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  Title Page

  Copyright

  Keep Up With Hildred

  SLOTH

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  Sloth

  Sins of Mercy #3

  Hildred Billings

  BARACHOU PRESS

  Sloth

  Copyright: Hildred Billings

  Published: July 22nd, 2020

  Publisher: Barachou Press

  This is a work of fiction. Any and all similarities to any characters, settings, or situations are purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  Keep up with Hildred’s latest releases by joining her mailing list! Behind the scenes, first looks, and even some free snippets!

  SLOTH

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  The concept of a completely enclosed house of worship was both foreign and intriguing to Acedia, who helped herself through the opened doors of a Christian church shortly after sundown. Her earlier reconnaissance insisted that the church remained open to prayer late into the evening, when the last of the volunteers thanked the stragglers for their donations and polite adherence to the rules.

  Acedia was fascinated. This was a being who had seen most of history embrace an open, or at least semi-open form of worship. While she was no stranger to monotheistic views, she did find them rather silly. Why wouldn’t she? She was a goddess herself, wasn’t she? Proof of the existence of other immortal beings! I wouldn’t call myself supreme, though. Acedia was only tangentially aware of other beings such as herself. She had been born from the cosmos to fulfill a certain duty. That’s how they all functioned. And, no, contrary to what some of her former priestesses once thought, gods born apart from one another never interacted. Occasionally, she heard their voices on the wind, but most of them had muted those past few hundred years. Humanity had largely moved on. Something she had always known would happen, as was the natural order of things. One day, we will be entirely forgotten. Like mortals, Acedia had dreams. Aspirations. Hobbies she might like to have, if she could ever move beyond her natural instincts that told her to heal and forgive. Such selfish attitudes, however, required mortal bodies. Only the men and women walking in this plane had such freedom. Which was probably how some loud upstart named Yahweh once convinced his followers to spread his name across the globe. Who would’ve thought it would be him who did it? She had her money on Zeus, honestly.

  She was in His house now. Strange, wasn’t it? According to what she had observed, many of His adherents believed a supernatural being such as herself would combust into flames upon entering such a sacred house. Indeed, she felt the spiritual presence. Something she had long forgotten, never mind longed for since she last tasted it in abundance. Back in her glory days, when her open-air temples sang her praises around the nightfall fire. Back when she was named one of Artemis’s favorite companions, thanks to her dedication to women and the protection of moonlight. Back when people knew to call for my help. Acedia would never get over how long ago that was.

  Everything felt so utterly strange now. The houses of worship she saw in this corner of the world all looked much the same, or so ornate that she could hardly believe they were for the same divine being. They certainly looked nothing like the days of old. She was intrigued. Terrified, too. What if the two people sitting in pews, praying to a god Acedia hardly knew, could sense her presence? What would happen if a holy man emerged to expunge her from their presence? Would she be merely forced out of this church? Or would she cease to exist?

  What would happen to Mercy, then?

  That’s why Acedia was here, after all. She had come to see how Mercy had worshipped when she was a child. It had taken much research and mingling with the mortal world to discern which branch of this same religion matched Mercy’s childhood worldview. It’s so strange… I know how cults split off and become their own thing, but this really is something else. Christianity was far from the only one but, somehow, it eluded Acedia, who could hardly spot the difference between the sheep of the Baptist flock and the dedicated masses of the Catholic church. She had initially made the mistake of entering a Catholic church the last time she came to Earth to see how Mercy had lived, only to realize this was nothing like the glimpses into Mercy’s past. How could they be so different, yet exactly the same!

  This is right. It must be. Acedia had double-checked the sign. Languages changed every time she turned around, but that was one thing that couldn’t stop her. Acedia knew every language that ever was or ever would be. She didn’t think about it. Not like how she obsessed over how to save one damned soul.

  If I can reach out to Mercy through the images of her youth, then maybe she will better understand me. Acedia had done it before with great success, but the church of a thousand years ago hardly looked like this. They weren’t as big. Or as… sturdily made. Maybe she did combust the moment she walked into a church, because this God knew that some of his holy places had burned down shortly after a visit from Acedia. Oops. She looked around the darkened church, illuminated only with candles and a few electrical sconces, wondering if she should leave now.

  Instead, she sat in the second row of pews, the wood becoming cold to the touch as she respectfully sat away from a man bent over the pew before them, praying for his wife’s life.

  “She’s all we got,” he muttered. “Please don’t take her yet, Lord. Please don’t take her. It can’t be her time.”

  Although Acedia couldn’t do anything, the desire to help him was strong. This poor man. His poor wife. She glimpsed into his mind, as much as she dared without disturbing him, and saw four children under the age of twelve. He worked hard, but there was no money left. Not with hospital bills and childcare costs while he took his wife to and from her treatments.

  Acedia spotted the donation box near the pulpit. Wasn’t there money inside? Wasn’t it meant for the congregation? She could have sworn that’s how it was done.

  She leaned toward the man, still sobbing in his grief. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I can’t heal your wife, but I can help. Maybe.”

