Shelika felt it was absurd, yet her heart pinched like a bruise. Without much hope, she told Charlotte, “No, stay put at the inn, find your own food, and don’t cause trouble.”
To passing eyes, her words looked like a young, lovely single mother soothing a stubborn child—a gentle scene that tugged like silk on the heart.
“No, no, no!” Charlotte shook her head hard, chin lifting like a little flag. Fire sparked in her eyes. “Don’t be fooled by Charlotte—I’m very capable!”
As long as she doesn’t get ‘done,’ that would already be a blessing, Shelika sighed inwardly, her thoughts fluttering like dry leaves.
Shaking off the clutter in her head, Shelika led Charlotte to a supermarket on the commercial street. She pointed at a hiring notice and said, “Since you’re so capable, can you handle this?”
The notice read, “Warehouse shelf arranging. Sorcery skills required. Certified applicants preferred.”
Her gaze snagged on “certified,” a hook in her doubts. No way this clumsy little thing had a seal from any arcane institution.
Charlotte patted her chest like a sparrow fluffing its feathers. “No problem!”
She fished a gleaming coin from beneath her skirt, tore down the notice, and with both in hand, her small pink legs pitter-pattered to the counter. “Boss, I want this job!”
The clerk had pegged her as unreliable, but the shine in her hand made his eyes pop like shutters. “That’s a certification badge from the Rhode Academy of Sorcery!”
In truth, Shelika had also come out of the Rhode Academy, a quiet sheen under her calm like moonlight on water.
Charlotte waggled the notice with smug delight and shot Shelika a “no problem” look. Then she leaned toward the clerk. “Well? Can I do the job?”
“N–no problem. You’re a huge help. Praise the Earth Mother. Get into work clothes and start right away.”
Shelika watched Charlotte being led into the shelving area. Even with the “don’t worry” hand sign, Shelika followed, her caution a thin veil like mist.
Only when she saw Charlotte—earnest and reliable—cleaning and arranging goods with a swirl of spells like quicksilver, did Shelika’s worry uncoil like smoke.
Still, unease perched on her shoulder like a crow. She released a vanguard drone to trail Charlotte and said, “Let my familiar shadow you. If anything happens, contact me at once.”
“Got it~~ Charlotte understands!”
The clerk, hovering nearby, spoke to Shelika. “Excuse me, miss, are you her…”
Shelika turned, neither distant nor familiar, her voice smooth as jade. “I’m her friend. What is it?”
“My apologies, my apologies. I thought you were her mother.”
The line irked Shelika in more ways than one, a thorn under silk. “Does this humble lady look that old?”
“No, no!” the clerk stammered, bowing with small movements like ripples. “You of the Dark Blood Clan don’t show age. You’re radiant as flowers, and she looks about the same. Seeing your care, I assumed…”
Shelika had no time to bandy words. She waved him off, a flick like a crane’s wing. “All right, all right. I’ll be going.”
Leaving Charlotte to work among the shelves, Shelika stepped out of the supermarket, slipped off the commercial street, and walked alone toward Temple Street, her thoughts drawn tight like thread.
It was still morning; the sunlight bit like needles on skin. She raised a parasol, a pale moon over her, and kept on.
Alone under the parasol, she strolled like a willow on the bank—full-bodied grace, noble bearing, calm beauty. Many passersby turned, their gazes flowing after her like a river.
Besides her overbright beauty, the Blood Clan appearing in daylight was rare, a white flare in a dark sea that drew eyes.
Unwillingly the center of a thousand looks, Shelika’s heart muttered like distant thunder. If not for business, she would not walk beneath the naked sun.
Her task lay ahead—Temple Street’s Earth Mother’s Outer Hall, the public sanctuary linked to the Earth Mother Grand Hall in the outer districts of the Holy City.
Delicious Great Demon Shrimp opened after four in the afternoon. With nothing to do before then, Shelika decided to use the spare hours to gather intel, her intent sharp as a knife under satin.
She needed information on the Hymn Project and the Wasteland Deity. The Earth Mother’s Outer Hall, tightly braided with the former, was her best option.
She reached Temple Street, slipped past the nets of attention like a fish, and came to the Outer Hall’s front. The temple rose in terraces, grand and sublime, stone like mountains, light like incense. As she stood before it, a solemn hush filled her chest, heavy as rain.
She lifted her eyes to the vast terraces and the central fountain where the Earth Mother’s holy statue stood pure as ice. Joining the pilgrim flow, she crossed the threshold and entered the Outer Hall.
Inside, vigilance walked in iron steps. Several knight units of the Demonic Human Race patrolled, their armor rolling like dark waves.
Yet the temple also welcomed a flood of pilgrims, their footsteps a soft rain on ancient stone.
In the wide corridors, the pilgrim lines and the knight lines kept far apart—two rivers running side by side—each doing its own work with surprising order.
Moving with the pilgrims, Shelika passed through the walkway and reached the Outer Hall’s great chamber, a chapel-like space with walls hung in painted myths of the Earth Mother.
The images told of the Earth Mother, a sovereign who gave up her body, forging the land with flesh and blood, birthing countless lives—mountains from bone, rivers from veins, wind from breath.
Since the land was made of flesh, those not of the land—the Celestial Spirits from the sky—became foes, a bright thunder against the soil’s quiet pulse.
As pilgrims knelt to the images and whispered prayers on the kneelers, candles trembled like tiny stars.
Several priests approached from the front, robes rippling like calm waves.
“Oh, pilgrims, greetings. Blessings of the Earth Mother upon you. We’re today’s attendants.”
Businesslike warmth carried in their voices, welcome like warm bread, duty clear as bell notes.
“If you have questions about the Mother—doctrine or otherwise—please ask. We’ll be here until the afternoon.”
Each priest held the proper measure—neither high nor low, no forced distance—answering sincerely, their words settling like water finding level.
Seeing their plain, steady manners, Shelika’s heart loosened with a sigh like a wind through pines. She remembered those priests she had seen on battlefields—faces wild as storm—and the contrast struck deep.
