopher Leeson

Originally written 2006

Revised and posted Dec. 22, 2018

PINNACLE 

And thine is a face of sweet love in despair

And thine is a face of mild sorrow and care

And thine is a face of wild terror and fear

That shall never be quiet till laid on its bier.

William Blake

Going from Internet link to Internet link, I learned that Gus – young August, as they called him – had gone on a destructive rampage on the 15th, which was only cut short by the sudden arrival of an unknown ultra creature. This entity was described as a female-appearing humanoid protected by armor and possessing a tail. The two aberrations fought like Godzilla and King Kong, until both were knocked flat. A special police unit belatedly burst in and August Blake was taken into custody. The police unit and its insignias could not be identified by observers.
 
That was about all I could find out about the Night of Terror, even though there were hints that it had affected the whole world. Some of the alt-right sites were complaining about a multi-government clamp-down on information.
 
Switching my focus, I searched for references to Gus's earlier – and equally tragic – encounter, the one with the so-called fairies. A keyword search for “August Blake,” “Canoga Park,” and “fairies” drew in a scattering of stories – most of them frustratingly brief. They were mainly located on “strange world” websites. The August Blake Jr. it described had been a normal boy, a boy very much like the one I remembered, until May 23. Then, inexplicably, he had suffered a spontaneous mutation, one that medical science found itself at a loss to explain.
 
Felicia Campbell, the wife of Prototype and a noted specialist in ultra-oriented medicine, was interviewed about the case on FLOX News, a corporate network, but the best of a bad lot. According to reports, the scientist said, August Jr.'s physical changes generally followed a pattern observed in extreme ultra transformations, those involving disfiguring mutations. This time, however, no observable ultra abilities had developed in the boy. 

The only other useful information I could glean was that the boy's claim to have been captured by fairies was being passed off as merely a fantasy of his trauma. Moreover, the supporting assertions by his younger sister were similarly ignored. With annoying quickness, I could see, Gus's problem passed out of the news, and the devastated child was left to a miserable and reclusive existence in the family home.
 
The poor little guy! I could easily believe that events -- even before the Night of Terror -- had left him half out of his mind. Nothing more useful was recorded concerning the tailed creature in armor, though I was willing to believe that what Evie had told me was true. As for the the "special police unit" mentioned, Evie's testimony had likewise convinced me that it had been Aladdin. Like a bad penny, it kept turning up wherever there was trouble -- and almost always managed to make the trouble worse.
 
Then I had to imagine what it had been like for the local Mantra. Everything taken together must have been hideous for her. I, fortunately, hadn't seen these things happen, but just learning about them was choking me up worse than anything I had experienced since the mid-fifth century!
 
Glancing at my watch, I saw it was a little after noon. Mother wouldn't be arriving in Frisco for another six hours and Lauren would be out of touch for almost that long. I continued to worry about Gus, but since Aladdin hadn't called back, I supposed that he was still sleeping. Frustrated, I tried to make sense of all these disparate bits. Though I could tell myself that this wasn't my world to worry about, I had to do the best I could for both of the Blake kids. But what, really, could I do?
 
I needed advice, and not just the ordinary kind. But to whom could I turn? Aladdin probably knew a lot, but it was staffed by professional paranoids whose business had always been to hide information, not to circulate it. If I were caught tapping into their data bases without authorization, I could disappear and never be seen again.
 
Taken all together, the situation was making me antsy. I needed to do something positive and do it immediately. Did the Mantra of this world have ultra allies whom she could call on? Was there anyone of them that I could locate? Not Warstrike or – as he was called here, Strike. He was currently in hiding as a fugitive. The Strangers were, apparently, still in San Francisco, but government hostility and the vengeance-mentality of organized crime had made most of the ultras do their best to make themselves undetectable. Finding what amounted to missing persons would take a long time.
 
Wait a minute! I did know an ultra in this city, and I also knew her address. Or, at least, I knew the address that she had used on my home planet.
Pinnacle had been the most powerful psionic I'd ever run into. She had told me little about herself, but I knew she had been worked on by the bio-tech company, NuWare, to endow her with abilities. One of the company's biggest money-making schemes was inducing ultra powers into ordinary people – for high fees, of course. When NuWare got done with her, she had been able to give a supercomputer a run for its money.
 
