Hand of Grace

Collar

Anne was vaguely aware of being carried as she drifted awake. She opened her eyes, but the exercise proved fruitless as the area was devoid of even the semblance of light. She knew she was outside and that her head was pressed against a leathered chest. She wondered why anyone would feel the need to carry her out of bed without waking her and why that person would be wearing leather. Didn't most firefighters wear...She couldn't think what firefighters wore in that moment, but she knew they didn't wear leather.

She searched for her last memory, trying to figure out why she could possibly be in this situation. After a few moments of digging through memories of her bed in the palace – that's right, she was on Gaia – she then remembered traveling to Gates and stepping through the worldgate so that she could – Panic filled her as she remembered the Witch and the incubus. She jerked awake and flailed until she was dropped to the ground. Despite the shock of the impact, that same panic helped her force her limbs beneath her and she crab-walked backwards in a desperate attempt to scramble away. Being on the ground didn't change the fact that it was still dark outside. She had no idea where she was going or what was around her. She hoped she wasn't going toward a ravine, or tree, or bramble bush.

A soft white light appeared a few feet away illuminating the area as it grew brighter. As she frantically took in her wooded surroundings, she note that the light was hovering a few inches from the open hand of a somewhat familiar form and it made her pause.

"It worked." Even as the words left her lips, Anne could scarcely believe what she was saying. The Witch was dead? The Death Dealer, the one she was supposed to murder, was now her... ally? She tried to wrap her mind around this thought, struggling to understand how she was supposed to be okay with someone who had previously killed so many.

And then she remembered that this particular incubus was good at mind-reading so she stopped her internal monologue and looked expectantly at him.

"Indeed." The former Death Dealer closed the distance between them and gazed down at her. Now that her pupils had adjusted and he was standing in the light, she could see his lips were curled and his eyes, now devoid of anything even remotely resembling violence, were filled with amusement. She hadn't thought he was capable of being amused by anything that didn't involve killing.

Had he been reading her mind? Did he know what she was thinking about him? She shoved that concern out of her mind and replaced it with another one. "Where are we?" Anne demanded as she sat up and crossed her legs. She was in absolutely no position to be demanding, especially on the ground, but putting on a brave front seemed like the best option at this point.

"About a half mile away from the fighting," he answered, nodding over his shoulder.

His answer seemed reasonable, but she couldn't keep the questions from spilling out. "Who's fighting? Where are you taking me? What happened? Why are we here?"

She kept waiting for a flicker of anger to appear in his eyes, but instead, he cast the light into the air. It hovered directly above them, providing gentle illumination that didn't blind her. He knelt in the grass next to her. "Remove this collar from my neck and I'll answer what I can."

At his words, Anne's attention was drawn to the black leather collar, no different from a dog collar, that was affixed to his neck. She hadn't noticed it before. She scrambled to her knees and did as she asked. It was a simple buckle, causing her to wonder why he couldn't do it himself.

When she held it out to him, he took it from her, murmuring his thanks. "No one but the Witch could remove it," he answered her unvoiced question. "I imagine I could have after the spell was broken, but it seemed appropriate that I should ask you."