The Knights of Sheba

 

            Some people say that women don’t sweat but glisten.  These people have never met Geneva Oaks, sixteen-year-old, ninth grade student at Ashview High.  In fact, as she sits outside, under the school awning, in the muggy Midwestern heat, she finds herself doing little else but sweating.

            That is how myths are, though.  They start as something small, with a grain of truth at their core, and then spiral out of control.  Soon, they become so big and biased that they no longer resemble the nugget they once were. But this is not a myth.  It is a story, and it starts here, near the end of summer, in the heat and humidity, and with a sweaty girl waiting for a ride.

            Summer school is officially over, and in two weeks Geneva will be back, along with the other students, to trudge her way through another year of high school.  Those two weeks, though, are hers, and she has plans for them.  While waiting, she silently puts a list together, filled with games to play, shows to watch, and a liberal amount of napping in between.

            This is all assuming her sister comes to pick her up.  She sighs and contemplates two weeks spent waiting and boiling.  If she had a wrist watch, she would check her it and grumble.  Without one, she is reduced to just grumbling.

            The door to the school clicks open, and Geneva looks involuntarily.  A blast of cold air hits her in the face, like a nice, cool smack, and she smiles momentarily.  A woman steps out into the heat.  She is tall, slender, and blonde.  Her dress is business-like, and she carries a small briefcase at her side.  Her hair is light and kept short, masculine, a sharp contrast to her long, sleek face.

            The woman stops and looks at Geneva.  Then, she consults her wrist.  She is wearing a watch.  “You’re here quite late,” she says with an accent that Geneva can’t quite place.  It sounds vaguely European, not that Geneva is an expert on such matters.

            Geneva nods.  “I am.”

            The woman gives her a lingering stare, “And you are a student here?”

            “I was.  Am.  I—Summer school.  Bad grades.  Not very smart, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

            The woman hums in response and turns ahead, looking at the empty parking lot.  From inside of her pocket she pulls out a set of car keys.  “School is out now,” she says.  “Did the buses leave without you?  Would you like a ride home?”

            “What? No!  No, thanks, I’m good.  Really.  Just waiting on my sister to come and pick me up.”

            “I see,” the woman says, checking her watch again.  “She’s running quite late, then.”

            “Yeah, but that’s pretty normal for her.  Doesn’t even get her period on time.”  Geneva laughs anxiously, looks at the woman’s stoic face, and stops.  She hangs her head.  “So, yeah, totally inappropriate.  Sorry.”

            “Yes. Well.”

            Geneva keeps her gaze on the ground and waits.  When the woman doesn’t move or speak, she feels obligated to say something.  Wringing her hands, she says, “So, uh, you a teacher here?”

            “Yes.  Physical education.”  She holds out her hand.  “My name is Nina Olivia.  It is a pleasure to meet you.”

            “Oh, so you’re the new gym teacher,” Geneva says.  She gives a halfhearted shake and is surprised by the vice-like grip of the woman’s hand.  Afterward, Nina rubs her hand on her jacket, leaving a damp spot where it touches.  Geneva places her wet palms flat against her jeans.  “I think I have your class this year.”

            “Oh, do you?  Well, I hope you’re looking forward to it.  I have big plans for you students this year.”

            “Oh. Well, forgive me if I don’t cheer.”

            A dusty old car swings into the parking lot.  It takes a wide path around and stops, rumbling, before the awning.  The driver leans over and cranks the passenger window down.  Rock music spills out into the otherwise silent lot, and the driver leans back and lifts her sunglasses.  “Yo, Genie, get your rear in here.  I’m missing my stories.”

            Geneva trades a glance between her new teacher and the car.  “Ah. That would be my sister.”  She stands, hugging her backpack tight to her chest.

            Ms. Olivia nods and stares at the car.  “Then, I suppose I’ll see you in two weeks, yes?”

            “Two weeks,” Geneva says, skipping from the awning and running to the car.  She gets inside, and her sister speeds out of the parking lot and down the street.  Geneva tosses her book bag into the back before fiddling with her seatbelt.  “Really, Bea, do you have to do stuff like that?”

            “Aw, what, did I embarrass you in front of your favorite teacher?”  Beatrice, one hand on the steering wheel and swerving some, reaches out to pinch her little sister’s cheek.  “Does little Genie-weavie worry about her reputation?”

            Geneva swats Beatrice’s hand away.  “Little Genie-weavie wants you to keep your eyes on the road, woman!”

            Beatrice slips her glasses back down before they hit the highway. “You’re no fun when you’re grumpy, you know.” Grabbing the wheel with both hands, she grimaces.  “Also, why are my fingers so wet?”

            “Because I’m sweating, Bea, because you’re, like, fifteen minutes late.  And I waited for you.  In the hot sun.”

            “You sweat from your cheeks?”

            “I sweat from everywhere.”

            “That’s pretty weird.”

            Geneva glowers.  “It’s weird that I sweat?”

            “From your cheeks, yeah,” Beatrice says.  “I mean, I’ve heard of boob sweat, or arm pits, or under your eyes and stuff, but cheeks?  Cheeks isn’t normal.”

            Geneva sighs.  “Oh, just shut up.”

            Beatrice clicks her tongue.  “See, grumpy,” she says.

            Geneva ignores it.  She leans against the car door with her arms crossed and sulks out the window.  The scenery passes by in a blur, without meaning or notice. In her head, she is already home playing games, turning in early, and sleeping until noon.

 

Episode One: A New Day

 

            Ash Valley is a well-to-do suburb of Kansas City.  Exclusively for the best-of-the-best, all the movers and shakers make home there, in their gated communities, with their personal gardeners and personal mansions. So, when it is said that Ash View High is a public school, it is misleading, to say the least.

            Ash View is, technically, a public school, but it is a public school with the funding of a private school.  Settling for nothing but the best in the best of technology and faculty, they have money to spend and more.  The students, similarly, are of the highest pedigree that Ash Valley has to offer.  They are groomed, manicured, and cultured to the highest degree.

            Then there is Geneva.  While an Ash View student, Geneva considers herself about as close to affluence as she is to a healthy body-mass index—within sight but never within reach.  Instead, she comes from humbler beginnings.  Her father is a college dropout working now as a garbage man, and her mother is a community college graduate working, off and on, as a substitute teacher.  While not struggling to survive, they live well outside of Ash Valley and its lap of luxury.

            So then, the question becomes, how does Geneva fit into the pretty picture that is Ash View High, and the answer is that she doesn’t.  Instead, she landed there due to a strange set of circumstances lining up perfectly.  Her previous middle school (name omitted to protect the guilty) was closed due to poor test scores and a loss of accreditation, leaving her floating in the education ether.  In that time, her mother made a few calls and convinced an old college friend, now turned Ash View superintendent, to take Geneva in.

            That is how Geneva came to Ash View two years prior, and why she is failing so spectacularly now.  To call Geneva an excellent student would be a lie.  Before Ash View, she was exceedingly average, even by public school standards.  When given an advanced curriculum designed for advanced students, with nannies and tutors and money for proper supplies, she found herself sinking quickly despite her efforts.

            Which is how she lost over a month of her break to summer school.  It is also why she is not eager to return.  Despite her frustration and fears, however, she has learned one important life lesson.  She is sixteen, and as a sixteen-year-old no amount of grumbling on her part will ever convince her mother and father that she is average.  Because her parents are supportive and believe, despite all of the evidence to the contrary, that she is capable of great things.

            After many wasted hours pleading and begging she gave up, realizing that both were completely insane.

            She goes through the motions for them, though, and rewards their obnoxious belief with serious effort.  So, on the first day of school she wakes up and prepares for the long day ahead.  For her, this is something of a mad scramble around the house searching for something ‘clean’ and slinging her backpack over her shoulder before sprinting out the front door.  She is greeted by a bright yellow bus, and a not so bright bus driver who has to wake up extra early and drive ten miles out of the way to pick her up.

            They nod curtly to each other as she stumbles onto the bus and finds a seat near the back to collapse in.

            The ride to school lasts nearly an hour and includes many stops along the way.  By the time they arrive Geneva feels something like a sardine stuffed into a can.  She can hardly breathe around all of the people, and the anxious tension of the first day jumps through the seats like an electric current.

            The bus rolls to a stop in front of the school and the doors come open.  Students pour out, nearly trampling each other in their excitement.  Geneva manages to make it out in the middle of the pack and keep some space between herself and her peers.  Her previous school had nearly twice the students of Ash View and half the faculty.  Time there made her an expert at weaving through crowded halls, and she moves fluidly around people, seeming almost as if she isn’t there at all.  She finds her locker, leaves her things, and then slips away to her first hour class.

            Summer school, while an awful waste of time in her opinion, did have one benefit.  She got to work closely with a student advisor and design a class schedule that suited her perfectly.  For her first hour, she managed to snag a spot in history, a subject many student dislike but she has always felt a special connection to.  It was the only class she ever gets an A in, even in Ash View.

            The classroom is empty when she arrives, and she decides to sit near the back and beside a window.  She sets her binder down and then leans on her desk and stares outside, pretending that she is not there.  From the window she can see the baseball diamond, and the small forest beyond it.  A tree sits in the center, larger than any tree she has ever seen before.  Its bark is grey as stone, and it looks like a tower piercing the sky.

            She finds herself wondering how deep its roots run.

            Lost in her reveries, she doesn’t notice the other students entering, and she doesn’t notice Kit until it is too late.  She jumps when she hears someone call her name and twists in her seat to see who it is.

            Katherine “Kit” Wright is Geneva’s best friend and, in truth, only friend, and the two couldn’t be more different.  Geneva considers herself short, frumpy, and awkward, and Kit is none of those things.  Being tall, chesty, and charming, she fits into the Ash View social scene perfectly.

            When she sees Geneva, she smiles and waves.  “Well, hello there, fancy running into you here.”

            “Yeah, big surprise.  I think it’s some kind of law or something now-a-days.  Truancy or whatever.”

            Kit rolls her eyes.  “You know what I mean!  I didn’t know you had Mr. Oliver’s history class for your first period.”

            Geneva shrugs.  “Let’s call it serendipity.”

            “Call it whatever, I’m glad to have you here.”  Kit settles into her seat, pulling out a notebook and a small, sleek pen from her binder. Then, she turns, crossing her long, slender legs, and faces Geneva.  “We have so much to catch up on.  My summer was amazing, by the way.”

            “Here we go,” Geneva says.  She leans forward on her binder.

            “Oh, don’t be so sour,” Kit says, giving Geneva a gentle nudge.  It is enough to nearly knock her from the seat.  “Anyway, you know how my family went to Europe for the summer, right?”

            “No, actually, I didn’t know that.  It does explain why you didn’t respond to any of my e-mails, though.”

            Kit, normally always ready with a response, goes quiet.  She rummages through her bag for a moment to distract herself, and then says, “Oh, yeah, sorry about that.  Guess I should have told you, huh?”

            Geneva shrugs.

            “Well, anyway, my parents and I went to Europe, and that’s where I got.  This!  Isn’t it gorgeous?”  Kit jams her right hand into Geneva’s face.  There, wrapped around her ring finger, is the gaudiest thing Geneva has ever seen.  It is large, golden, and shiny, and it fits Kit perfectly.

            Staring cross-eyed at it, Geneva hums.  “Huh.  Well, yeah, that sure is a ring alright.” 

            Kit frowns and goes back to her bag.  She zips it up and places it over the back of her chair.  “Well, you’re no fun.  Anyway, I got it from this French guy.  He bought it for me while we were out on a date.”

            Geneva arches an eyebrow.  “You let him take you on a date?”

            “Sure, and why shouldn’t I?  It didn’t go anywhere, and he was convinced that he could fix me or something.  His words, not mine.”

            “And when he didn’t, he bought you jewelry as some sort of reward for your victory? “

            “Well, I may have let him feel me up for a few minutes.”

            “Kit!”

            “What? It was through the shirt.”

            “Oh, that makes it all better.”

            “Hey, I told him up front that it wouldn’t go anywhere, and it didn’t.  And, it worked out for everyone.  I got a ring, and he got to shake hands with the twins.”  Here, Kit pauses to examine her ring again.  It gleams in the light.  “I’d say that’s a fair trade, wouldn’t you?”

            Geneva shakes her head, sighs.  “You are a role model, Kit.  Girls everywhere should strive to be like you.”

            There is a pause.

            “Anyway, that’s not all I have to tell you about,” Kit says.  “I can’t end this conversation without mentioning the ladies over here.”

            “Oh no,” Geneva says, groaning. “Here we go.”

            “They’re great.  Spectacular, and they’ve got tongues like you wouldn’t believe, let me tell you.”

            Holding her ears, Geneva says, “Please, don’t tell me.”

            Kit pauses and frowns.  “Well, someone is touchy today.  What in the world has got your panties so bunched up?”

            “Nothing,” Geneva sighs.

            “Oh, no, don’t you nothing me.  Something is clearly bothering you.”  Kit crosses her arms over her chest and stares determinedly at Geneva.  “Tell me what.”

            “Nothing.  Nothing is bothering me.  I’m always sarcastic.”

            “Yeah, you are, but usually it’s funny-sarcastic.  This. Isn’t. Funny.  This is annoying.  You’ve got a chip on your shoulder, so just go ahead and let it air so we can move passed all this ugly.”

            “There is no ugly, so there’s nothing to move passed.”

            Kit rolls her eyes again.  “My God, who is this repressed?  Just tell me, Genny.”  In sweeter tones, “It’ll make you feel better.”

            “I highly doubt that.”

            They go silent and stare at each other. Kit sits, arms and legs crossed, wagging her foot, and stares as if her eyes are enough to wring the information out.  Geneva stares back, more uncertainly, with her body slouched, and mustering as much defiance as she can.

            After a few long, tense seconds, Kit says, “So, Genny, how was your summer?”

            “Crappy.  Spent it in summer school.  Also, not what’s wrong.”

            “Then what is wrong?”

            “Nothing.  Now, shush up.  Teacher’s here.”

            Kit turns in her seat.  “Shushing,” she says, flipping her notebook open and readying her pen.

            Mr. Jason Oliver enters the room.  Having only just earned his degree a few years before, Mr. Oliver is one of the youngest members of the faculty.  Despite this, he has made a name for himself as being forward thinking, friendly, and easy on the eyes.  Older faculty find his relaxed approach lackadaisical, but students and parents are already quite fond of him.

            Also, many of the girls harbor something of a small crush, Geneva included.

            He is tall, lean, and fair, and he keeps his long hair in a ponytail, which sways with his movements, and enters the room with an easy stride and a smile.  Once at his desk, he waits patiently for the students to settle before speaking.

            “Good morning, everyone,” he says, “And welcome to American History!  Now, I’m sure some of you didn’t choose this course willingly, but rest assured, I will do my best to keep you all entertained and awake.  That is, so long as you do your best to learn what I have to teach.  History is—Well, guys and gals, it’s the core of everything, and American History is at the core of you,” he says, pointing for emphasis, “Whether you believe it or not.  The things we’ll be learning, no matter how long ago they happened, have had a lasting relevance even into today’s modern, fast-paced world.”

            He looks out at the sea of faces staring blankly back at him, and he laughs.  “None of you care about that though, do you?  You’re all just high on first-day-jitters, huh?  Well, how about this: we’ll have an easy first day—a free day—and just assign books.  How does that sound?”

            The students cheer loudly in response.  Lifting his hands in front of him as if to ward off the noise, Mr. Oliver quickly silences the teens.

            “That went exactly as I expected it to.  Okay, I’ll be calling out names.  You all come up and grab one of these,” he says, patting a stack of books on his desk.  “Give me the numbers, take the books, and take care of them.  And you can talk while I do this, but keep the noise down.  Do that, and you won’t have any homework until tomorrow.  Deal?”  Again, he is met with the general chaos of applause and cheers, which quickly dissolves into spirited but controlled conversation.

            Mr. Oliver takes a seat behind his desk, hidden from view behind wall of books, and starts going through the names on his list.  “Casey Allen.”

            Kit leans over to Geneva.  “So, summer was fine?”

            “Summer was dismal.”

            “What, did you fail your class or something?  What was it again?  Geometry?”

            “Algebra. Basic algebra.  Like, remedial algebra, and I didn’t fail it.”

            “Oh.  A?”

            “C.”

            Kit winces.  “Ouch.”

            “No, no, that’s good for me. Cs are like an A in my world.”

            “Oh,” Kit says.  “Well, then, congrats?

            “Thanks.”

            Kit leans back in her chair, crosses her arms again, this time comfortably.  “Sorry you had such a crap summer, though.”

            “My summer wasn’t,” Geneva sighs, “Just talk about something else, please.”

            They fall into silence, which is made worse by the conversations surrounding them.  Laughter and stories float through their isolated bubble in the back, like ripples in a pond.  They are a wilted flower in a garden of sound. 

Geneva looks out the window.  “So, uh, did the girls you date buy you anything?”

Kit grins.  “No, no, I buy them stuff.”

Geneva looks at her.  “So, they’re, what, prostitutes?”

“Ew.  No.”  Kit frowns.  “No, never.  It’s just how dating works, Genny.  You find a pretty girl.  You take her on a date.  You buy her something shiny.”

Geneva hums. “Bitches do love shiny.”

“Yes,” Kit says, holding up her ring to gaze at it fondly.  “Yes, we do.  Anyway, then you take them somewhere private, take off that shiny thing you just bought them, and…”

“I get the feeling this story isn’t going to end with a firm handshake and a parting of ways.”

“No. Does it ever?”

Geneva sighs.  “No.”

“Exactly,” Kit says, now flashing a grin.  She looks at Geneva and lifts her eyebrows.  “I’m good at what I do.”

“Well, you do seem to get a lot of practice.”

“I know, right?”

“Stop grinning. Wasn’t a compliment.”

“Didn’t sound like an insult.”

“It was neutral.  The statement was neutral.  I’m neutrally passing judgment on you and everything you do.  I’m complex like that.”

Kit stares at Geneva for a few seconds and then says, “You know, I can never tell if you’re joking or not.”

“Part of my charm.”

“Anyway, I didn’t just have sex while I was there.  We also did all of the tourist crap.  Saw the Louvre.  The Eiffel Tower.  Didn’t make Oktoberfest, though.”

“Yeah, pretty sure that’s in October.”

 “You don’t say,” Kit says, chuckling.  “It was fun, though, really fun.”  She pauses and stares ahead.  The stack of books is shrinking gradually.  “Sorry I didn’t write,” she says after some thought.

Geneva shrugs and turns back to the window.  “Was busy anyway.”

“Yeah. With Algebra?”

“Yes, with the remedial Algebra.  Also, beat a few games over the summer.”

“Did you go outside?  Even a little?”

Geneva gives Kit a quick, horrified glance.  “And risk skin cancer?  Please, Kit.  That’s just dangerous.  Irresponsible and dangerous.”

“You’re stupid.  Someday, you’re going to regret all of those days you spent in front of that screen, you know.”

“Maybe, but all of that regret will be washed away by relief when you die.  From skin cancer,” Geneva says, “I’ll miss you.”

Kit rolls her eyes.  “You ever notice how most of our conversations end with you talking about how I die?”

“You live a dangerous life, Kit, what with all your sex, drugs, and rock and roll.  And the dancing.  Footloose-preacher-dad would not approve.”

“Geneva Oaks.”

            Hearing her name, Geneva excuses herself and goes to the front of the room.  There, she speaks with Mr. Oliver.  He assigns her a book, and she reads him the number from the inside flap.  Upon returning, she catches Kit rifling through binder.  Geneva jerks it away angrily while Kit unfolds a piece of paper she pulled from the inside.

            Kit grins.  “Just what I was looking for.”

            “Hey,” Geneva says, “Give that back!”  She swipes at it ineffectually while Kit keeps her at bay with one hand.  Defeated, Geneva slumps back into her chair and huffs.  “Have you no sense of privacy?”

            Kit shrugs.  “Just wanted to see your class schedule.”  She examines it closely, her smile broadening while Geneva’s glare intensifies.  “Let’s see.  We share first hour, second hour, and fifth hour.  Only three classes?”

            Geneva takes the moment to yank the paper from Kit’s slender hands, and narrowly avoids ripping it to shreds in the process.

            Kit looks at her in mock-sympathy.  “Oh, Genny, how are you ever going to survive without me?”

            “Please, I’ll probably do better without you there to distract me,” Geneva says, jamming the schedule back into her binder and zipping it in for added protection.

            “Now, come on, you don’t mean that.”

            “No, I don’t,” Geneva says, slumping onto her desk.  “Trying to keep hopes up and all of that.”

            “And how is that turning out for you?”

            “Dismally.”

            Kit nods.  “So, anyway, I’ve been wondering about something.”

            “No, I won’t let you sleep with my sister.”

            “Not what I was going to ask,” Kit says, grinning, “But since we’re on the subject, why not?”

            “Many, many reasons, but mostly, I just don’t think she swings that way.”

            “Please, give her a few wine-coolers and a couple of minutes alone with me, and I’ll have her swinging whatever way I want.”

            “Your confidence, while impressive, is misplaced.  If the cavalcade of young suitors she entertains in the privacy of her bedroom are any indication, well, she likes the D, and she likes it a lot.”

            Kit shrugs and leans back in her chair.  “Her loss.  Now, onto the real question.”

            “Mom is off limits, too,” Geneva says.

            “How close are you to graduating exactly?”

            Geneva purses her lips and stares at the ceiling as she thinks.  “Two years?”

            “So, you’ll graduate on time.”

            “Gods and Buddha willing, sure, it can happen.  Though, the probability is like snow in July.  In hell.”

            Kit pauses and looks at her.  “Do you even believe in hell?”

            “Like, me as the individual or me the Jew?  Cause regardless of what my religion may or may not say on the subject, I know for fact that hell does exist.  I spent the summer there.”

            Kit snorts out some laughter and nearly tips her chair.  Falling forward, she says, “It couldn’t have been that bad?”

            “It was pretty bad.  I nearly committed ritualistic suicide with my pencil just to end the mind-numbing boredom.”  Geneva looks Kit in the eyes and says, “Worst.  Summer.  Ever.”

            “Will you have to go back next summer?”

            “For the record, I really didn’t want to think about it, but yes.”

            “And then?”

            “And then what?”

            “Well, you’ll graduate?”

            “I already answered this one,” Geneva says.

            “Actually, you danced around it.”

            “Yeah, kind of my thing,” Geneva says, and she watches Kit watch her.  She sighs.  “Fine, yes, I’ll graduate,” she makes quotation makes with her fingers, “‘On time.’  Then, I’ll be able to leave this horrible place behind.  This is all dependent on me passing all of my classes in the foreseeable future.  There, happy?”

            Kit lounges again.  She crosses her legs and hangs her sandal precariously off of one of her bare feet.  Her toenails are painted pink and have little flowers carefully drawn on the center of the nails.  She smiles.  “Yeah, actually, I am.”

            “Good, then.  I guess.  I don’t really see how it’s any of your business or concern, though.”

            “Hey, it’s my business and my concern because you’re my friend, and I want to us to go to college together.”

            “Oh,” Geneva says.  “Oh, in that case, I’ve got mega bad news for you. This girl,” she points at herself with her thumbs for clarity, “is so not going to college.”

            Kit casts a sideways glance at Geneva.  “You’re what?”

            “Oh, come on, you can’t be that surprised.  I’m barely managing high school. I so won’t be able to make it in college. And, I don’t know if you’ve noticed my hand-me-down rags, but my family doesn’t exactly have a pot of gold waiting around to send me.”

            “Beatrice goes to college.”

            “Beatrice is a bitching writer, and got equally bitching scholarships.  This girl,” she says, repeating her previous gesture, “has neither skills nor charm.  Me going to college is both a waste of time and money—money, I regret to remind you, that my parents don’t have in the first place.  So, I’m not going.”

            “Then what are you going to do with your life?”

            “Get a job.  Work.  Play video games.  Not go to school. You know, the good life,” she says, sighing and staring off into the distance.

            “Any job that you get straight out of high school is going to give you minimum wage at best.”

            “Okay, then I start at the bottom and work my way up. Like Drake.”

            “Work your way up to what without a degree?”

            “Executive Command Fry Cook-a-neer?”

            “I’m serious, Genny!  Also, while we’re on this, what will you do when you have kids?  How will you support them on minimum wage?”

            “My husband will be rich,” Geneva says.  “He’ll be George Clooney.”

            “Genny.”

            “Kit.”

            “Be serious.”

            “Be serious about what, Kit?  I’m sixteen.  Sixteen!  I don’t even know if I want kids.  Or a husband.  I don’t even know if I want a cat.”

            “Well, you’d better make up your mind soon, because as things are looking now, a cat is about all you’re going to get.  A cat, and a sad, lonely little life addicted to video games where you don’t leave your house.”

            “Then I guess me and Fluffycakes will be happy together!”

            “Genny!”

            “Oh,” Geneva says, waving her hand dismissively, “Calm down.”

            “No, I won’t calm down.  My friend is basically telling me that she’s throwing her life away.”

            “You’re ‘friend,’” Geneva says, giving the finger-quotes a repeat performance, “Is being realistic.  Besides, I still fail to see how this is at all your problem.  We hardly hang out at school and never in the big, bright open real world where people might happen to, you know, see us and stuff.  Once high school is over we’ll go our separate ways, and I’ll get my apartment, my entry level job, and my dream Mr. Fluffycakes, because a cat does sound nice after all—my dad is allergic—and you’ll be off somewhere getting your fancy degree and being beautiful and busty and gallivanting with movie stars and having one night stands with, like, Miley Cyrus or something.”

            Kit pauses and stares blankly at Geneva.  “Miley Cyrus?”

            “What, lesbians like her, right?”

            “Ew.  No, Genny, no!”  Kit cringes.  “You don’t get lesbians at all.  Miley has the worst case of man-face.”

            Geneva thinks about it and shrugs.

            “Now, if you had said Megan Fox, I would have been all over that.”

            “Megan Fox?  Really?”

            “What’s wrong with her?”

            “She’s so,” Geneva gestures vaguely, “Greasy.  Every time I see her it looks like’s she been rubbed down with a bunch of Vaseline.”

            “You’ve got a point,” Kit says, tilting her head slightly and imagining.  “But I like my girls with a little grease.  The trashy ones do the dirty stuff.”

            “Okay, we can end this conversation pretty much, roughly, exactly now.”

            Kit grins and sits forward.  Leaning over, she whispers, “Oh, come on, Genny, you haven’t lived until you’ve been down on your knees with some butch woman running her hands through your hair…”

            “And squeezing my head so hard that it bursts like an over-ripe melon?”

            Kit recoils.  “Gross, Geneva!”

            “My thoughts exactly.”

            “Katherine Wright.”

 

            Initially, Claude approached his journey with the naïve optimism of someone who had never travelled more than a few hours away from home.  This lasted to the state border and dissolved rapidly through the night.  By the time they arrive at the bus station his legs are stiff and his back stiffer, and the air, while not clean, is fresh enough to clear his head.

            His first thought is how much larger the city is.  Second, is how humid.  He expected it to be colder farther north, but the air where he comes from is dry.  The humidity is suffocating and makes the heat seem somehow more intense.  His clothes are wet with sweat and sticking against his body almost immediately.

            Tall buildings stick out in the distance like mountains.  He stares at them and thinks how they look so large even so far away.  He can’t even begin to imagine how big they are up close.

            People on the bus move around him, finding home in the arms of their families or friends.  Some get cabs and leave, and he stands there, a single bag slung over his shoulder, and stares out at the city.

            He is struck by how foreign everything feels.

            He goes inside of the bus station and speaks with a bored looking clerk who is short but stocky and has her dark hair pulled into a tight bun.  The uniform makes her already broad shoulders look broader.  She gives him a tired smile and asks how she can help him in a tone that indicates an innate unwillingness to help.

            Claude leans in toward the window and says, more loudly than necessary, “Uh, well, I was actually wondering if you know any places to stay around here?”

            She gives him a distant stare.  “Like a hotel?”

            “Sure,” Claude says.  “And maybe a place that’s hiring?”  Claude looks around the room, grimaces a bit, and then meets her eyes again.  “Uh, are you guys hiring?”

            Another long stare follows, this one more bewildered and somewhat sympathetic.  “Sir, um, did you, like, move up here without a job or something?”

            Claude smiles self-consciously.  He puts his hands in his pockets, shrugs, and laughs.  The laughter tapers off sharply when she doesn’t join in.  “Well, yeah, but it shouldn’t be too bad, right?”

            She pauses, shakes her head, sighs, “I, uh, I know a place you can stay.  It’s a ways from here, but there is a public bus you can ride that drops off near it.  It’ll be cheaper than a taxi service.”  She pulls out a pamphlet with a small map of the area on it and writes across it with a thick, red marker.  “They’ve got fair prices.  I know the owner, used to work for him.  He’s a nice guy.”

            She slides the pamphlet through to Claude, who looks at her drawings on the map.  Without context they looked like squiggles.  He pockets it.

            “As for a job,” she says thoughtfully.  “Well, talk to them.  They may have a better idea, and whatever happens, I’m sure they’ll work something out on the price until you can get on your feet.  They’re good people.”

            Claude taps the counter.  “Thanks,” he says, accompanying it with a smile.  “And the bus…”

            She points toward the door.  “Just outside, to the right.  It’ll have a sign.  And be careful, it can be dangerous here if you don’t know your way around.”

            Claude laughs.  “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

            He exits the building again and steps back out into the boiling heat of the city.  A frown settles onto his face like moisture.  He tugs on his shirt and looks to his right, finding a sign, a bench, and a bus schedule.  “There we go,” he says, adjusting his bag and taking a seat to wait on the bus.

 

            After American History ends, Geneva and Kit part ways.  English is next for Geneva and passes by uneventfully.  Having Beatrice as an older sister works somewhat to Geneva’s advantage.  Even if she struggles with the material, she can always ask for help.  As a result, English is one of the few classes Geneva doesn’t fail miserably.

            Next is Algebra, a class that Geneva would normally dread, but the hour is saved for one reason: Mr. Parks.  He tutored her over the summer and knows how to work with her.  Seeing him in class on the first day eased her anxieties slightly, though it also brought back all of the awkward hours they spent alone in the classroom over the summer.  He greets her cheerfully, though, and promises to give her whatever extra support she will need to survive the year.

            All-in-all, Geneva’s morning seems to be going well, and then she enters the Biology classroom.  Since childhood, math and science have always been her worst subjects.  There are so many rules to memorize and so many equations and scenarios.  In theory, she understands each of them.  In practice, they become jumbled in her head, and she can never reference the right rule at the right time.

            To make matters worse, she has no support at home.  Beatrice has the very same problems and only narrowly passed her own high school math classes, which were much easier than the rigorous schoolwork assigned by Ash View High, and her parents suffer from similar troubles.  Her father, in particular, seems to view math as some form of alien language that is not just bewildering but almost frightening.

            To make matters worse, her Biology teacher is Mrs. Campbell.  Tall, dark, and very, very serious, Geneva had Mrs. Campbell the year before.  The year started well enough.  Geneva managed to pass a few tests initially, but by the end of the first quarter was struggling.  Mrs. Campbell took Geneva’s inability as indifference and has held a grudge ever since.

            Their first encounter this year involves a subtle glare and a shake of the head.  Geneva hugs her binder close and stares at the ground while giving her teacher wide-berth.

            The class turns out to require lab work, which Geneva forgot over the past two weeks, and spends the better part of ten minutes agonizing over.  As all of the friends around her share clandestine smiles, she sits in the back, with an empty chair at her side, and considers asking if she can be partnered with her imaginary friend.

            Short-lived relief is found when Mrs. Campbell announces that she will assign partners.  It is short-lived because the partner picked for Geneva is Lana Love, the school’s self-proclaimed socialite queen, and the first thing that is said as they settle into their assigned desk is, “This doesn’t make us friends.”

            Years ago, or so Geneva has heard, Lana and Kit were best of friends.  They lived close together, in luxurious houses in Ash Valley, and they talked about everything.  Then, one day in eighth grade year, they had a falling out.  As a result, Lana black-listed Kit and anyone who has anything to do with her, which was no one once Lana had dragged her name through the mud.

