of their blessings on her.
“Great, just great.” Maybe death was so pissed off because she hadn't fallen into the river that it was trying to drown her on the not so dry land?
She didn't try to run, it would be useless. Kennedy walked, thinking that she wasn't lost, she was only slightly deterred. She just needed to find her way to that stupid gate, that was all.
She began to hum to herself again. The tune turned into full blown singing when she'd realized what it was.
“She'll be coming 'round the mountain when she comes, she'll be coming 'round the – no wait – she'll be running from the demons when she comes, she'll be running from the demons when she comes, she'll be–” Kennedy trailed off as the foliage began to give way and the top end of some kind of sharp metal structure could be seen.
It was the gate!
She felt like she had just won Survivor and all without even having to lie about a dead grandma to do it.
She hurriedly walked further into the now descending trail until she found herself face to face with an enormous wrought iron fence that spiked sharply at the top. Its bars twisted and looped elegantly to form the letters G and A at the center of each gate.
Good, so she had made it to the gate, the closed gate. Now how in the world was she going to get in? Puck had said that there was a barrier that would let her in without effort, so unless the old man was lying, all she needed to do was to find it.
Everything around was just trees and metal and she didn't see any way around the tall monstruosity. The trail led directly to the gate and continued its narrow path beyond it and both remaining parts of the fence disapeared into the severe slopes at the sides. Only a crazy person would dare to try and follow it and Kennedy wasn't that broken, yet.
Her stomach growled again, her feet still ached and the list of things for her to whine about was endless. Exhaustion won over everything else. She hadn't slept in over twenty four hours, although she didn't have her watch or phone for her to confirm it.
She finally noticed that her mind had been so busy worrying about Damien and how she would make it out of all that alive that it hadn't had the chance to register that she had left her bag and her phone in the Charger's back seat.
She was stranded in the middle of a rain forest with no immediate means of communication and nothing but the dirty clothes that she wore.
Awesome.
The rain eased. She could see that it was still daylight through the moving clouds. Resigned, she sat on the damp ground and leaned into the gate's bars to at least get some rest while her poor overworked brain figured that riddle out.
She didn't have to think about it long. Just as her back made contact with the iron of the gate, it began to move. She scrambled to her feet and turned to see it open slowly by itself.
"Please tell me I didn't do that." Her rehtohric plea was met by silence, but she didn't care. The gate was open and she was running through it as fast as her skinny legs could carry her in case it started closing again.
Kennedy wondered once more if she hadn't died back at the guava tree as she walked out of a cloud and into an entire different dimention.
About half a mile later, the path began to grow wider and the trees smaller until she could see a Gothic mansion complete with parkland, cobblestone paths, home farm and outbuildings getting closer with every step that she took.
The Golden Archer looked more like a Victorian estate than a sanctuary to her. It all seemed so out of place to her. It looked like it belonged in some distant British countryside and not hidden in the cloudy mountains of the rain forest on that small Caribbean island.
It stood in wooden seclusion within two small valleys, separated by a thin branch of the same river that coursed through the Cloud Forest.
She didn't meet anybody on her way to the main entrance of the nearest building and once inside, she found that contrary to her expectations it was just the rip-off of a fairly unusual bed and breakfast.
The place did look ancient with walls lined in wood and a molded ceiling. How did they manage to keep it so smooth and shiny with all the humidity that hovered around?
It felt homey, with it's warm colored walls and fixtures, but all of the history appeared to have been stained by modern splashes of furniture and art that uglied the way inside.
She walked towards what seemed to be the front desk or information booth of some sort and stood there in silence looking at the young woman that stood behind it. She was unsure of what to say.
“Categoría?” The blond haired girl asked in a very nasal voice.
“Huh?” Kennedy replied unintelligently.
“Oh, English then?” She asked politely with a British accent. Kennedy just nodded dumbly, doubtful of what the girl was going on about. What category?
