[hider=Prologue]
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Yamileth was no stranger to sleeping in the car, not after the training she had gone through. Seven odd years of late-night rituals and early morning Bible studies, hundreds of hours learning all facets of the Trade. She had quickly gotten used to grabbing sleep whenever and wherever she could, even if it meant napping in the back seat of a beat-up '69 Camaro with a giant dog huffing and grunting next to her.

The sweltering heat did not bother her as she slept, for she was dreaming of a nicer time. Her visions were murky, the words within unclear, as if she were viewing the scene from under the surface of the water, but she recognized it all the same. Yami's dreams typically revolved around one subject: Ekaterine. 

There were on a beach somewhere, alone save for the sound of surf lapping against sand. Neither of them spoke but so much was being said! They communicated through the touch of Yami's still soft hands against Ekaterine's battle-calloused ones, sharing their warmth in a world where they could just sit and rest. When Yamileth leaned against her mentor she was saying that they were safe not just for the moment but forever, free from fear or worry.

They kissed, just as they always did in her dreams, and just as always it was bittersweet. Yami could only get what she wanted, what she [i]craved,[/i] from her imagination. Even her slumbering subconscious knew that it was impossible for the relationship to ever be more than mentor and student, and that grim truth gave her a flitter of restlessness. 

It was quickly swallowed up by the beauty of the fantasy, disbelief suspended as it would be for any other romance. If this seaside dreamscape was the only place she could be honest with Ekaterine about her feelings then Yami would just have to make the most of it. 

[color=Thistle]"Yami, wake up."[/color]

Stolen away from it all by the object of her affection, how cruelly ironic. Yamileth grunted as she shifted away from the window, sluggishly reaching for Cohort's fuzzy face. 

[color=cornflowerblue]"Where are we?"[/color]

Not Vegas, that was for sure. As opposed to sun-blasted sand and towering monuments to excess, they were surrounded by rolling mountains and verdant sage. The only sign of civilization was a collection of run-down homes and the little service station that the Stavrophore had deemed worthy of supplying their 'steed' with fuel. 

Ekaterine stepped out of the car and Yamileth followed, ears popping from the change in pressure. 

[color=Thistle]"Bellemont, ten miles or so from Flagstaff. I need to check in with a friend, it'll take a few minutes. Fill up the car."[/color]

She wasn't usually that curt, but then again she was running on empty. They had just gotten back from a routine hunt when word of the Vegas Incident came, leaving them only enough time to resupply before hopping back in the car. Yami had managed to squeeze in a few hour's rest, but as far as she knew Ekaterine hadn't slept in more than a day. 

As much as the novice hunter wanted to push her teacher into the backseat to sleep she knew that doing so would only test Ekaterine's patience. In the time they had worked together, Yami had noticed that the Stavrophore often struggled to rest when on the hunt, relying on force of will and strength of belief to drive her onward. This made it harder for her to recover which in turn led to her nightmares getting worse, cutting into her time even back home in the convent.  

That cycle was bearable thirty years ago when Ekaterine had been a young soldier on the Eastern Front. She was older now, worn down from too much struggle and not enough care. She treated herself like a mule to be worked to death, choosing to either get torn apart by horrors or drop dead from exhaustion in a final act of penance. 

Yamileth hoped that in doing so she'd the forgiveness she had been fighting so hard for.

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Bellemont reminded her of her home in Georgia. Stepantsminda was mountain country, albeit much colder than anywhere in Arizona, and the people there lived simply. She could see the creaky carts of her neighbors in the aging Fords and Buicks that lined the unpaved street, the little bar on the corner not too dissimilar to the tavern her father had habitually visited. And both were mere villages hidden in mere provinces, entirely swallowed up by the Russian Bear and American Eagle.  

She stood out more than she had in Stepantsminda, but only just. Whereas in her country people noticed her height here they were drawn to her clothes. If Ekaterine had to guess she would have said that they all assumed she was Catholic, although of a strange branch where they wore hobnailed boots and [url=https://imgur.com/eXu2hVi]stovepipe caps[/url] with their habits as opposed to the traditional nurse's shoes and coif. 

There was no time to educate the locals on the Great Schism. Ekaterine ignored their stares as she marched towards the ramshackle warehouse that passed for a church in that part of the country, skipping the front entrance in favor of the screen door at the back.

[color=Thistle]"Elder Hall, are you in?"[/color]

[color=Yellowgreen]"Door's open!"[/color]

Ekaterine took the invasion, stepping into her old friend's office. It was much as she remembered it, with its cheap carpet and peeling wallpaper, secondhand shelves creaking under the weight of books. The Elder himself was seated in a folding chair at a thrift store desk, closing his copy of the Scriptures.

[color=Yellowgreen]"Mother Ekaterine, a pleasant surprise. You've been well I hope?"[/color]

Not in the slightest, but she had long ago learned that Americans asked how you were doing, they didn't actually mean they wanted to know. 

[color=thistle]"As well as I can be. The hunt stops for no man, and it's called me to Las Vegas. A Compact's gone dark, and the culprits must be crushed."[/color]

[color=Yellowgreen]"I take it that's why you're here then. As always the Church of Jesus Christ is happy to help our Eastern brethren in any way we can.[/color]

One of Ekaterine's many sins was failing to extend the same understanding she gave to her non-Orthodox and non-Christian colleagues to the Latter-Day Saints. Part of this was due to the Church's refusal to nominate members to the priesthood on the basis of skin color, for any organization that rejected a continent of God's children was one that she could never see eye to eye with, but much of it was simple bias on her part. As far as religions went it was still in its infancy, born not even two centuries ago. Such a young church had little to offer in the fight against darkness, and Ekaterine was woefully pragmatic.

But Elder Hall was a friend and a fellow warrior, a veteran who had fought against Imperial Japan just as she had. He was brave, actually brave as opposed to blinded by pride and wrath like herself, but he was simply outmatched when it came to supernatural threats. Hall had survived Peleli and Okinawa, Ekaterine wasn't going to let him die in the back alleys of Sin City.

[color=thistle]"I need only a weapon, one separate from my shotgun. Your knife, do you still have it?"[/color]

Hall smiled, opening the cabinet of his desk to produce a simple cardboard package. Opening it revealed the contents, the traditional Ka-Bar knife beloved by all Marines and anyone else who expected to stab someone as part of their day job. Ekaterine lifted it with the same reverence she would treat any holy tool, drawing it from its sheath to get used to the weight. The parkerized blade bore a single inscription, Psalms 91:4.

[color=thistle][i]He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.[/i][/color]

[color=Yellowgreen]"It took care of me, may it do the same for you."[/color]

She nodded, sheathing the blade once more before saying her goodbyes. There was a four-hour drive ahead of her, enough time to down some cold coffee and a handful of Biphetamine 20. Some of the sisters frowned on her popping amphetamines, but Ekaterine wasn't exactly taking them for fun. The rush of adrenaline wasn't recreational, the intense burst of focus was not an experience she enjoyed. But it was useful, and if the Lord didn't want her to do it He would have let her know by now. 
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