            Lana, rich, attractive, and affluent, doesn’t take kindly to Geneva’s unwillingness to turn away Kit’s friendship and has shown open hatred and hostility as a result.  Sitting at the desk together, Geneva stays to the far side to make sure that they don’t even brush elbows for fear of reprisal.

            Lana shoots her a glare.  “I just want that to be clear,” she says, in the high, haughty tone of a teenager on a power trip.  “I know who you are and what you are, latching onto anyone who gets close.  This is a class, not a friendship, and I’m not as desperate as some people around here.”

            “Let me guess,” Geneva says, “You’re referring to Kit.  For someone you hate so much, you sure do spend a whole lot of time talking about her.”

            “We’re not talking about her, we’re talking about you,” Lana says.  Staring at her, Geneva can’t bring herself to say Lana is pretty, but she is precise.  Everything about her is perfectly made-up to bring out not only her best qualities, but the exact qualities she wants.  She controls the room and the conversation with a simple movement of her eyebrow.  “Also, Kit?  I’ve overheard you calling her that before, and I can’t help but wonder what stupid anime or cartoon or whatever-you-like that you stole that from anyway.  When we were younger, everyone always called her by her name.  Katherine.”

            “Well, it’s short for—It’s like, a Kit-Kat, you know?”

            Lana gives Geneva a long, empty stare.   Then she scoffs.  “Why am I not surprised that when you meet new people, you immediately think of food?”

            Geneva glares and mutters, “Why am I not surprised that you’re a…”

            “Alright, class, alright, quiet down,” Mrs. Campbell says, stepping out in front of the class.  She turns immediately to the dry-erase board and starts jotting down notes while all of her students start copying them.

            Lana leans over and whispers, “Oh, and if you have to be in class with me, could you not dress like a little homeless girl?  I don’t want the smell of your second-hand clothing distracting me.  Some of us need grades because some of us can afford higher education.”

            Geneva pauses and stares at her notebook.  Without looking up she says, “You know, Lana, I have to thank you for helping to me realize something.  Here I was thinking my life couldn’t get worse and…”

            “Ms. Oaks, your life is going to get much worse if you don’t keep quiet and let me teach,” Mrs. Campbell says from the front of the class.  Geneva looks up to find all eyes on her and Lana grinning beside her.

            “Sorry,” Geneva says, and Lana allows quiet laughter as soon as Mrs. Campbell returns her attention back to the board.

 

            Lunch cannot have come at a better time and serves as a well-earned reprieve for Geneva.  The hour spent with Lana seemed to go on forever, and stepping into the halls is like a seeing the sun for the first time in years.  The freedom is almost blinding.

            Geneva stows away her binder and hurries to the cafeteria.  In her old school it was a mad rush to get food and get out before being lost in the shuffle.  Many students hardly had time to eat before they were shoved off to their afternoon classes, and almost everyone ate at the school.

            The first time Geneva saw Ash View’s cafeteria it was like a brand-new world for her.  Not only was it larger than necessary, it had enough room to house all of the students twice over.  The food, she found, was hardly recognizable.  She was used to rubbery things that looked like hamburgers or rubbery things that looked like pasta, and on the best days a rubbery thing that almost tasted like fish.  Ash View food, however, actually looked and tasted like the food it was.

            For Geneva, it was one of the few saving graces of the school.

            She waits in the short line and gets her meal.  It is a basic meat lasagna, a peach cup, gelatin, and a milk.  She pays ten cents to get the chocolate and hauls her tray the long walk across the room.  There, she finds Kit tucked into the back, out of sight and drawing no attention.

            Seeing Kit like this, it is sometimes hard for Geneva to imagine her surrounded by friends.  Once, Kit had been the center of the social storm, with people swirling around her in a frenzy to know her.  Once, Kit had been close to Lana, an idea that Geneva, with her limited imagination, couldn’t even comprehend.

            Geneva greets Kit while settling at the table.

            “Hey, Genny,” Kit says, taking a brief moment to look up from her homemade chicken caesar salad.  It is an enormous thing, made of the freshest ingredients and drizzled with something that Geneva doesn’t recognize but suddenly hungers for.  Kit’s mouth is stuffed full to the point of barely being able to speak.

            “Hey.”

            “How is everything?”

            “Ugh,” Geneva says.

            Kit hums and nods.  “So, the usual.”

            “Remember earlier when I said I knew what hell was like?”

            “Summer school, right?”

            “Yeah, well, turns out I was wrong.”  Geneva sulks over her lunch.  “So very, very wrong.”

            “Uh oh,” Kit says, taking time to swallow an extra-large bite and then wipe her mouth.  “What happened now?”

            “That,” Geneva says, pointing with her fork.

            Kit turns and looks over her shoulder at Lana, surrounded by a group of cackling hyenas pretending to be girls.  She scoffs.  “Okay, what did she do this time?”

            “Nothing much, she was just herself,” Geneva says.  “I’m in class with her, Kit.  Worse than that, we’re lab partners.”  Geneva shivers for added effect.

            “That sounds delightful,” Kit says.  “So, is she being awful to you again?”

            “Beyond words, and it’s all subtle stuff, little comments.  Bad enough that Mrs. Campbell already hates me, but Lana uses it to her advantage.  You know, sometimes, I think that if the devil and Hitler had some sort of evil, demonic love child, Lana is the thing it would think lives in its closet.”

            “Just don’t let her get to you.”

            “Like you don’t let her get to you?”

            Kit shrugs but doesn’t speak.

            “Anyway, I’m going to be stuck with her.  For the rest of the year.”  Geneva sighs.  “On the plus side, I might actually pass this time.”

            “Maybe not.  Lana isn’t as smart as she acts, and she would never admit it, but I used to do her math and science homework for her.”  Geneva groans, and Kit laughs around her salad.  “Sorry, sorry.”

            “Great.  See that, that thing that just zipped out of here like a bat out of hell?  That was the silver lining, Kit.  You just stole my silver lining.”

            “Oh, come on.  Don’t worry too much.  It’s not like you have no one to help you.”

            “Yeah right,” Geneva says, stabbing idly at her lasagna.  She isn’t feeling hungry so much as angry.  “Bea isn’t much better, and I don’t even think my dad knows how numbers work.”

            “I wasn’t talking about them, Genny.  I was talking about me.”

            Geneva looks up.  “What, like, you help me?”

            Kit nods.

            “You would really do that?”

            “Well, yeah, duh.  So long as you help me with our history homework.”

            “Oh, thank Zeus!  I take back all of the awful things I’ve said about you over the years.  Oh, Kit, you’re a life saver.  From now on, I promise I’ll be nothing but pleasant to you.”

            “Geneva.”

            “I mean it.  No more sarcasm.  Ever.  Again.”

            Kit shakes her head.  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

            “Well, good point,” Geneva says.  “Seriously, though.  You’re saving my rear.  I don’t think I’ll be able to make it without help, and I know for a fact that Mrs. Campbell won’t make it easy on me.”

            “Yeah, and why does she hate you again?”

            Geneva laughs quietly.  “Yeah, funny story.  See, last year, I was taking a class with her and, well, there might have been a question about the speed or velocity or something of a speeding bullet and—here’s the funny part—I didn’t know how to get the answer.  So, I may have just put something along the lines as, ‘about as fast as Superman.’”

            “You.” Kit shakes her head.  “You didn’t.”

            “I in fact did.”

            “And what did she do?”

            “Failed me.  Apparently, she didn’t get the reference.”

 

            Geneva’s next class after lunch is physical education, and she feels fortunate to share it with Kit. This feeling of good fortune is gone when she enters the gymnasium and finds Lana there, her posse skulking around her as they always do.

            Also waiting inside is Ms. Olivia, the teacher Geneva met two weeks prior.  When she sees Geneva, she smiles, waves, and directs her down the stairs to the girl’s locker room to dress out for class.  Kit leads the way down, with Geneva trailing shortly after.

            There are two locker rooms housed beneath the gym, one on each side.  The room closest to the entrance is the boy’s and the farthest is the girls, and each locker room is further divided into two subsections—those for physical education classes and those for athletics.  Normally, students aren’t allowed to change in the athlete’s locker room, but Geneva and Kit chance the trouble to avoid Lana and her crew.

            Though it was their choice, Lana still can’t help but make a comment about how she feels safer with Kit in another room.  For a moment, Geneva is afraid that Kit will attack, and she will be obligated as a friend to try and somehow stop her.  To her amazement, and Kit’s credit, all that happened was an exchange of glares and an agitated sigh.

            Back in the gym, the students separate themselves by cliques.  Geneva and Kit stay near the back and do their best to ignore Lana.  Geneva sits with her knees up, hugging them to her chest.  Kit stands beside her and stretches while they wait.  They both stare at Lana’s back.

            “I swear, something is broken inside of her,” Geneva says, sulking.

            Kit springs up after touching her toes.  “Nothing broken, she just has to be in control all of the time.  She’s probably just mad she got paired with you in Biology.”

            “Which is totally not fair, considering she’s the jerk, and I’m the victim.”

            “Of course,” Kit says.

            “Of course.”

            The students don’t have to wait long before Ms. Olivia enters the room.  She stands tall among them, a slight, lean figure that towers.  Her dress is conservative, a button-up top and khakis, and her gait is graceful and flawless.  She smiles at them, in a practiced, precise sort of way, and gives another small wave toward Geneva.

            Geneva waves back half-heartedly and tries to avoid any glances made by other students.

            “You know her,” Kit asks, leaning down to whisper.

            “Kind of?  We met the other day, after summer school let out.  I was waiting for Bea.  She’s a new teacher here.”

            “So, they did fire Ms. Rita.”

            “And good riddance, I say.”

            “Oh, here we go.”

            “What?  I think I’m perfectly within my rights to hold a grudge against that woman.”

            “She allegedly sexually harassed some students, Genny, and I’m not sorry to say that you weren’t one of them.”

            “She used to pull me aside and make me do jumping jacks for her.”

            “Because you wouldn’t do them otherwise.”

            “Be that as it may, I’m still convinced she was the one who stole my underwear.”

            “And I’m telling you it was Lana.”

            “Whatever, Freddie, you keep blaming your Red Herring, but until you and Mystery Inc. have any proof to back up that claim, I’m going to stick with my Ms. Rita theory.”

            The gym goes quiet when Ms. Olivia calls the class together.  They gather around her and sit patiently on the floor while she looks them over.  She smiles stiffly.  “Greetings,” she says, steepling her fingers and pacing.  “My name is Ms. Olivia, as some of you already know.”  She glances at Geneva, who shies away.  “And I will be your instructor for the year.  As I am sure you have realized, I am a new instructor at Ash View, replacing your previous physical education instructor, Ms. Rita.  Forging ahead, I am sure we will grow to know each other very well.”

            “Hopefully not as well as Ms. Rita knew some of us,” Geneva whispers to Kit, who snickers.

            “Now then, we will begin the class with a simple question,” she says, pausing afterward to look out at all of the adolescent faces watching her.  “What is physical education?  As I understand, there is a misconception among the student body as to what the very nature of this class is and will be.  Contrary to popular belief, it will not be an ‘easy A,’ as I heard one student call it earlier today.  I’ve also heard that some of you entertain the idea of sitting out the year and offering minimal participation.  That, I assure you, will not be enough to satisfy the requirements of this class.  Rest assured, I will work you hard, and I will test your minds just as I test your body, but it is my most sincere hope that you will leave this class both healthier and more well-informed for it.”

            She smiles at the class again, in her practiced way.  Hearing her declaration, Geneva feels her hopes drop into a cold, icy pool at the base of her spine.  She looks sadly at Kit, who can only offer muted laughter in return.

            “But that is for another day,” Ms. Olivia says.  “I’m sure all of you have spent your mornings bound inside of these stuffy halls, tied to little plastic chairs with hard backs while the sun shines outside.  So, for today, let’s get up and take this class outside and into the fresh air!”

            Ms. Olivia leads them out through the back exit.  On the way, she picks up a bag of equipment that waits near the door.  The students follow, talking amongst themselves.  Geneva and Kit lead them up in the rear.

            Geneva sulks and shuffles along.  Beside her, Kit beams.  “I like her already,” she says to Geneva, who groans.

            “I don’t.”

            “Come on,” Kit says.  “You need the exercise.”

            “You calling me fat, Kit?”

            “I never said those words.”

            “You didn’t not say them, either,” Geneva says bitterly.  She winces as they step out into the heat of summer.  It reminds her very much of waiting for Beatrice, only she still has another hour of school after this class is over.

 

            Ms. Olivia leads the students out into the back parking lot and down a hill to the sports fields.  A fence surrounds the fields on all sides, and she pulls open a gate to grant them entrance.  A highway winds around the building, connecting to the city proper.  Between the highway and the fields is a thicket of trees with a large ash at its center.

            Geneva sulks in the back of the group.  Beside her, Kit bounces with the sort of youthful enthusiasm that only makes Geneva’s attitude worse.  While the two got along well, they have very different opinions toward sports.  Kit is a capable athlete, while the only sports Geneva likes are in video games, and even those exhaust her after a while.

            Ms. Olivia leads them to the baseball diamond.  She stops on the pitcher’s mound and drops her bag of equipment.  Then, she separates them into teams by assigning each student a number.  Kit is given one and Geneva two.  Once they are grouped together, she bends down and pulls a plastic bat from inside of the bag.  “Today we will be playing baseball, a staple of summer, no?”

            “No,” Geneva says to herself.  She stands a few feet away from her team and stares bitterly at her teacher.

            Kit’s team is given first at bat, and Ms. Olivia decides to serve as all-time pitcher.  She assigns team two their different positions, placing Geneva in the outfield.  Geneva shuffles far away, hoping to find respite in the shadows cast by the tree line.  She also entertains the idea that no one will be able to hit it hard enough for her to go after it.

            With teams set, Ms. Olivia faces the batter and shouts, “Play Ball!”

            Ms. Olivia pitches underhand, and the first batter lands a hit.  It goes straight to first where it is caught in the air by Glenn, one of the popular, athletic types at the school.  As he lands, he gives a handsome, confident smile before throwing it back to Ms. Olivia.

            Kit bats next, and Geneva takes a moment to imagine the thought process behind it.  Everyone knows Kit, and everyone knows the raw, animalistic strength she carries in her wiry little limbs.  Even the baseball players in the class start to take a few preparatory steps backward.

            Kit smiles and waves at Geneva, who knows immediately what that means.  Then, she sinks into her batting stance and waits.  Ms. Olivia throws, and with an astonishing crack, Kit connects.  As expected, it goes far and flies smoothly over Geneva’s head and over the fence, into the woods.  Geneva watches it land in the trees and roll deeper inside.

            She looks back to find the class watching her.  “What?”

            “You didn’t even run for it,” says the second-base woman, Ashley.  They share English together.  Up to this point, Geneva had always liked her.  Now, watching Ashley’s face twist into a sneer, she reconsiders her opinion.

            “It went over the fence,” Geneva says, gesturing toward the fence as if to reinforce the idea.

            “But you didn’t even try.”

            “Yeah, you should at least go get it,” says another outfielder who Geneva doesn’t recognize.

            “Ms. Oaks, if you wouldn’t mind,” Ms. Olivia says.

            Geneva sighs.  “Okay, fine, but don’t expect me to run.”  Out of the corner of her ear she hears Lana make a comment about how they wouldn’t want the earthquakes that would follow.

            Geneva exits through a nearby gate and climbs the small hill into the thicket.  The first thing she notices upon approach is how sweet the air smells.  Next, she notices how dark it has become.  It looks like a cloud is passing by and blocking out the sun but looking back she can see the warm glow of the sunlight washing over the hillside.

            She considers how strange it is, to have this small thicket of trees in the center of the city, untouched by the people who live there.  A few years ago, when she first moved to the school, she heard rumors of expansion that would require the trees to be cut down, and she remembers that the rumors stopped abruptly.

            The thick trees stand stout around her and, in the darkness, she can see the ash tree at the center.  Its gray bark bends the light and create its own.  It shimmers, and when she blinks the illusion fades.  She rubs her eyes and shrugs it off.

            She finds the little white ball a few feet in.  The farther in she moves, the cooler the air becomes, and the sweeter it smells.  She can feel dampness in the air, too, and everything grows darker around her, save for the ash tree.  It seems to steal the light around it.  Reality warps around it, funneling toward it, emphasizing it like a spotlight.  She covers her eyes as she approaches.

            The forest is greener than she expects, and grows more verdant farther in.  In the heatwave the state is suffering everything has grown cracked and dead.  Here, however, it is full of light and life, an oasis in a desert.

            She reaches the ball and feels the hair on the back of her neck stand.  Something is watching her.  Someone is there with her.  She looks over her shoulder and sees nothing in the darkness, just a pathway back to the real world.  She shakes off the feeling and kneels down to pick up the ball.

            She rolls the ball around in her hand.  “There you are.”  She stands back up and stares at the darkness and at the ash tree.  Goosebumps crawl up her arms, and she just can’t shake the feeling…

            “Ms. Oaks, is everything okay?”

            “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” Geneva yells back.

            As she turns, she hears something.  It is a voice or a growl.  She stops and listens, and she scans the area but finds nothing.  Sighing, she tells herself it’s an animal.  In her mind, she imagines a tiny bunny rabbit waiting to greet her.

            She is almost out of the woods when she hears something behind her again.  This time, it is closer and harsher.  It is like a language composed of growls and snarls.  She turns on heel and comes face-to-face with a large creature.  It stands nearly six-foot and looks vaguely human, save for the blotchy dark green skin and comically large nose.  Its ears are slightly pointed.  Warts sprout across its face.

            It growls again and stares, its head tilted like a bewildered animal.  Then, it stalks forward.

            Geneva staggers back.  “Good angry goblin-looking thing,” she mutters.  Her foot catches on something, and she falls back.  Landing hard on her back, the air is knocked from her lungs.  It steps over her and stares at her, and in her desperation, she draws a deep breath and shouts.

            Her eyes close, and she keeps screaming until the air is out of her lungs again. Then, she coughs and curls up, and she tries hard not to cry, reasoning that seeing a goblin is hard enough to explain but crying she could never live down.

            Ms. Olivia and Kit come running to her side and find her on her back, bleeding from her arm and with a swollen ankle.  They stop at her side and touch her gingerly, drawing her attention.  She looks up and crawls to Kit for safety.

            “Be careful, there’s a thing here.  It’s all green and weird and it—it.”  She sees an empty forest blanketed in shadows.  “It growled at me,” she says.

            Kit stares at her.  “Geneva, you okay?  What are you talking about?”

            “Yes, what indeed,” Ms. Olivia asks.  She examines Geneva with a careful, clinical eye.  “Whatever the case, you’re injured.”

            “I’m fine,” Geneva says.  “Just want to get out of here as quickly as possible.  Oh, and,”  Geneva shifts her weight and pulls out the crushed remains of the plastic ball.  She holds them up.  “Eh, sorry.”

            “It is fine, Ms. Oaks,” Ms. Olivia says.  “Ms. Wright, if you could, help her up.”

            With surprising ease, Kit hooks one of Geneva’s arms over her shoulder and lifts her smoothly.  When they are standing, she holds Geneva close.

            Geneva winces as she puts pressure on her ankle.  “Ow.”

            “Geeze, what didn’t you hurt,” Kit asks.

            “Funny, didn’t seem to hurt until I stood.”

            “Well, yes, Ms. Wright, if you wouldn’t mind, please escort Ms. Oaks to the nurse’s office.  I will need to gather the students and return them to the school.  Thank you.”

            “Sorry about all of this.”

            “It is fine, Ms. Oaks.  I am almost certain you didn’t do it on purpose,” Ms. Olivia says humorlessly before climbing the hill.

            Geneva and Kit exchange glances, and Kit shrugs, before they start their journey up the hill and back toward the school.

 

            Ms. Olivia, Nina to her peers, calls the secretary in to watch her class for some time and returns to the forest.  Geneva was clearly distraught, but her words were cause for concern.  Though she is sure that it is mostly nonsense, she also feels that it is always best to be cautious.

            She isn’t far into the woods when she finds something.  Deep set footprints, vaguely human in shape, only larger and heavier.  The deeper into the woods she goes, the more she finds.  From quick glances, she can see three distinct sets.  They start at the ash in the center and spread out from there.

            She walks around the giant ash, tracing her hand along its effulgent bark.  Then, she walks to the edge of the woods, back into the summer sun, and pulls out her cell phone.  She dials and waits only briefly.

            “Lieutenant,” says the gruff voice on the other end of the phone.

            “Major, sir, I apologize if I am interrupting something.”

            “You’re only interrupting if you don’t have a reason to call.”

            Nina paces the outer edge of the woods, looking for more footprints.  The earth here is hard, dry, resilient.  Though there is dust, it is too fine to hold any shape.  Near the highway she kneels and examines the dirt.  Faintly, there is an outline.  “Sir, I believe we have an issue of security.”

            “And why do you think that?”

            “One of my students saw something in the forest today.”

            A grunt and then he says, “It was probably just one of our people.”

            “No, sir, I’m examining the area right now, and I’ve found footprints.  They’re heavy, too heavy to be elven.”  Nina stands and looks out at the highway.  She sees cars passing by and heat distorting the asphalt.  “She described what she saw as being green.”

            A pause follows.  “That’s impossible,” he says.  “Their gate is sealed.”

            “Yes but perhaps it has opened.  Or perhaps not.  Either way, I feel it merits further investigation.”

            “And I am inclined to agree,” he says.  “You return to your post, and I will send some of my men out, give it a proper look over.”

            “Yes, sir,” Nina says.  She clicks her phone off and stares at the highway a moment longer before returning.

 

            “Shouldn’t you be in class,” Geneva asks.  She is sitting up in the bed in the nurse’s office.  The window is closed but the curtain is open, letting the warm summer sunlight illuminate the room.  The walls are white and glow blindingly.  Kit is sitting beside her, on a rolling stool.  The nurse, Ms. Hart, was kind enough to offer both ice creams.

            “I’m here in case you need anything,” Kit says while sucking the last bit of chocolate from her stick.

            “I think that’s what the nurse is for,” Geneva says.  She offers her unopened ice cream to Kit, who rips it open and devours it.  After everything, she just doesn’t feel hungry.  She looks at her bandaged arm and then reclines against the wall.  “You’re using me to avoid class, aren’t you?”

            “No,” Kit says, between bites of ice cream, “Well, yes, but that’s what high school students do, isn’t it?  Besides, if you feel up to going to class, then you’ll need someone to help you there.”

            “It’s just a sprain.”

            “I’m not leaving your side, Genny.  At least, not until she makes me leave your side.”

            “Ms. Wright, what are you doing here?  Shouldn’t you be in class?”

            Mouth full of ice cream, Kit looks guiltily at the door and finds Ms. Olivia waiting.  She smiles, mutters something about being on the way, and stumbles her way out.  At the door, she stops and looks back, “See you later, Genny, and get better.”  On the way out she peeks around Ms. Olivia’s shoulder with a look of fright, which is enough to make Geneva smile.

            Ms. Olivia turns to see what is so amusing but finds Kit on the way out.  She shrugs and takes the stool beside Geneva’s bed.  Her posture is perfectly straight.  She crosses her legs in a very business-like manner.  “And, Ms. Oaks, how are you feeling?”

            “Just a sprain and a scrape, but I feel fine.”

            “If that is the case, then shouldn’t you be in class as well?”

            “Well, yeah, I guess, but shouldn’t you?”

            Ms. Olivia blinks a few times, unsure of how to react.  “I’ll return in due time.  I just wished to check on you.  It is sad to think that you were injured on my watch.”

            “Please,” Geneva says, waving it off with her good arm.  “Like you had anything to do with it.  You want to be angry with someone, be angry with that tree branch.  Though, I feel like this is a good time to mention why I avoid sports altogether.  Somehow, I always end up getting hurt.”

            “I see,” Ms. Olivia says.  “Will your parents be concerned?”

            “Nah, they probably won’t even notice with how busy they are.”  Geneva looks at Ms. Olivia and adds, “Not that they’re neglectful or anything.  Just busy.  Anyway, it isn’t anything serious, and if you’re worried about being sued or something, don’t.  I don’t even think they have a lawyer.”

            “I was not, but thank you.  That is comforting to know.”

            “Comfort,” Geneva says, “That’s what I’m here for.”

            “Yes.”

            Silence settles.  Geneva stares at the wall.  There are tiny, glazed, brown tiles that outline the door frame.  She counts them going up, and then back down.  Then she says, “You know, my ankle is feeling tip-top after all, so I think I might go ahead and hit class.  Don’t want to fall behind on the first day, you know?”

            “Yes, that would be prudent,” Nina says.  “Though, I was hoping to talk to you about something first.”

            Geneva, already part way up, looks at Ms. Olivia, and settles onto the bed again.  “Oh.  Like what?”

            “Well, you had said some peculiar things when we found you.  I was hoping you would care to elaborate.”

            “And if I wouldn’t?”

            “Please, Ms. Oaks.  In all likelihood it could have been delirium, but if there is a danger to any of the students, I really would like to know.”

            Geneva looks away and twirls her thumbs.  She presses them together and counts the tiles again.  “Listen, Ms. Olivia, I was just in pain, and I have an overactive imagination anyway—probably all those video games I play—and it was probably a trick of the light or heat exhaustion or both or neither.  Maybe I’m just crazy.  I mean, I thought the tree was glowing.  How nuts is that?”

            “That is peculiar,” Nina says.  “Still, if you would at least take the time answer my questions, it would set my mind at ease.”

            Geneva sighs.  “Fine, if it’ll help, I guess.”

            “Good.  Then, what exactly happened?”

            “I don’t know.  Nothing,” Geneva says.  She meets Ms. Olivia’s gaze and then stares fixedly on the bed sheets.  They are eggshell white and tightly tucked.  “Okay, well, I went to find the ball.  And I found it. Then I tripped.  That’s all.”  Geneva puts on a smile.  “And you know what? That does feel loads better.  Glad we talked that out, and I’m good to go.  So, put the report on my desk by the morning, and…”

            “And why did you scream?”

            “Would you believe it was over a mosquito?”

            “No.”

            Geneva groans and rubs her temples.  “Fine,” she says, and she looks Ms. Olivia in the eye.  “But no calling me crazy.”

            “I wouldn’t even consider it, Ms. Oaks.  I promise.”

            Geneva stares, purses her lips.  She presses her thumbs together again. “Okay, here’s what happened.  I went in, I heard some noises, saw a glowing tree.  I hear more noises, like something was running around. I thought it was a bunny, and I was hoping it was, cause I love bunnies.  They’re cute, with their little noses and,” Geneva pauses to take in Ms. Olivia’s humorless gaze.  She clears her throat.  “Anyway, long story short, it wasn’t a bunny.”

            “What was it?”

            “It—Well, I think it was a trick of the light.  Glowing tree and all.”

            “Ms. Oaks.”

            “Why are you so curious about this?”

            “Why are you so evasive?”

            “Because it’s nuts,” Geneva says with the uncertainty of a child looking for the right answer.

            “Just answer.”

            “I saw a green guy, okay?  Like, tall, skinny green guy, and I freaked, and I screamed, and I fell, and I cut my arm open, and that’s it.”

            “And that is all you saw.”

            “Yeah, but, like, it was a trick of the light.  Or a hobo in body paint.  I mean, people have seen weirder things, right?”

            “I’m sure it was nothing,” Ms. Olivia says.

            “Yeah.”

            “Well, if that is all, then go ahead to class.”

            “For the last five minutes,” Geneva mutters while standing and hobbling toward the door.

            “Five minutes?”  Ms. Olivia looks at the clock.  “Oh!”

 

            Nina returns in time to let her students out.  After more than a few apologies to the secretary, she gathers her things and puts them out in her car, a big, black SUV with darkened windows, and then returns to the woods outside of the school.  While at her car, she pockets her pistol for added safety.

            She meets her commanding officer, Major Erak Draco, near the ash tree.  Teams of elves work quietly around them, taking photos of the footprints and scouring the area for other evidence.  Erak turns to face her, and she salutes.  He nods in return.

            Erak is handsome, in a brutish sort of way.  He is more broadly built than the average elf and carries much of his mass in his upper torso.  His cheeks are angled and his eyes thin and blue.  He keeps his golden hair trimmed close to his scalp and he wears the official green officer’s uniform. In one hand he holds a smoking hand-rolled cigarette.

            “Looks like you were right,” he says.  He pulls up a clipboard and makes a few notes.  Then, puffs his cigarette and releases a cloud of smoke.  “Footprints definitely aren’t elven.  Could have been human, except the toes are all off.”

            “So, you mean to say…”

            “I’ve widened the search.  We’ve caught sight of something, big, green, just like your student said.”  He looks at her.  “I hate saying it, I really do, but it seems undeniable at this point.  The demons have returned.”

            “How many?”

            “Based on footprints we’ve found, four.  They all went separate directions after stepping out of the gate tree, but I don’t think they’ve made it out it of the city.  They’re scared, and they’re hiding.  Every time we see them, they run, and the damn things are slippery.  They’re avoiding public areas.”

            “Well, at least that’s some good news.”

            Erak laughs bitterly around his cigarette.  “Yeah, real good,” he says.  “And that’s all the good news we’ve got.  We don’t know what they’re doing behind the gate or how they opened it up.”  He lifts his boot and snuffs out his cigarette on the heel.  Then, he tucks the remains in a case from his right breast pocket.  Shaking his head, he says, “We all thought that whatever that damn woman did was permanent.  Or, we hoped it was, and now the greatest enemy history has ever known is back, and we’re caught with our pants down.”  He kicks the ground.  “Damn!  The Council is going to have all of our asses.”

            “They will be frightened, but I also believe that they will give us the support we need,” Nina says.  “And it has only been a few hours.  We’ll have it done quickly.”

            Erak grunts and eyes his clipboard.  “I’ve ordered a wide-spread search of the city.  Wherever these damn things are, I’ll find them.  Main problem is we have to be discreet.  Can’t use my best agents and can’t have it look like we’re looking for something.”

            “What can I do to help?”

            “Go home, pretend as if nothing is wrong, and don’t draw attention.”  He looks at her.  “Can’t have you breaking cover.  You’ve shown today how invaluable your role here really is.  So, do whatever those human teachers do, and let me handle the rest.”

            “If you insist,” Nina says.

            “I do,” Erak says, and he turns his back to her.

            Nina salutes again before turning and making the long walk back to the parking lot.

 

Knights of Sheba 101 A…End

2: Episode One: A New Day (B)

The Knights of Sheba 101 B…Start 

            The next morning is hot and muggy.  Geneva and Kit meet in their history class.  Students gather in the room, sedated after their first-day highs.  Geneva sits in the back and stares out the window, watching the slow progress of the morning sun across the football field.  Her ankle, while stiff, is more-or-less functional, and her arm still aches.

            “Hey, Genny, how are you feeling? I was really worried about you yesterday, you know?”

            “I’m fine,” Geneva says, flexing her ankle and wincing.  “Okay, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.”

            Kit shakes her head and laughs.  “No, it probably wasn’t,” she says, leaning back and balancing in her chair.  “Still, are you sure you’re okay? You were sounding kind of crazy the other day.”

            “I’ll tell you what I told the teacher: I tripped.  And got hurt, and started talking all kinds of crazy, and I’m fine now.”

            “I don’t believe you.”

            Geneva rolls her eyes.  “What can I do to convince you, then?  Do you want me to get up and do jig?”

            “While that would be crazy, I would probably just be even more worried.”

            “No winning with you,” Geneva says.

            “Listen, you say you’re fine, then I’ll believe you, but we’re friends, despite whatever you might believe right now, and that means I’m entitled to worry.”

            “Then be entitled and worry.  Just don’t entitle yourself to pry.”

            “Asking questions isn’t prying.”

