Winter had fled, spring had come and summer would soon be there, and in front of her there was a burned down apartment block.

  Burned timber, cracked brick, twisted metal, that is what remained of what people had once called…

  Home.

  And now they would freeze in the streets, unless they had clan, extended family, or charity to fall back on.

  “Our insurance will cover it. We might even make a profit,” Mr. Stone said.

  Mr. Stone always thought about business. Socia didn’t mind. It was his job after all.

  UNSAFE — DO NOT ENTER

  Socia ignored the sign, passed under the rope to walk among the charred ruins.

  A hand on the ground, her fingers stained with soot.

  Visions of whole timber, uncracked brick, metal in its place, and people.

  Alive. Breathing. Moving.

  This was the third site that they had visited during the week.

  “How many?” Socia said.

  Mr. Stone flipped through his notes until his finger fell on the number his eyes searched for.

  “Thirteen. Three families. Seven Minors,” Mr. Stone said.

  Minors, a word to hide the reality.

  Seven dead children.

  “Do you want the total tally so far?” Mr. Stone said.

  Socia shook her head.

  Closed her eyes. Kept her palm against the charred surface.

  Socia felt It. Saw It.

  Wood doused with flammable fluids. Bottles with burning rags thrown on them.

  People fleeing in the night. Into the cold. Safe.

  Others were caught by flames, smothered by smoke, succumbed to heat.

  But in the end, they all burned.

  Socia’s hands burned, but there were no flames, only pain.

  For she needed to see.

  A grip around a bottle held high.

  A rag fuse poking out of the mouth.

  Fire.

  And on the arm, below the sleeve.

  A mark.

  Socia stood up.

  “Your notebook, Mr. Stone, if you would be so kind,” Socia said.

  She scribbled the mark and handed her work back to her rock.

  “Find the association. Arrange a meeting,” she said.

  Mr. Stone bowed and set about with his task, and left Socia alone in the rubble.

  She walked around for a while. Tried to sense something.

  Anything.

  But all she could find on the ground was a charred icon of herself.

  She picked it up. Took it home.

  Cleaned of the soot.

  Saw herself in it. Her image, as depicted by some unknown artist. An argent saint.

  And at the very bottom of the icon, a text.

  Our Beloved Socia.

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  Had they prayed to her?

  Like the oaf of a man had prayed to his god, the White Raptor of the endless white, who hadn’t answered. Like Socia hadn’t answered their prayers.

  Had it been a tickle in the back of her mind. Had she ignored it, consumed as she was by her own doubts. Had they screamed for salvation from a deaf god.

  She knew who she was.

  Whose she was.

  And what she didn’t wish to be.

  A neglectful distant god.

  A selfish one.

  Ignorant.

  Socia took a sip of the alcohol, it stung her tongue, burned her throat, and landed in her stomach as a brief flare of heat.

  “Only the best for our Socia,” Mr. Wood said.

  Behind him in the martial hall, perhaps two dozen Kin, like himself. Three rows of hardened men, all attuned to It. As he himself was.

  Socia only had Mr. Stone behind her.

  She set the tiny liquor glass on the table.

  “Your hospitality is welcomed, President Wood,” Socia said.

  A smile. A nod. A glance around the room.

  All had the mark of their association.

  One involved in mediation of disputes, supporting the local community and of course gang activity.

  Her smile faded.

  “But burning down my Lady’s property is not,” Socia said.

  Mr. Wood bowed his head.

  “Another association refused to pay protection, a mortal one,” he said.

  His head rose.

  “So, we made them pay another way,” he said.

  His gaze met hers.

  “Such is our right,” he said.

  Socia blinked once.

  “To take their lives, perhaps. But my Lady’s property?” she said.

  Mr. Wood lowered his head.

  “We would not dare to harm Our Most Merciful Lady financially,” he said.

  His head rose, and his gaze fell on Mr. Stone.

  “Surely your insurance will cover it all,” he said.

  “We made sure to check.”

  “If not. We will pay.”

  Socia’s lips thinned. Her face twitched a bit.

  Children.

  Charred.

  “I am not here for monetary compensation,” Socia said.

  “I am here to ensure… order.”

  She put the charred icon on the table.

  “Who is on that icon?” she said.

  Eyes fell on her image, argent but charred.

  “You. Our Beloved Socia,” he said.

  “Why am I beloved? What do the people say?” Socia said.