What made my and Pinnacle's friendship harder than it should have been was that from the start she liked me in a way that I didn't want to be liked. Her beauty should have made that palatable for me, but that degree of kinkiness had instead made me uncomfortable.
 


Now, as things stood, any such issue had become secondary. She was my best bet for finding out what had happened to me, and to the rest of the world. I had to find her, but an Internet search for "Pinnacle" brought up hundreds of trash listings that had absolutely nothing to do with the woman I was looking for. That was probably because“Pinnacle” had never gone public as an ultra; there had been no mention of her in The Ultramate Source. In fact, she could easily be using another codename, like Warstrike/Strike. Or, even worse, she might have become a “missing person,” like Contrary had.
 
But Pinnacle had, I knew, built up a fully-equipped lab, using intermediaries and dummy companies to cover her traces, while paying her way through the use of her abilities, such as breaking the banks of Las Vegas casinos. J.D. Hunt, meanwhile, was seeking to find her, determined to reassert his control over his pet, something that Penny wanted no part of. 

I still remembered the lab's address. I could only hope that Pinnacle would be found there in this world. I needed to make a drive across the sprawling city and check the place out.
 
Or did I?
 

The Wounded World, a story of Mantra, Chapter 3

By Aladdin 

Edited by Christopher Leeson

Originally written 2006

Revised and posted Nov. 21, 2018

THE ULTRAMATE SOURCE

 

Prayer is vain, I called for compassion: compassion mocked.

Mercy and pity threw the gravestone over me

And with lead and iron, bound it over me forever:

Life lives on my Consuming: 

 And the Almighty hath made me his Contrary... 

 

William Blake

"Uh, sure. Is there anything else, Doctor Sarn?"

"No, that's it, Blake." The Aladdin bureaucrat clicked off abruptly.

What in blazes had happened at the mall? I didn't even know which mall she was referring to. Did it have anything to do the weird experience I had over at the Kid's Club? No, that couldn't be. She was talking about Sunday, and my disaster occurred on Thursday.

And why was a data analyst being asked to make a report instead of a field agent? It wasn't my job to ongoing operations outside the  office. Why was Sarn getting me involved? 

I shifted toward Evie. "Scrumptious, did something happen at the Mall Sunday? I mean, was there anything going on there that was important or scary?"

She gave a little moue. "You can't forget that! A bad robot came and started chasing people. Lauren had to fight with it."

A robot? It certainly was beginning to sound like one hell of a week. “What kind of robot?"

“A big one!”

"Was it at the Mall at Topanga Plaza?"

"Scaring everybody!"

“Were you and I there?”

“You were there, Mommy. I was with grandma.”

“Why was I there?”

“I don't know.”

I paused to think. These little details, as perplexing as they seemed to be, had to add up to some sort of picture, but I still had too few pieces. What had Sarn said? She'd used the term fiasco. There had been a fiasco at the Mall? Shouldn't she have called it an attack or tragedy. A fiasco usually referred to a failed plan. Was the robotic attack somebody's failed plan? Whose plan?

I had a sinking feeling. Aladdin was a tricky and deceitful outfit. It sometimes sent its own agents out dressed as ultras to discredit the vigilantes they impersonated. If people could be manipulated into fearing, would tolerate a government that wish to treat them as criminals or terrorists. Had Aladdin sent a battle robot into a minor suburban mall, intending to start a panic and make it look like some ultra was responsible? That sounded heavy-handed, even for Aladdin.

Momentarily stumped, I punched in another number on my phone menu. This time time I got a real estate office. Once confirming that "I" had a mid-day appointment with a realtor, I asked for a postponement, using illness as an excuse. With that taken care of, the biggest thing left on my plate was learning more about this alternate world. I needed to acquire more information if I was going to stop reacting like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Evie," I said, "do you feel like going out with me?"