            “It is when I want to keep my private health issues, you know, private.  Maybe, just maybe, I don’t want your nose all up in my business.  Cause you know what you are, Kit?  A prier, and not a good kind of prier.  Not Richard Pryor. The bad kind.  That puts their nose in businesses and can’t take a hint.”

            “Hint?”

            “I don’t want to talk about yesterday.  I don’t want to allude to it.  I don’t want to dance around it.  I want it to not be an issue.  I want it to be done with.”

            Kit remains silent for a long while, watching Geneva vent.  Once the other girl settles, Kit leans her seat forward, returning the legs to the floor. “So, there is an issue.”

            Geneva glares.  “Okay, now you’re just trying to be annoying.”

            “You know, you get all pissy when I’m away for the summer and don’t e-mail you, and now you get all pissy when I take an interest in your life.  Jesus, what do you want from me?”

            “I want you to take an interest in interesting things.  ‘Oh, hey, Geneva, how are classes going?’ ‘Oh, hey, Geneva, how was your summer?’ ‘Oh, hey, Geneva, did you catch up on Dr. Who?’”

            “I don’t watch Dr. Who.  I honestly don’t even know who he is.”

            “Well, you should, because it’s incredible, and I’d have a lot to say about it.”

            “Real life has more interesting things than television and video games, you know.”

            Geneva hisses.  “Lies!”

            Now it’s Kit’s turn to roll her eyes.  “Okay, fine, fine, I take that back, and I won’t harass you about your weird heat stroke induced hallucinations.”

            “I tripped.”

            “Yeah, whatever.  Anyway, I’m going to drive you home today.”

            Geneva pauses, looks at Kit.  “What?”

            “I, Katherine Deborah Wright, am driving you, Geneva…”

            “Evelyn.  My middle name is Evelyn.  After my grandma.”

            “Evelyn, huh?  Anyway, I’m driving you home today.”

            “But.”

            “No buts,” Kit says.  “Or ifs, for that matter.”

            “What about ‘No?’”

            “Especially no Nos.”

            Mr. Oliver enters the class and greets his students, who offer a far less enthusiastic greeting than the day before.  At his desk, he opens his briefcase and starts preparing.  Geneva leans over to Kit and whispers, “But, you don’t even know where I live.”

            “I guess that’s going to have to change, huh?”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Again, Geneva and Kit go their separate ways until lunch.  Math and English pass by uneventfully, and Geneva counts the minutes in Biology while ignoring glares from Mrs. Campbell and snide comments from Lana.  When she finally sees Kit as lunch, she slumps down at the table with her tray, nearly dislodging her meatloaf and orange Jell-O cup.

            “Just kill me!”

            Kit looks up from a chicken sandwich, all white meat, cooked to perfection.  A tiny flower of fruit, sliced into wedges and sorted by color, accompany her meal. “You okay?”

            Geneva stabs at her loaf.  “They’re horrible.  Horrible, I tell you.”

            “Who?”

            “Everyone. Lana!”

            Kit sighs, looks over her shoulder at Lana and her hyenas.  Then, she takes a large bite of her sandwich and nods.  “What did she do this time?”

            “Let me put it this way, the phrase, ‘Oh, no, let me handle that. Wouldn’t want you to collapse from the stress of walking,’ was played on repeat all hour.”

            Kit snickers.

            “Not funny, Kit!”

            “I know, I know, sorry,” Kit says, covering her mouth and, subsequently, her smirk.  “Listen, next time she gives you crap just mention Craig Johnson.”

            “Craig Johnson?”  Geneva peels the lid from her Jell-O, hears the voice of her mother telling her not to start with dessert, and silently tells it that she has her reasons.  She scoops a big, undulating glob into her mouth.  “There’s a story to this, and I have to hear it.”

            “They made out in the seventh grade.”

            Geneva pauses, spoon in mouth.  “That’s it?  That’s her kryptonite?  Old flames?  I mean, if she’s weak to men she’s made out with, then I should be able to chuck any random passerby at her.”

            “Let me finish,” Kit chides.  “While they were making out, well, things escalated.  She got her hand down his pants, fishing around for—Well, a worm.”

            Geneva’s eyes go wide.  She stops, mid-bite.  “In seventh grade?”

            “Please, most of her gang got their start in fifth.  Anyway, that’s not the thing.  Craig let one rip, with her hand down his pants.”

            “Wait, he…”

            “Yup.  Farted on her hand, and then he laughed about it.  She said she nearly vomited on him right there and swore me to secrecy.”

            “Oh God,” Geneva says, laughing and holding her sides.  “That’s classic.  Still, I think if I said anything it’d only make it worse.  Lana doesn’t seem like the type of bully who backs down when you stand up to her.  Instead, she’s more the type to start plotting your immediate doom.”

            Kit shrugs.  “You do what you want with the information.  I’m just making sure you have ammo, because if you do decide to fight back, I don’t think you have what it takes to out bitch her on your own.  She’s a master.”

            “THE master,” Geneva says.  “It’s like she worships Mean Girls.  But then, who doesn’t?  I mean, Lindsay and Tina in one movie?  It’s like a dream!”  Geneva looks across the table.  “Lesbians like Tina Fey, right?”

            Kit shrugs again.  “Sure, why not.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            After lunch, the girls head to the gym for P.E.  They dress out quickly to avoid the others and are already on their way out of the locker room when Lana and her gang enter.  They meet in the stairwell.  Kit and Geneva step to the side to grant them passage; Lana stops to stare them down.

            She crosses her arms.  “When are they going to send you two to the boy’s side where you belong?”

            “You sure that isn’t where you want to be,” Kit says.  “I mean, everyone knows how much you like men.”

            “At least I’m straight,” Lana returns before flipping her hair and sashaying away.  Her friends follow after, giggling and parroting the statement.

            Kit glares at their backs as they leave.  “One of these days she’s going to say something to the wrong person and get hit.  I swear it.”

            Geneva imagines it, smiles.  “You know, I would totally pay to see that.”

            They leave the stairs and enter the gym, where they wait at the center for the others students to join them.  Geneva sits, cross-legged on the floor.  Kit paces around her, stretching.  Across the room they see Ms. Olivia leaving her office.  She speaks to a few students who are waiting nearby before heading their way.

            “Ms. Oaks, I hope you are well today.”

            “Tip top and no Martians to report,” Geneva says.  Ms. Olivia tilts her head. “Martians are green people.  It—It was a joke.”

            “I see,” Ms. Olivia says.  “That is humorous.  And you will be well enough to participate?”

            “More or less.” Geneva flexes her leg. “Ow.”

            “Yes.”  Ms. Olivia glances toward Kit.  “Ms. Wright.”

            Kit nods.  “Ms. Olivia.”

            “Now, Ms. Oaks, if I could steal you away for a moment.”

            “Steal me—You want to talk to me?”

            Ms. Olivia nods.

            Geneva looks at Kit, who shrugs, and then hesitates.  “Uh, sure,” she says, standing slowly and following Ms. Olivia across the gym and to her office.

            It is a small, bleak room.  The walls are white and unadorned.  The floor is a dark, cement, and seems to swallow the light.  A desk sits in the center, a chair behind it.  The desk holds a lamp, a computer, and a pen holder.  Two more plastic chairs sit in front of it, for guests.

            Ms. Olivia directs Geneva toward one of the plastic chairs and sits on the edge of her desk, her arms crossed, and looking not quite like a teacher.  The way she carries herself, with grace and purpose, gives her greater authority.  Alone with her, inside of the office, Geneva feels somewhat threatened.

            “So, uh, what exactly did you want to talk about?”

            “Yesterday,” Ms. Olivia says.  “About what happened, and about what you saw.”

            “I didn’t see anything.  It was a trick of the light.  Or I’m nuts.  Or Martians.”  Geneva laughs quietly, watches Ms. Olivia’s stoic response.  She clears her throat.  “Another joke.”

            “Still quite humorous,” Ms. Olivia says.  “But if we could be serious for a moment.  I just wanted to make certain that you saw nothing else, heard nothing else.”

            Geneva watches her.  Ms. Olivia meets her gaze in a way that isn’t accusatory, in a way that isn’t anything.  It is blank, perfectly expressionless.  “Er.”

            Ms. Olivia smiles.  It is practiced, polished, and attractive, but it isn’t real.  Her tone softens.  “I mean to say, perhaps it was a trick of the light, or perhaps you saw someone out there.  If that is the case, I feel it is my responsibility to attend to it.”

            “Um, right, well, I don’t think that’s what happened.”

            “I know but humor me.  Did you see anything else, other than the,” Ms. Olivia pauses, tastes the word before saying it, “Martian?”

            “No,” Geneva says.

            “And did you see which way it went?”

            Geneva shakes her head.

            “And did you hear anything?”

            “Nope,” Geneva says.  She presses her thumbs together, blushes.  “I was kind of screaming for help.  Heh.”

            “I see.”

            “So, uh, can I go back to class now?”

            Ms. Olivia stares at the floor.

            “Ms. Olivia?”

            She looks up.  “Hm?”

            “Class.  Can I go back to it?”

            “Yes.” Ms. Olivia stands from her desk.  “Tell them I will join them shortly.”

            “Right,” Geneva says.  She stands and goes to the door.  At the doorway she pauses and looks back.  “Uh, Ms. Olivia, I just remembered.  Before I started to scream, I heard it growl,” she says.  Ms. Olivia looks up now, in a way that worries Geneva. “So, maybe it was a dog.  Got scared when I started wailing like a police siren?”

            “Maybe,” Ms. Olivia says, adopting a smile.  It seems almost genuine.  “Thank you, Ms. Oaks, for your help.”

            Geneva squeezes the door handle tightly.  “No problem.  I kind of made a mess for everyone.”

            “You’re fine,” Ms. Olivia says.  “Come, let us return to class.”

            “Right,” Geneva says, pulling the door open, and letting the chaos in.

            Outside, in the gym, shouts bounce off the walls and the rafters.  At first, it is an unintelligible raucous.  Then, within the maelstrom of noise, Geneva finds Kit’s voice, shouting obscenities as it battles Lana’s for dominance.

            They enter the gym to find a circle of students.  Ms. Olivia burrows through, moving people as she passes.  At its core, she finds Kit and Lana together and a splatter of blood across the floor.  With one arm, Ms. Olivia hooks Kit around her midsection and pulls her away from Lana, who is quickly surrounded by her pack.

            “I’m fine,” Kit shouts, and she jerks hatefully from Ms. Olivia’s grasp.  Casting one last glare into the crowd, she says it again. “I’m fine.”

            Ms. Olivia looks between them.  Lana is at the center of her group, pinching her nose with one hand and holding a pool of blood with the other.  “What just happened here?”

            “Nothing,” Kit says, feeling her right hand.  Her knuckles are red.  She takes a deep breath.  “Things just got out of hand.”

            “Out of hand,” Lana says, stepping out into the open.  “Out of hand?  That—That man!  Hit me.” A small amount of blood trails down her wrist.

            “Keep it up and I’ll hit you again,” Kit shouts, marching toward her.  Ms. Olivia quickly intercepts.

            “That is enough, Ms. Wright!  I will be escorting you to the office.  And Ms. Oaks, if you could, help her to the nurse’s office.”

            Geneva, watching wide-eyed, holds up her hand.  “But I…”

            “I’m fine,” Lana says.  “I can go myself.”

            “I insist,” Ms. Olivia says.  Her tone allows no argument.  Lana and Geneva exchange looks.  “Now, girls,” Ms. Olivia says while dragging Kit away.  Together, Lana and Geneva shrug and leave.  Ms. Olivia walks a short distance behind them, leading a despondent Kit in her wake.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Lana and Geneva walk the halls in silence all the way to the nurse’s office.  Periodically, Lana gives telling glares, as if to remind Geneva of how unwelcome she is.  Geneva pushes through, sorting her thoughts, preparing them for later.

            Ms. Hart checks Lana’s nose.  The bleeding stopped before they arrived and, according to her, the damage is superficial.  It will heal fine and leave only a bruise.  She leaves the two alone, with Lana lying on the bed, holding a tissue to her nose just in case, while Geneva sits in a chair against the wall.

            “You can leave you know,” Lana says, voice muffled.  “I didn’t even need you to get me here in the first place.  I can walk on my own.”

            “I know.  You said so before. And you glared at me.  A lot.”

            “And you didn’t take the hint.”

            “Hint? So that’s what passes as subtlety to you.”

            Lana sits up and fixes her sharpened gaze on Geneva.  If looks could kill, Geneva’s guts would be spread across the wall.  “Listen, loser, and listen well.  I don’t want to be your friend, I don’t want you hanging around me or keeping an eye on me.  So, just leave.”

            Geneva puts her hands on the arm rests, prepares to leave.  Her stomach is knotted up, twisted by fear and anxiety and Lana.  She meets Lana’s eyes, takes a deep breath, removes her hands.  She folds them up on her lap, presses her thumb together, and stares at her palms.  “What did you do?”

            “Excuse me?”

            “What did you do?  To Kit. What did you do to get her to hit you?”

            “Why do you care?”

            “Because she’s my friend.”

            “Friend?”  Lana laughs, high and cruel.  She throws her head back to really enjoy it.  “Oh, that’s a good one.  I’ll have to remember that for the girls.”

            Geneva looks up and regrets it.  Lana is watching her with cold calculation.  She is smiling, but it isn’t enjoyment.  It is sadism. “What do you mean by that?”

            “Funny thing about friends,” Lana says, “They spend time together.  You know, outside of school, and while I see Kit around town here or there, I never see you with her.”

            Geneva returns to staring at her hands. They sit on her lap, fingers locked, without judgment.  “That doesn’t mean we’re not friends.”

            “Oh, did I hit a sore spot?”

            “Just answer me.  What did you do?”

            “I didn’t do anything except tell the truth.”

            “Yeah, cause Kit’s known for outbursts of rage and physical violence.” Geneva pauses.  “Well, I mean, sports don’t count.  She’s competitive.”

            “Listen, it’s sweet how you’re sticking up for your bull and all, but you’re wasting your time and your efforts.  I don’t care about you and neither does she.  So, just do everyone a favor and go away, be invisible, fail out of school, and disappear from existence.  The sooner that happens, the happier everyone will be.”

            “I…”

            Ms. Hart enters the room, carrying a paper cup and a handful of pain killers.  She gives them to Lana and grabs a stack of fresh tissues.  “The office called,” she says.  “I think the principal would like to talk to you about everything that happened.”

            “Of course, ma’am, and thank you for all of your help.  I’m so sorry about all of this.”

            “Oh, you’re fine, honey,” Ms. Hart says, touching Lana’s arm gently.  “You just be careful, okay?  Oh, and Geneva, how are you feeling?”

            “Fine,” Geneva says.

            “Yeah, we were all so worried about you yesterday.”  Lana says it with such conviction that Geneva almost believes her.

            “Well, you two should be getting along,” Ms. Hart says.

            “Thank you, Ms. Hart,” Lana says, hopping from the bed and leading them out.

            In the hall, out of distance from the nurse’s office, Geneva stares in mixed respect and disbelief.  “You’re evil.”

            “I’m pragmatic.”

            “That’s what evil people call their own evil, you know.”

            “And evil is a stupid word used to demean the success of others.”

            Geneva stares now at the ground and walks a few feet behind Lana.  She doesn’t want to be in arm’s length of the girl, not when she looks at those fingernails.  “What are you going to do? When you make it to the office, I mean.  Pull the same little Snow White act and make them think you were the innocent victim?”

            “I AM the victim,” Lana says.  “SHE hit ME, remember?”

            “And you provoked it.”

            Lana shrugs.  “Maybe.”

            “You did,” Geneva says, stomping her foot and holding her ground.  “You totally did!  I’ve only been around you for a few minutes, and I want to smack you!”

            Lana turns, fluidly, and closes the distance between them.  She grabs Geneva by the shoulders and slams her against the wall.  Holding her there, she leans in and stares her in the eyes.  She is grinning again, and this time it is a threat.  “Go ahead and try it, then.”

            Geneva, shocked into paralysis, can only manage, “What?”

            “Hit me, if you think you can.  Hit me, if you aren’t too scared.  If not, then keep your fat mouth shut, because I’m tired of hearing your stupid voice.  Whatever is going on between Kit and me is between us, and I don’t care what imagined little friendship you’ve got with her, it stays between us.  Got it?”

            Geneva hesitates, searches Lana’s eyes, but she can’t find anything.  They are without intent, without hurt or hate.  They’re clear, green, and steady.

            Lana shoves her.  “I said, ‘got it?’”

            “Got it,” Geneva says.  “Yeah, I got it.”

            Lana releases her.  “Good.  Then go to class, because this is none of your business.”  She turns then, and marches down the hall.  Her gait is purposeful, confident.  Geneva stands against the wall, watching Lana’s back as she leaves.

            She waits there as Lana climbs the stairs and goes out of sight.  Then, she stares at the reflective surface of the floor.  The halls are empty.  No one is there to help her, and even if they were, she isn’t sure she would know what to say to them.

            She rubs her eyes.  Kit is in deep, and Geneva knows it.  There is nothing she can do.  She keeps telling herself that, but it doesn’t feel right.  It doesn’t feel like enough.  She lifts her head, wipes her eyes again.

            “You can do this,” Geneva says.  She sighs and closes her eyes tight.  “You can do something.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The main office is a small room tucked into the corner of the dining hall.  Geneva passes it on the way back to the gym.  As she walks, she keeps her head down, staring at her reflection on the tiles.  She sorts her thoughts knowing, ultimately, that they will never come out how she likes.

            Ms. Olivia steps out into the hall and, seeing Geneva, calls to her.  “Ms. Oaks, what are you doing here?  I would have thought you returned to class already.”

            “Same to you,” Geneva says.

            “I was on my way, actually.  They had a few questions for me,” she says.  “Come along, we can go together.”

            “We could,” Geneva says.  She balls her fists, tries to keep her gaze steady. “But, I’m not going back yet.”

            Ms. Olivia meets her eyes, crosses her arms.  She is looking down at Geneva, and through her.  “You’re not?”

            “No.”  This is said with as much defiance as Geneva has in her.  It comes out as a squeak.

            “And why not, may I ask?”

            “Because,” Geneva shifts her weight, looks passed Ms. Olivia long enough to gather herself, and then says, “Because Kit’s going to get thrashed, and because no one will stick up for her, not against Lana.”

            “She struck another student, Ms. Oaks.  Surely you don’t think such behavior is excusable.”

            “I know, I know, but—Lana is really annoying, and if you had to put up with her like we do…”

            “Ms. Oaks,” Ms. Olivia says, her tone pitiless, impatient, “As it stands, Ms. Wright’s behavior was entirely unacceptable, and she will likely face punishment.  I understand that it is difficult for you to be impartial in such circumstances, but your involvement may only further complicate things.”

            “Right,” Geneva says, hanging her head.  She stares at the tiles again, at herself, and she doesn’t like what she sees.  Even in her own head she isn’t the hero of the story.  She is the bystander, but Kit deserves better than that.

            She looks up again, not feeling resolved but stubborn.  “And you know, you’re right, she shouldn’t have hit Lana.  No matter how annoying she is,” she says.  “And I promise you, she is annoying.”

            “Be that as it may, Ms. Oaks, we need to return to class.”

            “No.”

            Ms. Olivia’s eyebrows raise, slightly.  “Excuse me?”

            Geneva thinks to apologize.  She bites her cheek.  “I said no, because this isn’t right.”

            “What isn’t right?”

            “Well.”  She stops, wrestling her unruly thoughts.

            “If you have something to say, then say it, Ms. Oaks.  As you have already pointed out, we’re both long overdue to return to the gym.”

            “Well, it’s just not right when people like Lana win.”

            “Win?  Ms. Love was attacked, Ms. Oaks.  How is it that you view her as the villain?”

            “Because I know her, and she is a villain.  She’s evil.  Like, biblical age, fallen angel evil, and I know Kit.  She wouldn’t have hit Lana, no matter how they feel about each other.  Not unless she was provoked.”

            “Whether she was provoked or not…”

            “Ms. Olivia, come on.  Everyone knows that school violence is zero tolerance.  Everyone.  And while it pains me to admit this, Lana’s not stupid.  She knows what would happen if Kit hit her, and she knows Kit would be too proud to raise a stink on her own.”  Geneva shakes her head.  “I know it sounds crazy, just—Just, do me a favor and…”

            “Do you a favor?  I am your instructor.”

            “I know, but—Ask Kit point blank what Lana did, what she said.  She’s got a mouth on her, and…”

            “What she did is irrelevant.”

            “Kit can get kicked out of school.  I mean, she definitely will, and that will follow her.  It’s like throwing her life into the garbage.  Throwing her education there.  This is a good school, Ms. Olivia.  Like, god-tier good, and Kit has a long life ahead of her.  Are you really willing to throw that away, too, all cause something got out of hand?”

            Ms. Olivia softens, slightly.  “Ms. Oaks, I think it’s admirable what you’re doing but…”

            “Please,” Geneva says.  “Either you do it or…”

            “Or?”

            “Or, I don’t know.  I guess I’ll go do it myself.”

            “You would speak to an instructor that way?  Do you want to get into trouble, too?”

            “Don’t want to, but willing to, for this, for Kit,” Geneva says.  “This isn’t right.  What she did was wrong, but I know Lana, and I know she’s about as clean as a dollar bill.  Which I recently found out are absolutely filthy.”

            Ms. Olivia watches her, impassive, implacable, and it is enough to shake Geneva, but not break her.  They stand together, in a tense silence that seems to stretch on forever.  Geneva continues to shift her weight and focus.  She looks at the plaques behind Ms. Olivia, the trophy case to her right.  She scratches her nose.

            “Fine,” Ms. Olivia says.  “Ms. Oaks, I will speak to the principal and superintendent on your behalf and, hopefully, your point will be heard.  Now, would you please return to class?  One of us has to be there sometime today.”

            Geneva, after a moment of wide-eyed surprise, smiles.  “Okay, yeah, totally, I’ll head right over.  Right now.  Immediately,” she says.  “And, Ms. Olivia?  Thanks. And stuff.”

            “You’re very welcome, Ms. Oaks.  And before you go, let me tell you, how very brave of you it was to stand by your friend.”

            Hearing that, Geneva blushes as they part ways.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The rest of the school day passes without word from either Kit or Lana, and as the final bell rings Geneva loses hope.  She leaves Psychology, books clutched to her breast, and walks the halls.  For the first time in years, she feels very, very alone.

            She weaves through the people, finds her locker.  When it comes open, she grimaces.  Two days in and already it looks like chaos.  Sighing, she goes elbow-deep into the mess and starts extracting the things she will need, a piece at a time.  Bookbag.  Math book.  History book.

            Someone taps her on the shoulder.  Geneva looks up to find Kit standing there, looking a bit puffy-eyed but wearing a half-smirk.

            She drops her things.  “Kit!”

            “Hey there, happy to see me?”

            “Not unhappy,” Geneva says with a telling grin.  “What happened back there?  Ms. Olivia takes me away for a minute and I come back to find you kicking names and taking asses.”  Geneva kneels down to pick up her scattered books, and Kit helps her.  “What, couldn’t wait until I got back to break Lana’s nose.”

            Kit laughs.  “I didn’t break anything.”

            “Yeah, she should give me the name of her surgeon.  Guy’s work is industrial grade.”

            They stand together.  Geneva jams her books into her backpack before taking the ones Kit is holding.  “You in a rush to get to the bus?”

            “Yeah,” Geneva says, finding room inside of her bag for the remaining books.  She stares inside, hoping that she has everything.  “But, I’ve got to know what happened.  You two have always been at each other’s throats, but things seemed really heated this time.  So?”

            “So, she said a mean word,” Kit says.  “I’ll leave it at that.”

            “Oh,” Geneva says.  The bell rings again, and Geneva notices how empty the halls have become.  “Oh, crap!  Well, walk with me to the bus, would you?”

            “No, you come to my car.”

            “How will that keep me from missing the bus, Kit?  What, are we going to drive alongside it, make me jump on, action-movie style?  Cause, I’ve got to say, I don’t think I have the leg strength for that.  Or the coordination.  Or the interest.  Yeah, I really just don’t want to do that.”

            “I’m driving you home, Genny.  Remember?”

            Geneva stops, wide-eyed, and nearly drops her things again.  Kit turns and walks away, a smile on her face and Geneva trailing after.  “You—You don’t know where I live!”

            “We’ve discussed this already,” Kit says.  “Besides, I imagine you have a pretty good idea.”

            “Kit, you don’t have to…”

            “I want to.  Now, come on,” she says, not stopping to wait.  Geneva follows, glancing back periodically at the empty halls.  As they step out into the parking lot, she watches the buses make their slow exit, pulling away one at a time.

            Seeing that it’s too late to back out, Geneva hangs her head and resigns herself to accepting Kit’s help.

            Kit pulls her keys out of her pocket and looks back.  “You okay?”

            “Fine,” Geneva says.  “Insides.  Feel like they’re eating themselves.”

            “Oh, don’t be such a baby,” Kit says, and she starts forward again.  Geneva follows once more.  “Why are you in such a fit about me driving you home?”

            “Because, you’ve never wanted to do it before.”

            “And I do now,” Kit says.  “We’re friends, Genny.  I know that we don’t always talk much outside of classes but, you’re important to me.”

            “Yeah, but with everything that happened today…”

            Kit waves it off.  “It’s fine.”

            “It is?”

            “More or less,” Kit says, shrugging.  There are only a few cars left in the parking lot.  Some belong to teachers.  Others belong to students making plans.  At the back, Geneva sees a sleek, blue car of some expensive make and model.

            “Any more details, or…”

            “I got yelled at.  A lot.  And I was told how violence is never the answer.  And I was told how I would be made an example.”  Kit rubs her chin.  “How did Mr. Z put it?  He was throwing the book at me.”

            “How thick was it?”

            “What?”

            “The book.  How thick was it?”

            “I,” Kit pauses, “I’d imagine it was pretty thick. I don’t know.  They didn’t really throw anything at me.”

            “Empty threats,” Geneva says, sighing and shaking her head.  “Never going to get anywhere like that.”

            “I know, right?  Anyway, just as they were all but signing my death warrant, Ms. Olivia comes back in.  She talks to the principal, or begs him or something, and he takes a deep breath and says that, in light of my stellar track record and that I’m normally not in his office, well—He wanted to know WHY I hit Lana.”

            “They hadn’t asked before?”

            “No.  Mostly, they yelled.”

            “And what did you say?”

            “I said she was pissing me off,” Kit says.

            “Good going.  I’m sure that went well for you.”

            They stop in front of Kit’s car.  Geneva can see a speckle in the blue of the hood and the tint in the windows, and she realizes that it is more expensive than she previously thought.

            “No, not really,” Kit says through laughter.  “I thought his head would split open, but then—Here, let me get that,” Kit says.  She takes Geneva’s bag and stows it in the back seat.  Then, she unlocks the passenger door and pulls it open for Geneva.  Once Geneva is safely inside, she closes the door behind her.

            The car, Geneva decides, is nicer on the inside.  Everything is clean and leather.  The wheel is polished to a reflective sheen.  Staring at her own hand-me-down jeans and garage-sale shoes, Geneva feels decidedly out of place.

            Kit gets in on the other side.  She slips the key into the ignition and the car purrs to life.  Geneva has never heard a car run so smoothly.  They pull on their seatbelts.

            “Anyway, like I was saying, I thought I was dead, but then Lana speaks up.  She spills everything, how she was taunting me, what she said, and the principal goes silent.”  Kit pulls the car out onto the street.  “Which way?”

            Geneva points right.  “That way,” she says.  “Now, you’re killing me with the interruptions.”

            Kit grins and relaxes, taking the steering wheel with one hand.  “Right.  So, the principal goes all silent, and I’m wondering what’s going to happen.  I mean, Lana’s not the type to admit to anything, so she has to have a plan.  And then the principal says that regardless of what happened, violence is wrong, and that he can’t just let me off because of some hurtful words.”

            “Crap,” Geneva croaks.

            “And then he gave me I.S.S.”

            Geneva goes quiet.  The car hums in the silence.  After picking up her jaw, Geneva says, “I.S.S.?  As in, In School Suspension?”

            “For an entire year.”

            “Ouch, but still.”

            “Could be worse,” Kit says.

            “Way worse.  I guess Lana said something really bad.”

            “Pretty bad.”

            “What was it?”

            “Never mind that.  She got I.S.S., too, though. For a few months, and that’s enough for me.”

            “Seriously, Kit, what was it?”

            “A word I wouldn’t want you to use ironically when talking to me.”

            “Man,” Geneva says, staring at the dashboard.  “That must be pretty bad.”

            “Yeah,” Kit says.  “We have no interest in taking that word back.”

            “Turn here, I think.”

            “Right, so, after Ms. Olivia came riding in like a knight in shining armor, she pulled me aside.”

            “Knight?  Wait, you’re a princess now?”

            “With the looks and all of my feminine charms, what else would I be?”

            “No comment,” Geneva says.  “You’re not planning on sleeping with her, are you?”

            “Nah, she’s too rigid for me. It’d be like making love to a coatrack.”

            “That’s quite the image.”

            “Anyway, she told me the score.”

            “Told you the score?  Told you the score? What are you now, a twenty’s gangster?  Are you two planning to start a racketeering bracket or something?  Do racketeers even have a bracket?  Wouldn’t that make them bracketeers?  Please, Kit, stop me soon, because I’ll keep going.”

            Kit grins.

            “What do bracketeers even…”

            “She told me that you talked to her, convinced her that there was good in me or something like that.  She was kind of dramatic,” Kit says.

            “Yeah,” Geneva says, her cheeks flushed.  She looks out the window.  “She’s dramatic.”

            “Anyway, she said you stood up for me, that you’re a good friend.”  Kit looks Geneva’s way.  “And, I’m finally starting to realize that, too.”

            “Eyes on the road, woman!”

            “What? I’m fine.”

            “There’s a car in front of you,” Geneva says, pointing out the windshield.

            “Way up there.”

            “You were fast approaching.”

            “I was driving,” Kit says.

            “Quickly!”

            “I’ve never even had a speeding ticket.”

            “You don’t need a ticket to die, Kit!  You don’t need a ticket to die.”

            “Okay, maybe you’re not that good of a friend.”

            “I’m the best type of friend.  I’m the kind that keeps you from dying in a fiery car crash, because Kit, even you aren’t immune to fire.”  Geneva pauses, and they ride silently for a few moments.  She relaxes into her seat, drums her fingers on the door.  “So, anyway, what did she call you?”

            A sigh and Kit rolls her eyes.  “Oh, fine, I’ll tell you.  She called me a…”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Fifteen minutes later they pull up in front of Geneva’s house, a modest two story with a line of withering shrubs that her mother half-heartedly cares for.  A tree dominates the lawn and looms over the cracked sidewalk, its trunk barely contained by the chain link fence nearby.

            Geneva stares at it, feeling not anxious but embarrassed.  Kit doesn’t seem to have an opinion on it one way or the other.

            “So, this is where you live,” Kit says.

            Geneva nods.

            “It’s nice.”

            “Please,” Geneva says.  “It’s probably nothing compared to the mansion you live in.”

            “Genny, I don’t live in a mansion.”

            “Castle.  Whatever. It’s all the same to us little people.”

            “My parents aren’t that well off,” Kit says, looking out the window.

            “Didn’t your dad invest in google?”

            Kit looks back, somewhat guiltily.  “Where did you hear that?”

            “Did he or didn’t he? Answer the question.”

            “Let’s talk about something else.”

            “Hey, are you seriously evading the question?”

            Kit laughs.  “Anyway, I seriously like your house, and I plan to see a lot more of it.”

            “What? You taking a picture or something?”

            “No.  I was thinking more like I would come over.”

            “And we could stay up all night and eat ice cream and braid each other’s hair!”  Geneva clasps her hands over her chest.  “Oh, dear, oh my, Kit.  Can we?  Can we?”

            Kit’s face sours.  “Braid our hair?  What are you, Genny, gay?”

            “Funny,” Geneva says.  “Anyway, I can’t help but notice that we’re here now, and you could totally come in.  Now.  If you want.”

