The Unveiling

Chapter Three

I finally chose to switch on the television. Shay, Rogue and I never owned a TV, and the last time I truly watched any sort of show was before the Virus hit, and they were all family dramas involving human couples. Of course, you couldn’t go anywhere without knowing about the Kardashians - turned out that in this era, they were actually predominantly goblin in descent, which made sense because goblins were actually characteristically really good with finances and accumulating wealth. 

I stretched out on the couch, absorbed with the turn reality TV had taken. I was watching some blind dating show where the bachelorette had to guess the racial mix of her suitors. She was allowed to ask strategic questions, but judging by the glint in her eye as the men spoke, I would say that she was either a succubus or siren, making me more afraid for the men than anything else. 

I deftly switched to something else before I saw one of those men get devoured and found myself watching a religious type of show. A beautiful redhead woman, dressed in robes that were strategically placed to show off her cleavage, and lifted in just the right way that when she turned you caught glimpses of her upper thigh. 

“You see,” she spoke huskily, “being intimate with a woman and bringing her to climax brings you closer to source,” she gushed. “So it is an honour to lay with any woman who allows you this access. You become more enlightened and one with source in the most exquisite way.” 

Ah yes, Source. There were those who believed that source was ultimately where we were all derived from - some argued that she was the mother source, nurturing and kind; while others argued for the male counterpart. The stripping of the veil left many people clutching for answers, with new religious cults emerging daily. 

I fell asleep to her ramblings of how we must welcome the men, giving them access to source, because ultimately that is how we will all be in the vortex of self manifestation. At some point I must have rolled over and turned the damn thing off, because silence permeated my tiny abode as I slept as soundly as possible. 

The dreams came - which was to be expected, and I tossed and turned and heaved. And finally, when I was calmer and settled back to sleep within the soft sofa I heard a cultured male voice whisper in the crevices of my mind. 

“Knock, Knock.” 

Even within my sleep induced state, it seemed different. I waited a moment, and suddenly my mind was flooded with the image of a man sitting behind bars playing chess with himself. 

His face resembled that of a fox, but his suit could have easily been an Armani or something equally luxurious. 

“Hello Reya,” his voice was smooth, smoothing over the pebbles of my anxiety, luring me in. 

“Are you going to be my saviour?” he asked. And although he phrased it like a question, I got the distinct impression that it was much more of a demand. 

The sound of the thunderous beating of wings surrounded me before he said, “That’s my cue.” And suddenly, just as easily as he had appeared in my mind’s eye, he disappeared into a sprinkling of darkness, winking out at me. 

I woke with a jerk as watery sunlight streamed through the living room. Shaking off my weird dream and the ever present sound of wings beating, I marched myself into the shower and scrubbed myself down furiously. As if somehow I could wash away my mental turmoil and the dreams that were plaguing me. Pre-Covid, if I had told someone about my dreams I would have been given a neat prescription to make it all better and to be able to carry on. In this era? I would probably be applauded, questioned, and applauded some more, with the fanatics arguing that I was receiving messages from the other realms, that my bloodline was communicating with me. Honestly, that thought scared me even more, because I had seen what these Angelic beings were about, and they didn’t seem so benevolent and kind to me. 

In accordance with today’s roster, I was on sandwich making duty for the kindergarten. Of course, all meals were prepped at the community centre, and I found myself walking towards the large grey building for the second time in two days. 

The kitchen was buzzing with activity, as a large burly man dropped crates of fruit on the floor, while a plump elderly woman rattled off a list of how the lunches needed to be made, packaged and divided, with a young girl holding with mousy brown hair scribbling down the instructions in a hurry. 

“Um,” I edged forward, making myself known, “hello.” 

“Ah finally,” the elderly woman gushed. “Now that you’re here girlie, you and Rosie can start the lunches, while I head over to the army men and discuss tonight’s dinner.” 

Her warm rosy cheeks spoke of kindness and happier times. As she brushed past me, she squeezed my shoulder in encouragement and bustled out the door. 

“Right, that’s all I have for today Rosie,” The burly man spoke, with a deep timber to his voice. He nodded his head once at me in greeting and left out the same door I had just walked in. 

I stood in the kitchen watching this new girl. After yesterday’s encounter, I honestly didn’t know what to expect. 

“Hey, I’m Sarah,” she introduced herself whilst pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She wore large round gold-framed glasses, and I suddenly realised that she wasn’t a young girl at all, she was actually closer to my age. Her small stature, high pony and glasses simply gave the impression that she was much younger than what she actually was. 

“Hi, I’m Reya,” I gave her a tight smile. 

“Okay, great, so the ingredients to the left are for all the predominantly Fae kids, and the ones to the right are for the shifter children.” 

“Um, don’t they just eat the same thing?” I asked, feeling perplexed. 

She sighed. “Outside of this place?  Probably. But in here, they try and give the kids the right nutrient mix in accordance with their genetics. So shifters will usually get more meat, while Fae have a pretty equal mix of everything. The occasional Nymph that comes to visit will always be served fish. You see where I’m going with this.” She spoke matter-of-factly. 

We worked in mostly silent companionship, with commentary here and there. For the most part Sarah actually seemed really nice. 