"Sure! But you told the man you were sick."

"I fibbed. I need to go and carry out a secret mission."

"A secret mission? Can I be your sidekick?"

"You certainly can! The first thing we need to do is go to the library."

She looked dubious. "Are there robots or monsters at the library, Mommy?"

"I certainly hope not!" I said, not quite able to smile.

#

A sign at the nearest library of size directed patrons to a parking ramp that was three blocks away. Emerging into the light, we continued our trip on foot. Evie stayed close by my side and at first I thought it was because she was suffering from fright. But her grave and determined expression soon caused me to wonder whether it was me whom she was afraid for. Was Evie keeping close to protect her mother from danger, now that she was no longer a super-powered ultra? I took her little hand and squeezed it. Wherever I found a double of Evie, she was always an easy child to love. 

But that raised another question. How _should I react if an emergency arose? I could hardly do more than grab Evie and run -- which was a depressing thought.

Approaching the library, we passed in front of a paperback-and-news shop called the Readmore and I impulsively led Evie inside. I immediately took in the frantic newspaper headlines. Terrifying reports were shouting from almost every article heading. I bought the Los Angles Times on the spot and also asked the clerk for a copy of The Ultra, but the young man replied that he'd never heard of the latter. He recommended instead a newsprint tabloid called The Ultramate Source. Wanting to know how my ultra friends had come though the emergency, I gave in and bought the unfamiliar weekly.

Then we left the news store. A couple buildings down, there stood a coffee shop. Evie was hungry, so I bought us both a brunch. While absently consuming my java, sausage, and eggs, I poured through the Time's lead story, the one describing an appalling disaster in New York.

The events of Friday night had not been merely local. The paper was saying that more than a quarter of New York City had been blasted to rubble by a mysterious explosion occurring on Sunday night. Millions had died. A suitcase-sized nuclear weapon was at first expected, but testing showed that the radiation count was low. The authorities were frantic to find a scapegoat to redirect blame from their muddled disaster response. 

A civilian's smart phone video had come forward, showing ultras near the blast zone. One of them was a giant of a man in armor, and with him was some yo-yo swinging a scythe. A woman in a black cat suit was also seen, hurling shurikens. When an ill-trained National Guard unit to confront the mysterious group, a officer apparently lost his nerve and sent his men rushing in with guns locked and loaded. A female ultra appeared overhead and proceeded to repel the the panicky attackers with energy bolts. The startled guardsmen started shooting at anything that moved, and even at each other.

In the aftermath, two members of the ultra gang could be tentatively identified. One matched the description of Amber Hunt, a name that was familiar to me – and not in any good way. But the detail that floored me was the allegation that one of the ultras had been a known crime-fighter known as Strike.

I knew that name from my own world. Strike had been the nome de guerre of Brandon Tark before he'd re-christened himself "Warstrike." Was Warstrike still called Strike in this reality? I searched my reading material to find the name of "Warstrike," but was unable to.

How could Brandon Tark ever willingly involve himself in a terroristic incident? Tark, I knew, had suffered a severe breakdown in my reality, following the incredible Godwheel incident.  But he had pulled out of it. Was it possible that in this world he had lost his marbles and gone rogue? Still, I didn't want to believe the worst. Maybe Strike had only been on the scene trying to apprehend Amber Hunt and was not a member of her gang. A similar mix-up had wrongly implicated me – as Mantra – in a museum break-in only months before.

I kept reading, but there was not much in the news stories that was useful. The politicians were getting their priorities screwed up, as usual. The dominant party in New York state was shocked at having lost to many of their urban voters and were screaming “treason!” and tried to implicate the Russians, or even our own POTUS, in the disaster. The mayor of New York, no longer sure of a winning margin, was actually demanding that his party be granted a handicap in the next election, as if the atrocity had been some sort of a golf game and not mass murder.

A case were one person dies is a tragedy; a million beings wiped out is only a statistic. I couldn't let the magnitude throw me. I had concerns closer to home. Checking for local news, I found a story that apparently proved Evie's testimony. It had a small picture of the "new Mantra."