            Kit goes silent.  She smiles, tucks some hair back before staring at her lap.  “Honestly, I would love to,” she says.  “Thing is, my parents are going to kill me when they get that call about what happened at school.”

            “Oh. Yeah.”

            “But don’t worry,” Kit says, touching Geneva’s arm.  She smiles again, and this time Geneva can see dimples.  “I meant it when I said that we’ll start hanging out more.  And I meant it when I said that you’ve been really good to me, and that I appreciate it.  I just—I might not want to push things.  Not if I don’t want to be grounded for the whole school year, too.”

            “No, no, I get it.  Really.”  Geneva unfastens her seatbelt and lets it slide back.  Clumsily, she gathers her things together and tries for the door handle.  “Guess I won’t see you tomorrow, seeing as how….”

            Geneva doesn’t even have the door open before Kit says, “Wait!”  She looks back to find Kit leaning toward her with a strange, unfamiliar glint in her half-lidded eyes.

            Geneva stares cross-eyed at Kit’s nose as they get closer.  “Uh—Yeah?”

            “I just wanted you to know.  You’re a really good friend, Genny.”

            “So you’ve said, Kit.”

            “You know, I’ve known you for three years, but I’ve never noticed how blue your eyes are.”

            “Ah—Thanks?”

            “You’re very pretty,” Kit says, drawing closer.

            “Kit, what are you—!”

            Just then, Kit silences her with a kiss.  Together, they fall back, stopping against the passenger door.  Geneva’s bag tumbles from her arms onto the floorboard as their bodies crash together.  For a moment, Geneva even kisses back.  Then, her motor-functions return to working order, and she wriggles free.

            “I.”  Geneva scoops her things up and stumbles out the door.  “I got to go.  Uh, thanks for the ride!”  She doesn’t wait for Kit’s reaction, she just runs and is inside of the house in a blur of movement.  Once the door is closed, she lets out a sigh and rests against it, feeling her lips.

            She gasps for breath.  “That—That was my first kiss.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Viscount Salamand Seere sits in his private chambers reading.  It is nighttime, and the cool, dry plain air drifts into the room through an open window.  Outside, the moon is full, a ripe silver fruit suspended in the sky and decorated by stars.  He reads by the moon light, as he often does, because wax and candles are a commodity.

            Salamand is rare among the demons.  He feels safe in his home and in the night.  Most demons, even the nobles, live in fear of constant invasion and assassination, but he never has.  Life is a constant struggle and, after a certain point, Salamand decided that no amount of fear would change that.

            Only action would.

            Outside his faithful guard, Ruka, waits.  In his youth, Ruka was the biggest and strongest of the demons recruited into Salamand’s personal guard.  He wasn’t promoted for this, however. Despite his large size, he showed intelligence, cunning beyond his station, and Salamand always favored the clever over the strong.  He feels blessed to have someone so trusted who can be both.

            A knock at the door, and a quiet argument outside.  Harsh words are exchanged, as they often are, and a demoness steps in.  She is tall and dark-haired, and her eyes are piercing blue.  She wears a heavy brown travel cloak that is frayed in places and her boots track mud as she enters the room.

            Salamand peeks over his book at the boot prints and at Ruka following closely after.

            “I told you that you were not welcome,” Ruka growls.

            “And I told you that I don’t care.”  The demoness pulls her hood back and looks around the room.  “What, no light?”

            “I can see perfectly fine,” Salamand says.  “And so can you.”  He looks at Ruka, who stands in the doorway.  Ruka meets his eyes, glowers, and bows.  He is out the door shortly after, closing it behind him.  Turning his attention the demoness, Salamand says, “Would you care for a drink, Yima?”

            Yima is at the table, lighting the stubby candle at its center.  “No, thank you,” she says.

            Salamand stands and crosses the room.  He slips his book back into place.  His library fits onto one small shelf, but it is quite large considering his location.  He pours himself a glass of water, another commodity, and joins her at the table.  “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

            She grunts and reaches into a pouch on her belt.  From within, she pulls out a rolled parchment.  Unrolling it on the table reveals a map of the southern continent.  Salamand’s viscounty sits at south-western edge.

            Salamand watches her and sips his drink.  It is cool, fresh, clean.  “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, dear?  I trust all is well and safe.”

            “Well and safe enough,” she says, and she points to the map, to the south of the viscounty and in the neighboring county ruled by Serpens Andromalius. His lands hold the great forests of the south.  Her finger comes to rest on the image of a large tree.  “It’s open.”

            Salamand stares at the map, his eyes narrowing.  He sets the glass on the table and a long silence follows.  Then, a smile crawls onto his face.  “You mean to say I was right.”

            “You were,” she says.  “And we did as instructed.”

            He looks her in the eyes.  “And they passed through?  Where have they gone?”

            “I don’t know.  I passed only briefly when they didn’t return.  The channels of the Yggdrasil are convoluted.”

            “To say the least,” Seere says.  “But you saw it?”

            “Not much of it.  I returned shortly to tell you.  I don’t have to stay there, do I?  The way he watches me.”

            Seere’s smile spreads, going nearly from ear-to-ear, as he leans back into his chair.  “The door is open,” he says, weaving his fingers together and resting them on his stomach, and he laughs.  “Do you understand what that means, Yima?”

            She frowns.  “What?”

            “It is the start of a new day, and the supposed scourge of the worlds has returned,” he says.  “We’ve returned.”

 

The Knights of Sheba 101…End

3: Episode Two: "Demons" A

Episode Two: Demons

            Geneva lies in bed, staring at her ceiling, and feeling her lips.  She has the window open and sunlight bounces off of her white walls and illuminates the room.  Her room is the smallest in the house, tucked into a corner with a slanted roof and a small closet.  She keeps it cluttered, in part because of negligence and in part to keep her parents out.

            While feeling her lips, she replays that afternoon in her mind.  She argued with her teacher, rode home with Kit, and they talked like real friends.  Kit said her house was nice, and then they kissed.  “No, Kit kissed me,” she says aloud.  Her cheeks grow hot.  “And, maybe I kissed her back.”  She shakes her head.  “I don’t know!”

            She hears the rumble of a car pulling up and shortly after the front door opening.  Beatrice, her older sister, barely has the door closed before Geneva is halfway down the stairs.  Beatrice stops, her purse in hand, and stares at Geneva.  “Yes?”

            “Um,” Geneva says, stumbling on the stairs and nearly tumbling forward.  She holds the handrail.  “Er—Welcome home?”

            “Meeting me at the door now like a good doggy,” Beatrice asks, and she starts up the stairs and passes Geneva.

            The two sisters are, according to their parents, very similar, and according to themselves, very different.  Comparatively, Beatrice is taller, having both longer legs and a slightly longer torso.  She keeps her hair, the color of honey, long.  Both are slightly heavy, though Beatrice wears the weight confidently.  In fact, everything about her seems to bleed confidence.

            “Well,” Geneva says, following her sister back up the stairs.  “I peed all over your bed and wanted to apologize before you found out on your own.”

            “Sweet of you to worry, Genie-pie, but I prefer my bed with a little urine,” Beatrice says, making her way down the short, narrow hall to her bedroom at the end.  She stops at the door and smiles at her younger sister.  “Keeps my sheets clean that way.”

            They enter the room together and it looks very much the same as Geneva’s, though slightly larger and shaped like a box.  Dirty clothes litter the floor and between them, patches of bare carpet.

            “Just because urine is sterile doesn’t mean it’s technically clean, I don’t think.”

            “Pretty sure sterile means clean,” Beatrice says, tossing her purse onto the floor.  “And God, it’s hot out there.  And sticky.”  She removes her shirt.  Her bra follows shortly after.

            “Want me to close your door?”

            “Why bother,” Beatrice asks, bending over half-naked to pick up a shirt.  She sniffs it, gags, and tosses it back onto the floor.  “No one else here.”

            “Someone could be peeking.”

            “They could,” Beatrice says.  “Quick, get undress, too, and we’ll give them a show!”

            Geneva grimaces.  “Just put on a shirt.  I don’t want to see,” she gestures with her hand.  “That.”

            “Oh, come on, it’s not anything you don’t have,” Beatrice says.  She looks Geneva over.  “Okay, well, there might be some things, but I’m sure they’ll grow in eventually,” she says, “Hopefully.”

            “Seriously, Bea, I need to talk to you about something, so hurry up and get comfortable.  Or dressed.  Mostly just dressed.”

            Beatrice lifts an eyebrow.  “You can talk to me while I’m topless, you know.”

            “Bea!”

            “Okay, okay, simmer down,” Beatrice says.  She digs through her closet and pulls out what might have once been a clean shirt, and she pulls it on.  Next, she changes into a pair of shorts.  Then, she pulls her hair out of her shirt and stretches out across her bed.  “Okay, little birdy, sing me a song.”

            “Okay, well, it’s a long story.”

            “Then get to telling, cause I’ve got homework, and I’m willing to bet money, real dollar bills, that you do, too.”

            “It’s big, don’t rush me.”

            “Genie, please.  It’s high school.”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            “It means that while it might seem like a big deal that Timmy the quarterback doesn’t notice you, it’s really not, and by the time you’re my age you’ll have forgotten all about it.”

            “Bea, you’re nineteen.”

            “Exactly,” Beatrice says with a smug smile in accompaniment.

            Geneva sighs, shakes her head.  “And whatever, it’s not about Todd the quarterback.”

            “Wait a minute, Todd?  The quarterback’s name is actually Todd?  Who names their kid Todd?”
            “His parents, obviously,” Geneva says, “Now, can we focus?”

            “I’m waiting on you!”

            Geneva groans, slumps down onto the bed near Beatrice’s feet. “Well—It’s just.” She sighs.

            “Oh no, don’t you sigh.  We haven’t got time for sighs, little missy.”  Beatrice sits up and pinches Geneva’s cheeks.  This leads to a noogie, which leads to Geneva struggling to get free and falling face-first onto the floor.  Smiling, Beatrice rests against the headboard and crosses her legs.  “Okay, now that we’ve gotten that over with, spill.  What’s got you all worked up?”

            “Kit,” Geneva says, rubbing her hurt cheek and nursing her hurt pride.

            “Kit,” Beatrice says.  She scratches her chin.  “Refresh my memory, which one is she?  Your lesbian friend?”

            “My only friend.”

            “Ooooh, that Kit.  Yeah, what about her?”

            “Well, she—She kind of,” Geneva stares off into the distance and squints, as if there is a story she wants to tell but she can’t see the shape of it.  “See, the thing is…”

            “Come on, Genie-bear-buttercup-pudding-cake, we’re on a tight schedule here.  Despite how my essays read, they do not, in fact, write themselves.”

            “Humble much?”

            “The most humble.”

            “Wouldn’t it be humblest?”                                                                       

            “No, now stop stalling.  What’s the dealio, little sister?”

            “No one talks like that.”

            “So, Kit?”

            “Well, she got into trouble today at school.”

            Beatrice waits a few moments, listening, while Geneva fumbles about. “That’s it?”

            “What?”

            “That’s all you had to say?  That’s the big thing you just had to talk about?  I mean, come on, Geneva, you saw the twins!”

            “You made me!”  Geneva groans.  “Anyway, that’s just the start of it.”

            “Then how about you tell me the whole big, bad, scary story, and I reserve my judgment until the end.”

            “You know, I’m starting to regret this.”

            “It’s sad that it took you this long to get to regret.”

            “Fine,” Geneva says, and she takes a deep, preparatory breath.  Then, in the space of one exhale, she says, “Okay, so Kit got in trouble for hitting a girl who said a bad word that she wouldn’t tell me at first but told me later and it was really bad and I had to walk the girl to the nurse’s office and she’s a bad person and when I found out that Kit was going to get in trouble I basically threatened my teacher into talking on her behalf to keep her from getting into too much trouble because that girl is a total, capital B and deserved to get punched in the face and my teacher went back inside and talked to her about it and the girl confessed to saying the aforementioned bad word so Kit got off light though she’s still in trouble and then the teacher told Kit what I did it and…”  Geneva stops to gasp for air.

            Beatrice remains quiet, soaking it all in, and waiting for Geneva to regain her breath.  Afterward, she says, “And that’s all?”

            “Yeah.  Well, no.  Then Kit drove me home.  And kissed me.”

            “Oh,” Beatrice says, nodding, and weighing the information.  “Okay, so I was wrong.”

            “Huh?”

            “That does seem like kind of a big deal.”

            “See!  I told you! I totally told you!”

            “Hey, now, hold on a second. I said kind of a big deal.  I mean, it’s not like end of the world or anything, but it’s worth putting off some homework.”  Beatrice grabs a pillow and hugs it close.  She leans forward.  “So, this kiss.  What was it like?”

            “Awkward?  Yeah, awkward.”

            “Good awkward or bad awkward?”

            “I don’t know, awkward-awkward?”  Geneva picks at her toes to avoid looking at her sister.  “I don’t have much to compare it by.”

            Beatrice sits back, sucks air through her teeth.  “Yeah, that’s true.  Still, did you like it?”

            “I didn’t not like it.”

            “Come on, Genie.  You’re giving me nothing here, girl.”

            “Well, I mean, if I knew how to feel about it, would I be coming to you to talk about it?”

            “I guess not,” Beatrice says, leaning back and stretching her arms.  She thinks for a moment, and then sits forward again and claps her hands together.  “Okay, then let’s sort this out.  First, tell me exactly what happened.  And with details!”

            “What sort of details?”

            “Like, what kind of kiss was it?  Was there tongue? What was it like leading up to it?  How did it end?  Would you suggest the ride to your friends?  You know, pertinent information.”

            Geneva chews her cheek.  “Honestly, I don’t feel like much of anything is really pertinent.”

            “If you want my help, then you’re going to have to open up.”

            “I’m open, I swear.  I just don’t know what to say.  One minute she’s going on and on about what a good friend I am.  Then, wham!  She kisses me.”

            “Okay, then what are you going to do?”

            “That’s why I came to you,” Geneva says, finally meeting her sister’s gaze.  “I was hoping you would tell me.”

            “Sorry, Genie-pear-butterscotch, but I’m not your conscious or anything like that.  I can’t tell you what to do when your best friend kisses you.  My advice is: sleep on it.”

            “Sleep on it,” Geneva says incredulously.

            “Yes, sleep on it.”

            “As in, go to bed.”

            “Yup.”

            “That’s awful advice.”

            “No, it’s not.  Think about it, what good is stressing going to do for you?  I mean, you have classes, and really poor grades, and you clearly have no idea how to process any of this.  And this happened, what, a few hours ago, tops?”

            “Well, yeah.”

            “So, you need time to process it, to figure out how you feel about it in the first place, and I can’t give you the answers.  It’s not a test, you can’t study for it or get it wrong.  So, all I can do is tell you to sleep on it and say that, whatever answer you do come to about this girl and the kiss and all of that, you’re my sister, and I love you unconditionally.”

            “Sappy moment alert,” Geneva says, but she smiles.

            “Sappiest,” Beatrice says, tossing the pillow to the side and tackling Geneva in a bear hug.  “You’re my teeny little baby sister!  Growing up and getting kissed by other girls!”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Geneva wheezes as she tries to wriggle free.  “Maybe you’re right, though.  Maybe I do need to sleep on it.”

            “Told you,” Beatrice says, standing.  “Now, you go on and get.  I’ve essays to write.”

            Geneva stands and hovers beside the door.  She glances at Beatrice, who sighs.

            “Fine, grab your things and bring them in here.  But try to keep it down.  I really do have to focus.”

            “Alright,” Geneva says as she sprints down the hall to her room to grab her things.

 

            Travel in the Realm of Beasts has become infrequent.  Long ago, before the fall, the realm was united under the rule of one demon, one great leader.  He had seventy-two children who, after his death, began warring for his throne and title.  Since, the lands have been separated, caught in a state of constant war.

            As time went on the wars lingered and decayed into on-going stalemates.  It was an uncomfortable peace.  Demons lived everyday with the constant threat of death, and even the nobles, inside of their castles and keeps, weren’t truly safe.  So, no one called it peace, because every demon city was still, ultimately, at war, and the world was their enemy.

            Viscount Salamand Seere was never traditional, however, and never put much stock in the opinions of his peers.  He always cared more about results than methods, even from childhood.  So, when the Gate Tree opened on the lands of Count Andromalius, he demanded a visit.

            He travels with a light entourage.  Twelve soldiers march alongside his carriage, outfitted in patchwork iron plate, polished to a flat shine.  They carry pikes and sheathed short swords and stomp along the muddy, overgrown roads.

            Riding with him inside of the carriage is Ruka, who sits closest to the door and wears a scowl.  He made his displeasure known before they left and has been determined to keep it known through the trip.  Seere ignores him, keeping busy with a book since Ruka won’t allow him to lift the blinds and watch the landscape.

            Still, when Ruka isn’t looking, Seere steals peeks from under the curtain.

            The carriage rocks and jolts with the dips in the road.  Ruka keeps his hands firmly set on his blade, which he has unsheathed and laid out on his lap.  While flipping pages, Seere catches him staring.

            “Yes?”

            “Nothing, my lord.”

            “This is the third nothing so far, Ruka.”  Seere closes the book over one of his fingers and looks at Ruka.  “How exactly may I help you?”

            “My Lord,” Ruka says slowly, deliberately.  “It is just that, the way you’re conducting yourself, I don’t—I don’t approve.”

            “And I don’t approve of your conduct, either, but you carry on.”  Seere returns to his book, setting it open again on his lap.  “It seems both of us are fated to be unhappy today.”

            “Lord, be reasonable!  We’re in the deepest part of the enemy forest.”

            “We’re keeping to the road.  That should be safe enough.”

            “There is no road.  There hasn’t been for years, and the count surely has scouts.”

            “Surely.  And were they threats to us, they would have made themselves known by now.”

            “Maybe, or maybe they’re waiting for us to let our guard down.”

            “Sir Ruka, as you said yourself, we’re in the depths of enemy territory with only a handful of guards and an untested nobleman.  Even were our guard up they could have killed us swiftly.”  Seere flips a page.  “I think we can safely assume that there is no attack coming.”

            “Regardless, it is still dangerous.”

            “And I am not disagreeing with you.  Since the fall, travel and trade between our cities has become something of a myth, remembered only fondly and, perhaps somewhat inaccurately, by the oldest among us.  The sad truth is that we never leave our lands, save to make war.”  Flip.  “I intend to change that.”

            “I don’t see the good in any of this.”

            “And you don’t need to.  You simply need to keep me safe.”  Seere licks his finger, turns another page.

            “Yes, my lord,” Ruka says, and he peers out the window.  Outside, the landscape rolls by, large, thick-trunked trees with black bark and white fog between them.  The forest is silent and damp.  The only sound is that of the cart groaning as it rolls along.  “That demoness, Yima.”

            “What of her?”

            “She makes the guard nervous.”

            “Then perhaps I need new guards.”

            “My lord.”  Ruka looks away from the doorway, toward Seere, and seems hurt.

            “That was a joke, Sir.  You have always been and will continue to be the finest guard.  Still, you needn’t mind Yima.  She is hardly a trouble for you or yours, and she is no trouble to me at all.”

            “Of course, my lord.  I apologize.”

            “Don’t.” Seere looks up long enough to smile.  “Your paranoia is what will keep me alive in the days to come, of that, I am sure.”

 

            Geneva spends the evening in Beatrice’s room, doing homework and being made fun of.  After supper, she spends some time alone, contemplating the school year.  So far, she has seen Martians, saw the end results of a fist fight, argued with her teacher, and been kissed by a girl.  She wonders if these things happen to everyone.

            The next morning, she wakes up feeling haggard and anxious.  She goes through the motions, showering, stuffing dry toast into her mouth and narrowly making it to the bus on time.  An hour later, she arrives at school and plans to be in her history class in only minutes.  Instead, she finds Kit waiting at her locker with a bright-eyed smile.

            “Well, well, good morning there, Genny.”

            “Kit,” Geneva says, trying to stare in confusion while keeping from being trampled.  She makes her way to her locker and pulls it open.  While unloading her things she asks, “What’re you doing here?”

            “I came early,” Kit says.  “Wanted to see you before classes.”

            “Oh,” Geneva says, her cheeks feeling faintly warm.  She grabs her history book and binder, and she closes her locker.  “Is that allowed?”

            “It that allowed?  It’s I.S.S., Genny, not prison.”

            “So, do you or do you not qualify for early release on good behavior?”

            “You know, I didn’t even think to ask,” Kit says, laughing.  “Come on, I’ll walk with you to class.”

            “You…”

            Kit, already having left, looks back and waves Geneva forward.  “Come on, hurry. I don’t have all day, you know.”

            “Oh, uh, sorry!” Geneva stumbles forward, weaving around bodies to catch Kit.

            “By the way, I was thinking, we’re not going to have much time to hang out in school.  I can’t even eat lunch with you.  So, how about me driving you home from now on?”

            Geneva hugs her book and binder to her chest and stares at her feet as they walk.  “Kit, you don’t have to.”

            “Please, Genny, it’d be doing me a favor, really.  After telling my parents what happened I got in pretty big trouble.  Driving you home after school will be the most I can do for a while.”

            “Wait, they’re okay with you driving me home?”

            “They didn’t say they weren’t,” Kit says.  “Oh, come on!  It’s not like they’ll know.  I can’t believe I have to beg you to let me do this.”

            “You don’t HAVE to beg.”

            Kit huffs.  “Sometimes, you’re a big, old stubborn…”

            “Kit, language,” Geneva says, “I mean, you of all people should know how much words hurt.”

            Kit blows a raspberry as they arrive at the class.  Students enter around them while they linger beside the door.  “So,” Kit says after a few seconds.

            “So—Fine, you can drive me home.”

            Kit adopts a broad, beaming smile.  “Great!  Then meet me at my car after class,” she says, and she turns on heel and hurries away, with a skip in her step.

            Geneva watches her leave, still hugging her things tightly.  “Okay,” she says, “Now, I’m even more confused than before.”  She sighs and slouches her way into the classroom. 

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            So far, Nina’s morning has been fairly straight forward.  No fights and no interruptions have pulled her from class, and she has yet to need the assistance of another teacher.  Those facts alone give her a good feeling about the day.  Teaching may be a cover for her, but like all things in her life, she wishes to excel at it.

            At lunch she walks the grounds.  She checks the exterior of the school and the sports fields beyond it before heading toward the Gate Tree.  Her job is to be the watcher.  She is to infiltrate the school, the nearest human building to the tree, and to keep watch where other elves can’t.  She is the first step in the defensive line in the Realm of Man.

            Watches are normally light during school hours and bolstered at night.  Recently, however, the elves have tightened security.  For thousands of years the demons have been sealed away, their gate frozen over by some strange occurrence.  Their return is not only a surprise, but it changes everything.

            Nina finds Erak overseeing a group of elves in the woods.  There are three of them, all dressed in human civilian clothing.  Save for their ears, they look nearly human.  Erak tugs on his clothes and makes his dislike for them known.

            “Sir,” she says, saluting when he turns to her.

            “At ease,” he says.  He has a cigarette in his mouth, an elven blend.  It is made from mixes of elven and foreign plants and lacks the addictive, chemical additives of human cigarettes.  He pulls it from his mouth and cranes his head back to release a serpentine trail of smoke into the air.  “What are you doing down here, Lieutenant?  Shouldn’t you be shepherding the natives?”

            “All teachers are allowed an hour break for lunch,” Nina says.

            “Then shouldn’t you be eating?”

            “I’m not hungry,” she says, “And I think it’s more prudent to use the time for patrol.  Sir, I didn’t expect to find you here.”

            “Well, we are here.  So, you can return.”

            “I would like to stay, if I could.  There’s not much to do at the school.”

            He gives her a long stare, and then flicks the cigarette onto the ground.  “I see,” he says in a haze of smoke.  He stomps on the cigarette absently and turns his attention to a clipboard in his hands.  “Suit yourself.  Just don’t get in the way.”

            “I won’t,” she says.  She walks past him, toward the Gate Tree, and stares up at it.  From a distance it looks different, larger than the other trees.  Up close, it appears infinite.  The bark is a soft gray color and seems to bleed together into a skin if she stares long enough.  The light around it flickers slightly.  “One of my students, the girl who first saw the demons, she described the tree as glowing.”

            “All the gate trees do,” Erak says while making notes.  “It’s all of the energy that passes through them daily.  Distorts the light.”

            “They’re amazing things, the gate trees.  Uniting disparate worlds, connecting all manner of life, much of it intelligent.”

            “Don’t know if I agree with you on the intelligent part,” Erak says.  He looks up from his clipboard, fixes his gaze on her.  “What do you want here, Lieutenant?”

            “I apologize, sir,” she says, turning to him.  “I was just thinking, but if you could, may I have a status update.”

            “Not much to update,” Erak says.  “We’re still piecing things together and looking for our guests.  I’m going to start posting guards to the tree, day and night.  Two shifts, twelve-hours each, switching at nine and nine.  Four soldiers per watch.  If anything else comes through, we’ll catch them.”

            “And orders are to kill?”

            “Orders are to do what is necessary to keep this world safe.  That’s our job here, remember?”

            “Yes,” Nina says.  “But, we don’t know what they want.”

            Erak scoffs.  “They want to kill, Lieutenant.  That’s what they’ve always wanted.  If you need a reminder, pick up a history book.”

            “Of course, sir.  And has there been any contact since?”

            “Does it look like we have fresh, green corpses on our hands?”

            “I simply wish to ascertain the safety of my students, sir.”

            “Of course you do,” Erak says.  He smiles, disdainfully, for a brief second, and then shakes his head.  “Listen, you keep the kids away from the tree.  That’s the best way to keep them safe.  No new threats will come through, and it’ll limit contact like that fiasco with the little girl, and we’ll do the real work.”

            “Sir.”

            “Keep your phone on,” Erak says, returning his attention to the clipboard.  “I’ll contact you for anything else.”

            “Yes, sir,” Nina says.  She checks her watch.  “And I might take my lunch at the school after all.”

            “You did promise not to get in the way.”

            “Farewell, sir,” she says, saluting one last time.  He gives a stiff nod in return, and she leaves.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            By lunch Geneva reaches a harsh realization.  As much as she misses Kit’s distraction, she does find it easier to focus on her schoolwork.  Rather than squabbling or joking, Geneva spends her morning taking notes and doing work as it’s assigned.  She still has homework, but she has significantly less than usual.

            This leaves her feeling good as she moves through the lunch line. She starts planning her evening, considering what games to play and what shows to watch.  Once she has her tray, her feelings change.  She steps out of line and stares at the tables, full of people and life, and then finds a lonely corner to sink into.

            Without Kit, Geneva feels like she lacks an identity.  Whatever Lana did to Kit’s reputation, she still had a reputation.  Geneva, on the other hand, is just Kit’s friend.  She casts no light herself, draws no attention, save for what Kit gives her.

            Geneva sits in a melancholy and picks at her food.  Suddenly, she doesn’t feel so hungry.

            By fifth period Geneva’s loneliness is at apex.  She dresses out alone and waits in the back, hugging her knees and staring at the floor.  To pass the time, she imagines Kit in the I.S.S. room, which she likes to think has windows with bars over them and a jailer with a nightstick.

            Ms. Olivia takes roll and then starts stretches.  She paces between the students, adjusting them, offering advice.  She stops by Geneva and widens her stance.

            “Hey, Ms. O,” Geneva says as Ms. Olivia turns to leave.

            Ms. Olivia stops, watches her stretch.  Her face is impassive, but Geneva still gets the feeling that she is being scrutinized.  “Yes, Ms. Oaks?”

            “I just wanted to say thanks.  For, well, for Kit.”

            “You said it yourself.  One bad decision is not worth ruining her life.”

            “Yeah, well, still, it’s lucky you feel that way.”

            Ms. Olivia nods.  “Maybe, though I can’t imagine my testimony did much to sway the principal’s opinion.  It was most likely the words of that girl, Lana.  You told me how horrible she is, but she was quick to forgive.”

            “Forgive,” Geneva says, standing straight.  “No, Lana doesn’t forgive.  Or forget.  She’s got something planned.”

            “You speak as if she is evil.”

            “That’s because she is.”

            “You know, you’re rather casual with your instructors, Ms. Oaks.”

            “I’m casual with most people,” Geneva says, and she glances at Ms. Olivia’s blank face.  “Or should I be more respectful?  I mean, I’m sorry, I…”

            “You are fine, Ms. Oaks.”  Ms. Olivia drifts away and blows her whistle, drawing her students’ attention.  She gathers the class around her.  Geneva joins the group and loses herself among them.  Even within the crowd, she feels invisible.

 

Knights of Sheba 102 A…End

4: Episode Two: "Demons" B

The Knights of Sheba 102 B…Start

            Claude’s stay in town has been filled, thus far, with mixed disappointment and luck.  The owner of the hotel—a tall, thin man named Thomas—was as kind, if not kinder, than Claude was told he would and gave Claude a discounted rate, but there were no jobs to find.  Claude has limited work experience and has always relied on his family to help him through most things.

            After weeks without employment the hotel owner approaches him and says, “Listen, Claude, I like you.  You’re a good sort of kid.  Seem earnest.  So, here’s the thing.  I recently had to let go of a dishwasher, and I know you’re down on your luck.  So, what do you say, I let you take the job and take your ‘rent’ out of your pay until you can get back on your feet.”

            “Thomas, I couldn’t.”  Looking back on it later, Claude feels like he could have fought back more.

            “I insist,” Thomas had said, and he patted Claude on the back.

            After that, Claude worked for him.  The hotel is mid-sized and hosts a rather impressive buffet.  The food, Claude has come to find out, is delicious.  He has to pay for his own meals and clean up after himself—conditions he imposed on Thomas before he would agree.  It feels like it isn’t enough, but Claude’s wallet is thin, and he doesn’t have the luxury of pride.

            Claude sits in the hotel lobby, a newspaper unfolded on his lap, and he stares out the front door.  Cars zoom by.  The city is so much bigger than his home, and everyone seems so much busier.  Where he comes from everyone knew his family and everyone was a friend.  Here, he is a number and an insignificant one at that.

            Thomas enters the room.  He moves stiffly as he walks but always with a smile.  It broadens when he sees Claude, and he approaches and eases himself into the chair.  His cowboy boots, embroidered brown leather, click on the tiles with each step.

            He pats Claude on the knee.  “Find any places yet?”

            Claude sighs.  “Nothing I can afford,” he says, folding the paper up and setting it to the side.  “Sorry I’m hanging around like this.”

            “Nah, you’re fine, son.  It’s your first day.”  Thomas gives him a smile.  “Excited yet?”

            “A little, I guess,” Claude says.  His stomach keeps twisting up.

            Thomas laughs.  “You’ll do fine.  It’s just dishes.”

            Claude nods.  “Thomas, I just want to say, thanks.  You’ve done so much for me, so much more than you had to do.”

            “I didn’t do nothing a good Christian wouldn’t do,” Thomas says. “Besides, you’re a good kid.  Done right by me to this point.  Just down on your luck, and when people are down, all they need is a hand up.”

            Claude smiles.  “Thanks,” he says, and he looks around the lobby and peeks into the dining room.  Despite the hotels modest size, there are always people.  Claude leans back.  “You guys are staying busy.”

            “We’re off the highway, good location,” Thomas says.  “Also, we get a small supper crowd.  Might surprise you, but some people come by just to eat Eddie’s cooking.”  Thomas looks at Claude.  “Eddie’s our chef.  You’ll meet him today.”

            “Okay,” Claude says, rubbing his sweaty palms on his pants.

            Thomas laughs.  He pats Claude on the knee again and then pushes himself to standing.  His body unfolds in an arthritic sort of way, and he groans with each movement.  “Well, I won’t keep you.  You’ll be getting to pretty soon.  If you need anything, just ask Eddie or come find me, okay?”

            Claude nods and says goodbye.

            Alone again, he stares out the window and thinks about recent events.  His life has changed so much, so rapidly.  He doesn’t like taking advantage of Thomas’ hospitality, but also knows how lucky he is to have it.

