A Little Broken [Three Trinities Haven Church]

[Oriena]

Zeke’s church was a community Oriena had no real interest in, but it was a place that asked very few questions. Inside was always bustling, warm, and unless you looked a certain type, it was usually welcoming. Zeke was judge, jury and executioner in that regard. These people loved him for no real reason Ori could fathom, but he revelled in it, and it seemed to bring out the best side of him. Evenings usually saw him surrounded by penitents, music, laughter. He called himself an angel, but he was more like a gypsy king.

But Ori didn’t want warmth. She didn’t feel like going to Kallisti, or to her empty house, and certainly not to see her mother. The refugees usually spilled onto the church grounds, even in the cold winter weather, and that was where she had gone. It was solitude without really being alone, and better than a bar where she’d only get hit on by some unfortunate soul who’d inevitably end up feeling the sharp side of her claws. She’d lit a fire, and she watched its curl and flicker without really feeling its heat. A bottle rested in the hollow of her lap, half empty.

She drowned it in alcohol, and she drowned it in drugs, but the tide always rose again; the battle was constant. The nosebleeds had become more frequent. She hadn’t confided in any one about that – what was the point? – but while she was hardly curling up ready to die, she had been putting things in place. Nadezhda played on her mind in quiet times, like now. Her mother would be provided for, but she’d suffer the loss – if she even understood that Ori had not simply abandoned her for good. It bothered her more than Ori would ever admit. Even Nox didn’t know about her crazy mother, and he was the closest thing she had to a confidant. Which wasn’t saying much.

The club was the only other thing she cared about. But that was an easy contingency; she’d practically handed over Kallisti’s reins to Nox when she told Carmen to let him handle the security. Ori spent hardly any time there now, not least since the place became a fucking creche during the day. But it all amounted to the same thing. She’d wanted to create a haven, and it was. But not for her.

She pressed the bottle to her lips, let it fall back into her lap. The vodka might as well be water, honestly. But she didn’t feel like leaving her fire to go find something stronger.