I showed it to my little girl. "Have you seen this picture of Lauren in her ultra-suit yet?" I asked. "I wonder where she got that armor." Then I noticed a detail of the picture that I had missed. "Hey, she's using the Sword of Fangs! Evie, how did Lauren get my sword?” I asked.

The Wounded World, a story of Mantra, Chapter 2

By Aladdin 

Edited by Christopher Leeson

Originally written 2006

Revised and posted Oct. 21, 20v18
Revised, Nov. 21, 2018

CHAPTER 2

CURIOUSER AND CURIOUSER

She went out in Morning

Attired plain and neat.

"Proud Mary's gone Mad,"

Said the Child in the Street. 

 

William Blake

"Did -- Did he hurt you, darling?"

Evie shook her head. "No, but he chased me and he said he was gonna hurt me. Then Laddin came and Lauren helped them beat up on Gus and take him away to jail."

Somebody wake me! How had Lauren Sherwood, the children's favorite babysitter, suddenly gotten into all of this? And what was this about sending Gus to "jail"? The name "Laddin," threw me for an instant, before I realized -- with alarm -- what she saying.

"Do you mean 'Aladdin'?"

"I guess so."

Aladdin was the government agency that I worked for. Actually, I stuck with the job only because I'd found out how dangerous it was, not only to the country but to the world, and I wanted to keep an eye on it. Like the CIA and FBI, it was being run by compromised renegades.  Dedicated to doing the dirty work for a cabal of power-mad trillionaires, these agencies took their marching orders from shadowy figures based in Western Europe and in the Far East. 

How had Evie learned its name? I was careful never to talk shop in front of Mom -- Barbara Freeman, I mean -- or the kids. I'd been giving them the standard cover story, claiming that I worked for the C.I.A., which gave me the excuse make my job something that we never discussed. Had I let the name slip out sometime during the days that I had apparently forgotten, or had something even more sinister occurred?

"Is Lauren okay?" I asked.

The Wounded World, a story of Mantra, Chapter 1

THE WOUNDED WORLD

By Aladdin 

Edited by Christopher Leeson

Originally written 2006

Revised Sept. 21, 2018
Revised April 26, 2020

A NOTE FROM CHRISTOPHER LEESON

I never enjoyed a comic-book series better than I did Malibu Comic's MANTRA, one of its Ultraverse titles. It ended in 1996 due to a series of bad business and creative decisions, first on the part of the management staff of Malibu Comics, and then by the leadership of Marvel Comics, which had only lately purchased it.

Mantra vanished along with the rest of the Ultraverse.  Out of all the darkness, there came a faint light five years later.  The stories of Aladdin started to appear, new tales of Mantra (published at Fictionmania.tv) which were professional in quality and presented a Mantra that ran true to the original. But Mantra's revival in fan-fiction was to be sadly brief. 

In all, Aladdin completed five stories inspired by Mantra's adventures. The last of them was Part I of a two part adventure called “The Wounded World.” It was intended to be concluded with a follow up, “The Twilight of the Gods.” Unfortunately, the pesky business of making a living foiled Aladdin's intention to bring out the latter story, at least to date. The text of “Twilight of the Gods” does exist, fortunately, as something between a rough draft and a very detailed outline. 

As an admirer of Aladdin's work, I made contact with the author. I must have made a pest of myself, urging Aladdin to, somehow, find time enough to finish the uncompleted novel. I was told that work has been keeping him pinned down. Nonetheless, he held out a hope that he could eventually go back to fan writing after retirement. Finally, I could wait no long and made the best of Ultraverse fan writers an offer. I would finish and revise “Twilight of the Gods” myself, if he pledged to give me as much editing and creative advice as he had time for. The last part was important; I wanted to turn out a finished product that held on to as much of Aladdin's original vision as possible. In exchange, we would be considered joint authors. It was an immense vote of confidence that Aladdin said "Yes." 

Consequently, I have started working on The Twilight of the Gods, based upon Aladdin's original work. It will be slow going, considering that I am currently working on the next "Eerie, AZ" novella, The Belle of Eerie, Arizona. The latter I hope to have ready for posting in about a year.