            He checks the clock.  “Almost time,” he thinks, standing.  “Just get in, do my work, and do it right.  I’ll make it up to him, and then I’ll get out of here.”  He takes a deep breath and turns toward the kitchen.

 

            After school Geneva waits by her locker.  She stands there, trying her best to look inconspicuous as the halls drain around her.  In all her life, she has never had to wait for friends after school and somehow it feels like an elaborate prank where Kit pretends to be friends with her for three years, kisses her, and all so she can get her with the fake-ride-home gag.

            “Worst. Prank. Ever,” she thinks to herself.

            The students thin and then disappear altogether, and Geneva stands alone, holding the straps of her backpack and staring at the empty halls.  It reminds her of summer school.  “Maybe she’s still in I.S.S,” she thinks, “Maybe she punched Lana again.”  She smiles.

            Geneva starts down the hall, in the direction of the I.S.S. room, or in the direction she hopes the I.S.S. room is in.  She entertains the idea that there will be signs on the way, starting a few halls out.  “I.S.S. room three halls down.  Home to the World’s Richest Delinquents.”

            After wandering aimlessly for a few minutes, she starts hearing strange noises.  Scuffling and scratching like desks being moved, chaotic echoes carrying down the hall.  She stops and listens, and then she hears a scream.  Without thinking, she runs toward it.

            She comes to a stop near an open door.  Inside, she hears a woman crying, begging.  “No, please, no.”  It is choked and horrified.  Geneva goes to the door just as the woman inside shouts, “Please, someone, anyone, help me!”

            The classroom interior is a disaster.  Desks are tipped and windows broken.  Chairs are scattered to the edges of the room and, kneeling in the far corner away from the door, is a small, blonde woman with thick, wavy hair and running mascara.

            In the center of the room is a small, green creature, vaguely humanoid in shape and possessed of a surly, wiry frame.  Large, yellow teeth protrude from its mouth, and a sizable, hooked nose balances them out.  It stares at the woman in mix of fright and anger.

            “Martians,” Geneva thinks, staring.  She hides beside the door and watches as the creature stalks forward.  “What in the world is it,” she thinks, “And what is it doing here?”

            The creature’s gait is hunched, predatory.  It is closing in and preparing to strike, and despite its size, it looks able to kill.  Geneva hides back in the hall, stares at the white walls and considers the situation.  She is just a sixteen-year-old girl, but she is the only one who can help.

            She stands and steps into the doorway and, before she can second-guess herself, she shouts, “Hey, you, ugly thing!  Get away from her.  Now!”  And she kicks a nearby desk as a form of intimidation.

            The creature leaps back and hisses at her.  Geneva takes a chair and slides it toward the creature as hard as she can.  It catches the chair and throws it to the side, shattering it against the wall.  By then, Geneva is urging the woman forward and out of the door.

            “Come on, let’s go,” Geneva shouts as she yanks the woman into the hall and pushes her forward.  They sprint as hard as their legs will take them.  Geneva stumbles and staggers.  The woman, still sobbing, can hardly keep her breath.

            They take a turn down a hall and keep running until Geneva collapses.  She gasps for air while the woman kneels beside her and cries.

            “Are you okay,” Geneva asks while pulling herself back up.  She can hear the thing howling and following them.  “Can you stand?”

            “What is it,” the woman asks between sobs.

            “It doesn’t matter,” Geneva says, pulling the woman up.  She leads her to a nearby classroom and shoves her inside.  “You go in here and hide.  I’ll lead it somewhere else, okay?”

            “But…”

            Geneva closes the door.  “Lock it, don’t let it in!”

            “Thank you,” the woman says, staring at Geneva through the glass.

            “Yeah, yeah, just hide.” Geneva turns just in time to see the monster.  It is partway down the hall and approaching, squat and growling.  Geneva holds her hands up.  “Whoa, there.  I know I took your person-sized ragdoll away and all, but let’s be honest, you weren’t playing very nice with it, now, were you?”

            The creature shouts and lunges at her, and Geneva is quick to sprint away.  She runs down to the other end of the hall and stops at the stairwell.  Even with her head start, she only just gets the door open as the creature reaches her.  It grabs her book bag and pulls hard, tearing one strap and causing her to spin as she approaches the stairs.

            She grabs at the handrail and manages to stop herself from tumbling.  Her legs give out, and she rolls down two stairs before regaining her footing.  As she stands, it is on her.  They fall together to the bottom, and she slams hard against the wall.

            It staggers to its feet above her and howls.  Despite its size, it is very strong.  She stares up at it, into its yellow, sickly eyes, into its red irises, and into its drooling, demonic face.  It grabs her, first by the shoulders, and then moves its hands up to her neck.

 

            After work, Nina stays in her office to fill out paperwork.  Mostly, she has tests to grade.  When given the job, she expected to spend most of her time outside.  However, upon seeing the meager requirements established by the school for Physical Education, she decided to give an overhaul to the program.  As a result, her students are learning about their bodies and their physical health, and she has schoolwork to grade.

            She is on her last five sheets when her phone goes off.  She answers, “Hello, Nina speaking.”

            “Nina, huh?”

            She sits up.  “Sir.”

            “They’re here.”

            She drops her pen and stands from her desk.  “Where?”

            “In your school.  We found it playing around one of the nearby fields and gave chase, but we couldn’t take any shots.  It’s in your domain now.  Take care of it.”

            Nina opens her desk drawer and pulls a pistol from the false bottom.  She checks the clip.  “I will, sir.”

            Erak hangs up on her, and Nina pockets her phone.  She checks her gun once more and puts a bullet in the chamber.  Then, she sets the safety and slips it into the waistband of her pants.  She pulls her shirt over it and leaves the office.

            The halls are empty.  Even most teachers have left by this point.  Those that have stayed are keeping to their classrooms.  Nina walks the halls slowly, keeping an ear and eye out for trouble.  Further down, she hears sobbing and finds a woman leaning against a set of lockers.  She is doubled over and out of breath.

            Nina rushes to her.  “Are you okay?”

            “No,” she says, looking Nina in the eyes.  Tears run down her face.  “Yes, I mean—It’s after a student. It’s…”

            “Which way?”

            The woman points down the hall.  “I saw her go down the stairwell.”

            Nina touches the woman’s shoulder.  “You stay here.”

            The woman nods and grabs Nina’s hand.  “She saved me.  The girl, she saved me.  Risked her life so it wouldn’t…”

            “I understand,” Nina says.  “Don’t worry, I’ll save her.”

            “Thank you.”

            Nina pulls free and sprints down the hall.  She takes a turn and runs straight for the stairwell.  She hears a yell and some scuffling.  On the way, she draws her pistol and flips the safety off.  Then, she kicks the door open.

            At the base of the stairs Nina finds a small, brutish demon hunched over a student. She takes a step forward, plants her feet, breathes deeply, and levels her gun.  Then, she pulls the trigger twice.  The shots echo around the stairwell and make her ears ring.

            The demon jerks.  Red spots bloom on its back.  It turns, howls, charges.  Two more bullets and it falls.  Thick red streams of blood pool on the stairs, run down them slowly.  When the demon dies, it reveals Geneva behind it, her back to the wall, and panting in pain.

            Nina checks the demon first, making sure it is dead. Then puts away her gun.  She kneels beside Geneva.  “Ms. Oaks?”

            “Ms. Olivia?”  Geneva looks at her.  She is wincing and holding her arm.  “Why is it that whenever I fall down you’re always there, standing over me?”

            “I don’t know,” she says.  She checks Geneva’s eyes.

            Geneva points.  “Look.  A Martian. You killed it,” she says.  “How’d you know I was here?”

            “I got a call.”

            “I was calling you?  Weird.”

            “No,” she says.  “Ms. Oaks, I think you may have a concussion.”

            “Makes sense.  I’m feeling kind of sleepy.”

            “No, Ms. Oaks.  Don’t fall asleep, try and…”  Geneva slumps over into Nina’s grasp.  Sighing, Nina lays her down and stands.  She looks at the demon and pulls out her phone.  “Sir?  I found the demon.  We need clean-up and fast.”

 

            Geneva wakes up later in Ms.Olivia’s office, stretched out on a foam mat.  Her neck feels stiff and her head aches in the back.  She sits up slowly, and Ms. Olivia comes to her side to help her.  Together, they rest Geneva’s back against the wall.  “Are you okay,” Ms. Olivia asks.

            “Been better,” Geneva says, taking account of her various pains.  Her ankle pulses when she tries to flex it and her left arm feels tender.  “What happened?

            “You passed out.  Most likely from trauma and stress.”

            “Yeah, makes sense,” Geneva says, “I never had much constitution.”  She looks at Ms. Olivia.  “So, Martians are real.”

            “Well, no.  And yes.  Not Martians.  Demons. But that is not important.  Here.”  She hands Geneva a small paper cup filled with water.

            Geneva looks at it and sets it to the side.  “It attacked me.”

            “We took care of it.”

            “You shot it, didn’t you?”

            Ms. Olivia pauses, gives Geneva a long stare.  “Yes, I did.”

            “And it’s dead.”

            “Yes.”

            Geneva takes a deep breath, and when she exhales, she tries to go limp.  Her body won’t.  It is stiff and tight, coiled, prepared for the worst.  She meets Ms. Olivia’s gaze again.  “And the teacher, is she okay?”

            Ms. Olivia almost smiles at that and says, “She is fine.  Only superficial damage.”

            “Then what are you?  Who are you?”

            “That is a very complicated question, Ms. Oaks.”

            “Then give me the uncomplicated version,” Geneva says.  “You know, if you want.”

             “Drink the water, and maybe I’ll tell you.”

            Geneva picks up the cup and looks at it. She shrugs and gulps it down.  Ms. Olivia gives her a refill and waits.

            “I am an elf,” she says once Geneva finishes the second cup.  “I come from Alfheim or the Realm of Light as we call it. And…”

            “Short version, please.  My head is killing me.”

            “Well, we’re here to watch your world, and to protect humanity from outside threats.”

            “Like demon-Martians.”

            “Yes and no.  The demons were not considered a threat.  Not until recently.”

            “And what in the world does that mean?”

            “It means they’ve returned,” Ms. Olivia says.  “No one knows how, but their gate tree was closed for nearly three thousand years.  Until two days ago, in fact.”

            “Ah-huh,” Geneva says.  “That’s interesting and all.  Crazy, but interesting.  Anyway, I think I’m in shock, so…”  Geneva braces against the wall and eases herself up.  Her legs shake, her back pops, but she limps her way up to standing.  “I think I need to make a few calls, get home before my parents do.  They’re worriers.”

            “That is sweet of them.”

            Geneva gives Ms. Olivia a very serious look.  “You’ve clearly never seen a Jewish mother worry.  There’s nothing sweet about it.”

            “Yes.  Well, if you require transportation, I can be of assistance.”

            “Normally, I’d say no, but considering circumstances.”

            “Yes, but first.”  Ms. Olivia goes to her desk, removes the false bottom from the top drawer, and then takes a box from inside.  It is small, wooden, and otherwise non-descript.  She returns to Geneva and hands it to her.  “Open it.”

            Geneva stares at the box in her hands and is reminded of so many proposals in movies.  She slides the lid off and stares at the ring inside.  It looks like polished ivory, smooth and gleaming.  The top is flattened and etched with a foreign sigil.  To Geneva it looks almost like a pair of wings.  She slides the lid back into place and tries to return the box.  “Listen, I appreciate the thought, but I feel like we’re moving too quickly.”

            Ms. Olivia knits her brow.  “You’re a very strange girl.”

            “So I’ve heard.  But seriously, I don’t want this.”

            “You don’t even know what it is.”

            “I know it’s jewelry. That you’re giving me.  You.  A teacher.”  Geneva shrugs.  “I know I don’t want to know that it is.”

            “That is the white signet.”

            “Some sort of ancient, old world magic then?”

            Ms. Olivia laughs.  “Please, Ms. Oaks.  Magic doesn’t exist.”

            “Right, and neither do demons.  Anyway, what’s so special about this,” Geneva gestures with the box, “thing?”

            “The signet is, as you previously said, quite ancient.  It houses an armor inside, an extremely advanced tool used long ago to fight the demonic threat.  I think that, if the demons are returning, then humanity should once again be given a chance to defend itself.”

            “Ah-huh.  And you’re giving it to me,” Geneva points at herself, “A sixteen-year-old girl.”

            “Yes, I am.”

            “Yeah, see, you’re a pretty poor judge of character.  I’m not much of a protector.  Hell, I’m barely even a student.”

            “So you say, but in the short time I’ve known you, I’ve seen you protect two people.  In fact, most recently, you even risked your life to do it.”

            “Yeah, well—that’s different.”

            “I don’t believe it is,” Ms. Olivia says.  She pushes the box toward Geneva.  “Just keep it for now and think on it.”

            Geneva looks at the box, sighs.  “Fine, fine.  Now, will you take me home?”

            “Yes, of course.”  Ms. Olivia returns the false bottom to her desk and then scoops up her keys.  She looks back at Geneva. “Let’s go.”

            They leave her office.  On the way out, Ms. Olivia grabs Geneva’s book bag with the torn shoulder strap and carries it.  They stop to lock the office door, and then walk together across the gym floor with Geneva limping slightly behind. 

            “Are there other signet-whatevers?”

            “Yes,” Ms. Olivia says.  “Once, there was a whole knighthood. Now, we only have five rings left, including that one.”

            “And it was made up of all the races?”

            “No.  Only humans.”

            “And what happened to them?  Did they retire the rings when the demons disappeared?  Was it all noble and stuff?”

            “In a sense, but that is a very long story meant for later.  After you’ve had time to consider your situation.  For now, let’s get you home.”

            “But I want to know n—Ow!”  Geneva leans against a wall and flexes her right ankle.  She grimaces.  “On second thought, your plan works.”

            They leave the school together.  Ms. Olivia parked in the back lot.  They start across the hot asphalt when Geneva sees Kit, who comes running to her.  Geneva quickly takes her backpack from Ms. Olivia and jams the signet case inside.  Then, she waves.

            “Uh, hey, Kit,” she says once they are close, “I thought you would have went home already.”

            “I was just about to.  I thought you went home on the bus just to spite me.”  She looks at Ms. Olivia.  “Everything alright?”

            “Yeah, I was, uh,” Geneva looks at Ms. Olivia, too.

            “Ms. Oaks and I were just discussing some extracurricular assignments.  I’m sorry to have kept her so long.”

            “Yeah, what she said.”

            Kit looks between them.  “Okay. Well, you still want that ride?”

            “I didn’t want it in the first place,” Geneva says, “But sure.”  She turns to Ms. Olivia and says, “So, uh, thanks for your help.  And, we’ll, uh, talk later?”

            “Yes, Ms. Oaks.  You take care and get some rest.”

            “Yeah.”

            The girls leave Ms. Olivia and start towards Kit’s car.  Geneva limps along, and Kit steps in close, pulling Geneva’s arm over her slender shoulders.  “Hey, Genny, why’re you limping?”

            “Would you believe me if I told you that that I fell down the stairs?”

            Kit gives her a short stare and then laughs.  “You are such a ditz.”

 

            Seere arrives at Andromalius’ city by midday.  By then the rain is easing but the mud is still thick on the roads.  Ruka exits the carriage first and greets the city guard before they are let in.  From there, they ride the winding streets to Andromalius’ castle.  The demons here are well-fed and large by comparison to most.  Those on the streets wear the skins of the animals they hunt and eat.

            At the castle, Ruka exits again and gives the area a quick look over.  Then, he holds the door for Seere, who lifts his robe as he steps out onto the wet ground.  Together, they scale the long staircase, where two guards stop them at a set of large, molding wooden doors.

            “Who are you,” asks a guard in rusting armor.  He is tall and has his sword drawn and poised to strike.  The guard beside him, shorter and thinner but still quite stout, also has his weapon ready.

            Ruka looks between the two, and then Seere touches his shoulder.  He sighs and steps back, allowing Seere to take lead.  “I am Viscount Salamand of the House Seere, seventieth in line of the late king, Loki God Slayer, and I have come to call on my distant cousin, the mighty Count Serpens Andromalius, should he have time or interest in entertaining.”  Seere gives a low bow and does not rise until the guards respond.

            “You’re Viscount Seere,” the larger guard asks.

            “And how do we know it is really you,” the smaller guard says.

            “How do you know it’s not,” Seere asks, gracing the two with a smile.  “Were I not a lord, then why would I travel to your lands in the first place? And better yet, why would I travel with an escort?”

            “That don’t prove nothing,” the smaller guard says.

            The taller guard looks between them and nods.  “Yeah,” he says, “Don’t prove nothing.”

            “Really? Think on it a bit.  When last did either of you travel outside of your own lands?”

            The guards exchange glances.  “Well,” one says.  The other picks at the rust on his shoulder guard.

            “And, assuming you have travelled, would either of you travel with escort?”

            The tall guard taps his boot against the steps, testing the sole.  Beside him, the smaller guard says, “Well, that makes sense, I guess.  But then, ain’t we at war with them?”

            The tall guard looks up.  He lifts his blade slightly.  “Yeah, that’s right.  Ain’t we at war with you?”

            “When last did our nations do battle?  If we are, as you say, at war, we’re hardly doing it well,” Seere says.

            “Yeah, but then you might be here to kill the count and do it right.”

            “Yeah, right,” the smaller guard says, nodding firmly.

            Ruka growls and Seere looks back at him and sighs.  “Fine, have it your way,” he says, stepping to the side.

            The guards don’t have time to react before Ruka disarms them.  He smoothly bypasses their extended blades and yanks them free.  The smaller guard draws a thin, dull dagger from his belt and swipes wide, managing only to be kicked in the chest and knocked over the side of the stairwell.

            The taller guard doesn’t even get this.  Before he can respond at all Ruka has him pinned, face-first, against the door, with his arm twisted behind his back.  Leaning forward, Ruka growls into his ear, “If we were here for war, you would have already been killed.  Understand?”

            The taller guard nods as best he can with his head pinned to the door.

            “Good.  Then tell your lord that he has guests.  And be quick.”

            “R-right, of course,” the tall guard says, and Ruka releases him.  He looks back at Ruka and Seere before pulling one door slightly open and disappearing behind it.

            Ruka steps back and adjusts his cloak.  He rests his hands on his belt.  Seere looks at him. “Do you feel better now?”

            “Not better, but productive.”

            Seere shrugs.  “I suppose that is all one can ask for in life.”

            They wait together for a short time.  Minutes later, the guard returns and leads them inside.  They follow him down long, grey halls to a dilapidating audience chamber.  Pale, bleak light shines through dripping holes in the ceiling and through large, broken windows.  The chill from outside lingers in the air.  The walls of the chamber are barren, and a large, jagged throne sits at its center.

            Sitting on the throne is an equally large demon, largest of the lords Seere knows.  He is muscle on muscle, with the body of the gods from old stories, and his corrupted blood gives him the strength of twenty demons combined.  Upon seeing Seere, he crosses his enormous arms over his massive chest.  “Viscount Seere and his guard.  Welcome.  It is a surprise to find you waiting at my step.”

            Seere approaches and they join hands.  Seere’s hand is swallowed by the Andromalius’.  They shake, vigorously, and then Seere steps back, allowing Ruka to shake hands with the lord as well.

            “I heard a tale that you gave my guards a good beating.  Surprised someone like you remembers what it is to be demon, considering your lord’s love of words.”

            “Not all nobles share gifts given of flesh, Lord Andromalius,” Seere says.

            “Real nobles do,” Andromalius snorts, and he stomps back to his throne and slumps into it. Resting his head on one massive, balled fist, he says, “Now then, why exactly are you here?  You’ve long been withdrawn from the world.  What brings this change?”

            “Circumstances,” Seere says, “New ones.”

            “What circumstances?”

            “Well, if you insist on knowing, I had sent hunters out not long ago.  My people hungered, you see, and required fresh meat from the plains around my home.  My hunters, while following the trail of a particularly stout beast, stumbled onto your lands and became lost…”

            “Lost?  Must you always be so coy?”

            “Coy? I speak only the truth, lord, for I would never dream to lie to you,” Seere says.

            Andromalius growls.  “What did your hunters find?”

            “A tree.  The gate tree, to be precise.”

            Andromalius sits up, grips the arms of his throne tightly.  “I see.  And what of it?”

            “It was open.”

            “You mean to say,” Andromalius pauses, brow knitted.  “The gate is in my wood, and…” 

            “Yes, lord, I mean to say.”

            “I see.”  Androamlius rubs his chin and watches Seere.  He scrutinizes him for a time, then asks, “And why bring this information to me?  I would never have known if you were not so courteous enough as to tell me.”

            “I came out of respect, lord, and to warn you, lest you forget what happened to our forefathers.  A gate opened goes both ways.  If we know, then I’d wager our enemies do, as well.  Should the elves once again declare war on our people, it will be yours who die first.”

            “I see,” Andromalius says after a lengthy pause.

            “So, I had come in hopes of proposing not only a truce, but perhaps even an alliance, at least until the nature of the gate and those beyond it are better understood.”

            “And why would you want that, viscount?  Were I to fall, that would leave you one less rival for the throne.”

            “Maybe, but after you fall I may be next.  If I am not to get the throne, then I want one of my people on it regardless, not a smooth-skinned outsider with a grudge,” Seere says.  “These are our lands, and we do not welcome outsiders.  On that, at least, I am sure we can agree.”

            Andromalius grunts.  “Entirely.  A truce, then, as strange as it is.  But you have my ear.”

            “And that is all I ask for,” Seere says, wearing his most earnest smile.

 

The Knights of Sheba 102…End

5: Episode Three: "Never Forgotten" A

Episode Three: Never Forgotten

            Nina is asleep when she gets the call from Erak.  He says only one thing before hanging up.  “Meet me at the bridge outside of town closest to the facility.”

            So, she stands, dresses, and leaves her home and the city.  She drives to an outlying bridge that overlooks the river and finds Erak waiting on the far side.  His Black SUV is parked on a rest stop that overlooks the bank.  He is standing beside it in a black suit of elven make.  The tip of his cigarette glows in the night.

            It is midnight by the time Nina pulls in beside him.  The moon is waning and the night dark.  The river is a large, flat, inky expanse.  Clouds drift by, sucking what little light there is from the area.  When she comes to a stop, Erak doesn’t acknowledge her.  He draws on his cigarette and stares ahead.

            Nina gets out and joins him.  They stand a few feet apart.  The air is hot and sticky.  It’s thick in her throat when she breaths.  “Sir,” she says, “You had asked to speak with me?”

            “I did,” he says.  Nina can see the features of his face in the glow of his cigarette.  She can also see the smoke gathering around him.

            She rests her hands on the guard rail and watches him.  “May I ask what about, sir?”

            He removes his cigarette and releases a long, smoky breath. “We found another body yesterday.  Another demon.”

            “Another demon, sir?”

            “Yeah.  Someone else took care of it, someone who knew where to look for it.  Someone tracking it, maybe.”  He glances at her.  “Know anything about that?”

            “No, sir.”

            His lips tighten.  He nods. “You went home immediately after.  Left us to clean your mess.”

            “I thought that is what you would want, sir.  It is my role to watch the humans, to keep them from the gate.”

            “It is.  And it’s my job to hunt whatever comes through.”

            “Exactly, sir.  I wouldn’t wish to interfere and only involve myself if asked.”

            Erak laughs under his breath.  He takes a last draw from his cigarette and then snuffs it out in the white pebbles of the rest area.  After holding the smoke in his mouth for a few seconds longer, he releases it above his head.  “And I would never ask.”

            “Sir, are you asking me out here to ascertain my involvement with this other demon?”

            “No, lieutenant. I know you had nothing to do with it, but I do have questions regarding your job performance.  After all, you’re to…How did you put it?  Keep the humans away from the gate.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “Yes, sir.”  He smooths back his hair.  “See, I’ve heard some interesting rumors and didn’t know how to proceed.  Rumors about you.”

            “Sir?”

            “You left with the human girl, and I sent a soldier to check on you, and her, to make sure you were doing your job.  Keeping her out of the know.  He heard some very interesting things.  Things that would go directly against your orders, your mission.”  Erak turns to her, looks her straight in the eyes.  “Would you happen to know what he heard?”

            “I haven’t a clue, actually.”

            “Then let me give you one.  He heard you two discussing the signet rings and the Knights, and a whole host of other things.  Now, why would he hear that?”

            “Because she was curious.  Considering her circumstances, I would be, too.”

            “Your job is to keep her, to keep them, ignorant!  But, how and why would she ask about the Knights, Lieutenant.?”

            “Maybe your man misinterpreted…”

            “What did you do?  Did you give her a signet?”

            “Sir, I don’t…”

            Erak steps forward and grips the rail tightly, and he shouts. “Did you give her a signet?”

            Nina looks away, stares at the black water as is drifts by.  “I did,” she says after a lengthy silence.

            Erak shakes his head and turns back toward the water.  He rests heavily on the rail while gathering himself.  “You—You’re trying to resurrect something long dead.”  He turns back on her again, jabbing his finger at her as he yells.  “I knew you were mad.  After the way you fell apart, after the things you said.  I knew you were unhinged, but they convinced me to take you in.  Ordered it.  They said your madness could work in our favor, make you adaptable.  Make you the perfect mole.  And here you are, rogue, ignoring Council orders, ignoring your duty to your people!”

            “With all due respect, sir, what I did, I did with Council approval and support.”

            Erak stops, stares.  “What? Who would?”

            “Councilor Marilith Tearam,” Nina says.  “While I won’t go so far as to say she expressly told me to give the signet to a student, I would like to point out the limitations of the signet ring technology and…”

            “I know the limitations,” Erak says.  He glares at her for a long moment and then turns away to pace in the dust.  His body is rigid, tightly wound, like he wants to strike at her or at anything.  He goes to the guard rail and pulls a case from his chest pocket.  Carefully, he balances it on the rail and uses the contents to roll a cigarette.  After lighting it and taking a long draw, he asks, “And the other Councilors know about this?”

            “I am uncertain.”

            “Well, regardless of whatever inferences you may have made when conversing with her, your actions are unacceptable, and I demand you take that ring back from her.”

            “Sir, if she has already put it on…”

            “Then you kill her,” Erak says, “Should anyway, with everything you’ve told her.”

            “Sir.”

            “You made the mess.  You clean it up,” he says.  “Get the ring back, whatever it takes.”

            “Respectfully, I refuse, sir.”

            Erak stops, his eyes wide, his jaw tight.  His cigarette burns, pinched between his fingers, forgotten for the moment.  “You what?”

            “The demons have returned.  The worlds are changing, and humanity has every right to be involved in their own future.”

            “The humans are one uprising away from being demons themselves!  History has proven that already, and the signet armors are just giving them dangerous weapons to turn against us.”

            “You don’t know that.  You don’t know them.”

            “Says the woman who has been here for a handful of months,” Erak screams.  “I’ve been here for years, decades!  I’ve seen them, seen what they can do and what they can’t.  They’re not the noble savages you imagine them to be, damn it.  They’re just savages!”

            “You isolate yourself, view them from a macroscopic picture.  You see numbers, figures, news reports, but you don’t know any of them.  You don’t see the people, the individuals.”

            “You’re playing with fire here, Olivier, and you’re going to burn everything.  Burn the Empire right to the ground.  Humanity—and the Knights—will be our undoing.  Remember Belquis?  History repeats itself.”

            Nina crosses her arms and stares him in the eyes.  “I disagree.”

            Erak stares back and paces.  He takes a quick, shaky suck on the cigarette.  “So, you refuse the orders of your commanding officer.”

            “I find that his order is conflict with the orders of those above him.”

            He sneers.  “Then I guess we take this to the Council.  And this time, Lieutenant, your achievements won’t save you.  This is treason.”

            “It’s not,” Nina says.  “I am doing what I am meant to do: protecting humanity.”

            “Enough.  Now you’re wasting my time,” Erak says, storming past her.  “We settle this at court.” Without another word he climbs into the SUV and pulls out, throwing dust and rocks in his wake.  Nina stays behind and stares into the water.  She listens to the gentle surging of its flow and finds that the night air somehow seems much, much colder.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The next day Kit drives Geneva home from classes.  They part ways in front of Geneva’s house, but only after promising to hook up some time later.  Geneva, for the most part, enjoys these rides, but each time she watches Kit leave, she feels somehow cheated out of the better friend experience.  Still, she sees Kit off with a wave and a smile.

            Inside of the house she hides out in her room.  Everything weighs heavily on her mind.  Kit confuses her, classes vex her as every day she falls farther and farther behind, and then there is the ring she has hidden in her desk drawer and the monster from another world that threw her down the stairs.

            She sighs and pulls out her biology book.  However much she hates school, it is at least something she can comprehend.  Monsters from other worlds and the forces that combat them seem so big, so science fiction, that she doesn’t even want to waste time trying to wrap her mind around it.  So, instead, she stretches her legs and enjoys denial.

            Lying on her bed, she opens the book in front of her and starts the assigned reading.  She just finds her place when Beatrice enters the room unannounced and leaps onto her bed.  “So, you are home!”

            “So are you,” Geneva says, pretending to read.

            “Have any big issues that need airing?”

            “Nope.  But I do have plenty of homework.”

            “I see,” Beatrice says.  She closes Geneva’s book.  “Talk to me.”

            “Bea, I’m studying.  Come on.”

            “Whoops,” Beatrice says.  She takes the book and tosses it out into the hall.  “Look it that!  The book just flew.  That’s some sort of divine intervention there.  Clearly, God doesn’t want you to study.  Oh, well, seems like you’ve got some free time then.”  Beatrice sits with her legs crossed and her back to the wall.  She leans forward and stares Geneva in the eyes.  “So, how you doing?”

            “Annoyed,” Geneva says, “You?”

            “Annoying.  But, seriously, tell me what’s up.”

            “Bea, my life really can’t be this interesting to you.”

            “It’s not, but you’re my sister, so I’m here for you anyway.”

            Geneva rolls her eyes and crawls out of bed.  She grabs her book from the hall.  On the way back Beatrice pokes her bruised knee. “Ow!”

            “Where’d you get that?”

            “I fell into a big pile of none of your business.”

            “Grinch.”

            “I’m busy!”

            “Then just tell me what I want to know and I’ll,” Beatrice gestures toward the door, “Leave.”

            “Or you could just,” Geneva mimics the gesture, “Leave anyway.”

            Beatrice gives a long, silent stare.  “So, you and Kit.  She metaphorically stick it to you yet?”

            Geneva slumps onto the bed and sighs.  “I hate you.”

            “So evasive.  But then, girls do like a mystery.  You like girls, right?’

            Geneva opens her book.

            Beatrice takes it and tosses it onto the floor.  “Boys?”

            Geneva glares.  “Really?”

            “Really.”

            “Sometimes, Bea.”

            “You know you wuv me,” Beatrice says, before grabbing Geneva’s head with one arm and giving a noogie with her free hand.

            Geneva wriggles free and falls from the bed, landing on the very science book she should be reading.  She yelps and holds her rear as she rolls to the side. “Fine!  Things are weird between us, okay?  Weird!”

            “Weird how?  Like, butterflies weird or stranger-danger weird?”

            “Like, mortifying-anxiety weird,” Geneva says.  “I don’t know.  I don’t think about it much.  Have other things on my mind.”

            “Oh?  Like what?”

            “Like,” Geneva stands and holds up her book, “School, for one thing.  You know school.  That thing I fail at?”

            “You also fail at dating,” Beatrice says thoughtfully.

            “Hate.”  Geneva falls back into the bed and carefully flips her book open.  Before she can read a word, Beatrice takes it and tosses it away again.  Geneva hangs her head in defeat.

            “So, what makes things between you two weird exactly?”

            “The situation, Bea.  We’re friends—she’s my only friend, really.”

            “Now, Gene, I’m your,” Beatrice bursts into laughter.  “Yeah, yeah, she’s your only friend.”  She stops when Geneva glares.  “Anyway, continue.”