“Your status, what is it?” The girl asked again, confusing her even more. What did she mean by, status? Because when Kennedy thought about what her actual status was, all that came to mind was, pretty much wrecked.
“Wrecked.” She voiced her thoughts.
“So, I see – the nasal blonde murmured as she looked her up and down and took in her mismatched outfit before continuing to speak – but, what I meant was, what kind of creature are you?”
Kennedy was slightly taken aback at the girl's question. She hadn't been able to look into a mirror in a while, but she didn't think that she looked that bad. At her shocked face, the girl spoke again.
“Clearly, there's a bit of a communication problem here. What's your species, luv?”
“Human.” Was she blind?
“Oh. Sorry, we don't get a lot of fellow Homo Sapiens around here. Well, what's your name then?” Kennedy thought of how to answer. It wasn't safe to use her real name. She was on the run from demons that seemed to be everywhere.
“Lauren Torres.” She gave the girl her ex-best friend's name.
“Okay Lauren, my name is Brittany Archer. What seems to be your situation?” Now, what did she say to that?
The girl wrote something down on an oversized notebook that sat on top of the desk. Judging by her surname, she must have been related to the owner of the place.
“Don't worry, this is a neutral place. Nobody's judging.” She added at Kennedy's hesitation.
“I'm being hunted by demons – she finally said – I don't know why, but they killed my mother.” Saying it out loud made it more real. Before, she had been trapped in a nightmare. Now, reality weighed down on her.
“You poor thing, but you came to the right place. Go on over there to the common room – Brittany said as she pointed to a large sitting space through an opening on the wall – and I'll find you a room.”
“But, I have no money.” Kennedy said, embarrased. Her eyes itched and her cheeks turned hot.
“Nonsense, we don't charge for protection here. We offer you a place to stay, but you'll have to earn your keep if you can. Help around with chores and such. The spell will keep you safe.” Kennedy nodded dumbly.
“Now, let me go and find you that room – she took in her appearance once more – and a change of clothes?” Kennedy nodded again.
“Alrighty then.” Brittany said as she came around the desk and nudged her through the opening.
Kennedy was almost blinded as light reflected off the glossy surface of the blonde's knee high white vinyl boots.
She hoped that she had truly gone blind, that way she wouldn't have had to see the rest of the girl's ensamble.
Brittany had a regular white dress shirt on with an extremely short pink plaid skirt and white fishnet stalkings – yes, you read correclty – that disapeared under the shiny boots. Her blond hair was done up in a messy bun, held in place by a pen.
“Whoa, total nineties flashback.” The girl was probably the one in charge of decorating as well. It explained the tasteless paintings that lined the foyer and the lobby walls.
“I know, right?” She was so perky that it was frightening.
“Yeah...??
? She was almost dead on her feet, but she had enough energy left in her to feel sorry for the girl.
Brittany was very nice and Kennedy felt bad for having been mentally slandering her when she settled her in one of the big brown couches on the sitting room and walked away. Kennedy sat there wringing her hands while she contemplated the bleak view of her future.
A door opened to her left. The tall blond man that she had seen arguing with Damien on the day that Brandi had been killed stepped out. He wore a black silk shirt and black slacks. What was it with demon's and black?
She fought the urge to shoot to her feet. The man hadn't seen her that day so there was no need for her to worry. She just had to act normal and keep her head down. But, he – like Damien had done so many times – sensed her looking at him and focused his gaze on her.
A chill went through her when she saw recognition flash across his elegant features. He smirked, that same eerily familiar smirk that had made her stomach squirm that day.
“Miss Riser.” He greeted as he made his way towards where she sat. She stood up defensively, ready to bolt.
She wished that she hadn't lost the athame that Damien had given to her as a birthday present in the alley the other night.
The man stared at her for a moment. He took in her dishiveled appearance and had the decency to not say a word about it.
“Where'd you leave my little brother, did you dump him in the river on your way here?” He spoke with the same mixture of accents and undertones that Damien did. Yet, his voice was different somehow. It had a