Take Your Shoes Off, Moses

Baby wipes. I should carry a little package of baby wipes. Back in the car, sandwiched on either side by Randall and Jan, Genevive sat silently as they drove back to the Wayward. Jan had picked up the Glock the vampire had knocked out of her hand, a nasty bruise already forming on her wrist from the strength of his - its - blow. It had just all happened so fast! The vampires had moved like polished steel, the girl on Genevive before she could do more than call on Mary for help. If her arm hadn’t been trapped just right so that the muzzle of the Glock was pointed towards the vampire’s head Genevive would have been helpless. It was -

No, no it was decidedly not pure luck. She’d been blessed by the grace of Jesus’ Holy Mother and she’d intervened to help protect Genevive. The chill, the shakes she’d been experiencing in the aftermath of the violence were chased away by a rush of warmth like a mother’s hug. No one could see it in the dark but the nun’s color returned and her eyes relaxed from the white all around expression she’d worn.

There was nothing she could do about the blood on her face and neck, some of it smeared where the leader had grabbed her about the throat and dragged the nun backwards on her sensible shoes like she didn’t weigh anything. It didn’t matter now though, it was just something like being cold or hungry or a pebble she’d had placed in her shoe by the Mother Superior to remind a wayward novice that the physical world wasn’t where her mind should be. Not when the glory and grace of God was all around her and filled her soul.

Still, she was going to start carrying baby wipes. Hunting was messy.

“Has anyone called to see how they are doing?” she asked.

Take Your Shoes Off, Moses

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