            “Well, she kissed me, she might like me, and I—I don’t know.  Anyway.”  Geneva slides from the bed once again.  “She says we’ll hang out more and we never do, and…”

            The phone rings.  Beatrice and Geneva trade glances.  It rings again.

            “You’re closer,” Geneva says, but Beatrice points at her.  She scowls in return.  “By Zeus, you’re a pain today,” she says, scooping up the phone.  “Hello, Oak’s Residence…”

            “Genny?”

            “Kit?”  Geneva looks wide-eyed at Beatrice, who smiles and gives a thumbs up.  “Uh.  I mean, hi, what’s up?”

            “Nothing much, I was wondering…”

            “What’s she saying?  What’s she saying?”

            “Shut up,” Geneva whispers, covering the mouthpiece.  Beatrice tries to yank the phone from her, and Geneva slaps her hands away repeatedly.  “Shut up.  Stop it, Bea.”

            “Would that work for you?  Do you have time for that?”

            “Course, I would love to,” Geneva says into the phone, and then to Beatrice, “Oh, grow up!  Stop it!  God!”  She shoves Beatrice away with her foot and turns her back.  Dejected, Beatrice runs from the room.  Geneva releases a triumphant sigh and settles on the bed.  “It sounds fun,” she says.

            “Cool, so what time should I pick you up?”

            “Uh, what?”

            There is a click and heavy breathing on the line.

            “You okay, Genny?”

            “Oh, I’m fine, sweetiecakes,” Beatrice says in the deepest, huskiest voice she can manage.  “Should you bring protection or should I?”

            “Beatrice, off the phone, now!”

            “Aw, you’re no fun.”

            “Excuse me, what’s going on?”

            “Off the phone, Bea!”

            “Oh, fine.”  A huff.  A click.  A pause.

            “Geneva?”

            “Hey, Kit, sorry about all of that, I,” Geneva rubs her face, holds her head in her hand.  “Well, my sister is crazy.”

            “No, it’s fine,” Kit says, and Geneva hears her laughing.  “It’s kind of cute.”

            Geneva blushes.  “Anyway.”

            “You have no idea what I was saying earlier, do you?”

            “None,” Geneva says.  “Sorry.”

            “No, it’s cool.  I was just saying, I have some history stuff that I need help studying for, and we haven’t gotten to see each other much lately, rides aside.  So, I was hoping we could grab something to eat and get some studying done.”

            “Really,” Geneva says, her cheeks growing warmer.  She stares through her open doorway, into the hallway.  “What about your parents?”

            “I told them it was to study. For school stuff they lifted my grounding,” Kit says.  “Or lightened it a bit.  Anyway, you in?”

            “Uh, yeah, sure, yeah,” Geneva says.  “I would love to.  Earlier, I was just distracted.  By Beatrice, but yeah. We should totally—Yeah!”

            “Cool,” Kit says, a smile in her voice.  “I’ll swing by, pick you up around five or six.  We’ll grab some burgers.  I know a place.”

            “Cool, that—that sounds good.  I like meat.”

            “Right,” Kit says.  “See you then.  And don’t forget your books.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Claude’s never had a real job before.  Instead, he focused his efforts on other things.  From a young age he knew he was special.  Everyone did, and they supported him as he cultivated skills that he felt were necessary for the destiny that he knew awaited him. He developed the skills needed to help people, to save lives, to protect, and when leaving home he had been confident in them.

            Now, however, he feels like he is in a bit over his head.  If asked as a child what he imagined his future to be, Claude would have said something about fighting dragons, perhaps even saving a princess.  He never would have thought that his illustrious destiny would involve living off of someone else’s kindness and working as a dish washer.

            Dish washing isn’t tough but overwhelming at times.  His first four shifts go by with misleading ease.  Today is the real test of his mettle, and everyone has been quick to remind him of that.  The hotel, a locally owned small business, makes most of its money from renting out the second-floor hall for banquets and presentations.  That is where the money is and, as Claude is learning, where the work is.

            He started the shift with an uneasy feeling.  Everyone had been talking it up.  At first it seems liked exaggeration, but then he saw the food they were preparing.  There were eight different options and redundancies prepared for seconds and thirds should it be necessary.  Even then, the cooks are still working.

            The start of the shift is uneventful as he waits for the meals to be served and pulled.  He runs errands for the cooks, switching out empty containers, running utensils here or there that were used for one thing that can’t mix with another.  It is hectic but straightforward.

            Then the first dishes come back and everything falls apart.  The sheer volume of dishes, compounded with his everyday difficulties, leave him falling behind.  At first, he feels solid, like he is meeting demands, but then the flap on the dish washer falls off, and he has to stop to fix it back into place.

            An hour later, Claude has his head down and is making steady, if somewhat slow, progress.  He is scraping a pan clean, trying to get to the burnt remains of food before they crystalize into diamond hard specs that require a sacrifice of blood and sweat.  Then, one of the cooks stops by and drop off another set of dishes.

            A few servers come to him, demanding clean cups and plates.  Claude looks at them and then at the pile of dishes beside him, and then he sighs and lets them know he will do his best.  They storm away in response.

            A few minutes later one of the cooks comes back.  She peeks at him under the cup-rack.  “Hey, what’s your name,” she asks.

            Claude looks at her.  She is pretty, dark hair, dark skin, big brown eyes.  She wears her hair back in a high ponytail and fills out her uniform well.

            “Uh, Claude.”

            “Okay, Claude, you ever done dishes before?”

            He shakes his head.

            She smiles, a big, warm smile.  “Okay, then let me give you some advice.  Before I got this job, I always did stuff like this, and there’s a secret to getting by.  No matter how overwhelmed you are, no matter how stressed everyone is getting, all you’ve got to do is take a deep breath and do one dish at a time.  Focus on that and before you know it, you’ll be caught up.”

            Claude nods dumbly and notices, for the first time, that she is filling up a rack of glasses.  “What are you doing?”

            “I’m helping out back here for a bit,” she says, and she steps in beside him to feed the rack through the dish washer.  “I’ll get the girls their cups and plates at the very least, and if I have time, we’ll punch out some of these pans, okay?”

            Claude watches her for a moment.

            “Come on,” she says, moving to the other end of the washer to grab the cups she just ran through.  “No time to gawk, sweetie.  We’ve got to get.”

            “Uh, right,” Claude says, returning his attention to the pan.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            “Why don’t I know this Katherine girl?”

            “Probably because you’ve never met her,” Geneva says, leaning against the kitchen counter while her mother scrutinizes her.  Beatrice sits at the table, a book in front of her, pretending to read.  For the last few minutes she’s been peeking over it, watching her mother fuss about the kitchen, scrubbing things, and playing a one-sided game of twenty questions.

            “Well, clearly.  What I want to know is WHY I’ve never met her.”

            Geneva shrugs.  “Because she’s never come over?”

            “Geneva Evelyn Oaks.”

            “You just haven’t, okay?  It’s not a big deal.”

            Geneva’s mother pauses.  “Does she do drugs?  Are you afraid to introduce us because…”

            “Mom, you’re being extra strength crazy right now.”

            Her mother sighs and rests her hands on the counter.  “Okay, maybe I am being a bit—Do you need money?”

            “I’m just going to order a water.”

            “Nonsense, Genie.  We can afford to let you eat with your friends.”  Her mother walks briskly from the room.

            Geneva looks at her sister.  “Help me!”

            “And ruin my fun?  No way.”

            “This will come back to bite you someday.  Karma, Bea.  Karma.”

            “Of course it will.  But for now?  It’s funny.”

            Their mother returns to the room with a few folded bills.  She slips them into Geneva’s hands.  “There.  That should be enough for something.  Not enough to buy the entire place, mind you, but still…”

            “Mom, it’s fine.  Thanks.”

            “I’m sorry, honey, you’re just my baby girl.”  She hugs Geneva.

            “I’m sixteen.”

            “Sixteen isn’t very old, Gene,” Beatrice says from the kitchen table.

            Geneva shoots her a glare.  “I appreciate whatever you can give, mom.  And, I promise, Kit’s fine.  No drugs.”

            “I’m sure she is,” her mother says, and she trades the hug for an anxious smile.  “You have fun now.”

            “I…”  A knock at the door and Geneva looks away.  “I’ve got to go.  Love you,” she says, and she places a quick kiss on her mother’s cheek before rushing out of the room.  When she reaches the door, she hears Beatrice’s heavy footfalls following her.  She slams the door behind her.

            Kit stares.  “Everything okay?”

            “Fine, everything’s fine,” Geneva says, leaning against the door.  She gives Kit a quick look over and, somehow, expected her to look different.  All of the stories Kit tells always include club scenes and parties where, presumably, Kit wears two thin strips over her chest and possibly one over her crotch for modesty.  The t-shirt and jeans she sports today are somewhat underwhelming.

            “Well, ready to go?”

            Geneva nods and holds up her books.

            Kit grins.  “Okay, then come on,” she says, and she turns and leads the way to the car.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Kit holds the door for Geneva at the diner, just like she did at the car.  The ride was silent and, for Geneva at least, somewhat uncomfortable.  She sat with her books on her lap and stared ahead.  Periodically, she glanced at Kit to find her smiling, which made the situation somehow stranger.

            Inside of the diner they take a seat.  The interior is, to Geneva’s surprise, quite clean and well-lit.  When they first pulled up a few burned-out neon bulbs left her feeling like she had made a bad decision somewhere along the way.  Once seated, she stares at her reflection in the polished, yellow surface of the table.

            They sit in a booth by the window looking out on the highway.  The sun is setting beyond a few tall buildings, and the sky glows golden orange; the light catches on the windows and carries through the city streets.  It makes the landscape look like it’s on fire.  Geneva stares out the window until the waitress arrives.

            Their waitress is a wispy blonde with too much lipstick.  She takes their orders—the biggest burger on the menu and a milkshake for Kit; a water and, at Kit’s insistence, a small, plain burger for Geneva.  After that, the waitress leaves them alone, and Kit stares across the table at Geneva.

            “Yes,” Geneva says after a long moment.

            “You could have gotten more.

            “I know.  I didn’t want more.”

            “You really don’t want more?”

            “What? You calling me fat?”

            “I’m calling you stupid,” Kit says, but she is grinning.  The waitress returns with their drinks.  Kit stirs her milkshake and eyes Geneva’s water.  “You could have gotten a drink, too.”

            “I like water.”

            “Really?” Kit shrugs.  “Learn something new every day.”

            After that, they settle in to study.  Kit helps Geneva with a handful of math problems and explains some of the more complicated aspects of biology in easy to understand terms.  In return, Geneva outlines the various events they have covered thus far and how they relate to each other.  When their food arrives, they take a break.

            Kit starts off with an enormous bite.  “You know, it’s pretty amazing how you can do that,” she says.

            “Do what,” Geneva asks, and she looks around for comic effect.

            “The history.  It’s like you see how it all fits together.”

            Geneva shrugs and nibbles her food.  “It’s nothing hard.  It’s all like a story, I guess.  I mean, Bea always used to read to me when I was a kid, and I just think of it like that.  Like, I’m following along with the lesson or something.  I don’t know.”

            “Beatrice read to you? Not your parents?”

            “Nah, my parents were busy at work all the time, picking up extra shifts and all of that.  Besides, I’m not even one hundred percent my dad knows how to read.  Beatrice, though, she’s always kind of liked words, I guess.  So, when we were little, she would get all of our fairytale books—hand-me-downs from the days when dinosaurs roamed the earth and my parents were in diapers, I swear—and she would read them to me.”  Geneva looks away, blushes.  “It’s stupid.”

            “No, it’s cute.  My parents always got the help to read to me.  I had a nanny for a long time, but when I got old enough to take care of myself, they fired her.”  Kit picks at her fries.  “So, anyway, what’s the gossip around school?”

            Geneva gives a flat stare.  “You expect me to know gossip?”

            “Is that a bad thing?”

            “Not bad.  A bit sad, maybe.  Same ad sound, anyway.”  Geneva shrugs.  “I keep too busy for that kind of stuff.”

            Kit grins, rolls her eyes.  “Oh, yeah?”

            “Yeah.  How’s I.S.S.?”

            “Wonderful,” Kit says, and she slumps forward.  “I’m stuck in there with Lana.  The tension is thick.  I’m half-afraid she’s going to attack me while I have my back turned.”

            “You’re afraid of her?”

            “She’s stronger than she looks.  Her dad has had her in martial arts classes—classes as in plural—since I’ve known her.”

            “Yeah, well, at least she didn’t get away scot-free.  In other news, who is Scott, and why is he free?”

            Kit shrugs and takes another bite.  By this point her plate is mostly clean, save for a few stray fries and a smear of ketchup.  Geneva, on the other hand, has hardly touched hers.  Kit looks across the table and frowns.  “If you don’t hurry up, I’ll eat yours, too.”

            Geneva shoves the plate away.  “Go ahead.”

            “I was kidding, Genny.”

            “And I’m serious.  Jewish, remember?  And I’m pretty sure this beef isn’t kosher”

            Kit rolls her eyes again.  “Then we’ll get you a carryout.  Excuse me, wait…”

            “I don’t need a carryout.  Just eat it.”

            “Genny, I bought it for you.  You should have it.”

            “I don’t want it,” Geneva says.  “My mom will throw it away.”

            “No, she won’t.”

            “She will.  She’s Jewish, too.  Not to spoil the ending for you, but everyone in my family is.  Well, except dad.”

            “You’ve told me she makes lasagna.”

            “Yeah, and?”

            “With hamburger in it.”

            Geneva pauses, and then says, “Listen, there are nuances here, Kit, nuances you just don’t under—,” she sighs, “Fine, get me the stupid, ugly carryout box.”

            Kit calls the waitress over and gets a box.  They study a bit more and then Kit goes to pay.  Afterward, they go out the door and find Kit’s car in the parking lot.  Kit holds the door open for Geneva again and then drives her home.

            The day fades seamlessly into night. Streetlights turn on and replace the warm sunlight with harsh, pale colors.  Geneva watches them drift by through the window.

            Kit stops at the curb outside of Geneva’s house.  “So, we’re here now,” she says, “Get out!”

            Geneva sulks.  “Are—Are you going to call me tomorrow?”

            “Never!” Kit laughs evilly.

            They both fall into real laughter.  It dies quickly and is replaced with equally real, anxious silence.  Geneva scrapes her thumb nail across the foam of her carryout box.  She etches a smiley face into it.  They both stop smiling.

            “Kit, when you kissed me…”

            “Yeah? What about it?”

            Geneva looks up and find Kit lounging in the driver’s seat. She is attentive but in a state of complete calm, and it is then Geneva realizes that she is the only one who is anxious.  The sight of her friends calm somehow makes the anxiety more intense, more acute.  She nearly pushes her thumb through the Styrofoam.

            “Well, you…”  Geneva chews her cheek.  “Like, what was that about?”

            “What do you mean? I like you, Genny.  I think you’re cute.”

            “But, I’m not,” Geneva says.  “I mean, I have a big forehead…”

            “No, you don’t.”

            “And I’m fat!”

            “You’re fine.”

            “So, like, what? Do you have a crush on me or something?”

            “I do.”

            “Oh.”  Geneva stares now, wide-eyed, silent.  Her cheeks feel hot.

            “Hey now, don’t worry about this.  It isn’t going to be weird.  We’re still friends.  I’ve had crushes on straight friends before.  It’s kind of part of the whole gay thing, I guess, but it’s no big deal.” She touches Geneva’s shoulder, squeezes it.  “So, please don’t get weirded out.”

            “I’m—I’m fine,” Geneva says.  She forces a smile.  “I need to get inside, though.  My mom is probably having a fit and a half.”

            “Yeah, good idea.  I’m technically still grounded, so I should get out, too.”  She smiles.  “See you at school tomorrow?”

            Geneva lingers with her hand on the door handle. “Yeah,” she says, and she ducks out quickly and runs to the door.  She waits for Kit to pull away before looking back.

 

The Knights of Sheba 103 A…End

6: Episode Three: "Never Forgotten" B

The Knights of Sheba 103 B…Start

            Geneva is just inside of the door before she is greeted by her mother.  They meet in a mostly one-sided embrace and Geneva struggles not to drop everything on the floor.  From the living room, her dad yells a tired greeting between sips of beer.  She isn’t sure if he even takes his eyes off of the television.

            “So, did you have fun,” Geneva’s mother asks, following her to the kitchen.  She watches Geneva stow away her leftovers in the fridge.  “Did you have enough money?”

            “Yeah,” Geneva says, tossing the wadded bills onto the table.  “Kit footed the bill.”

            “Geneva, you could have…”

            “She insisted.”

            “Well, still.”

            “You can have the rest, if you want.  It’s cold, but it was really good.”  Geneva hugs her books to her chest and goes for the stairs.  Her mother follows close behind.  “I still have a lot of homework, though.”  She stops at the top of the stairs and looks down at her mother.  “I did have fun, though.”

            Her mother smiles.  “Good.  I’m glad, hon!  That’s all I want.  Now, get up there and get your homework done,” she says, and she climbs the stairs to hug Geneva and give her a kiss on the forehead.  “Then, get your butt into bed, miss.  You still have school tomorrow.”

            Geneva wipes her forehead.  “Yeah, yeah.”

            She goes to her room and closes the door behind her.  Rather than study, she tosses her books on the floor, climbs into bed, and awaits Beatrice’s inevitable appearance.  A few seconds later, the door flies open.

            “My, you look cozy,” Beatrice says before sitting on Geneva’s legs.  She tickles her younger sister’s feet until the wriggling knocks her off.  “So, how did things go,” she asks while settling with her back against the wall.

            “Well, it was awkward at first.  But, then Kit and I,” Geneva hugs her knees.  “We totally went all the way.”

            Beatrice goes wide-eyed.  “What? No way.”

            “Way,” Geneva says, “Totally way.  We were uncomfortable and everything, and I finally had enough. So, I said, ‘gimme some sugar, baby,’ and then she did. And, heh, let me put it this way: I had sex.”  Geneva holds out her fingers.  “Here, smell these.”

            Beatrice swats Geneva’s hand away. “You did not!”

            “No, of course I didn’t!  Because it was weird!  And there’s nothing to talk about.  We had burgers, studied, that it.”

            “So, you didn’t even ask her about the kiss?”

            “I did.  But…”

            “No buts.  What’d she say?”

            “She said she liked me.”

            “Well, that’s good,” Beatrice says. She pauses.  “That is good, right?”

            Geneva shrugs.

            “Well, I think it’s good.  So, how do you feel about her?”

            “I don’t know.  Hence the whole not knowing whether it’s good or not thing.”

            “Well, that’s silly, because I already told you that it was good.”
            Geneva rubs her face.  “Oh, God, please leave me alone, Bea.”

            “Sour puss,” Beatrice says, and she blows a raspberry.  Then, standing, she ruffles Geneva’s hair and uses her head for balance.  Geneva sits, frowning.  “Just sleep on it and figure it all out tomorrow.  That’s what I’d do.”

            “No, you’d sleep with her tonight and then figure it out in the morning.”

            Beatrice shrugs.  “Same thing.”

            Geneva rolls her eyes and curls up in her bed.  She waits until Beatrice is in the hall and then tugs her lamp off.  She has homework still, but her mind is in too many places.  Kit drifts through her thoughts and so do the demons.  Geneva pushes them out, though, and forces herself to think about something, anything, that she can digest.

            Sleep doesn’t come easily to her.  She keeps thinking about the ring hidden in the bottom drawer of her desk, of the rich girl who is her best friend and possibly something more, of the classes that are already overwhelming her, and how one life could possibly accommodate all of that trouble.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Alfheim, the Realm of Light, home of the elves and throne of the Council of Races.  From here, all decisions affecting the council, from the military to the people, are made.  It is also from here that Nina will make her case against Erak, and it is here where she will face judgment.  She steps out of the gate tree with a suitcase in hand and her jacket folded over her arm, and she hopes that things will go well.

            The Realm of Light is and has always been nearly one giant, lush forest.  Despite their technology, the elves grew symbiotically with nature.  Their early existence brought some wear and tear on the world, but since the founding of the council, the elves have worked hard to repair what little damage they caused their ecosystem and to live in harmony with their world.

            Most buildings, including the Gate Station where Nina stands, are built into or around trees and use materials from outside worlds rather than mining from their own.  Technology in this realm is powered exclusively through wind or solar energy.  Compared to the other realms it is a paradise, and the elves who live here enjoy every luxury.

            Nina feels somewhat anxious returning.  She hasn’t been back in months and doesn’t really feel right returning now.  Ever since her first combat tour, the Realm of Light stopped feeling like home, and even in her youth she felt somewhat out of place among the other elves.  That was the appeal of the military.  It gave her opportunity for travel, for exposure, that the life of an aristocrat lacked.

            It is early morning here and still quite warm.  The air is thick, even in the shade.  The elven gate tree is located within a large jungle on one of the southern islands.  The station, which has a glass canopy for natural light, swelters even with the open airways inside.  All of the people around her, traveling between worlds or return to their home, only make it more stifling.

            She moves through the people and registers at the front desk.  A clerk takes her name and time of arrival and stamps some paperwork for her.  Then, she sends Nina on her way with a smile and a wave.  Nina climbs the stairs and steps out into the empty, early morning streets.  Sunlight peeks through the canopy with thin, shimmering fingers.

            The air is fresh, clean, and humid.  It feels thick in her lungs and not at all like the human world’s.  The smells are different, more natural.  She stands in the street, taking stock of her surrounding, wondering where to go, how to pass the time.  She has the weekend there, and her trial will be later.

            A Council trial isn’t a rare thing, though it is important.  The Council of Races, composed entirely of elves, carry all of the power of the empire.  Their every action not only has weight but far reach.  Composed of five members from the most affluent of elven families, they have complete political, military, and economic power over the elves and all of the elven colonies.  Their court is located just east of the gate tree station.

            Nina goes west.  She walks a few hundred feet and finds a nearby hotel.  Checking in, she stows her bags away in the room and reviews her case.  Her decision to resurrect the knights was unofficially supported by one councilor.  It offers some comfort to her, though she never knows how the other councilors will vote.

            She waits around her room for a few hours, eats a small meal in hopes of settling her stomach.  It doesn’t help.  Then, as the trial approaches, she dresses in a dark suit that accentuates her shoulders and gathers her things.  She leaves her room and the hotel and starts the journey to the court.  On the way out, the clerk wishes her well.

            The court is a large, domed building that, like all elven architecture, relies primarily on natural light.  A large tree grows out of the center, offering shade to them.  The interior is composed of narrow halls and small ancillary rooms and one large, circular room at the center where the council will be.  This room has a raised platform where the five councilors sit and two podiums at the center where the speakers make their cases.

            Upon entering, Nina hears nervous whispers from those in waiting.  Her decision to resurrect the knights is not a popular one.  The elves fear humanity, and they fear the knights even more.  Some view them as an even greater threat than the demons.

            Nina arrives early and waits at her podium.  It has a small chair set beside it that she sits inand reviews her notes.  The doors open and Erak enters.  He is escorted by a group of soldiers from the border guard.  They sneer when they see her.

            “Lieutenant,” he says.

            Nina stands and salutes.  “Major.”

            “So, you insist on fighting this losing battle then?”

            “I insist on doing what is right,” Nina says.  After a second’s hesitation, she adds, “Sir.”

            Erak makes a noise, a scoff or a laugh, Nina can’t tell, and he stares at her.  “We’ll end this madness today, Lieutenant.”

            “I hope so, sir.”

            He shakes his head.  “So much promise,” he says, and he mutters while walking over to his podium.

            Nina takes a deep breath.  She rests her notes on the podium as she stands at it.  At the far wall, the councilors enter through a nearby door.  They take their seats.  Nina sees Marilith among them, and she sees her wink.  It comforts it is a small comfort but not enough to keep her stomach from stirring up.

            The councilors take their seats, with Mariltih at the far left.  She is wearing a dark red suit and has her hair back in a conservative bun.  She looks, as always, perfect, precise, and business-like.  That is how Nina remembers her, dignified even on the battlefield.  Hers was a classical beauty, and one with inherent power.

            After everyone settles, the councilor seated in the middle stands.  He is a tall, thin elf with long, angular features, wearing a light gray suit.  His hair is a faded blond, thin, and kept back in a tight ponytail.  Nina recognizes him instantly: Councilor Arland, old elven blood who firmly supports a strong, elven-led government.

            He looks out at the two of them imperiously.  Light slips through the glass canopy and seems to frame him.  “Lieutenant, Major, today you two bring a grave matter to us, an accusation of treason made against one of our officers.  Major, you will be arguing your claim, and Lieutenant, you will be allowed to defend yourself.  After hearing both arguments, we will retire and discuss the matter among ourselves before passing judgment.  And whatever conclusion we reach, it will be final, do you understand?”

            “Yes, highness,” both soldiers say.

            “Good, then Major Draco, you will start.  Explain to us what it is that the Lieutenant did, in your own words, and why it should be constituted as treason.”

            “Yes, your highness,” Erak says.  He steps forward from the podium, into the center of the room, where the sunlight makes him glow, and he gives a low bow.  Straightening, he looks at the council.   “Good councilors, I come before you on a grave mission.  Under my watch, it seems a terrible act of treason has been committed, against both the council and our colonies, who depend on us for survival.  A soldier under my command, perhaps out of sedition, perhaps out of misguided kindness, has made an attempt at resurrecting the Knights of Sheba, and has done so without word from elven leadership on the matter.  She has made a unilateral decision that endangers us all.”

            “What danger do the knights pose,” Nina shouts from her podium, and she earns a sharp glare from the council.

            “Lt. Olivier,” Marilith says, her tone sharp, “I ask that you respect both Major Draco and the Council and wait until it is your turn to speak.”

            Nina frowns and bows her head.  “Yes, councilor.  I apologize.”

            Erak smiles back at Nina, and then at the council.  “Thank you, councilor, and I also apologize for my subordinate’s outburst, though at this point I think that I can hardly control her.  To answer her question, however, the knights are a weapon, and one we cannot wield ourselves, if you remember our history.”

            Erak pauses momentarily, as if to sort his thoughts, and then begins pacing.  He watches the council, moving his eyes between them, making sure to keep eye contact with each one for a brief second.  “You see, however benign humanity may be now, our forerunners knew the danger they could pose.  That is why the knighthood was expunged, and why the rings were sealed away.  Now, Lieutenant, I don’t know how you got your hand on the signet ring, and that is a matter that can be addressed later.  For now, we must consider the ramifications of your behavior.

            “Long ago, the knights turned the tide in a war.  They were monumental in the defeat of the demon horde which was at our doorsteps, and I am sure it is with that in mind that you sought their return.  The demons are at our door again, but I fear you forget what the knights did, what they became, the treason their leader committed, and the reason they were forgotten in the first place.  Humanity cannot be trusted.  I’ve lived in the Realm of Man for decades now, and I know this for fact—you give man a measure of power, and they will destroy themselves with it, and everything around them.”

            He sighs and hangs his head.  Then, fixing his gaze on the council one last time, says, “Council, please, hear me when I say this: I, as much as anyone, respect the Lieutenant’s career and achievements, and I am not here to deny her commitment to the council or the elven people, but her decision to fight an unknown threat by creating yet another.”

            Erak pauses and lets his words linger.  The Council watches him, their faces impassive.  He stares back, solemn, heartfelt, his hands folded in front of him properly. 

            After a long, contemplative silence, Councilor Arland says, “Thank you, Major.  You may return to your podium.”  He watches Erak go, and then turns to look at Nina.  Despite his age, he seems tall, stout, and lively.  He folds his hands in front of him and looks down on her.  “Now, Lieutenant, you may have your chance to speak, to convince us of the good of your deeds.”

            Nina looks at Marilith, who nods.  Then, taking a deep breath, she says, “Yes, Councilor, and thank you.”  She steps down from the podium and glances at Erak on the way.  He wears a small, proud smile so subtle that the Council would overlook it.  It is for her to worry over and her alone.

            She stops in the center, under the warm light, magnified by the glass into a sauna.  Her suit sticks to her, suffocates her.  She pulls at her collar and clears her throat.  “Council,” she says, and her tongue feels dry and unruly.  She clears her throat again and takes a breath.

            “Lieutenant,” says an elderly male councilor named Kray, “If you could, our time is valuable.”

            “Yes, councilor, I apologize.”  Nina wipes her brow.  “I.”  She closes her eyes and clears her thoughts.  Opening them, she looks the councilors head-on, sharing a glance between the five.  Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Marilith smile.  “Councilors, I will be succinct.  The major warns of a violent future with the elves dethroned and humanity feasting on the ruined remains of our empire.  He speaks of it as if this is the reality on the horizon, that with one push, one misstep, we will be there, and that everything we’ve built will come tumbling down.

            “I am here to tell you that we elves, and the council we’ve established, are not so fragile.  Our foundations are strong, as are our people.  The future ahead of us is a bright one, should we choose to take it.

            “It is true that the major has lived in the Realm of Man for a time, but he has never lived among man.  I have.  I have also served in the military, in the front line, unlike him.  I have seen humanity, at their weakest, and at their best, and I have seen our military in the same, and I can tell you this: a lone human with a signet is not enough to topple an empire.”

            Nina looks between them again, reads them.  She can see Marilith’s faint smile.  She can see Arland’s telling frown.

            “We created a council and an empire from it.  We’ve united disparate lands under one rule, won battle after battle, war after war, changed worlds and the civilizations that inhabited them, and yet we fear one single people for the sins of their forerunners.  Can you, councilors, look at me and say that the elves are who they were two thousand years ago?  Have we not grown, evolved?  And so, too, can humanity not grow and evolve?

            “I am not here to say that there is no danger in this, but there is danger in anything we do.  Here is the reality: the demons have returned.  Long ago, humanity worked alongside us, helped us to set the foundations of what we could become.  We, the superior race, do we not also have an obligation to lift them up, as we have others?  Do we not have an obligation to give them tools to defend themselves and to serve the council, as is their responsibility?

            “Danger exists everywhere, Councilors, but change does not come without cost.  We cannot judge a people by the acts of a few, carried out hundreds of centuries before, nor can we expect a change in them if we do not give them the opportunity to grow.  I cannot tell you for certain what humanity will do.  They are a vast people, both in culture and in belief.  I can tell you what they can be, if given the chance.  And I can tell you whatever happens, our people, the elves, the leaders of the next world, are stalwart enough to weather it.”

            “So,” Marilith says, leaning forward and staring down at Nina from on high, “What you mean to say is that this is a test?”

            Nina looks at her and nods.  “Yes, councilor, that is exactly it.  Once, humanity stood beside us.  I feel it is time we give them the opportunity again.”

            Arland locks his fingers, frowns around the room.  “Is that all, Lieutenant?”

            “Yes, councilor, and thank you for hearing me.”

            He grunts and then looks at his fellow councilors.  “Then we will retire,” he says.  “Return in an hour’s time.”

            Both Nina and Erak salute as the councilors stand.  On the way out, Marilith flashes a smile and winks Nina’s way.  Nina allows a small smile in return.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Nina spends most of the hour outside.  She waits on a bench across from the courthouse and stares up at the sky.  The air is warm here, as it always is, and thick.  The light casts everything in gold and makes it glow with life.  Everything about her world is different from the human world.  There, the weather is changing, cooling.  There, the streets are paved with stone.

            After an hour she returns.  She takes her podium and stands with her hands wrapped around it and her knuckles white.  She stares ahead, even as Erak takes his podium, and she imagines the verdict.  Marilith will take her side.  Arland will vote against her.  The others are a mystery.

            The councillors returns.  They each take their seats, and Arland calls attention.   A heavy silence settles while he sorts his papers.  Then, folding his hands in front of him, he stares out at assembly.  Nina chances a glance at Erak.  He seems entirely at ease.

            “The Council has reached a decision,” Arland says.  He sounds tired, strained.  “And that decision is to reinstate the knights.”

