Demon's Bane

Chapter 12

Okay, I actually have a large chunk of this story written.  Like a huge chunk.  I never got around to posting it, because I'm truly lazy but I'll add it all up tonight for those of you patiently reading this story.  

Also, these chapters will most likely be unedited.  You know the drill.

Update:  I checked and cringed at the state of this draft.  It's horrible...but...I'll fix it later.  If you want to read on anyway, be my guest--but don't you dare complain!  ;p

Chapter 12

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To most people, being unceremoniously dumped on a stained old sofa would have been rather insulting.  To Jana—who had spent the past week hiding in a sewage tunnel and one measly night on an inflatable mattress in a crummy demon infested apartment—the soft, squishy cushions of the couch felt like heaven.

Though, admittedly not as comfortable as Stark’s bed—but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

The scent of old peppermint wafted against nose, as her muscles gratefully sank into the worn upholstery.  That, added to the fact that someone’s fingers ran gently through her nappy, filthy, knotted hair, bundled Jana in the bubbly-warm feeling of being safe and protected.

Of course, it was the ‘feeling safe’ part that sent her instincts reeling. 

The last time she had felt ‘safe’ was when she had been stupid and five when was still small enough to curl up at night with Data—back when the back of their van had felt like an impenetrable fortress against evil. 

When nasty endings that came to the things that they hunted, never happened to her. 

Suffice to say it hadn’t lasted long. 

“A note of advice,” she grumbled, peeling her eyes open.  “Unless you cease with the petting in five seconds, when I find the strength to open my eyes, you can trust that I will rip each one of your fingers off.”

Bravado.  That was the main tool in the Jana arsenal of weapons, right after sarcasm.  Because, honestly, she knew that she didn’t have a prayer of even ripping the wings off a fly. 

Surely her voice wasn’t that pathetic, wimpy whisper?—but her lips were already forming the words regardless. 

Her assailant didn’t even take any notice.  They just went on detangling her hair with those smooth, gentle fingers.

  “It’s alright baby,” a woman’s voice soothed; a voice as thick as fresh honey with a slight musical drawl.  “Ol’ Mabel’s got you now—Persephone,” she called to someone close by. “Be a sweetheart and fetch me a glass of water.”

“Yes mama.”  A pair of footsteps clunked away across a floor that sounded suspiciously hard, solid wood maybe? 

Jana couldn’t think clearly enough to care.

This ‘Mabel’ person had to be some kind of expert torturer, she figured.  Why else would she sound so gentle, and her touch feel so nice?

She worked what little of her muscles she could to wiggle away, and this time Mabel’s fingers withdrew.

“You can relax now, honey,” Mabel soothed again.  “You’re safe, now.”

Safe.  There was that pesky word again.  Jana felt a hysterical laugh build in her throat along with the annoying prickle of something behind her eyes. 

‘Safety is only an illusion,’ Data would sadly said every once in a while—she had learned that one the hard way.

There was no such thing as safe. 

“Leave me alone,” she croaked.  Somehow, she managed to get her good eye open and she glared at the face of the woman staring down on her.

Graying brown hair, piercing green eyes, age old skin.  Mabel looked familiar, but Jana didn’t care to put a name to it.

“I’m not allowed to talk to strangers,” she added bitterly. 

Though, even Data would have given a good scolding to see her treat an older woman, even a kidnapper, with such disrespect. The man had been nothing if not the old southern gentleman—even to those he killed. 

But he wasn’t here right now, and right now Jana felt the urge just to do something—anything—to erase that open, loving gaze in the woman’s eyes; a look that threatened to swallow her up with its goodness, and make her do something stupid…

  Like curl up into this comfortable couch and fall asleep.

Mabel gave a sad smile.  “I know you don’t remember me, honey,” she said, shaking her head.  “But I’m Bartholomew’s little sister.”

Who?  Jana managed to raise a sore eyebrow.  She didn’t remember anyone of that name, which didn’t mean much considering she had only known about four people personally in her whole life. 

Hunting and killing monsters left little time for socialization.

  “Who the hell is Bartholomew?”

Clunky footsteps drew her attention to a tall girl with wavy blond hair who strolled to the side of Jana’s couch and shoved a glass of water under her nose.

 “Here—” Then, she pointedly turned to the Mabel and placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder.  “He stopped using that name ages ago Mama.  She only knows him as Data.”