Okay, given that background, why, one might ask, am I offering what amounts to a third project, The Wounded World, starting today?

The reason is not so simple. Aladdin and I agree that readers would find Twilight of the Gods hard to understand if readers do not first get familiar with events of The Wounded World, which sets up the universe-shattering conflicts that Mantra struggles to resolve in The Twilight of the Gods. So, while I am putting most of my time into writing and editing the other two books, I'll also be doing some rather light editing on The Wounded World and posting it chapter by chapter into my personal TFTGS space.

The effort will take more than a year, but should leave me time enough to work on the other books also. Readers of TFTGS will be presented with a roughly 10-page chapter each month. My readers at TFTGS will already be familiar with this posting method.  Anyway, segmented adventures should be familiar enough to comic book fans.

As editor, I have made this pledge to Aladdin: That he will have approval rights over all modifications done to his original work. Incidentally, that is the best relationship that all authors and editors should seek to achieve. Too often, editorial ego gets in the way of smooth cooperation. Bad editing is more the rule than the exception. I will make it a priority to change that.

Now a word from Aladdin himself.

The Falling Star: Chapter 8, Part 1

The Falling Star, Chapter 8, Part 1

 

Posted 08-29-18

Revised 02-07-21

Revised 02-09-21

An Angel from Hell story

By Christopher Leeson

Chapter 8, Part 1

 

Jezebel regarded the ex-princess dubiously. “The last time I looked, Britain was still broadcasting boring Star Trek: The New Generation reruns. What do you mean you destroyed it?”

Frances looked up, red-eyed. “My homeland was once the most powerful empire ever to exist on Earth. It defied both Napoleon and Hitler, even while standing alone. Today it reels, paralyzed. They're guilt-tripping over the very idea that they have a right to defend their own country and livelihoods.”

The Watcher shrugged. “That figures. If an Englishman isn't at your throat, he's on his knees. Get to the point.”

Frances drew back defensively. “It's not simple to explain.”

“If something's too silly to say, sing it,” suggested Jezebel.

Frances took a deep breath. “The Cabal took the throne of England with the reptilian Tudor dynasty in 1485. In the Sixteenth Century, when the Tudors couldn’t make the Church submit, they set up an English church full of reptilians that would be more pliant. Creating the Empire was all about falling in with the Cabal's plans

“At the end of the nineteenth century, the Cabal took over the Bank of England with the blessing of the government. From that point on, with state, church, and economy all firmly under Satan's servants, Britain became even more of a fortress for Cabalism.” The longer “Frances Dillon” spoke, Jezebel noticed, the less Arkansan she sounded.

“The purpose of the Empire was to destabilize the world with war and to take over its weakest nations. That culminated in Britain using every provocation it could think of to turn local disagreements into World War I and World War II."

“As I see it, Britain was left a dried up husk after those wars," observed the angel.

“Yes, Britain's Cabalist leaders had recklessly fouled their own nest and when their country was wrecked, the really important Cabalists put them with the small-fry leaders after that. The real moving force behind the Cabal has always been the central banks, which have more recently been joined by the international corporations. Those people simply took advantage of the inroads that their agents had made inside America during the two world wars and started using American money and blood to serve their ends."

“Old news. What do you mean that you destroyed Britain?”

With a wince, the ex-princess continued. “After Britain was reduced to a military and economic shell, the Cabal decided against investing in the cost of renovating and decided to take away its empire and leave it poor. They mentally filed it with unimportant minor nations. That meant that their people and resources would be exploited, but its leadership would no longer factor in the struggle for world power."

Jezebel sighed. “For such a little lady, you sure can be long-winded.”

Though exasperated, Frances went on: “I've already told you how the Cabal trained me from childhood to be the “People's Princess. It was all a fraud; I was sold for public consumption like a patent medicine. Everything you saw or heard about me was a hoax and a fraud. There wasn't even any dispute between me and the Royals. We stage-managed that so I would look strong and heroic. I was actually too terrified to antagonize them in any way.”

