At first, I thought the noise was thunder. Now that I was out of tornado land, I could enjoy storms again, and I did. The gentle, soaking rains, the kind the Irish called soft, those were my favorites. But every thunderstorm found me in my beloved padded window seat, breathing in the fresh sharp scent of new growth and watching the flickers of lightning above the mountains. I might have vowed against using my powers, but every flash had me wondering what wild message they sent from the gods, feeling the sizzling pressure of being so humanly alive.
Hell, I enjoyed the rains so much, I even named the German Shepherd pups — currently cowering in the corner and chewing nervously on a resigned-looking stuffed hedgehog with one ear missing, respectively — Dark and Stormy.
That night was different. Dark didn’t normally mind the storms, but had spent the last hour pacing before huddling onto his pillow. Stormy was the first of us to notice the real change, not that we knew what her alerting to a trespasser meant at the time.
I made my way to the security monitors and the stashed .40, wondering who’d be out in this weather, or this far out into the middle of nowhere. My storms were best enjoyed with privacy, and I liked it that way.
Only a few knew where I’d gone, and most of them you didn’t turn away.
It was a reluctant meander down the hallway to let in the cloaked stranger. The wind was howling and rain was pounding down by the time I finally heard the knock at my door.
In the six months I’d been at peace here, I’d not had a single visitor, but suspected only this one would knock with such a ringing, hollow boom. Well, if I could call the lightning, stands to reason someone else could call thunder. Though I’d not thought to guard against such powers when I’d laid the salt and built my defenses.
Stormy whined, and bolted for wherever Dark had hidden. If I lived the night, some retraining was in order, but I couldn’t blame her. Not with this particular guest.
My hand moved with aching slowness to grasp the cold doorknob and wrench the door open.
A hooded figure greeted me under the dripping shelter of a porch designed for storms, shadowed against clouded mountain and wisps of fog, highlighted not with breath but flickering lightning that made my blood sing with the urge to strike first.
“Hello.” I didn’t step back from the entrance. Superstition, of course, as this guest didn’t need an invitation, nor would the allium in the kitchen save any of us from his penetrating gaze.
“Hello, Coruscatio,” Death greeted me, and deep within the depths of the fortified farmhouse, I heard Dark howl in response to the crackling tones. “It’s been a long time.”
I nodded, filtering a trickle of forbidden power that made my palms itch.
“I’ve come to barter for your aid.”
***
This week’s prompt was inspired by Becky Jones: The wind was howling and rain was pounding down when I finally heard the knock at my door.
My prompt went to Cedar Sanderson- and I wound up with a tarot-themed art style!