  She slid out of the pew and approached the donation box. A few feet away, a middle-aged woman wearing a church T-shirt and a pair of comfortable pants folded the fresh linens that would be used during that weekend’s service. Nobody could see Acedia, so why should she hide the fact she was dragging the donation box over to the man in the pew?

  It was heavier than she suspected, and it crashed to the ground, spilling its contents.

  “Ah!” The woman spun around, her graying bun and half-moon spectacles more alert in the light. “Who is it? What happened?”

  Acedia stood back, hand on her heart. “I’m sorry. I…” She realized this woman couldn’t see her. Why was she apologizing?

  “Mother Mary.” The woman bent down to collect the pieces of the broken box and the few dollars within it. “Did you see what happened?” she asked the grieving man.

  He was as shocked as her, although his tear-stained face betrayed the real reason he was there. “I… I saw nothing,” he said. “I only heard the crash.”

  “Hmph.” With another post-shock sigh, the woman took the contents into the back room. Acedia retreated to the pews, where she sat in the front row, only two feet away from the man.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I was only trying to help.”

  “Don’t let it bother you.”

  Acedia snapped up her head. “I… what?”

&
nbsp; “You were only trying to help,” he said.

  She gasped. “You can hear me? Can you see me, too?”

  He shrugged. “I see all sorts of things right now.”

  “That’s…” That didn’t make any sense. Only mortals Acedia purposely appeared before should be able to see her. Very few outright beheld her form without her knowing, and never had it been a man. Perhaps his mood and faith made him perceptive to such things. Acedia could hardly believe it. “Unbelievable.”

  “Are you some sort of angel?” The man snorted. “No. Suppose not. You’re not totally human, but I don’t think an angel would have done that.”

  “Doesn’t it frighten you?”

  “Lady, the only thing that frightens me is something only God can help me with.”

  “Your wife.”

  His bloodshot eyes widened. “Suppose you can tell, huh?”

  “I’m sorry. I wish there were something I could do.”

  “Yeah. Supposed it was too much to ask for you to be able to help. Maybe you are an angel, though. Could you take a message to God and tell him I really need my wife to hang in there for at least twenty more years?”

  Acedia grimaced. “I’m afraid I don’t know how to talk to Him any better than you do. I’m not an angel.” She barely knew what they were. Over the centuries, the imagery had changed so much that they could either be small, winged children, or warriors with robes and swords. Then again, she was well used to that sort of thing changing throughout the ages.

  “Thought as much.” The man stood up. “No hard feelings. Figured it was worth a shot.”

  “I hope she gets better soon.”

  “You’re kind.” He turned, shrugging into his jacket. As he left, he mumbled, “Probably still a demon, though.”

  Acedia didn’t know why that slightly offended her.

  Nobody was in the church when she finally decided to leave as well. Before she turned away from the altar, however, she looked upon the wooden cross and the flowers artfully arranged upon a mahogany credenza. This church wasn’t big on ostentatious displays of faith, but Acedia found much in the simple things, as well.

  I liked that Jesus guy. She had briefly crossed his path thousands of years ago, when responding to a cry of help that led her to one of many villages near Nazareth. While sitting with a young woman who had lost the will to live, they saw the teacher in the street with his followers, relaying the word of his father. Acedia did not yet know that the voice she sometimes heard on the wind was that man’s holy father, but it hadn’t surprised her, either. Back then, all sorts of crazy things happened in the spiritual realm. Who was she to say that He hadn’t taken mortal form on Earth? She had done it herself, dozens of times.

  For completely different reasons, though.

  I hope you’re different, Mercy. Acedia stood at the top of the stairs leading into a small cemetery. I hope you don’t fall into my sister’s arms.

  The darkness surrounding her made her shudder, and this was a being who did not properly feel such trivial things like “hot” and “cold.” Yet her shudders didn’t come from the temperature. It came from the kiss of her sister, which always lurked in the shadows of the night.

  Acedia was the light to cast the shadows away. Yet one could not exist without the other.

  Mercy…

  Acedia always fell in love with the women whose calls she answered. It was a part of her nature. Yet some women affected her more than others. She knew Mercy would be special from the moment she decided to go to the woman hurting on that bridge. For Acedia to be roused for the first time in a hundred years – after a grand, cataclysmic failure – it was only expected.

  I will not fail. For your sake, and mine.

  Acedia stepped farther into the cemetery. Amid the gravestones of pioneers and honored community members, she looked to the moonlight, now cast behind the clouds. Acedia wrapped her hand around the top of a stone and closed her eyes. If I fail… I might as well give myself to the darkness as well.

  That’s what her sister wanted. That was the true sin of Vainglory.

  For thousands of years, they had danced with the inevitable. Eventually, one would succumb to the other. Acedia always knew that she might be the one to capitulate first.

  Then what? An eternity of sorrow? Trapped in the darkness with all the women she couldn’t save? The queens, the mistresses, the consorts of a goddess who only acted the purpose she was born to fulfill? Yet there were no philosophical discussions with a being like Vainglory. She knew who she was, and she was not ashamed.