"So, you actually had no problem with the Royals?”

"No, I did. But all the publicity was a sham. The real issues that existed between me and the Royals never came to the people's ear. I was supposed to be idolized. I was supposed to be a goddess-heroine for a country that the Cabal had already drained of religious faith and moral fiber. But I wasn't really that kind of person and I grew more miserable the longer it went on.”

The Watcher grunted. “Frankly, I never understood what anybody ever saw in you. There are plenty of worthless celebrities on this planet, but you were near the top of the list for losers. But, mehh, is it your fault that Great Britain could be satisfied with a tacky Plastic Princess? They got what they deserved.”

Amazingly, Frances did not flare. “Even I couldn't stand myself. I know I’m not the lovable type. I wasn't even a good person. But I finally started to hate myself. And even more, I hated the people.”

"Because they were idiots?”

Frances grimaced. “The common man is so sheep-like. Why is it so hard for him to understand what the intended fate of sheep has to be? I was pulling the wool over the eyes of millions. I wanted so much to fail. I wanted the English to see through me, to expose me and disgrace me, make me useless to the Cabal. Then I hoped I could just retreat into private life and do something that was right for me for a change. Fergie was able to do that.”

"Fergie. Yeah, there used to be a Fergie, wasn't there? If you ask me, Andrew should have married that racy actress Koo Stark, instead. If a duchess looks great on a pinup poster, what more does she need?"

Frances was frowning as the bad memories returned. "When Fergie served her purpose, they cast her off. The prince was happy enough to go back to the kind games that he loved best, like the ones they play on Epstein Island.”

Jezebel was trying to sort this out. “So the idea was to start the British thinking of you like a sister or daughter, only to have you suddenly be killed, publicly and brutally. I suppose the idea was to make the whole population feel like they had just lost a family member.”  

“Yes,” Miss Dillon said. "Demonic entities can infect emotional wounds like bacteria. The Cabal has an open channel to the Dark World. The Second Heaven wanted to numb the entire population with despair and apathy, to make them forget about unimportant things like freedom."

"Well, they went for Brexit, so maybe there's still hope for them."

"Yes, I pray that you're right."

For the moment, none of this mattered much to Jezebel. Her concern was whether she should turn Holly over to some unknown Southern preacher and the woman who, by her own confession, had ruined Western civilization.

"Why do I always have to be the one to decide these things?” Jezebel asked herself. She glanced up at the ceiling. "Why don't you ever talk to me?” she mentally demanded.

Another thought came to her then, a powerful one that seemed to override her own: “Why don't you ever talk to me?”

Jezebel blinked. Had she said that to herself, or was someone else speaking to her?

The angel shook her head and stood up. “Unless somebody can tell me why I should believe a thing that you two are saying, I'm out of here.”

Reverend Garland opened his lips but, something drew his glance upward. He was now gawping, like he'd done at the hotel. Ten seconds later, the cleric shifted his glance and met the Watcher's stare.

"Yeah, what?” Jezebel asked irritably.

"The Lord says that you should.... I don't understand it. Maybe His request will make sense to you.”

"What request?” she grunted.

"He says that you should take off your coat.”

Her coat?
 
Almost by its own volition, Jezebel right hand disengaged the coat zipper. She bemusedly hung the quilted garment over the back of her chair. A few seconds later, the Watcher saw Holly approaching between the tables – wary and sober.

When she could see France’s face, she paused in mid-step. Apparently, the singer, too, could see “Miss Dillion's” true appearance.

"This is Holly,” the Watcher told the seated pair. Then, to the celebrity, she said, “This is Reverend Orson Garland. And this lady calls herself Frances Dillon. She teaches school and destroys civilizations.”

The Hollywood refugee forced a smile and nodded. “P-Pleased to meet you...ma'am.”

"Won't you take the chair next to Miss Jill?” suggested Orson.

Holly sat down at Jezebel's right.

"We're also very pleased to meet you,” the minister added.

The waitress smiled tentatively, while her eyes addressed silent questions to her traveling companion.