  Mr. Wood took a quick swallow.

  “You were made by Our Most Merciful Lady to be loved and cherished by all,” he said.

  Socia rose, and with her so did Mr. Wood.

  “Can dead children love and cherish me?” Socia said.

  “Especially charred ones.”

  Mr. Woods head turned, his eyes flickered to his men.

  Socia felt the fire within her. The tension between It and the Above.

  An argent lightning, seen by none but her, struck down from the Above.

  Her voice, thunder. Her will manifest.

  “Kneel,” she said.

  And as one they did. Knees hit the ground.

  As if held by some force.

  Such was her presence.

  Her voice.

  Mr. Wood attempted to speak, but she hushed him and stroked his shoulder as she passed him by.

  “You are all beneath me, but you are mine to care for.”

  “So, my Lady has taught me.”

  Her fingers touched them. She could sense It. Their secrets. Snippets of memories. The tangled web of their activities.

  Vice and crime, but sanctioned and allowed.

  They were but tools.

  She finished her walk among them.

  Lifted her hand and bade them to rise.

  “No fires. No dead children,” she said.

  “Fail me and be forgotten.”

  All bowed. Hands held together.

  “We obey. For such is your right,” Mr. Wood said.

  And before she left, she kissed him on the cheek, blessed him and gave him the icon as a gift.

  “Give it to your mother, Mr. Wood,” she said.

  “I can sense her devotion.”

  “She will pray to me.”

  “For you.”

  Do not fail me.

  There were no more fires.

  And Socia could feel Mr. Wood’s mother’s prayers. An unseen finger that tapped, over and over, against the back of her skull.

  And then there were all the others. From all the corners of Harmony, the streets of Liberty, and even places she had never been to.

  Except as an image in an ad, a description in a magazine or a revelation in a newsreel.

  Tingles on her skin. A current in her veins. A warmth within her heart.

  Whispers in her ear. Memories which weren’t hers.

  She couldn’t ignore it.

  But neither let it swallow her.

  Consume her.

  Her fists struck a heavy bag filled with steel orbs. Each blow rattled the chain, made it move, swing about.

  Strike after strike, angles ever shifting, position adjusted.

  It drowned out the hum, focused her mind, freed it from their devotion.

  Speed. Velocity. Momentum.

  It grew with every strike.

  She could feel the tension in the It. She drained, stored and then released It.

  A current ran from her soles through her core, and as her blow landed on the bag, it erupted.

  The chain broke, the bag freed, struck the wall, cracking it.

  Its canvas was torn and steel spheres spilled from it; they rolled onto the floor, only for some to be stopped by Socia’s feet.

  Ever since that night. Since she remembered who she was.

  Lily.

  She could feel the Above now. Draw on it. Store it. Use it.

  But clumsily.

  She threw away her gloves and took a shower to free her from her sweat and doubts.

  The water only washed away her sweat.

  Dressed in a silk gown, feet bare, she found her Lady reading a book.

  She fell before her, rested her head on her lap, her eyes away towards the night.

  The lamps and the moon struggled to illuminate them.

  Her Lady stroked her hair but held onto her book.

  “What is it, my Socia?” her Lady said.

  Socia’s eyes gazed out into the night, locked onto the moon.

  “Do you hear it too?” Socia said.

  Her Lady closed the book and set it aside.

  Fingers sunk into Socia’s hair, but the hum was still there.

  “Yes. I have always felt it,” her Lady said.

  Tangled hair she smoothed out.

  “I feel everything,” her Lady said.

  Socia freed her head from her care, but stayed on her knees, her hand on her Lady’s lap. So that she could see into her face, meet her eyes.

  “I feel their joy.” Her Lady said.

  Her Lady’s lips curved.

  “Their sorrow.”

  Straightened out.

  “Their ambitions.”

  Thinned.

  “Their pain.”

  Trembled.

  Her Lady averted her gaze, gave it to the moon.

  Socia turned her attention there too.

  “Do you feel everyone here in Harmony, like I do?” Socia said.

  Her Lady touched her cheek.

  A soft gentle motion. A turning of heads.

  Her eyes, so deep and dark.

  “We are stars in the sky. Creatures of the firmament.”

  “All are beneath us, and ours to care for.”

  Her lips formed a smile, but her eyes grew heavy.

  “I feel everything,” her Lady said.

  “All the time.”

  “Everywhere.”