  Probably because she was created with no empathy. She was the incarnation of pure, unhallowed sociopathy.

  I must not be bogged down in such things. That’s what leads to failure. Acedia gazed upon that cloud-covered sky and willed herself to remember the real reason she was there. To save Mercy from that eternal darkness.

  But could she help it if she, too, fought the darkness?

  Get a hold of yourself. Acedia stepped away from the cemetery and embraced the shadows of the surrounding woods. She had a job to do, and it wouldn’t be accomplished moping around a cemetery like it was 1341.

  She had to go somewhere safe. Somewhere without cause for alarm when a golden light blasted through the trees and touched the sky above.

  Acedia lay herself upon the leaf-covered ground and imagined an eternal, elegant slumber befitting a queen. Some have called me that. Those women were always the purest in heart. They couldn’t fathom that someone like Acedia was anything but a queen. Their religion often forbade them from seeing her as a goddess, so a queen it was. I married one of those girls. She called me a queen until her dying day. A proper death, in which her soul ascended to the Heavens. A place Acedia could not follow her but would gladly give any woman to.

  She was there now. Soaring high into the sky, her soul becoming one with the stars and traveling to the cosmos beyond. The place where she was created. Where she was born. Nothing inspired her like a romp through the sky, regardless if she was awake or asleep.

  She slept now. It was the only way to unleash the third of her avatars.

  Gold slipped through her fingers and spilled onto the leaves beneath her Heavenly body. Her cheeks paled, far beyond the color of moonlight. Yet her life had not left her. It merely took on another form a few feet away – a golden sleeping beauty, whose chest slowly rose and fell as she took her first breaths in over a hundred years.

  No, she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Even Acedia knew better than to ask for the impossible. It might take an entire day for her avatar to make it to Mercy’s house, but that was all right. Acedia had planned for it. Like she planned this spot, where she could rest undisturbed, traversing the dream world in the hopes she would see someone she loved there soon.

  Slowly, her avatar crawled away through the underbrush. Acedia remained supine upon the leaves, her own chest refusing to unleash a breath. Good thing a breath for a goddess merely meant the scent of the air and the life of the universe within her body. She had no need for breath, otherwise. It could go where it pleased. It could fuel the avatar using every ounce of her strength to make it to the other side of town. Or it could impart upon the lips of the one woman Acedia refused to give up on, even if it meant her own unfathomable existence.

  She often got like this when she approached the mid-point of her journey. Yet something about this time was different. Something called to her. From beyond the trees, beyond the Heavens… beyond the cosmos themselves.

  Deep down, as she slipped into the annals of her own subconscious, she knew that this might very well be the last time she entered the mortal plane. She couldn’t fail. Not this time.

  1

  “Mercy Devereux,” came the company chairman’s voice. “Congratulations on beating these other pissasses in getting shit done.”

  Sarcastic applause erupted in the boardroom. The men Mercy worked with shot bullets from their eyes and cracked their knuckles when the applause wound down. Mercy barely
acknowledged them – she was too busy jotting down notes on a piece of ruled paper. After all, some poor schmuck from middle management had to do it, and she volunteered.

  “In the past couple of weeks alone,” Mr. Slater, the chairman, continued, “Ms. Devereux has accomplished more work than anyone else in this sorry company.” He snorted, bidding his personal assistant to pour him some ice water. “I’m going to send a memo to Women in Business to show how we’re the fucking frontrunners in breaking the glass ceiling.” Lest Mercy think these were the stunning accomplishments meant for her ego, Mr. Slater leaned back in his seat with a titter. “We’ll never have to hire a woman again to prove ourselves. Isn’t that right, Devereaux? While you’re at it, why don’t you take this boundless energy of yours into the kitchen and get us some lunch?”

  That wiped some of the malice off the boys’ faces. Mercy glanced up before going back to writing down everything Mr. Slater said, pretending she didn’t see the stupid smiles.

  After all, she had better things to do. They heard the chairman. Mercy was the only one getting shit done. Ever since the divine being Avarice paid her a visit two weeks ago, Mercy was gifted the thrill of greed. It collided with the lust inside her, and together they formed a perfect storm of act, act, act! Running around the office, staying for unpaid overtime, and cleaning her house from top to bottom when she got home… that was her life now. If she didn’t do something, she died. Or, at least, it felt like she would die. Mercy hadn’t felt this much energy in her life. Not since that one night ten years ago, when she tried cocaine for the first – and last – time. That didn’t count. It wasn’t laced with divine passion.

  The meeting between the board of directors and middle management ended shortly thereafter. Mercy heaved a sigh of relief since it meant she could get back to real work. She was part of the budget subcommittee and the end of the fiscal year was on the horizon. There were salaries to calculate. Bonuses to give out. Dear God, an entire company to pull out of bankruptcy! Mercy could see it in the numbers. Why couldn’t anyone else? Oh, right, because they were useless jackasses who only got the minimum amount of work required done a day. Then they went out drinking and golfing, leaving the token woman behind to pick up their slack. While she was at it, she would change into athletic gear and take the calculator to the gym.