Peacock's Feather

         Rain.  Judah let it pool in her hand, shivering as the heavens unburdened themselves on the earth... and on her.  Only five minutes out in the open, and already her white dress was drenched.  Lucky for her she had her father's trench coat.  Nathan D'Arville was about three times the size of his petite daughter, but if it kept out the chill of rain, it was good enough for Judah.

         Pulling on the coat and nearly getting lost inside its folds, Judah managed to free herself, then scanned the library parking lot.  Still empty, on a drab Sunday evening.  As it should be.  All the normal Humans, with their cozy lives... some sitting at home in front of a football game, some singing hymns in church... Sometimes Judah thought she would give anything for one peaceful Sunday night within the comforting walls of a church.

         She gave herself a shake, the parking lot growing hazy behind her daydreams.  Focus.  You can't afford to lose your edge now.  You're so close...

         The canvas sack underneath the trench coat weighed heavy on her arm.  In one pocket was a bag full of Elvish gold - gold mixed with other minerals that Elves had used for currency in the days before the Separation, and now used for illegal purposes.  On the other side of the weighty gold, a formidable gun, streamlined with Judah's own fyre mgîc, nestled within a cold safety blanket.

         But between the two dense objects was another item - a tiny thing of Human gold, more hole than matter.  Judah hated the sight of it.  But tonight, it may very well save her life.

         On the street just beyond the library, a car sped past, headlights spearing through the gray fog of rain.  Judah blinked the stars out of her eyes, her fingers going over and over the strap of the canvas bag.  Where was the man?

         As if conjured from rain by her thoughts, a battered silver van pulled into the library driveway, its color fading into the rain.  Judah raised a hand to block the glare of the headlights.  There seemed to be one man and one man alone inside the car.

         But one could never tell with the Jade.  Especially those connected with Palamara.

         Peacock.  Judah couldn't help the trace of the smile that flitted over her lips.  It fit so well.  So very well.

         The van pulled into a parking space next to her own vehicle - the borrowed red Ferrari of her sister's.  The van door opened, and an umbrella poked out, unfolding in the air and sending a spray of raindrops onto Judah's favorite black stiletto heel boots.  She pursed her lips and watched the hefty man drop from the van's seat and slam the door.

         "I guess you melt in water, like most witches do?" the man asked as he came up under the library's covered walkway.  He folded the umbrella and shook it, splattering Judah with more drops.

         Judah refrained from curling her lip in disgust, as she was so dying to do.  "I could ask you the same," she replied with a pointed nod to the umbrella.  "I understand that five paces' walk is quite a distance for one of your standing, but I assumed that your natural tenacity and strength would--"

         "Shut up, blood witch." The man gave her a sharp glance; his eyes were slanted, his confidence in his ability to shut her up plain in them.

         Judah smiled icily.  "As you wish." She pulled the bag out from under her trench coat. 

         The man eyed it with greed and reached out a hand, but Judah raised her own, letting a couple sparks fly from her fingertips in warning.  The embers fell to the wet pavement and sputtered as the man jerked his hand away.  "First," Judah said, "your contribution."

         "I want to see the gold and the weapon first."

         Judah sighed as if bored, though inwardly her heart began to beat too hard for comfort; there wasn't enough room in her chest for it to expand... it was starting to hurt.  Swallowing, Judah pulled out the Ziploc baggie; even in the rainy twilight, the coppery Elvish gold glowed dimly. 

         Judah dropped it on the ground, ignoring the squeak of protest from the man, and put the toe of her boot over it.  Then the gun came out of the bag - an ordinary pistol on the outside, inside laced with Elf mgîc of fire.

         Sliding the much lighter bag back over her arm, Judah dangled the pistol from its trigger.  "Folder.  Now."

         The man smirked, his eyes still on the gold and gun.  "I'd love to hear how you got the Coven to agree with this one," he said, pulling a sheaf of papers from his jeans pocket.  "Those things are worth your life five times over."

         "Oh, I've no doubt." Judah offered the icy smile again, and took the proffered papers. She skimmed the handwritten titles - particularly one, underlined fiercely, just two words.  A name. 

         Theodore Palamara.

         And below them, a word that made her tremble with excitement and relief.  Evidence.