"I can't make a lot of sense of it all,” whispered the latter. “They say they've been sent to help. I don't know if I trust them, but I don't know that I shouldn't, either.”

"Well, okay,” said the singing sensation. “Fill me in on what you've been talking about, please.”

For the next few minutes, with Orson doing most of the talking, the three briefed Holly. She was being invited to settle in a town called Jasper, where the couple would do all they could to help her live safely under a new identity.

"This is heavy. What do you think, Jill?” the younger woman asked.

Jezebel addressed Orson, “You sort of fit in with what I should have expected. God decides to place a lost soul into the care of a simple parson. No big surprises there. But why would he send a high-profile Nephilim along with you?”

Reverend Garland shook his head. “I'm not sure. It may be because Sister Frances has experienced some of the same mistreatment that Holly has. They may be able to comfort each other. Or perhaps the Lord thought that having a lady with us would reassure our young friend. And there's also the chance that God might wish to bring Frances out of the shadows and have her become more active in comfort-giving. The reaping of souls during the End Times shall require the work of many willing harvesters.”

"What about you, Holly?” Jezebel asked. “Would you ever feel at ease around a royal princess who happens to be a half-human ex-Cabal agent? The reformation rate among their upper crust has never been very impressive.”

The minister, wincing, looked back at the other restaurant diners. He was worried that someone might have overheard these frank words.

The Princess of Wales raised her chin. “Orson tells you true. I've been hiding since 1997. I've received mercy, but I haven't been doing very much to deserve it. I want to change that part of my journey. I don't know why, Holly, but it seems that your fate is important to the Lord. I think that helping you is the best way to make myself right with Him.”

"I don't know about that," Holly replied. "All I’ve ever tried to do is make myself rich and be famous. If there is really a God, I don't know why he'd bother sending an angel to help someone like me."

"An angel?" asked Frances.

The former star nodded. "A girl I didn't know led me out of a mansion full of child-murderers and cannibals. Then she suddenly appeared, days later, on a bus-seat behind me. She told me that the town that we happened to be in just then would be a good place for me to hide. The next thing I knew, she was gone again."
 
"I could tell a few amazing stories, too," the English girl said with a troubled smile.

Holly glanced to Jezebel. "Do you believe all this religious stuff, Jill?”

The latter shook her head. “I’m only doing what I've been told to do. But I truly believe that the supernatural is real. Science, on the other hand, not so much.”

Holly looked uneasy. “Who's telling you what to do?”

"The good guys – I think.”

The ex-star, ex-waitress digested these scraps of information briefly before asking, “If I went with them, could you come with us?”

The angel was now looking glum. "I really would like to have some quiet time, Holly. But I'm pretty sure that vacation leave is not in the cards for me.”

"You only came into my cafe two days ago, Jill, but it feels like it's been much longer. I'd hate to think that I won't be seeing you again. I've never met anyone like you. You're a frightening person, but at the same time you make me feel safe.”

"It's nice you should say that. But I'm just a pawn, an interchangeable part. When one task ends for me, another begins. There's a war going on and I'm expected to fight in it. Tomorrow, the battle will be somewhere else. But if I can’t be taking care of you from here on, you have to work extra hard to take care of yourself. I'm going to be very angry if you get yourself damned after all I've gone through to save you."

"Well, I'm going to do my best to not get you angry."

Jezebel nodded. "And I promise you this, Holly: I'm going to be looking in on you, and that won't be too far into the future. If you're doing all right, you might not even know that I've been there. That's for the best. Trouble rides around on my shoulder and I want the soft and breakable people like you to kept clear of it.

"But if I find that you're not in a good place, I don't know what else I could possibly do except kill anyone who's done you wrong.” Pointedly, Jezebel challenged the glances of the pair from Arkansas. “And I'll do the same with anyone who I find out helped them do it.” Reverend Garland appeared grave, but not frightened.

The princess then leaned forward. “She'll be all right, Miss Jill. If she's not, and if I'm to blame, go ahead and kill me.”

TO BE CONTINUED IN Chapter 8, Part 2