The sky was black and red, and in the distance an unearthly howl echoed through the city. But the squash would not forgive her skipping their bug treatment and the weeds in the pepper garden were unseemly.
Damkina muttered wards against bugs as she slammed her hoe into the ground with more force than was strictly necessary. They had been here, the week before last, asking her to fight. She had pointed at the ruins of Chicago, smoking on the television. “That is what happens when you fight. Like every other time. When you have remembered how to banish them, come find me.”
They had called her last week, asking her to fight. She had pointed to the mess they had just made of Minneapolis. “You’re doing more harm than good. That was no returned god that shattered their downtown, that was your warriors. I am a gardener. I have always been a gardener. Leave me to my garden.” Continue reading