            Erak’s face faults.  A flash of rage passes by and then, after swallowing it, he leans against his podium.  “Councilor, with all due respect…”

            “Silence, Erak,” Arland says.  His voice bounces off the walls and rafters, echoing in emphasis.  “You’ve made your case, and so has she, and our decision is final.  Now, you two will be working jointly here.  Lieutenant, you will be placed in charge of the training and preparation of the knight-candidate you have chosen, but you will still answer to the major in all matters pertaining to the defense of the human realm.  Do you understand?”

            “Yes, sir, and thank you, sir,” Nina says, struggling to contain her smile.  She looks toward Marilith, who also seems quite pleased.

            “Now, mark my words, this is a trial run, Lieutenant.  We want to see if humanity is what you claim it to be, to give them the chance that you seem to think they deserve.  I challenge you, prove those of us who voted against it wrong.”

            Nina nods.  “Sir.”

            “We will be calling this Operation Advent.  If it goes well, it may lead to a full resurrection of the knighthood.  Among other dramatic changes.  The fine details will be sorted out later.  For now, we will retire.”

            With that, Arland stands and leaves.  Nina lets out a deep breath and looks at Erak.  He responds with a glare.  Climbing down from his podium, he stops beside hers.  “It seems your idealism is infectious.”

            “Thank you, sir.  Your congratulations mean a lot to me.”

            “Watch yourself, Lieutenant.  You still answer to me, and I won’t make this easy.  You might have friends in the Council, but in the field you’re alone.  I’ll be looking for mistakes.”

            “Then I will simply have to keep from making any.”  She salutes.  “Sir.”

            Erak grunts.  “Lieutenant,” he says, and he storms away.

            Nina climbs from her podium and allows a smile.  She tucks her folder underneath her arm walks the long hall to the foyer.  Outside, she finds Marilith waiting for her.

            “Congratulations, Lieutenant,” she says.  “Let me buy you a drink.”

            “If you insist, Councilor.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Marilith leads Nina to a small, outdoor café where they grab tea and dessert.  On the way, Nina drops her files off in her room.  Midday is fading into afternoon and the sun grows both fuller and dimmer.  It seems to melt the landscape with its color.

            Nina stirs her tea.  Her dessert, a fluffy pastry lathered in fruit sauce, sits on a little ornate plate, untouched.  Elven food, she finds after spending time with the humans, is too rich.  Looking around at the elaborate woodwork of the buildings, at the flowing, winding streets, at the skyline, she realizes everything that the elves have is rich.  It is because they gain without cost.

            They are alone at the café and are being waited on by a pretty dark elf waitress.  She wears her white hair in a tight bun.  The uniform is tight against her shoulders and midsection.  It looks to be tailored to lithe, elven fashion.  After serving them, the girl curtsies and leaves.

            “Should we be seen together,” Nina asks, removing her spoon and setting it aside.  She sips her tea.  It, too, is rich and somewhat tart.  “Considering your position, rumors might spread.”

            “Then let them spread.  We’ve reached our verdict, and I did not win the vote alone,” Marilith says.  She has a tea of her own, and a slice of cake topped with green fruit wedges.  Using a small fork, she picks at the edge of it and chews it with great luxury.  “Besides, Nina, I’m a Councilor.  I am above suspicion.”

            “That is hardly true.”

            Marilith smiles.  “With my reputation it’s not.”  She sips her tea.  “That is to say, I have enemies here or there, but I have more friends, and I have far more power.  They wouldn’t dare to move on me, not unless they can kill with one strike.”  She looks Nina in the eyes and bites on her fork for emphasis.  Sliding the fork out between her blood red lips, she adds, “And they can’t.”

            “Of course,” Nina says.  “And should I be asked, where did I get the ring?”

            “You took it of your own accord,” Marilith says.  “Technically speaking, there are no regulations against it.  Most elves avoid the rings merely out of superstition.  The act of taking the rings was never considered treason to start with, at least not by those learned on the matter.  It was the resurrection of the knights that worried the Council, and we’ve addressed that matter thoroughly.”

            Nina nods, sips at her tea again.  “And my support?”

            “Is minimal.  Leinn and I voted in favor.  Arland against.  Tia was on the fence, and by surprise, Kray threw his vote in with us.  It ended four-to-one,” Marilith says.  She smiles at Nina’s surprise.  “Kray is old blood.  He hates Erak’s family as much as he hates yours.  The difference is, you’ve served on the front line.  Whatever your report said, he can’t fault your record, and so he voted with that.” 

            “I see,” Nina says.  “What was it, a new world built on our sins?”

            “We do what we must.”

            Nina nods.

            “So, how is it, Olivier?”

            Nina looks up, pulled from her reverie.  “Excuse me? How is what, exactly?”

            “The Realm of Man! You’ve been there for months now.  Report.”

            Nina shrugs.  “It is different, I suppose.  Cooler, for one thing.”

            Marilith stabs at her cake.  “And that’s all?”

            “No, not all,” Nina says.  “Humans are…so busy, always working, always moving and changing.  They’re never static.  They build these monuments, wages long wars, and make and remake the world around them, and yet they feel so powerless.  Those who do have power are feared as delusional or corrupt.  Those without are pitied.  At times, they remind me of us, of the elves, and at other times,” Nina laughs to herself.  “Elves like Erak fear them so, but even if they were to overthrow our government, they would forget the struggle as soon as it ended and go searching for something else to complete them.”

            “You seem fond of them.”

            “Maybe I am,” Nina says, staring at her darkened, distorted reflection in her tea.

            Marilith nods.  “Well, it is a good experience, Lieutenant.  I never got to travel much, not as anything but a conqueror, at least.”

            “Even still, you saw,” Nina says.  “It is strange.  In the other realms, the Realm of Night, the Realm of Wood, the Realm of Water, we are looked upon with such fear and animosity.  Among the humans, however…”

            “Maybe that’s why the major hates them so.”

            Nina laughs again.  “Most likely.”

            “And your candidate?”

            “Yes?”

            “What of them?”

            “Well, she is still just a candidate.  She has yet to don the ring.”  Nina flexes her hands, presses them flat on the table.  She avoids Marilith’s gaze.  “I don’t want to push her.”

            Marilith pauses.  She sets her fork down, pushes the empty plate away.  “That is opposite of how I would handle it.  Regardless,” Marilith reaches into her breast pocket and pulls a small, folded note from inside.  She slides it across the table.  “Some help, should she make up her mind.  Those books are all we have on the knights, and should give you some direction, at the very least.”

            Nina opens the note and looks it over.  It is a list of unfamiliar texts.  She folds it again.

            “Literature pertaining to the knights is limited, at best.  After Belquis’ betrayal the elves purged the histories. What little that remained were considered harmless.  You’re a clever girl, and you know from experience that what is forgotten is not harmless.”

            “I do,” Nina says, and she tucks the note into her jacket.  “Thank you.”

            Marilith hums.  She picks up her fork, licks the end clean.  “So, tell me about her.”

            “Who?  The candidate?”

            “Yes, of course,” Marilith says.  “She must be spectacular to impress you.  So, what is she like?”

            “She is strange,” Nina says.  “She seems to lack direction or investment, and yet she doesn’t hesitate for an instant to help those that are in trouble.”

            “Good,” Marilith says, dropping her fork.  She smiles as the hostess returns to take their plates away.  She takes Nina’s pastry only after prolonged insistence.  “We need people like that, for the new world.  Altruists.  People who help because it is necessary.  Because they should.”  Marilith yawns and stretches.  “You will have to bring her to the Realm of Light one day to speak before the Council, to prove to us that not all knights—or humans, for that matter—are the beasts were imagine.”

            “In time, maybe, but she is still adjusting.”

            “I imagine so.  Her entire world has been shattered.”  Marilith stands.  She pulls a few elven bills from her wallet and tosses them onto the table.  “Now, you’ve books to grab and a world to return to.  I fear Erak has already taken lead, and he will not be happy to be left waiting for you.”

            Nina stands and nods.  They embrace, briefly, even somewhat stiffly.  Marilith pats her back.

            “You’ve done well, Olivier,” she says.  Stepping back, she smiles into Nina’s face and tucks back some of Nina’s hair.  “You’ve come a long way, but there’s still a long way to go, a lot to make up for.”

            Nina nods again.

            “Before you go, how have the dreams been?”

            Nina looks away.

            “I see,” Marilith says.  “It’s a long road, isn’t it?”

            “It’s the one I chose.”

            Marilith pats her shoulders.  “It is.  Take care of yourself.  You can’t save anyone if you’re dead or dying.”

            Nina salutes.  “Yes, ma’am.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Claude’s first shift ends with a whimper, not a roar.  He spent years training his body and mind, certain of the destiny that awaited him, but he never worked quite like this.  As ten p.m. rolls around he staggers out of the kitchen with a plate full of food in one hand and a drink in the other.  The banquet is long over, but the chef was kind enough to keep a plate set aside for him.

            He eats alone in the corner of the dining room, staring blankly at the chair across the table.  The food is lukewarm and delicious, though he isn’t sure if that is quality or hunger that melts onto his tongue.  He just feels grateful to eat.

            “If you don’t slow down you’re going to choke.”  The woman who helped him earlier sits across from him.  She doesn’t have food, but she does bring a smile.  “I’m Marisa, by the way.”

            “Claude,” he mumbles through a mouthful.

            “Nice to meet you, Claude.  So, you’re new around here.  How are you liking it?”

            “It’s,” Claude pauses, thoughtfully.  “Busy.”

            She laughs, a smoky, friendly laugh.  “Sometimes.  You wouldn’t expect it to be, but Eddie is a good cook, and Tom loves this place, and it shows.  So, we get like this.”

            Claude nods.  “I feel like my legs are going to fall off.”

            She laughs.  “Everyone feels that way.  Don’t worry, you’ll adjust.  We did.”

            He smiles, tiredly, and leans back in his seat, fatigue showing in his face.  His plate is picked clean.  “How long have you been here?”

            “Years,” Marisa says.  “Felt the same way as you when I started, but I stuck it out, and I’m glad I did.  The crew is great.  This place is great.”

            “Yeah,” Claude says.  “They seem like good sorts of people.”

            “How about you?  Where are you from?”

            “South.”

            “South, huh?”  Marisa laughs again.  “Okay, where south?”

            “Texas.”

            “Texas.”  Marisa says it like she’s tasting the word.  “And what exactly brought you all the way up here?”

            Claude looks at her, stares into her dark, playful eyes.  A thousand thoughts bounce around his head, each one a different form of truth.  After a moment of consideration, he says, “Just needed a change of pace, I guess.”

            Marisa purses her lips contemplatively.  Then, she nods.  “Makes sense,” she says.  She stretches and stands.  “Well, I should be heading out.  Have classes tomorrow, but we’ll hang out sometime, outside of work.”

            Claude sits up, slowly.  “Uh, sure.”

            She smiles, big and warm, and gives a wave.  “It was nice meeting you.”

            Claude nods and watches her go.  He smiles and pushes up off the table.  Carrying the plate back, he rinses and washes it and then sets it out to dry.  Then, he staggers back to his room, and falls into the bed and a hard-earned sleep.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Monday afternoon, gym class, Geneva changes quickly and hides out on the gym floor.  The weeks without Kit have been a mixed bag.  Classes move by more slowly without her, but in turn, Geneva now draws less attention.  Lana’s pack doesn’t even seem to remember her existence, and it has brought Geneva to the realization that Kit was the source of the very trouble Geneva often sought protection from.

            She sits with her back to the wall, hugging her knees and staring out at the other students.  To them, she is invisible.  They are lost in each other, chatting, joking, while she hugs the wall like ivy.  It isn’t until Ms. Olivia pulls her aside for a talk that Geneva wishes she really were invisible.

            They go to Ms. Olivia’s office and leave the door cracked.  Geneva glances back and considers what happened last time they left the class unattended.

            “Have you made a decision,” Ms. Olivia asks.  She is standing straight and tall, as always.  Seeing that, Geneva remembers Ms. Olivia with a gun and cold, calm eyes.  She also remembers the blood and the bruises.

            “No,” Geneva says.  “Actually, I think I left it at home.”

            “At home?”

            “It’s hidden away,” Geneva says.  “My parents don’t pry or anything like that.  I mean, I don’t give them a reason to.  Anyway, are you going to keep pestering me about it?”

            Ms. Olivia stares thoughtfully.  She holds her hands together, weaves her fingers.  “No, but I offer you a warning.  Once the ring goes on, it cannot be taken off.”

            Geneva pauses, wrings her hands.  She lifts her right eyebrows.  “Like, I’ll be killed if I do?”

            “No,” Ms. Olivia says.  “Well, perhaps.  The text is unclear.”

            “Unclear about my potential death?”

            “Unclear as to what happens exactly.  To my knowledge, the ring synchs with your nervous system.  It becomes a part of you, or so the books say.”

            “It becomes a part of me.” Geneva shakes her head.  “You do realize I’m sixteen, right?”

            “Honestly, no,” Ms. Olivia says.  “You are very unlike the other students at your age.”

            “This is the first time I’ve ever been accused of being mature, and honestly, I don’t care for it much.”

            “I said nothing of maturity.”

            “That isn’t the part that I didn’t care for.”

            “Ms. Oaks, as difficult as this may be for you to understand, whatever your age, you’ve shown a great degree of selflessness, even in the face of great personal danger.  That is an admirable trait, and one which should be applauded.”

            Geneva rolls her eyes.  “With weapon’s grade jewelry,” she says.  “Anyway, big, mysterious warning out of the way, can I please go back to hugging the shadows and feeling like an outcast, cause I think hanging out with you will actually, somehow be worse for my reputation.”

            Ms. Olivia shrugs.  “You may go.  I simply wanted to inform you of some new information I have come across.”

            “Yeah, thanks for the update,” Geneva says, slouching her way out of the door.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The night is cold and wet.  The moon is high, bright, but obscured by the dark, surging clouds.  It is quiet, save for the raindrops that sweep infrequently across the tower.  Seere sits by the window, a lit candle at his side, and enjoys the sound of the rain while he reads.

            Outside he hears them talking.  “One cannot simply enter the Viscount’s chambers.”

            “I can,” Yima says, and she does.  She is wearing a damp riding cloak.  Ruka follows close at her heels.

            “Lord, please allow me to remove this,” Ruka glares at Yima, “nuisance.”

            Seere turns a page.  “She is fine,” he says.  “You may see your way out, though.”

            Ruka growls at Yima, and then bows.  “Yes, lord,” he says, and he closes the chamber door upon his exit.

            “He takes you quite seriously,” Yima says.  She unfastens her cloak and lays it over a nearby chair.  Water drips from the fabric and pools between the stones on the floor.

            Seere lays the book on a nearby table, open, for later use.  He folds his hands and smiles at Yima.  “You incite him.”

            Yima gives a coy smile.  “Perhaps,” she says, and she leans against the wall nearby his bookshelves.  “If only he wasn’t so easy to incite.”

            “If that were the case then I would most likely have been killed long ago.  Now, Yima dear, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

            “A report,” Yima says.  “There is activity within Andromalius’ borders.  Your visit caused a stir.  Demon lords do not often visit each other’s lands.”

            Seere’s smile returns.  “Good.  And what is his reaction?”

            “A mad beast trampling over everything,” she says.  “He’s mobilizing troops, around the border, around the tree, around everything.  He’s afraid of what might come for him.”

            “A child abusing power.”

            “It may be more prudent than you think,” Yima says.  “Our scouts have yet to return.”

            Seere leans back in his chair and huffs.  “Please, Yima.  They knew what they were doing.  Simply knowing the tree works, that there is a gate between realms, if a victory in itself.  We’ve been isolated too long.  Our culture is incestuous, barbaric.  Once, we stood among gods!”

            “Until they threw us back down from their prim little hill.  And, for what? The very acts of barbarism you now renounce.”

            “What we are, what we have become, is different,” Seere says, and he has fire in his eyes.  He sits up and stares across the room at her.  “We’ve let ourselves become caricatures of what we once were.  War is no longer a choice, but an instinct.  To us, it is as natural as walking or breathing.”  He stands and paces the length of the room, stopping at the window to stare out at the rain drenched lands of his viscounty.  “Our people will not disappear, an obscure footnote of the histories.”

            “Not if you have any say in it.”

            “And I will have a say,” Seere says.  He folds his arms behind his back and looks at her.  “Has he noticed you?”

            Yima gives him a flat stare.  “Is that a serious question?”

            Seere smirks.  “No, I suppose not.  You’re doing fine work.”

            “And I’ve got plenty more ahead,” she says.  She stands from the wall and crosses the room.  On the way, she pulls her cloak from the chair and slips it on.  She stops at the door and looks at him, hood down.  “I’ll try not to aggravate Ruka on my way out.”

            “I’m sure you won’t try too hard.”

            Yima smiles and flips her hood up.  Then, she leaves. Seere looks back out the window, watches the rain steadily increase.  It is now a curtain, falling in uniform, precise droplets, spreading across his domain.  He steps away from the window and pours himself a glass of water.

            He sips it. “Forgotten,” he says to the air.  “No, never forgotten.”

 

The Knights of Sheba 103…End

7: Episode Four: "Everything Has Changed" A

Episode Four: Everything Has Changed

            Geneva’s weekend study-date with Kit comes and goes smoothly.  She isn’t sure if much studying gets done, but she does enjoy the company.  With Kit stuck in ISS their time together is limited, and however Geneva looks at it, she doesn’t have many friends, and friends distract her from martian-demons and ancient knighthoods and elven teachers.

            Sunday night Geneva lies in bed.  She should be studying, but instead she holds the polished white ring up toward the ceiling and stares at it.  Ms. Olivia said that once it goes on, it can’t come off.  Even after everything, it all sounds so crazy, maybe even impossible.

            She thinks of a tiny green man in tattered clothes and the fear she felt when he stood over her.  Two bullets, the noise of them bleeding into each other, and it died right in front of her.  Geneva closes her fist around the ring and takes a deep breath.

            She pushes it all away, and she hides the ring back in her desk drawer.

            That night she sleeps heavily, and Monday morning starts slow and late.  Sunlight washes over her street like warm molasses.  The heat trails after, not quite there but promising to hit in full by noon.  For now, the light dries the dew on the grass and outside of Geneva’s modest house the school bus pulls to a stop.

            The beleaguered driver, having memorized the routine, leans on the horn.  Like with an alarm clock, Geneva does what any good, respectable teen would do and ignores it until the last minute.  Then, with a bitter grunt, she rolls from the bed and starts her day.

            From the bed she is a staggering, zombie-liked blur.  Her books are scattered about her room, from mixed negligence and frustration.  She gathers them and shoves them unceremoniously into her bag before running a comb through her hair and stopping to consider brushing her teeth and deciding she doesn’t have the time.

            She dresses in what she hopes are clean clothes and berates herself for being more like her older sister than she is comfortable with.  Finally, she gathers a few stray papers and shoves them, crumpled, into her backpack.  On the way out she stops at the door and looks back at her desk.

            The horn wails.  Geneva looks out into the hall, and then to her desk again.  She wonders what could happen, and she imagines the monsters, and Ms. Olivia, gun barrel level, eyes cold, and she returns for the ring.

            She comes sprinting from the house and reaches the bus just in time.  As she climbs the steps, panting and hanging from the handrail, the driver gives her a dead stare.  “I was just about to leave you.”

            Geneva laughs.  “Oh, you say that all the time.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The sky is a dull grey above Seere’s viscounty.  The air is thick, oppressive, and warm.  The busy streets are thick with mud and demons.  While adults work, children play, splashing in the mud while their parents watch carefully from the side.  The viscounty is safe, relatively speaking, but never so safe to let children wander.

            Three demons move through the streets and approach the viscount’s keep.  They are stopped by a stout guard at the front.  They speak, quietly, and are granted entrance.  Another guard, tall and brutish with pale green skin, leads them down the long, empty hallways.  He keeps a sharpened, polished halberd balanced on his shoulder.

            They stop in the audience chamber, where Viscount Salamand Seere waits for them.  He is wearing a vibrant robe and a bronze crown, and he greets them with a smile.  Ruka, as always, stands vigilant at his side.

            The three demons approach cautiously and bow.

            Seere laughs.  “No need for such formalities, I am the one who called on you.”

            The demons stand.  They trade glances, and then the one in the center takes a tentative step forward.  All three wear cloaks, their hoods up.  He pulls his down.  “Y-Yes, my lord.  We’re simply trying to show proper respect for your position.”

            “Of course, of course, but such things do grow tired, don’t they?”  Seere looks at Ruka.  “Really, would you stop with all that scowling?  You’re frightening the poor things.” 

            Ruka responds with cold stare.

            Seere purses his lips.  “Yes, well, I suppose there is nothing we can do about that.”  He returns his attention to the three in waiting.  “Regardless, you are welcome here.  I assure you.”

            “Yes, my lord,” the one in the center says, and he gives glances back at his companions.  They stand behind him and eye Ruka carefully.

            “In truth, I actually called to request your services.”  Seere smiles again, expansively, theatrically.  “I hear tale that you three are the best scavengers in the viscounty. Is there truth in this statement?”

            Center glances back again.  Then he shrugs.  “We get by, lord.”

            “More than get by, if my sources are to be believed, and they had better be.  Fear not, I have no interest in reprimanding you.  In fact, I am in need of someone with your particular skill sets: subterfuge, appraisal, and the like.”

            “You mean to say that you have work for us, lord?”

            “Exactly, work, and with compensation the likes of which you have never seen, assuming you do right by me.”

            Center smiles.  “And we would, lord!”

            “I am sure.  Still, I would like to outline your task before I have you agree to it.  Wouldn’t want to lead you into danger without knowing.”

            “Yes, lord, though I assure you we are accustomed to danger,” center says, but his friend on the right doesn’t seem so convinced.

            “Yes.  Now then, I expect the job to be fairly straight-forward, though time consuming and, perhaps, if you aren’t careful, a touch fatal.  You see, among my father’s records I found maps, ancient maps, showing the roadways between worlds.  You may or may not be aware, but the gate tree between realms has opened once again, which means these maps are of great importance to us.  Your task is to traverse the way between worlds following this,” Seere lifts a rolled parchment from his lap, “and find an old, lost world, and return to me some of the old, lost things found there.”

            “I see,” center says.  “And what will we find there?”

            “That is the question, isn’t it?”

            Center furrows his brow and digests the information.  He looks back at his companions.  Left nods eagerly.  Right continues to hesitate. “And the compensation you mentioned?”

            “Why, you would live like nobles yourselves,” Seere says.  “At the very least, you will never go hungry again.”

            “And you just want us to bring back whatever we find?”

            “Whatever you think is of value,” Seere says.  “If you bring me back something of particular interest, well.”  Seere smiles.  “Considering your reputation, I am sure there will be no troubles.”

            Center turns again.  He consults the other two, speaks to them in hushed tones.  All three agree, and he turns back to Seere.  “And this gate, where is it?”

            “In the forests of Andromalius’ Duchy, though we’ve charted a safe route through there, as well.”

            “I see,” center says.  “The reward is well worth the risk, I think.”  He gets one last agreement from his companions and then all three bow low.  “My lord, it would be our highest pleasure to serve you in this capacity.”  Rising, he gives a rotten smile.

            “That is good to hear,” Seere says.  Seere hands two scrolls, the one from earlier which is tied with yarn and new one fresh from his robe and tied with a red ribbon, to Ruka.  “The red one will lead you to the gate.  The other will take you to the realm you seek.  Be careful along the way.  It has been some time since demons traversed the realms between, and we don’t know how the worlds have changed.”

            Ruka approaches the three.  Center stands his ground, though seems quite uncomfortable in the large demon’s presence.  He takes the scrolls and mutters a thanks while shying away from Ruka’s gaze.

            “And leave at night,” Seere says while Ruka returns to his side, “So as to avoid Andromalius’ notice.”

            “Yes, lord, of course,” center says.  “We will prepare now.”

            “Do,” Seere says.  He waits for the scavengers to leave before giving Ruka a smile.  “And you had worried they might be difficult.”

            “And should they cross us?”

            “A matter we will consider only should it come to pass,” Seere says.  “Now then, I could go for a meal.  Call on the cook if you would.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Later that day, Geneva sits in silence, staring out the passenger window and watching the landscape roll by.  She finds the liquid blur of her surroundings so hypnotic that she doesn’t think to ask where they are going or when they will get there.  It isn’t until they come to a stop that she voices her curiosity, and Kit responds only with a smile.

            Kit takes them outside of the city proper and through worn down, dusty roads well off the map.  The trees here are thick and covered in leaves so brilliantly green that Geneva has trouble believing they are real. Where they stop overlooks the entire city, which stretches out as a series of glass spires catching the light.

            Geneva stares out the windshield, wide-eyed, awed.  “Seriously, where are we?”

            “Just a place outside of town,” Kit says.  “I thought it would be nice if we took a small detour on the way home, give you something different.”  Kit unfastens her seatbelt and pushes her door open.

            “But you are taking me home, right,” Geneva asks while undoing her own seatbelt.  “This isn’t a ‘bury-me-in-a-shallow-grave’ sort of different, is it?”  Kit responds by silently climbing from the car, and Geneva sighs.  “You’re not inspiring hope in me.”

            Kit smiles back at Geneva through the windshield.  The wind tosses her hair.  She goes to a guard rail and leans over it, and she says, “Come on, Geneva, get out here.”

            Geneva peeks her head out the door.  “I’m not getting anywhere until you promise me there will be no shallow graves.”

            Laughing, Kit turns around and says, “I promise.  If I kill you, I’ll make sure to leave you six feet under.”

            “So not helping,” Geneva mumbles as she gets out of the car.  She joins Kit at the guard rail and stares out at the city.  From where they stand everything is small.  It feels strange for Geneva, who has only ever known city streets.  It makes her entire world seem small, like a snow globe.  She can see her tiny, green house in the distance, lost amidst a tiny, bleak neighborhood.  “So, why are we here again?”

            Kit shrugs.  “I don’t know, I just wanted to share this with you.”

            “This being make-out point?”

            “It’s not make-out point,” Kit says.  She gestures vaguely with her hands and says, “It’s—It’s my place.  I come here, when I want to think or be alone.”  She stuffs her hands into the pockets of her skinny jeans.  “And I wanted you to see it.”

            “Oh.”  Geneva fixes her gaze firmly on the ground.  “Why,” she asks without looking up.

            “Because we’re friends.”

            “You have other friends.”  Geneva looks up and meets Kit’s eyes.  Her cheeks feel hot.  “Why not them?”

            Kit shrugs and looks out at the city.  “I can see my house from here.”

            “Yeah?  Me, too.”  Geneva leans against the rail again.  “Everything’s so distant here.  I don’t think I’ve ever been this far from home.”

            “Really?”

            “Well, I mean, I’ve visited aunts and uncles and stuff.  But, no, I’ve never been, like, outside of the city.”  She looks around.  “Everything is so green.”

            Kit snorts.  “Genny, it’s not that green.”

            “Hey, now, some of us don’t get to go on big, fancy world tours.  Some of us aren’t movie stars.”

            “I know,” Kit says soberly.  “Sorry.  Maybe we could road trip one of these days, just you and me.”

            “Nah.  My feet start to stink after a few days.”

            “That’s what wet-naps are for.”

            “Gross,” Geneva says, and she kicks the dirt idly.  “So, how many people have you brought up here?”

            “You.”

            Geneva pauses, swallow the lump forming in her throat.  She tries not to look nervous.  “No one else?  Not even one of your dates?”

            “Not even,” Kit says.  “Saving it for someone special, I guess.”

            Geneva stares at Kit and swears she sees a faint blush across her friend’s freckled nose.  “Hardly,” Geneva says, fanning herself.  “Hey, let’s get into the shade.”

            “Good idea,” Kit says.

            They walk back to Kit’s car together and, upon Kit’s insistence, climb onto the hood.  There they rest, side-by-side, and stare into the canopy of leaves above them.  To keep her mind busy, Geneva counts the sunspots that peek through.

            One, two…

            “The air is so fresh up here,” Kit says.

            “Yeah,” Geneva says.  A light breeze washes over them, and Geneva finds herself relaxing.  One of Kit’s arms rests against hers, warm and soft, alive.  It is the closest she has ever been to another person, and she finds it comforting.  “Hey, Kit?”

            Kit looks at her.  “Yeah?”

            “Thanks,” Geneva says, and she turns her head, too.  She smiles, briefly, and she stares at Kit’s freckles.  Like the sunspots, she starts counting them.

            Three, four…

            “You’re welcome.  I’m glad you like it.”

            “I do,” Geneva says, moving closer, attracted by an unknown force.  Their shoulders touch, and Geneva rolls.  Soon, their chests connect.  Geneva is leaning over Kit, their mouths inches apart, eyes locked, and Geneva is still counting the freckles.

            Five, six…

            She closes the distance.  Their lips meet, first contact.  It is simple, lacking depth.  Kit is momentarily surprised and lies flat against the hood.  Then, she is gripping Geneva tightly, pulling at her with urgency, and Geneva returns it.

            They part, and Geneva nearly tumbles from the hood.  The fresh air leaves her sober, and she catches herself at the last minute.  Her lips are tingling and moist, and her breath gone, stolen.  She stares at Kit in bemused horror.

            Kit sits up and, breathlessly, asks, “What’s wrong?”

            “I—I’m…” Dizzy, Geneva fails to form words, while her thoughts move too quickly, stumble over themselves as they struggle to process.  This isn’t her, this isn’t what she meant.  Everything blurs like the landscape in the car window, and she stutters and then yells, “I’m sorry!”

            She leaps from the car to seek refuge in the woods.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Nina stretches.  She has just finished grading her last test and is ready to go home.  Earlier this month she taught a section over general health, including how to properly do certain exercises, and wanted to make sure they had the knowledge down before moving on.  She is surprised and dismayed by how little these students truly know about their own bodies.

            She sorts her papers and puts them into a folder, which she files away in her desk.  Then, she stands and grabs her bag and keys.  She checks her phone and finds a missed call from Erak.  She returns it immediately.

            “Yes?”

            “You called, sir?”

            “I did.”

            “What’s wrong?”

            “Demon spotted near the school, moved away.  We’re in pursuit.  Nothing you should worry about.”

            “Where? Outside of town?”  Nina has stopped at her office door, her hand resting on the handle.  “I can be there.”

            “It’s a small park overlooking the city.  You stay out of it.  Focus on assimilating, since that’s what you’re so worried about.  Leave the real work to my people.”

            “Sir…”  The line goes silent.  Nina looks at her phone and then flicks it off.  She checks her bag for her pistol and then heads for the parking lot.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Geneva runs until her legs go weak and she has to stop and rest against a tree.  Her lungs ache, her heart races, and kneeling down she coughs through deep breaths while gathering herself.  Thoughts of Kit keep her primed, though, as do hazy memories of sunspots and freckles.

            Her cheeks burn, and she shakes her head to clear it before pushing herself up. “Maybe mom’s right,” she says to herself, “Maybe I do need more cardio.”  She steps away from the tree, pacing ahead, putting more distance between her and the hill.  Leaves crunch beneath her feet.

            She looks up, notices the a few dead leaves, deep brown gashes or vivid red blemishes among perfect green.  “Fall’s coming.”  She sees the light seeping through and chews her bottom lip.  “God, what was I thinking, kissing her like that!”

            With no response, she continues walking, and she replays the events in her head.  At the time it was all so fast, so sudden.  Now, it is slow motion, blurred only by her own emotions.  She feels her lips and finds they no longer tingle.  In fact, they feel very much the same as they always had, but she knows there is something different.

            She wasn’t the one being kissed.  She did the kissing.

            “I kissed someone,” she says, and she stops to hang her head.  “I kissed Kit!  And then I ran off.  Like a crazy person.”  She looks back up the hill, sighs.  “Beatrice is going to love this.”  She turns, looks ahead.  “Well, if I’m going to walk home, I guess I should start now.”

            As she walks the ground grows steep and the trees thin.  Beyond them she can see a fresh grass with a walking trail weaving through.  She stops and remembers her house as a tiny green dot in the distance, thinks of Kit waiting and worrying at her car.  Another sigh, and she rests against a tree for support, because her legs are quickly becoming jelly.  “Okay, okay,” she says to herself and to her conscious, and she turns to make the hike back up the hill.

