It was a struggle to hold onto the teacup and the test papers while trying (and failing) to sit myself onto the floor without spilling anything. I was in the empty and cold den of the villa I rented out every winter break (I was a teacher) to get away. I prefered the cold- in truth, I loved it- and I'd found that living in D.C. didn't allow me to enjoy it to its full potential. So, on my first (and far from last) trip to Canada, I'd found this place and bought it on impulse. There wasn't much that I'd liked about the villa other than its amazing view of a thick, white-fluff covered forest, allowed only by the large window in the den.
Which was why I was sitting there, soft blankets covering the floor and wrapped around me while I drank tea and graded papers.
Outside, snow was falling softly in short gusts, swirling around and finally falling to pack upon itself on top of the earth and trees.
It wasn't much, the foot or so between us. Some people might think that it's not something to fret over. However, I believe that I'm allowed to overreact, given the situation. Given the fact that I was supposed to protect him. Given the fact that we were facing demons.
Given the fact that he'd been taken by them right behind me.
I stared back to the hallway that we both entered but only I exited from. The right corner of my mouth was twitching the way it does when I start to get angry. It took every ounce of my self control and calming technique that I'd learned to ignore the demon pulling on my shoulder and form a sentence that didn't contain the colorful curse words that littered my vocabulary.
"Where is the boy?" I finally managed. The demon that was jerking my shoulder in a failed effort to keep me moving- the one that didn't deserve the use of the pretencious name that Niel had thought up for them- ceased its actions. It brought its mouth up to my ear and opened its mouth to speak. What assulted my ear sounded more like a landslide than an actual language, demonic or otherwise.
I smacked the demon in the back of its head, earning a hiss in return.
"Oi, fuck-face," I snapped. "English, if you don't mind."
"Where is Ruthe?" Niel shouts over the loud flapping noises of the demons wings. There were four, trying to escape the church by crashing repeatedly into the stained glass windows, but going nowhere.
"She left!" Thomas told him, hiding beneath the pews. "She said that she was going to find the doctor and ask him what he'd found, around 10 minutes ago!"
"Damn," Niel muttered, grabbing his gun from within his jacket and taking aim at one of the demons that had halted in the air.
"What do you think you're doing?" Niel jumped at the sound of Thomas's voice suddenly appearing beside him. He had crawled through the pews to the one nearest to Niel. "You know guns don't work on them. We should just leave for now and trap them in the church. Once Ruthe gets back, we'll kill them." One of the demons fell hard to the ground, causing Thomas to squeak and crawl away.
Niel looked back at the demons circling the high church ceiling, then turned to Thomas.
She was a woman, yes, but an interesting one no less. Ruthe was ridiculously blunt, never daring to mince her words in front of anyone, no matter who they were. She was...real. Someone that you could trust to do whatever she wanted when she wanted to. She kept true to her words, and would always- without fail- make the men that underestimate her never walk straight again. I am not ashamed to say that I fear Ruthe- for she is no ordinary woman that struts around men begging for attention. All eyes naturally land to her when she walks through the door to the bar, and I have long since given up trying to figure out if it is out of respect or wariness.
I knew of Ruthe far before the demon outbreak. She was the kind of peron with a reputation, someone whos name everyone could put a face to. I start to wonder, if it's just because she is crazy. Crazy in a way that no one dares to oppress, and everyone just accepts. She puts her feet up on the table like any man would, dress (the times she'd bothered to wear one and not mens trousers) riding up and exposing her calfs. If a man stared too long, or- god forbid- touched her, all hell would break loose.