         She folded the papers again and slipped them into the bag.  "I have no shame in telling you, Mister So-And-So," she began, looking up, "that I would give much more than that to get my hands on--"

         The knife hummed through the air, straight at her chest.  Judah dove to the side, grabbed onto one of the walkway's support pillars for balance, and then threw herself back at the Jade man.

         He had the knife outstretched, but now she was ready for him.  She didn't even take time to be surprised; treachery had always been the biggest concern. 

         That was what the tiny little thing in her bag was for.

         Judah kicked up, her pointed heel driving straight into the Jade factioner's face.  He groaned, but the action didn't stop him from slashing the knife through the air.  Pain carved a searing line down Judah's calf.  Then her foot came back down hard on the ground; her leg nearly gave.  But she didn't let it; she couldn't let it.

         She plunged her hand into the back, searching.  One of the papers' edge bit her finger, a miniscule paper cut that went unnoticed.  Where was the thing?  It was in here--

         A hairy hand latched onto the bag's strap and yanked; another hand gripped a knife, stabbing it towards her middle.  Judah leapt back.  The bag strap caught inside the trench coat; Judah stumbled, just for a second, but it was enough.  The Jade slung her out into the rain.

         Judah made a last desperate grab for the bag.  The strap was biting into her arm, cutting off her circulation, it was still in her reach... Just as she fell, the man lost his grip.  The sudden loss of opposing force drove Judah onto the concrete of parking lot - a splash as her body hit water, and a crack as her head met stone.

         For a moment, darkness swathed her vision.  Outside, from far away, rain still fell; someone sloshed through the inch-deep water, closer and closer... the water was in her mouth, she was breathing it...

         Judah pushed herself up with a snarl, coughing up water.  The last bit of it had finally came out when a heavy foot slammed into her ribcage, lifting her up and even further away.  Pain lanced through her once, and again when she landed, momentum curling her spine around a lamppost.

         Old scars and bruises screamed; Judah briefly thought in a haze of panic that she would throw up.  Not here, not here... She pushed up on her hands and knees, grimacing with the effort.  Where was he...

         Right by her.  Judah saw the knife come at her.  She lunged to the side, heard the knife clatter against the metal lamppost.  Water splashed up into her face, the chill of it bringing her out of the daze.

         "D'Arville!" the man shouted behind her.  Judah got to her hands and knees, staying upright through sheer willpower.  She felt sick, the pain in her backbone leading to every nerve ending in her body...

         Then she went totally cold as she saw what the man wanted to show her.  The canvas sack, empty on the ground... and the papers scattered on the ground, bathing in the rainwater, their graphite bloods oozing from their surfaces.

         Judah couldn't move.  No.  Not after all this.

         Then she remembered it. 

         Ignoring the man's soft chuckles, the expectant way he fingered his knife, Judah lunged at the bag, soaking in the ground.  The man stood and watched as she dug into it, searching the pockets.  It was in here, somewhere.  She knew she had put it there-

         There!  Judah yanked the tiny thing from the bag and thrust it in front of her, just as the man approached her with the knife.  He stopped dead in his tracks.

         The lamppost which had nearly broken her back flickered into life; yellow light illuminated a pocket of the rainy twilight.  The light jumped onto the object in Judah's hand: a delicate ring of pale gold.  Two small diamonds were burrowed into the metal, glittering in the lamplight as brightly as the day nearly three hundred years ago when it had first come into Judah's possession.

         "You kill me," she whispered, "on behalf of Palamara, and this shatters into a hundred pieces.  The breaking of the Elven Promise will alert the Coven, and this time, Theodore will not escape based on a technicality that says I'm out of my mind." The pain in her back intensifying, Judah smiled a little.  "Not that I'm not.  But Palamara will still die as well."

         The man swore.  "Tricky little witch, aren't you?" he said, and threw the knife.

         Judah tried to dodge, but her spine burned with pain, and she doubled over.  The blade slid smoothly into her chest.  Already going cold, Judah slumped to the ground, clutching her wedding ring in feelingless hands.





         "...had your kind before, they always seem to show up on my doorstep.  Of course, this is the place to come, the poor and the lost... oh, waking up, are you, my dear?"

         Judah opened her eyes with difficulty, her head pounding.  Somewhere near her shoulder a dull throb of pain connected with another throb at the base of her spine.  She swallowed the groan that threatened to come out.

