Selena watched the rainy night fall darker. It swept through the abandoned, derelict street like an ashen wind that disappeared into dirty corners and lighted brightest by swinging neon signs; behind her the analog clocked ticked and hit 2:31 AM.

Wiping down the counters to both the espresso and alcohol bars, she only cocked her head towards the grimy entrance. The door stuck in its frame, encrusted with filth and hung off-balance, but it swung outward sharply and a man stepped inward. Selena realized she hadn’t seen him pass by either of the bar’s the rectangular windows. Her eyes scanned down the wet lines of his trench coat, to the growing pools of water, and the glow of the cheap light bulbs off the uneven floor.

He remained rooted for a moment, passing a hand through dark red hair and slowly trained eyes the color of seltzer bottle glass onto her face. She peered back, saw the prominent scar that started in the middle of his eyebrow and half-circled around his left eye, falling down to the sharp rise of his cheekbone. He came to lean on the counter. “You’re pretty cute.”

“Can I help you with something legitimate?” Selena asked, already exasperated. One of her fingers curled around the emergency gun the owner kept beneath the counter; the extra cartridges brushed against the back of her knuckles with a reassuring coolness.

“Your name. Mine’s Aquinas.” He apparently took notice to the slow grind of her teeth and followed up with, “And an Irish coffee.”

She went about slamming a bottle of booze on the countertop over where the name Sylvia laid, carved deep years ago.

The sound of breathing and coffee filling the mug in her hands hung in the bar. She pushed the drink forward with one hand, set the bottle back with the other.

His hands darted forward to clamp down on her wrists. He pinned them to the counter, stared her down.

Selena clenched fists as the bottled dropped, smashed, to the ground.

“Your name,” he breathed, eyes intense and lips close to hers, “is Selena Saint.”

She recoiled slightly. “Evans. Saint was my mother.” Rotating both hands simultaneously, she broke free; grabbing the gun and pointing it at him, cocked back the hammer.

“You have the Affinity.”

Selena closed her eyes. She knew of the Affinity, what it meant. It marked her strong enough to be a Shadeseeker, a slayer of all creatures unholy, hell-born, or summoned. Her mother had been a Saint, and she had died young. Her father remained unknown.

Her mother’s lavender eyes and quiet smile entered her mind, projected onto the inside of her eyelids. She could never forget those eyes – that face – because she had grown into the very same countenance. The memory of her mother’s blood-stained hand sliding down her cheek and falling limply to the floor replayed day after day in the mirror. Selena opened her eyes, unable to take the wordless mouth of her mother moving in her mind.

“God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.”

The Serenity Prayer, she remembered. The first I ever learned. The last I still pray.

Selena stared down at the long arch of his fingers. The gun now laid to the side, pointed away and down the counter, removed and discarded; the side of her hands rested on the gnarled wood grain, contained easily by a single hand of his. His grip didn’t hurt, but it would not be easily broken.

“No one was sure if you’d inherit her power, but…” he tossed his head back and fixed his intense gaze on her, “judging from the vigilante acts that have been occurring on this side of Farside, I think it’s safe to say…”

Selena slid her gaze further down the bar. For a moment, she hesitated between the truth and a lie. She sighed. “Yes, it was me.  But why now?”

He smiled roguishly at her, gradually easing up on her wrists. “Because now you’re ready to get properly trained. A real Shadeseeker is willing to do the right thing at all costs.” She stared at his tan face, thin lips spread in a cheerful grin. “You can’t honestly say being here is better than what the future could hold, can you?”

Selena shook her head slowly. The slow trickle of rain from the eye of the storm chimed as it passed over the broken roof. Second by second it counted with every drip into a dented pot in the back.

Again she shook her head. Selena felt the air around her thrum with energy, realizing there was no reason to stay here, to return home, to do anything but accept the change.

Aquinas smiled; brushed a hand across one of hers. “Aquinas Jude, your new mentor from now on. I’m assuming you accept of course, yes?”

His calloused fingertips tapped the back of her hand; she turned it over, clasping his.