Chapter 46: Marked
The next couple days passed without incident. Levi was grateful for the break. Only problem—he couldn't relax.
Sunday had arrived. Church day.
Staring in the mirror, he tried to get his hair under control. Rufus had given him a jug of some hair cream—odd, considering Rufus's own lack of need. Levi had never used the stuff before, and now wasn't convinced he was doing it right.
Shirt pressed, slacks clean, boots polished. All that was left was getting his hair done. As he fought with a stubborn strand that refused to lay flat, a knock at the door made him jump.
"What?!"
He hated being rushed.
"C'mon Levi! We're gonna be late!"
"I'm almost done! Be right out!"
"We're gonna lose points!"
"Said I'd be right out!"
Slamming the comb down, he yanked on his coat and threw his hat over the mess. One last look in the mirror.
A heavy sigh.
"You can do this."
He thought about slapping his cheeks for good measure, but Maggie's cream was still setting.
Nathan stood waiting, arms crossed, face twisted like Levi'd just ruined his morning.
"Finally! Wha—whoa, you look good! Kinda shocked."
"Shut up."
Levi shoved the kid forward, guiding him down the hall.
Edmond and Rufus were on the porch, half-asleep in their chairs. They waved the kids off with half-hearted warnings to behave.
Levi figured they were just glad someone else was stuck playing chaperone for once.
"Why don't you two come with? I'm sure Sister Moira'd be happy to see ya."
Rufus chuckled, kicking his boots up on the railing.
"Nice try. Get goin' before you make 'em late."
"Fuckers..."
Levi tugged his hat low and marched out, the kids swarming around him in a flurry of noise and dust. He tried keeping them clean, but the world had other plans.
Wind bit through the air, kicking up grit in every direction. Winter always came late out here, but the mornings were starting to bite. Today was no different.
The closer they got, the more the cathedral towered above them. The sun caught the gilded spires just right, flashing gold across the skyline. Levi caught himself staring. It helped distract him—though not enough.
He kept glancing at windows as they passed, checking his reflection. Wiping dust off his coat. Stepping around every puddle.
He just wished the damn sprouts would do the same.
One particularly determined little bastard kept diving into the dirt, so Levi finally tucked him under one arm and carried him like luggage the rest of the way. He felt half-asleep, like moving through a fog—right up until he saw her.
A nun stood at the top of the cathedral steps. Older, dressed clean, welcoming the townsfolk with soft words and steady hands.
'Godda— I mean... dammit.'
It was too late to turn around now. She saw them.
Her eyes locked on Levi. Confusion at first. Then recognition. She turned, leaned to another sister, whispered something fast. The second nun turned and took off quick into the cathedral.
Levi's throat went dry.
"Okay kids. Let's, uh… let's calm down. Just listen—where do we…?"
He nearly jumped when Kati-bird walked up and took his hand.
"Just follow us. We have our own pew at the front."
'Of course we do…'
As they climbed the steps, Levi swore he caught something above the cathedral doors—just for a flash. A shape... a noose. Gone when he blinked and wiped the sweat from his brow.
He didn't realize he was squeezing Kati-bird's hand as hard as he was until she gave him a look.
The nun stepped forward.
"Now quiet as you enter, children. No playing, please. And is this Levi I've heard so much about?"
His pulse jumped. He knew they'd prepped the kids with his backstory. Truth wrapped in just enough omission to keep things clean. Still, he felt like he'd walked in bare-assed.
"Yes, ma'a— I mean, yes sister. Name's Levi Wilson. Apologies for not comin' sooner."
The older nun smiled at him. It was the kind of smile that could wring a confession out of a liar or make a killer feel seen.
"The Lord's always with you, child. But praying in His house feeds the soul same as bread feeds the body. No need for apologies—unless it's to yourself."
"Uh, yes ma'am—sorry. Yes, sister."
He tugged off his hat.
"I won't forget that."
"Good. Now go inside. I look forward to seeing you more often—maybe you can help me convince Mr. Thatcher to do the same."
Levi frowned, a thought bubbling up.
"What about Rufus?"
"Mr. Gunn?"
The sister's smile stayed pleasant as she took him by the shoulders, turned him toward the church, and gave a gentle shove.
"Some things are just impossible, my dear."
Should've figured. Rufus always got the side-eye from church folks. Levi'd noticed it before—every time a priest or sister passed him in town, both parties made it a point to steer clear.
As he stepped over the timber threshold, the first thing to hit him was the heat. Then the smell.
Hot metal. Burnt incense. Sweat and fear.
Always the same damn smell.
It churned something low in his gut, dragged up memories he didn't care to see. The haze of smoke in the rafters. The silence between whispered prayers. The hollow pressure of too many people pretending not to be afraid.
He followed the kids toward the front pew. Nothing here had changed.
Some folks glanced their way, but most were locked in prayer. Hands tight. Knuckles white. No one looked comfortable.
