The Last Hope

12 - Stolen

SONG FOR THIS CHAPTER - Joke's on you, Charlotte Lawrence. Linked above! ( You may recognise it from Birds of Prey!) If you enjoy the chapter please vote, it means a lot. Also, I actively encourage commenting and am trying my best to reply to any as quickly as I can. Want a chat? Don't be shy!

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Keenan greeted them warmly when they entered through the door that separated the shop façade from the Temple. Inside, the temple was duller than it had been yesterday morning, with the rain trickling down the stained-glass windows and tip-tapping against the roof high above. The full force of December had hit hard and the light filtering through was dreary, contrary to the beautiful morning sunshine they'd had the day before. Mercy felt just as gloomy as the weather, and the wind whipping against the sides of the temple was doing nothing to calm her fraying nerves.

Pissed off and soggy from the downpour, they hadn't talked much on the way over. Mercy was furious with Lincoln about what he had said. How she didn't get to fall apart. How there were too many people depending on her. It was not fair. She sure as hell didn't want to be a princess. She hadn't asked for this. He had no right to talk to her that way. The air around the pair was frigid, colder than the rain which had soaked its way through Mercy's jacket and jumper, now burrowing into her bones. She refused the urge to let her teeth chatter.

Mercy immediately stepped away from Lincoln, crossing the room to Mona. Keenan gave Lincoln a quizzical look. Lincoln just shook his head, climbing the stairs at the back of the room and disappearing out of sight.

Mona stood in her small alcove, again surrounded by hundreds of burning candles and bowls of incense. Her long blond hair was pulled into a braid that snaked down her back, swishing as she moved. Her dress today was ruby coloured, with a slit running to mid-thigh on either side. She dressed like a badass, Mercy couldn't dispute that, but she couldn't picture her in a wedding gown. Mona locked eyes with Mercy, cocking her head to one side like a wild animal. Right. The mind-reading. Mercy had forgotten about that; she made a mental note to be more careful with her thoughts.

She sauntered closer to the burning candles, inhaling their warmth as she peeled off her sodden layers. Left in just a tank, and her jeans which were making her legs feel like slabs of ice, she turned her frozen spine to the candles. Letting them warm her through, and surveyed the room, peering past the tall archway that led into the main temple.

Mona was arranging strange objects on a round table in front of her. Something round and flat and intensely black, another infamous bowl of incense, a singular candle on an ornate golden candlestick and a golden chain. Ariah was in the back of the room, beating the hell out of a standing punch bad. The blows landed so fast that Mercy could barely keep track of her as she twirled and danced, ducking imaginary blows. She landed a final kick that had the punching bag flying from its stand, sailing towards where Lincoln had reappeared in work out clothing, wrapping his hands. It hit the place he was standing with an almighty thunk - splitting and spilling sand everywhere - but missing Lincoln by inches as he jumped. Lincoln reappeared next to Mona, shooting Ariah daggers but said nothing.

Mercy knew Ariah despised her, for whatever reason, but might she also hate Lincoln? And if she did, why did he choose not to say anything when Mercy asked him about it. A mutual hatred of a person was Mercy's main source of bonding - stupid Sentinels with their stupid honour. She was watching them both like puzzle pieces she couldn't fit together when Mona cleared her throat. "We'll start with some basic channelling, whilst Ariah cleans up her mess."

Ariah rolled her eyes as she crossed the room to a store cupboard Mercy had never noticed before, walking back across the room with a broom in hand. She threw the punch bag over her shoulder and walked it out of the door to the shop like it weighed five pounds, a trail of sand hissing lightly as it hit the ground behind her. Mona's smile was strained and didn't reach her eyes. "Sit." She gestured with a hand to a chair that had appeared, tucked under the round table. As Mercy took her seat with her back to the temple, Lincoln walked away from the women, not making eye contact with Mercy; crossing the room to Keenan where the two began to spar.