         A face, long and lacily wrinkled, appeared over hers, smiling.  It was an old man, with gray hair and gray eyes and rather gray skin as well.  "Glad you came around, my dear," he said, straightening.  "For a while I thought you wouldn't pull through.  You're a bit dainty, even for one of the Bloods."

         The lamppost had severely damaged her spinal cord, surely - Judah couldn't even get shocked about that.  "You... know?"

         "Oh, yes.  Somehow all your wounded comrades in arms find their way to New Hope."

         For some reason, all Judah could think of was Star Wars.  "New..."

         She pushed herself up on her elbows and glanced around.  She lay stretched out on a padded wooden bench, a blanket over her, a hymnal at her feet.  The only light in the small room was a tall, thick candle, glowing underneath a stained glass window.  Against the opposite wall was a little altar; the candlelight lit the pages of an ancient Bible, opened to the Psalms.

         Judah felt very warm and very fuzzy - comfortably so.  She sank back.  "A church," she whispered.  "A church." The irony of it tugged at her dampened senses, and she laughed, higher pitched than usual and more than a little unhinged.

         The churchman turned and looked down at her with a faint frown.  "Are you all right?"

         Judah thought of telling him what she had just gone through.  But she didn't.  She just shook her head and started to sit up.  "Fine."

         The churchman put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her back down.  "Easy," he warned.  "Now, I know I may be younger than you ancient ones," he added as she tried to protest, "but listen to an old Human's worries and humor me.  You're much too pretty to be dying a painful death."

         Judah had no strength to argue.  She laid down again.  "My back--"

         "I have experience with that." The man nodded.  "Your back is in bad shape.  If you were Human, you'd be paralyzed.  As it is, you probably won't want to do any dances any time soon.  Or even stand."

         Judah shook her head.  "I have to stand.  My family--"

         "Can do without you for a day or two." The man put a hand on her shoulder.  "Just tell me your name, and I'll call your family and explain."

         "They'll come to get me."

         "You shouldn't be moved.  It nearly killed you when I brought you here from the library.  Besides, for them to come get you, I have to know your name anyway."

         He stood there at the side of the pew, waiting patiently.  Judah sighed.  There was no arguing with the tall old man.  "D'Arville.  Judah D'Arville."

         "Dee-Arville," he repeated.  "French?"

         Judah nodded slowly.  "French spelling.  Elvish pronunciation."

         "Ah.  Well, Miss D'Arville, in any case, I'm Reverend Matthews." He held out a hand.

         Judah took it; it was strong and corded and warm.  Protective.  She drew her hand back as soon as she politely could.  "A... a pleasure to meet you."

         "And the same to you." He smiled, and for a moment Judah was reminded of her step-grandfather, Alejandro.  He had the same warm eyes.  The same hands. 

         Then Reverend Matthews glanced at her right hand.  "If I may be so bold..."

         With a start, Judah realized her fingers were still curled into a tight fist, her knuckles aching by now.  She brought her hand closer to herself, unwilling to show the Reverend what she was holding.  Too many questions, enough to shatter his warmth towards her...

         He watched her small defensive movement and nodded.  "I understand.  Secretive, you Bloods are.  Never can get anything out of you unless you want to say it.  Ah, well.  I'll leave you to it.  Your family will be notified..."

         He went to the door of the small room - a prayer room, Judah realized - and exited.  Silence fell, the only movements the dancing flame of the candle on the off-white walls.  Outside, flashes of car headlights occasionally brightened the stained glass window of the empty tomb. 

         Judah sighed softly and laid her head back against the pillow of folded blankets.  You wanted a quiet Sunday night in the church, she thought.  Well.  Here it is.

         The pressure of the ring in her clenched hands eventually made her pry her fingers away.  A band of bloodless white marked the top of her palm and the base of her middle finger; around that, blotchy red skin pulsed with another knot of pain. 

         The ugly thing, she thought as savagely as she could.  Not very savagely, as it turned out.  The peacock's symbol.  The peacock's feather. 

         She tossed it away.  It hit the wall and rolled behind the altar, a brief flash of gold and then nothing.  Judah slumped back into the pew and closed her eyes, unwilling to admit that Theodore's worthless Covenant Ring had ultimately saved her life.