The Nightwillow

Chapter 5

She was supposed to be concentrating.

Instead, wild, uncontrollable thoughts tumbled through Sophie's head.

It wasn't as if she hadn't heard of callings. The Sisters of the Holy Cross gave their lives to God and vowed chastity forever, their calling being to give up everything for Him. Her local preacher expounded on the blessings God bestowed when people followed their callings, his being a life of evangelism and teaching. Even artists described their inherent need to create as a calling they couldn't resist, and every one of them, no matter how poor or struggling they were, seemed to glow when describing their choice to follow.

Was this "calling" of hers the same thing? The people she had met were euphoric when they spoke of their callings, like they were the most beautiful things in the world. Even just talking about their callings transformed them into something ethereal. Like they couldn't imagine doing or being anything else but what they were.

She wasn't so sure.

That ever deepening crease between her father's eyes elicited fear, not joy. Conflict raced through her as fast as the electricity every time she pulled forth the power that now crawled under her skin. She could feel it there, resting, waiting. It bathed her in warmth, and the idea of it no longer being there froze the blood in her veins.

But not knowing what this was, not knowing what this meant for her future made her wonder if she should even accept the calling. Could she even refuse it? Did she even want to?

A pulse of energy surged from her hands, startling her.

"Sophie!" her father growled, his fair face turning a brilliant shade of purple. "Gather your wits!"

"Sorry, I-"

"No. There is no sorry. There is no time for apologies, anymore, Soph. You have to learn to control this." He waved his hands toward hers. "All our lessons, everything I've taught you over your short years on this earth have to come together now. There is no hiding what you are from the Seraphim any more, and I fear that they will come for what they think is theirs," her father warned, tears brimming in his eyes as he pulled her into a tight embrace.

They may come, but she would not surrender anything to them. Not now. Not ever. This was hers. Hers, and they couldn't have it.

"But it's not theirs! It is mine," Sophie defended, her eyes flashing. There was that icy possessiveness again.

He shook his head, running his hands through his thick, blonde locks, which were now standing in every awkward direction. "No, no. That isn't how it works, Sophie. The Seraphim are one. When a piece is missing, they know it. Since I left, there has been a void in their ranks. I was hoping that God would just create another seraph to fill it and let me be here in peace. I had prayed. I..." her father faded off.

A loud roar ripped from his throat as the veins in his tense arms pulsed toward his fisted hands. Tears escaped, trickling down his cheeks. For a moment she could imagine this man with unfurled and magnificent wings, hot angst filling his soul.

As she absorbed his words, understanding dawned. In his desire to please Lovie and give her a family, he chose a path that could cost them everything.

She took his hand in hers, feeling his muscles relax as she said, "I don't know why they'd want me. From what you've told me, I'm weaker than they are. I have little insight into their ways. Are you sure this is really a calling?"

"Soph, we've been over this." His expression resolute. "Yes, I'm sure."

Sophie almost wished back the fear and wonderment that had consumed her the night after the Leeds' party. It had been two weeks of physically punishing training since then. Her body ached in new places, and her bruises were an ugly rainbow of purple, blue, and yellow.