And Levi knew—showing up wasn't enough. Not here. You had to perform. Had to play your part. Because in a place like this, the best way to dodge the hammer... was to be the nail that stayed flat.
They reached the front, and Levi found himself staring up at the towering statue of Saint Oswin.
For a moment, he just stood there, caught in it. The Saint loomed high above, arms out, face serene—but it was the vapor that held Levi's gaze. It bled slow from the base, creeping up the stone armor like smoke wrapping cloth. Looked alive. Like it knew everything that happened inside its house.
He didn't even notice he was tugging his sleeve down over his Vaporguard as he stood there, staring.
Kati-bird gave his hand a pull.
"Sorry."
They sat, but he kept watching the Saint.
Didn't take long until the last of the crowd had shuffled in, the cathedral's main doors began to grind shut. Iron scraping against stone, slow and deafening.
A few of the kids winced, covering their ears.
BOOM.
The doors slammed. No escape.
Levi swallowed. The heat hit harder now. His shirt stuck to his back. As the pipe organ swelled, breathing its deep, hollow notes into the room, he felt his chest tighten.
'Nothin's gonna happen. Calm down. Calm down.'
But the panic was crawling. Up the back of his neck, across his brain like ants. His legs twitched. Every exit felt a mile away. He gripped the pew beneath him, counting the slow rise and fall of each breath, willing himself to stay seated.
Then the organ roared—and it broke his trance.
He glanced sideways. The kids looked fine. Bored, even.
That hit him harder than the heat.
He suddenly felt stupid. Ashamed, almost. They didn't see sin carved into the walls. They weren't carrying the kind of weight he was.
But Levi couldn't help it. Sitting there, in the house of God, it felt like everything he'd ever done was lit up and laid bare.
The sound of a door opening somewhere behind the pulpit snapped Levi to attention.
Footsteps followed—measured, deliberate. The kind that turned heat into pressure. Every head in the cathedral stiffened upright. Hands folded tighter. Postures corrected.
No one moved.
Bishop Fletcher took the pulpit like he owned it. Robes immaculate, silver cross catching the light like a blade. His presence seemed to still the very air.
"Brothers. Sisters. Disciples of the Flame. May His mercy warm your bones as winter presses her weight upon our land."
Levi shifted. Something in that tone scratched at the inside of his skull. Too clean. Too practiced.
The Bishop rested his hands on the gilded Bible before him, eyes sweeping the room with calm authority.
"I trust each of you has made proper preparation for the frost's arrival. We enter now the season of vigilance."
He paused. Not long. Just enough to make folks lean forward.
"The old farmers say the land speaks less in winter. That the trees fall silent, and the wind makes room for wicked things to whisper. I find… they are not wrong."
Fletcher leaned forward, his voice dipping just enough to draw breath from the crowd.
"This is not a time for harvest. Nor for festivity. This is the season of cracks. The season of betrayal. Even the strongest stone may split—if pressure finds the fault. And even the faithful… may falter."
Another pause. This one lingered.
"There are some—even within these hallowed walls—who seek to temper doctrine. Who would offer mercy without penance. Who suggest we look away from the heretic, as if ignorance were a form of protection."
A rustle of fabric. A few low murmurs. Levi's pulse climbed.
Fletcher waited. Let the discomfort hang.
Then, quietly, like a dagger slipping into flesh.
"But I remind you—The first sin in scripture… was not rebellion. It was hesitation."
Levi looked down. Focused on the grain in the pew's wood.
"The native tribes do not rest in winter. They prepare."
A pause.
"They do not pray for peace. They pray for opportunity. To reclaim what they never built. To seize what the Vapor forged."
The heat seemed to rise with his voice, each word pitched to stir the blood.
"We offer them faith, and they answer with false gods and poison breath. They wear our words like skins… until the moment they strike."
Then—quiet again. Controlled.
"But even that, is not our gravest threat."
Levi stiffened.
"There are others. Things that were made. Abominations. That wear the face of man while housing blasphemous metal and vapor. Machines sewn into heretical flesh."
He reached out, tightly gripping the pulpit, his robe falling still.
"The Waster."
A quiet ripple moved through the congregation.
"Stolen cores. Twisted steel. No rite. No oath. No covenant. Not healed by His breath—but denying it. Mocking it."
His boots clicked softly as he started pacing.
"They do not serve. They consume. Born from heresy and ambition. The breath of the godless caught in brass."
He stopped.
Turned.
"And they are here."
Levi's chest tightened.
It wasn't the words—it was the pause after. Like the Bishop knew something. Like he was waiting for someone to flinch.
The cathedral suddenly felt smaller. Hotter. He tried to sit still, but his legs started to twitch.
'Does he know? No—he can't. That's impossible. Right?'
He looked up.
And met the Bishop's eyes.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
They weren't angry. Or surprised. Just… knowing.
Levi's stomach dropped.
He needed to leave.
Now.