As we were wrapping up the lunches for distribution, Sarah asked, “Yesterday was your first day on shift right?” 

I nodded my head as I carefully threaded the string through the holes of the brown paper bag, effectively sealing one of the lunches for a shifter child. 

“So what was your first shift yesterday?” 

I looked up at her, acknowledging only curiosity in her green-grey eyes. 

“Laundry,” I grimaced, remembering yesterday’s encounter. 

“With Laurel?” she asked, seemingly surprised. 

“Is that her name?” 

“Was she pretty and blonde and had a questionable attitude?” she asked. 

I burst out laughing, “Yeah, that sums her up pretty well.” 

“Don’t worry about her, she’s a cow to everyone.” 

I looked at Sarah and realised that she still had that wholesomeness that I thought we had lost when the veil lifted. She was sweet and kind, and generally seemed like a nice person. 

I bumped my shoulder into hers playfully and asked, “Okay, so tell me all I need to know about this place.” 

As we finished wrapping up the lunches, she told me about how every Friday the Community Centre held a movie night - the seats mostly filled with couples and youth. Joe’s was a pub within the community that most of the working men went to, it had pool tables and darts, whilst Morami’s was the upper-class equivalent. 

“So what’s your mix?” she asked as we were finishing up. 

A surge of anxiety went through me, as I realised I would have to tell her, or rather that I wanted to tell her. If Laurel knew, then it was hardly a secret. 

“I’m part shifter,” I started, just as the lights started flickering. 

“Yeah, I figured that part,” she shrugged as if this were a normal everyday conversation - and I supposed it was. 

“And part Angel,” I finished off, breathing the words out quickly. If I spoke quickly, perhaps she wouldn’t hear, perhaps she wouldn’t notice. 

Her eyes registered her shock as she spoke, “Whoa, no wonder Laurel was pissy with you!” 

“Huh?” was all that came out of my mouth. 

“Well,” Sarah went on, almost conspiratorially, “She is par Fae and part Shifter, which is a pretty rare combo in itself, but your mix trumps hers. So her nose is probably out of joint because of it.” 

I looked at Sarah for a long moment and realised that she saw my mix as a gift, as something wonderful, whilst I simply dreaded what I was. Maybe it was the beating of wings that were always close, or maybe it was the unshakable feeling of simply being a pawn in a game that I was yet to understand, but for the most part I wasn’t thrilled. I didn’t inherently hate what I was, I hated other people knowing what I was. 

Sensing my awkwardness around the subject, Sarah simply said, “Come on, let’s get these lunches delivered to the kindergarten - it’s actually the best part of this whole process.” 

I grinned in response and grabbed a crate as we shuffled out the door. Sarah promptly loaded a white golf cart with the crates of neatly packed lunches with a simple, “hop in,” and we were off. 

If I allowed my mind to stay in this moment, it was easy to think that we were simply navigating our way around a gated community. 

As we passed the park, the usual military exercises were in motion, and a large well built blonde man waved at Sarah, causing her to blush and quickly wave back. 

“Who was that?” I grinned at her. 

“No one,” she responded quickly. Too quickly. 

“Nope, not happening Sarah, spill.” I spoke forcefully with a smile on my face. 

“Urgh,” she clutched her face momentarily, “fine,” she whined, “his name is Abros and he’s one of the trainers here. But he's a notorious playboy, which means that I should totally stay away from him.” she spoke so quickly, as if the information itself was bursting to be released. 

“But you don’t want to.” I stated. 

“Well no, I mean - have you seen him?” 

I laughed, “yup, and I saw him looking at you.” 

She swallowed audibly and shrugged, “it’s complicated I guess.” 

As the golf cart bumped along, we soon pulled up to flowery wrought iron gates that stood open, welcoming you into the kindergarden parking lot. Sarah slid the golf cart near the front door deftly, and jumped off, grabbing a crate in the process. 

As we entered, Sarah led the way to the cafeteria which was filled with small tables and chairs. We positioned the Crates on a larger table, neatly labelled for the teachers to distribute and made our way out. 

“Thank you Sarah, your standards are impeccable as always,” a soft voice sounded from across the room. 

As Sarah turned to thank her, I turned around, still holding the door and realised that she was much closer than I initially thought. Her auburn hair glistened under the natural light. It was pulled back into a tight bun, highlighting her soft complexion and deep brown eyes. Her annoyance was apparent. I had offended simply by being, and that knowledge caused something within me to rise up and greet her in acknowledgment. 

“And you must be the Angel,” she said. And if you were to ask me if she insulted me I would have to say no. If she was derogatory? Again, the answer would be ‘no’. Was she outright demeaning? Once more, a resounding ‘no’. But her tone held all the disdain of a woman finding a speck of dust on her clothing, only to realise that it was in fact something far more disgusting than mere dust. 

And so, I held my head high, grinned a winning smile, and said, “Yes, I am.” 

We kept eye contact with one another, and it was only the sound of metal crunching that jarred me from her. I looked down and realised that I had crushed a section of the metal door I had been holding on to, the lights were flickering violently. As she saw me acknowledge the havoc I had caused, she smiled, and it was feral in nature.