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protecting the undesirables
- Pen -
I tuck my hair back behind one ear and squint against the setting sun. The ends tickle the back of my sweaty neck and stick in my collar, making me itch enough that I consider chopping it off to chin length again.
Voices drift from past the Bone Yard’s wall, adding to my irritation.
“Go back to your own world!” The voice echoes through a bullhorn. “This one is for humans!”
“Those who lay down with devils pave the roads to Hell!”
Gods, I hate these Church of Humanity people.
Their organization suffered a severe blow when news spread that their temple in Clearhelm hosted a blood drive service designed to identify women with witchblood so they could be impregnated with demon spawn and sold on the black market.
They weren’t responsible, but the perpetrators performed the horrific act under their name, and the masses didn’t believe their protestations of innocence. It cost them a lot of their supporters and funding, and we all said good riddance to them.
But then ancient forest creatures tried to destroy the city, and a new speaker for the Church of Humanity rose from the ashes of their organization.
Jordan Shawe. Fanatic zealot and best buddies with Interim-Mayor Bailey.
I pace past the entrance to the Bone Yard, daring the protesters to throw something besides words of hate. The group looks bigger today, and the man at their front stands on a box to rise head and shoulders above his small congregation.
Self-righteous anger rolls off him, contaminating everyone he touches. He should do us all a favor and trip off a cliff.
Behind the crowd, men and women in the uniforms of Clearhelm Police stand ready to enforce the peace, though we all know that enforcement will land heavily in the zealot’s favor.
“They’re not going to take the bait.” Johannsson leans against the wall, fanning his face with a stack of pamphlets we confiscated to negate the humid heat. “If you want to taunt them, do it after our shift ends.”
With an irritated sigh, I join him in the shade, out of view of the protesters.
When they first showed up in front of our archway, they made the mistake of throwing rotten fruit and hitting a wailer demon. The resulting shrieks ruptured a few eardrums and sent the group running.
The Clearhelm Police tried to fine the demon and get him deported across the veil. Too bad for them that after we formed the Bone Guard, we increased security and installed security cameras that proved the humans started the assault.
“We have one more street to patrol before we can clock out.” Johannsson tugs on his collar. “I can’t wait to go home to my air conditioning.”
I look forward to escaping the humidity, too, but I keep my desire locked away. No way in hell will I be caught agreeing with the former lieutenant of the Joint Task Force of Paranormal Investigations. I’d rather jump into a vat of acid.
“Wish the rain held out for another hour to make our job easier.” Johannsson’s grumbles replace the sound of the protesters as we walk toward the first major intersection. “At least no one’s realized the clouds have passed, yet. Think we’ll get lucky and they’ll stay inside until we clock out?”
I murmur noncommittal noises, and Johannsson continues muttering to himself.
He doesn’t require actual input from me. It’s his way of processing. He rambles while he takes in our surroundings, which is annoying as fuck, but also something I can tune out.
Rain glistens on the street, and the humid air sticks my T-shirt and cargo pants to my damp skin. The brief summer storm drove the demons and witchblood into the shops that line either side.
The rare sight of an empty Bone Yard makes my breath catch.
With the repairs of the damage complete, the demon-owned part of Clearhelm transformed yet again. Now, instead of straight cement roads, cobblestones make serpentine paths, leaving room for more greenery.
In a few years, this place will be an oasis in the middle of the busy city, with the houses and businesses blending into the surrounding forest.
It’s little wonder that demons embrace nature so much. The war between them and witchbood almost destroyed the biome of their world, turning it into a wasteland outside of the single citadel.
While recent years have brought healing to their cracked and scorched earth, the road to recovery takes time. The witchbloods who brave the Yard help to nurture the foliage, accelerating its growth.
On a regular day, the streets are so packed with beings that I can’t admire the little haven they’ve created in the middle of the cement jungle that surrounds our wall.