            That is when she hears the scream.  Off to her left, a woman is calling for a help, and a man is shouting alongside her.  First, Geneva stops to listen, and then she runs toward the voices.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Nina pulls up to the park outside of town.  Before leaving the car, she grabs her pistol and checks the clip one last time.  Then, she straps it to her lower back and pulls her jacket over it.  Once out of the SUV, she locks the door behind her and sprints off toward the woods.

            She sees other elven vehicles through her periphery, all black, parked discreetly out of notice.  Her people are watching, and a few ground agents are scouting, looking for the demon.  They will have orders to shoot on sight, to kill.

            Moving among the crowd, the families and children, she sees groups of wispy, fair-skinned men and women in dark clothes, trying to blend.  The people are too absorbed in themselves to notice, but Nina is aware.  She doesn’t see Erak moving among them.

            At the edge of the forest she stops and waits.  She listens for trouble and hears a scream nearby.  Someone is isolated, alone, and in danger.  She draws her pistol and holds it down with the safety off, and she runs toward the screams.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Geneva follows the screams to a parked car, located in a clearing, with no one around.  A couple is inside, a boy in his underwear, a woman wearing a shirt and little else.  Standing in front of the car is a hulking, green brute of a demon.  Scarred skin is stretched tightly over enormous muscles. Geneva recognizes it instantly from first day of school.

            It punches a hole in the windshield and growls at the couple, who try hard to retreat farther into the back seat, and it starts rounding the car to get at them.

            Geneva watches from behind a tree.  She turns back and takes a deep breath, shifting her weight to keep balance. The last time she dealt with a demon it ended with a few bruises, possibly a light concussion, and a dead body.

            This demon is larger, and Ms. Olivia isn’t around to save her.

            She hears more screams and peeks around again.  The demon is now by the back of the car and has its arm reaching in through the broken rear window.  The girl has her door open and is trying to slip out half naked.  The boy attempts to follow, but the demon has him by the arm and is holding him in place.  His screams make Geneva’s skin crawl.

            She sighs.  “Fine,” she says, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the signet ring.  She remembers Ms. Olivia’s warning and regards the danger in front of her.

            Then, she puts the ring on.

 

The Knights of Sheba 104 A…End

 

8: Episode Four: "Everything Has Changed" B

The Knights of Sheba 104 B…Start

            “Hey, you!  Ugly…demon…guy…thing…” Geneva pauses, holds her helmeted head.  As soon as she put the ring on, it spread like water across her body and formed into a flexible woven thread that covered her from head-to-toe. Over that, polished, angular white plates appeared, covering her forearms, biceps, shoulders, chest, thighs, and shins.  The helmet appeared last, with open eye sockets protected by a thin, clear glass-like substance.  She approaches from the forest and watches the demon regard her quizzically.  “Whatever you are, let the guy go.”

            The demon grunts, looks at the boy, and then releases him.  It steps away from the car while the boy crawls out the other side.  His arm is bruised, bleeding lightly, but he looks more frightened than hurt.  His girlfriend returns to his side.

            “There we go, that’s a good demon-Martian-thing.  You come over here to play with me, and they,” Geneva looks at them, “Leave!”

            The couple look at her, nod, and run off toward the park.

            Geneva sighs and back-peddles away from the approaching demon.  “Now that we have that taken care of, you,” she points at the demon, “Do I really have to fight you?”

            “What are you,” the demon asks, its tone harsh, its posture tight and predatory.  “Everything here, everyone here is soft, weak, fearful, but you.”  It growls.  “You wear armor.  You are a soldier.  Who do you serve, human?”

            Geneva listens in silent surprise and watches the thing stalk around her. “Honestly, not rightly sure who I serve.  Mostly, I’m just surprised to be talking to you.”  She says this exact thing, but she says it in a language that is composed of barks and growls.

            “You.  You are as much a fool as everyone else.”

            “Now that just isn’t nice.”

            “And you talk too much,” it says, and it stomps toward her.

            Geneva retreats, away from the forest now, toward the car, and puts her hands up.  “Okay, I might be accused of rambling a bit, especially when I’m nervous but…”

            The demon steps in and gives a high, overhead swing of its fist.  Geneva side-steps the punch, but can’t react in enough time to keep the demon from throwing its shoulder into her.  She falls back, onto the ground while the demon stumbles overtop of her.

            She rolls to her knees and holds her stomach.  The armor absorbed the blow, but the fall left her winded.  She sits up just in time to see the demon lunge at her and duck underneath.  She tries to crawl away, back toward the forest where she can find safety and hide, but it grabs her by the leg and drags her back.

            Seizing her by the neck, the demon lifts her from behind and squeezes.  Geneva kicks and flails, and she claws ineffectually at its hands.  Her head grows light, her vision dims.  She can feel the air leaving her.  Each breath is stunted, harder than the last.  She wheezes and, in a last-ditch effort, kicks backward.

            The blow catches the demon in the face.  It staggers back and drops her.  She lands, heavily, on her stomach and struggles for air.  “Come on,” she says between pants, “I put on the armor.  Shouldn’t I be winning?”

            “A weapon is only as good as the soldier who uses it,” the demon says, grabbing by her chest plate from behind.  “And I was wrong—you are no soldier.” It lifts her and throws her at the car.  She lands on the windshield, collapsing it beneath her.   As she sits up, the demon closes distance.

            She tries to slip away, but it leaps at her and lands on top, and it grabs her by the head and slams her against the car hood.  Her head throbs and her world spins.  Everything appears in fragmented moments running together.  She sees the demon lifting its fist as she feels the blow land on her shoulder.  Wounds open on its knuckles, and it roars and continues the assault.

            Something gives.  Her shoulder shifts, and she screams before the pain hits.  Without thinking, she kicks, aimlessly, struggles, and lands a blow on its ribs.  The demon howls again, and steps away from the car, holding its ribs and glaring at her.

            Geneva rolls from the hood.  Her left arm is limp at her side.  A burning ache creeps out from her shoulder and across her body.  She tries to run, but the demon is on her again, pulling her back, throwing her into the car once more.

            She falls, landing on her left arm and crying out in pain.  Rolling, she watches the demon straddle her and strike her helm repeatedly with its bloody knuckles.  Tired, afraid, and breathless, Geneva lays there while her head is throttled.

            The demon laughs from atop her and grabs her by the helm.  “Now, you die.” It squeezes and grins, baring its teeth, a threat.  Then, its chest erupts in three dark, red puffs of mist.  It goes rigid and falls backward into the dirt, and Geneva lies there, staring up at the sky, until Ms. Olivia appears over her.

            “Ms. Oaks?  Is that you?”

            “Yeah.”

            Ms. Olivia kneels.  “Are you?”

            “No.”

            Ms. Olivia pauses.  “What?”

            “I’m not okay, so don’t ask.”  Geneva tries to move, but she can feel the demon’s dead weight on her legs.  “Can you please get this thing off of me?”

            “Of course.” Ms. Olivia tucks her gun away and, with some difficulty, lifts the demon up and tosses it to the side.  She returns to Geneva and helps her stand.  “If I may, what is wrong?  Are you injured?”

            “No, I’m holding my shoulder for fun.  Ow.”  Together, they make it to the car.  Geneva sits on the front bumper.  The pain in her shoulder has died into a dull ache that hurts more with every breath.

            “I see you’ve made your decision.”

            “Now is so not the time.  My arm feels like it’s trying to get up and walk off.” Geneva looks up at Ms. Olivia through the clear, glass sockets of her helm.  One of them has a droplet of blood on it.  “That’s not crazy, is it?”

            “No, it’s an injury.  You will be fine, given you take time to rest and go to see a medical professional.  In fact, we have soldiers who can attend to such injuries.  Let me call my superior and…”

            “Geneva?  Geneva!”

            “Crap! Kit.”

            Ms. Olivia looks up.  “Ms. Wright?”

            “Yeah, we were,” Geneva looks over at the demon.  “If she sees this…”

            Ms. Olivia nods.  “I understand.  Take off your armor and come with me.”  She pulls Geneva to standing again.  “She’s coming from the forest.  We need to meet her there before she reaches us.”

            “Geneva, where are you?”

            “Wait, wait,” Geneva says, yanking herself free from Ms. Olivia’s grip and nearly falling.

            “What?”

            “I don’t know how to,” Geneva runs her right hand along her bloody armor.  “I don’t even know how I got this thing on!”

            “You don’t—Right.”  Ms. Olivia leans forward and examines the armor closely.

            “What,” Geneva says, watching her, “Looking for an off switch?”

            “I’m trying, Ms. Oaks.”

            “You’re not doing anything but making me feel self-conscious about my pooching belly.”

            “Try and stay calm.  Think clearly.  How did you feel when you put on the armor?  Capture that and…Think the opposite?”

            “This is stupid.”

            “Geneva!”

            Ms. Olivia looks off toward the forest.  “She’s getting closer, Ms. Oaks.  We need to do something.”

            Geneva groans.  “Right, right.”  She closes her eyes.  “Take a deep breath and think.  Just, think.”

            “Geneva!”  Kit is closer.

            “Hurry,” Ms. Olivia says from her side.

            “Hey!  This isn’t helping me to be calm.”

            “Of course, yes.  Just, do try.”

            “I am, I am.  I just…”

            Geneva focuses on her breathing, in and out, in and out.  Gradually, the pain in her arm goes out.  She can hear voices but only barely.  More than anything, she can hear her breaths, loud, constant, regular.  She can feel the air inside of her, circulating, and she imagines herself looking in a mirror.  In the mirror, she sees a reflection of her, before the battle, before the demon, before the armor, a safe, normal, human girl.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            They meet Kit halfway up the hill, well out of sight of the demon.  Ms. Olivia is helping Geneva to stand.  Geneva’s left arm is swollen and looks poorly fitted for her body.  Her face is tired, sweaty, and pale.

            Kit looks at the two of them and then runs to them.  “Geneva!  Ms. Olivia?  What’s going on?”

            “I came across Ms. Oaks in the park.  She was being assaulted by a mugger.  My presence seems to have frightened him off, but not before he left her injured.”  Carefully, Ms. Olivia hands Geneva off into Kit’s care.  Geneva falls into Kit’s arms and, despite everything, blushes when she is embraced.  “You might want to take her to a hospital, Ms. Wright.  Her arm will need immediate medical attention.”

            “Right,” Kit says.  She adjusts her hold on Geneva, trying to find a way to cause the least amount of discomfort.  “What will you do?”

            “I will look for the mugger and contact the police.”

            Kit looks at Ms. Olivia, and then at Geneva.  “Uh, okay.  Right, thanks, Ms. Olivia.”

            “Yes.  Now, do hurry.”

            Together, Geneva and Kit make the long walk up the hill at a crawl.  On the way, Geneva gives a quick, thankful glance back at Ms. Olivia, who watches them for a moment longer before returning to the demon.

            The journey back is longer than her flight had been, and the pain in her shoulder returns in full.  Geneva feels tired, jarred.  Her head hurts, and she can still feel the creature’s strong fingers around her throat, holding, squeezing, forcing the life from her.

            She closes her eyes and pushes the thought out.  They reach the car together, and when Kit helps her into the passenger seat, Geneva sighs.  “Kit, I’ll be okay, I don’t need to…”

            “Yes, you do,” Kit says, rounding the car.  She climbs into the driver’s seat and puts the keys into the ignition.  “We’re not talking about this.”

            “Actually, I think we are.”  Kit pulls out and onto the road leading back into the city.  Geneva groans.  She feels heavy, tired.  Through the window she watches the landscape pass by.  Kit is driving faster than usual, she realizes.  “Seriously, I don’t want to trouble anyone.”

            “Genny, you’re hurt.  So, shut up and let me take you to the doctor.”

            “But…”

            Kit glares.  “Not another word.”

            Geneva stops and leans back into the seat.  She watches the city’s approach, grey, steel, and stalwart, and she feels safe, like she is returning to her home, like she is drifting away from the madness that she has found herself in.

            But when she looks down at the smooth, white ring on her finger, she remembers Ms. Olivia’s words, and she knows that there is no escaped.  Not anymore.  She has made her decision, and everything has changed.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Kit speeds Geneva to the hospital and drags her from the parking lot and into the emergency ward.  There, she helps her to fill out a few forms and calls her parents before handing her off to a tall, sleepy-eyed nurse with big, dark curly hair and long legs, who leads her away.

            The nurse—Matilda, Tildy to her friends, few as they were—takes Geneva to a small room, where she places her on a small, green bed with wax paper stretched across it, and there, she prods.  While doing this, she asks Geneva to explain her pain on a number scale, one being a frown and ten being a sob-like scream.  Geneva feels like it might be a nine but says seven each time to keep from sounding dramatic.

            Then she is given painkillers and left to wait until her parents arrive.

            Time passes at a crawl.  Geneva lies back on the wax paper and stares, despondently, at the clock, watching the shortest hand tick off the seconds.  Each tick sounds like a gunshot to her and, every time she closes her eyes, she sees swirls of red mist floating in the light and a green face, distorted in anger and pain and, at the end, death.

            After thirty minutes her mother and father enter the room and swarm her.  Beatrice watches from the door, arms crossed and forcing a smile.  By this point, Geneva feels numb, inside and out.  She credits it to the drugs.

            “Geneva, oh, Geneva honey,” her mother says, smothering her with a hug.  “Honey, you look so awful.  What happened to you?”  Her mother sits her up and examines her arm closely.

            “I’m sure she’ll be fine. She’s probably just tired,” her father says.  “Come on, Genie-bear, time to get you home.  Beatrice, help your sister.”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Beatrice says.

            With the aid of her father and sister, Geneva manages to make it out of the bed and into the waiting room.  There, Beatrice props her up while their parents file more paperwork.  In this exact moment, Geneva realizes that she is almost as tall as her sister.

            “So,” Beatrice says, “heard you got mugged.”

            Geneva casts a conspiratorial glance around her and whispers, “Don’t tell anyone, but that’s not true.”

            “Oh?”

            “Yeah. It’s a lie.  To protect my secret.  My secret identity.”

            “Your secret identity, huh?”

            Geneva nods vigorously.  “Yup.  I’m a superhero, and I got hurt beating up a monster.  Well, I didn’t really beat it up.  It beat me up, but I fought back.  Or flailed back.  Then my teacher shot it.”

            “Yeah?”

            Geneva nods again, more dizzily, and leans into Beatrice.

            “I know it’s cliché, but I want whatever they gave you, Genie.”

            “Come along, girls,” their mother says, leading them out the front door.  Beatrice follows, guiding Geneva down a cement ramp and toward the parking lot.  By the time they reach the family minivan—faded blue with balding tires—the streetlamps have come on.

            “Hey, Bea, where’s Kit?  She brought me here.”

            “Yeah, we ran into her.  She told mom and dad about the mugger and everything.”  Beatrice leans Geneva against the van and pulls the door open.  “I mean, the monster.”  She helps Geneva inside.

            “Oh.”

            “She seems nice,” Beatrice says, buckling Geneva in.  “Cute.”

            Geneva looks around again, and then whispers, “I kissed her.”

            “Did you now?”

            “Yup.  Then she kissed me back.  And I ran.  And then the monster.”

            “Who beat you up,” Beatrice says.

            “I could’ve done better.  Maybe with a little training.”

            “Right,” Beatrice says, “Watch your legs.”  She closes the door and gets in on the other side.

            Their mother looks back.  “What is she talking about back there?”

            “Nonsense.  She’s just drunk on pain meds,” She looks at Geneva.  “All kinds of crazy coming out of her mouth right now.”

            “Oh, the poor dear.”

            “Please, she’s probably faking it for attention.”

            “Beatrice, don’t be mean.  Your sister went through something traumatic tonight.”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Beatrice says, and she leans over to Geneva.  “Whatever the case, Genie, you probably won’t be doing much training, not with your arm in the shape it’s in.”

            “Is it bad, Bea?”

            “Real bad.  Doctors said they might have to take it.”

            “Beatrice!”

            Beatrice glances at her mother in the front.  “Sorry,” she says, and then to Geneva, “It’s just a dislocated shoulder.  It’ll heal, but you’ll be out for at least six weeks.”

            Geneva snorts and looks out the window.  “That’s funny.  Doesn’t hurt much at all.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Back in the park, Nina lays out the body and waits by the car.  The sunset dyes the sky pink and red with a golden trim.  Elves come and work around her, cleaning the blood and keeping humans away.  They do damage control, keep the populace ignorant and complacent.  Erak stands nearby, a cigarette smoldering in his mouth as he glares at her.

            Nina leans against the back of the car with one foot on the bumper, and she cleans her gun while she waits.  The elven medics collect the body by putting it into a dark bag and zipping it up tight.  The three wounds on its chest, perfectly spaced, have already stopped bleeding.

            They carry the body away, stowing it into the back of a black SUV.  Nina watches them from the corner of her eye and replays the events in her head.  She arrived to find a couple retreating.  They told her about the demon and about a strange girl in white armor, and she pretended to be a cop and went on ahead.

            She saw the better part of the battle, and it left a poor impression.  Geneva lacks skill and prowess, but she is brave, and Nina can work with that.  The armor impressed her more than anything.  The demon had Geneva outclassed, and she came out of it with only an injury when she should have died.

            Erak approaches, and Nina holsters her gun.  She stands straight and salutes; he returns it half-heartedly.  His uniform is gone.  For field work he wears human’s clothes, a plain tee-shirt and jeans.  They hang from him.  He draws on his cigarette.

            “Lieutenant.  Babysitting?”                                                                   

            “Supervising.”

            “Unnecessary.  I’m here.  You can go.”

            “Yes, but it was my kill.”

            “We’ll handle it, Lieutenant.  We’ve been taking care of things here for thousands of years before you came along.  The whole operation won’t fall now. You just need to focus on doing your job and stop trying to do ours.”

            “Sir, with all due respect, I came to offer support, as is my role, and my involvement ended the threat and kept it from going public.”

            “That’s why we’ve got a couple of round ears out there who saw everything but the kill.”  Erak takes a drag.  “Funny thing about that. When we questioned them, they mentioned talking to a police officer—you, I assume—and they also mentioned something else.  A girl, wearing white armor.  They asked if she was okay.  That wouldn’t be our knight, would it?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “What is she doing here, then?  Did you bring her along?  Did you disobey my orders to show me up?”

            “She happened along on her own, sir, and chose to get involved of her own free will.”

            “Did she now?” He snorts and shakes his head.  “Doesn’t sound like any human I know.”

            “And how many humans do you know, sir?”  He gives her a glare.  “I apologize, sir. That was out of line.”

            He stares, pointedly, a moment longer, and then turns his back on her.  “Go home, Lieutenant, you aren’t needed here.”

            “But, sir…”

            “That’s an order,” he says.  “You keep to your knights, and we’ll handle the real work.”

            Nina hesitates, and then salutes his back.  “Yes, sir,” she says, and she turns on heel and leaves.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            “Beatrice, you’re soft.”

            “Uh, thanks, Genie.  That sweet of you?”

            “And plump. Like a marshmallow.”

            “Okay, less sweet.”

            The two girls stumble through the doorway, and Geneva giggles.  She tries to shake hands with the coatrack and nearly sends it toppling.  Beatrice catches it, and then Geneva, and sighs.

            “What did they give you, girl? LSD?”

            “She’s probably just a little fried after everything that has happened today,” their father says, following them in through the front.  He takes his coat off.  “Do you need help getting her upstairs?”

            “No, I’ve got it,” Beatrice says while leading her sister to the stairway.

            Their mother enters the house, watching fretfully as the two stagger about.  “Are you sure, honey? We can help!”

            “Mom, love you, but you’re going to break her arm the rest of the way if you keep being so clingy.”

            “Beatrice!”

            Geneva laughs. “Silly Bea-Bea, acting all…silly.”  She stops at the base of the stairs and gives them a long, defiant look over.  “Don’t worry guys, I got this,” she says, and she takes one step and falls backward into Beatrice’s waiting arms.

            “Come on, crazy,” Beatrice says, half-leading, half-dragging Geneva up behind her.  “Tell me you’re a freaking superhero but you get taken out by a slight incline.”

            “I’m used to fighting monsters, Bea, not architecture,” Geneva insists.

            They clear the stairway together, and Beatrice leads them down the hall, to Geneva’s bedroom.  With effort they reach the bed just before Geneva collapses, laughing and holding her arm.  The phone rings.

            “Really guys,” Beatrice says on the second ring, and she answers it.  “Hello, Oak’s residence, Beatrice speaking.”

            “Beatrice, pants!”

            “Hello, is Geneva there?”

            “Geneva?”

            “Pants!”

            “Yeah, this is Kit.  Her friend from school.  I met you guys at the hospital, and I just wanted to check on her.”

            “Oh,” Beatrice says, and she watches her sister kick at her.  “Well, she made it home just fine, but she…”

            “Pants,” Geneva says again, with growing insistence.

            Beatrice sighs.  “Give me a second.”  She sets the handset down and drags Geneva, by her legs, to the edge of the bed.  “I’m only doing this because you’re higher than a kite right now, and I want you to know, if you wet yourself, I’m not changing you.”

            Geneva laughs.  “Hey, who’s on the phone?”

            “Your friend, Kit,” Beatrice says, unbuttoning Geneva’s pants and yanking them down.  Using the legs, Beatrice pulls Geneva back onto the bed and drapes a comforter over her.  “She’s calling to check on you.  I’ll tell her everything is—What are you doing?”

            Geneva pulls the handset to her ear and nearly rolls on-top of it.  “Kit? Kit!  Hey, Kit.  Hey.”

            “Genny?  Is that you? Are you okay?”

            “Beatrice says I’m high, and my mom is worried, but she’s always worried, and my dad says I’ll be okay,” she says, “They gave me drugs, Kit.  Good drugs.”

            “I see.  And what about your arm?”

            “Dislocated,” she says.  “My shoulder.”  She yawns.  “But, I’m okay.”

            “Good.  Well, I just wanted to check on you, but I’ll let you rest.  Sounds like you could use it.”

            “Kay,” Geneva whispers, her eyes closing.  “Hey, Kit.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Good night.”

            Kit pauses.  “Good night, Genny.”

            Geneva eyes close, and then she drops the phone.

 

The Knights of Sheba 104…End

9: Episode Five: "Finding Comfort" A

Episode Five: Finding Comfort           

            Claude throws in the towel, literally.  His shift is over, and he is tired and ready for a shower.  He says his goodbyes to the chef on duty and heads out of the kitchen, through the dining area, toward the office to clock out.  He runs into Marisa on the way, and she gives him a big smile.

            “Well, hello there, stranger.  Hardly saw you today in all of the commotion.”

            Claude smiles and slips by her.  He does his punch card and then puts it away. “Yeah, was pretty busy today.”

            “I know what you mean.  My feet are killing me.”

            Claude stuffs his hands into his pockets, nods in agreement.  “Yeah.”  He catches Marisa still smiling at him, her eyes sparkling as she stares, and he stares back in return. “What?”

            “You too tired to get a bite to eat?”

            “Uh.”

            “Come on, let’s go get something, hang out after work.  It’ll be my treat.”

            Claude shakes his head.  “Nah, no thanks.  I’ll just turn in early and…”

            “Oh, come on, now.  It’s not healthy for you to hide out in that room all day.  You’ve been here how long now?  A month, more?  And how much of the town have you seen?”

            “Well…”

            “Exactly!  So, I’ll take you out for a nice meal, and we can get to know each other a little better.”

            Claude rubs the back of his neck.  “Listen, I appreciate it, but I just don’t feel right wasting money right now.  I’m living here and everything on Thomas’ buck.  I hope you understand.”

            “I do,” she says, “Which is why I’m paying.”  She grabs him by the arm and tugs him out the door.  “See, you’ve got no excuses now.  So, come on!”

            Claude sighs.  “Marisa.”

            “Claude!”

            He stops and stares at her, at her smiling face, at her sparkling eyes.  “Fine, fine,” he says, shaking his head again.  “But let me take a shower first.  I get pretty nasty in the dish.”

            “Fair enough,” she says.  “Lead the way then.”

            “What?”

            “You don’t expect me to just wait out here, do you?  Besides, I’m not letting you out of my sight.  Don’t trust you not to sneak out the window or something.”

            “Oh, come on.  Don’t be ridiculous.”

            Marisa turns him around and starts pushing him down the hall.  “I said lead, mister.”

            Claude reluctantly leads the way.  They stop at his door, and she waits while he unlocks it.  When stepping inside Claude kicks a few dirty shirts aside and casts an embarrassed glance her way.  “I—I wasn’t expecting company.”

            “It’s fine.  My dad is the same way.  If my mom wasn’t there I swear he’d just wallow in his own filth.”

            “Yeah,” Claude says while digging through his bag.  He has yet to unpack his things, and what little cleaning he does consists of him shoving dirty clothes back into the bag where his clean clothes still are.  From this very bag he pulls out a wrinkled towel and sets out something to wear beside it. “So, I guess I’ll shower and…”

            “And I’ll find something to occupy my time.”  She sits on the bed and bounces on the edge.  “Oh, this is springy!  I’ve always wondered what these rooms were like, you know.”

            Claude holds his clothes and watches her bounce.  He averts his gaze when she looks at him.  “Well, don’t get into too much trouble,” he says, and then he heads into the privacy and safety of the bathroom.  Inside, he makes sure to lock the door before stripping down and starting the shower.

            The bathroom is small, cold, and tiled. If he stretches, he could touch the adjacent walls, and sometimes does by accident.  While letting the shower warm, he makes a mental note to actually clean sometime this week.

            In his room, Marisa keeps busy by snooping.  She moves about, point-to-point, lifting, examining, and replacing with care.  She looks through the books he brought with him and doesn’t recognize a single one.  She finds photos scattered across a table and one catches her eye.  It is Claude standing beside a tall, broad man with dark hair and a trim beard.

            She goes to the bathroom door while holding it.  “Hey, Claude, you got any siblings,” she asks while leaning against the door.

            Claude, who is checking the water, instinctively covers himself despite being alone.  “Yeah, one older brother,” he says, stepping into the steaming water.  “Clark.”

            “Is he the one in this picture with you?”

            “Picture? What picture?”

            “The picture on your desk,” she says.  “I’m snooping.”

            “You’re snoop…,” Claude sighs and regrets leaving her out there.  “Yeah, that’s probably him.  Big guy, dark hair…”

            “Handsome.”

            Claude rolls his eyes.  “Yeah.  That’s him.”

            “I can see the family resemblance,” she says, and she steps away from the door, leaving Claude to consider her words.  She moves a few more things and pauses, staring wide-eyed at her find.  “You keep a bow here?”

            “Crap!”  Claude peaks his head outside of the curtain and yells, “Don’t tell anyone about that.  Don’t tell Thomas.”

            “I won’t, I won’t,” she says.  “You don’t seem the type to go all postal on us. And, anyway, how much damage could you do with a bow.  I mean, really?”

            “Not that I would, but more than you might think.  Bows are quieter than guns and, in the right hands, just as deadly.  They changed warfare as we know it when they were invented.”

            “Maybe, but send me to war, and I’ll take a shotgun over a bow any day of the week.”

            Claude laughs.

            Marisa plucks the string on the bow and listens to its vibration.  “So, you’re into archery.”

            Claude rinses his hair and turns the water off.  He steps out of the shower.  “Yeah, my parents taught me.  My mom, mostly.  I guess you could say it’s kind of a family tradition.  Her mom taught her.”

            “So, your brother…”

            “Clark.”

            “Yeah, he does it, too?”

            “No, he never…”  Claude looks around the tiny bathroom, searches frantically through the things he brought, and then sighs.  Unlocking the door, he peeks his head out into the cool, dark hotel bedroom.  “Hey, Marisa, could you please hand me my towel?”

            Marisa, who is standing beside the table, her hand on the bow, tracing the frame with her fingers, looks up and then at the bed.  She graces him with a smile and a glance. “Oh, I could.  But, I think I might wait for you to get it.”

            Claude goes wide-eyed, blushes.  She laughs.

            “I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” she says, and she grabs the towel and brings it to him.  Her eyes are sparkling again. “Now, hurry up so we can get to it.  I’m starving.”

            “Uh.  Yeah,” Claude says, retreating once again into the safety of the bathroom.  He makes sure to lock the door again, just for peace of mind.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Geneva sits outside, sweating under the awning after school lets out.  The air is still hot and muggy, but the forecast calls for a quick drop in temperature and the turning of the leaves will soon follow.  Her arm feels slick inside of its sling, but it hurts too much for her to take it out and move around.

            Ms. Olivia had asked for her to wait after classes let out, and Geneva is beginning to regret it.  She always finds a spike of anxiety pooling in her gut when she sees the buses pull away without her.  Years of riding them home after school have conditioned her to believe any bus leaving without her is leaving her there.

            Kit was quick to leave, too, when she found out Geneva was needed.  Things were tense between them after the kiss, and the dislocated shoulder didn’t help.  Kit’s rides home have been largely out of pity, Geneva feels, and she’s sure that is drying up fast.

            The door opens, and Ms. Olivia comes marching out, bag in one hand, keys in the other.  Without even looking Geneva’s way she calls to her, and Geneva blows a raspberry in response before following.  “Now then, Ms. Oaks, I understand you are injured, and I am willing to accommodate that, but your training will not.”

            “Training?”

            “Combat training,” Ms. Olivia says.

            “So, what, you’re going to pummel a girl with a broken arm.”

            “I had thought you said it was dislocated.”

            “Same-difference.”

            “Yes, well, there is more to your training than just a physical component,” Ms. Olivia says.  She unlocks the dark SUV and puts her bag into the back.  She helps Geneva put her backpack in beside it and then opens the passenger door for you.  “To start with, you will begin learning about the knights and about the world they are being reborn into.”

            “Wait,” Geneva says while climbing in, “You mean like studying?”

            “Exactly,” Ms. Olivia says.  She closes the door and gets in around in on the side while Geneva wrestles with her seatbelt.  Geneva struggles to find a way to fit into it without putting pressure on her shoulder.  “It is important that you understand history, true history, our history.  Ignorance will only make this battle more difficult for you.”

            “More homework?” Geneva sighs.  “I’m really beginning to regret this decision.”

            Ms. Olivia reaches into the back seat and grabs an assortment of small, worn books.  Each looks ancient to the point of crumbling but somehow hold together.  She sets them on Geneva’s lap before turning the car on and pulling away from the parking lot.  Balancing the books with her leg, Geneva flips through them and surveys their content.  Every page is written in a strange, flowing script that lacks meaning at glance.  Further inspection allows for gradual translation.

            Geneva closes the top-most book.  “These are my study guides?”

            “Of a sort. We elves are careful with our histories.  Many of those texts predate the council or were written at its earliest foundations.  Information on the knights is limited, and what we have was given only with council approval, which is rare.”

            “Censorship,” Geneva says.  “That’s government for you.  Or, at least, that’s what grandpa Larry says.  But grandpa Larry says a lot of stuff.” She looks at Ms. Olivia.  “He’s a bit crazy.”

            “Yes, well,” Ms. Olivia says carefully, “Most visionaries are.”

            “Ha.  Yeah, wouldn’t call Grandpa Larry a visionary.  He’s a bit of a nutter.  Tells the best stories, though.”

            “More to the point, you will need to read all of those.  There will be quizzes.”

            “Quizzes.”  Geneva sighs and stares at the books stacked on her lap.  “Great.”

            “And then there is the matter of your physical training.”

            “But you said…”

            “I would like for you to train with me every day after classes.”

            “Every day?  But, what about my real classes?  And my real homework?”

            “I have faith that you can keep up.”

            “Faith?  Please, I’m barely keeping up as is, and that’s when the only worlds I have to save are pretend.”

            “Be that as it may, Ms. Oaks, your training is important.  You must understand the gravity of the decision you made.  The world you are defending is no longer an imaginary one, and you cannot turn it off until you feel like playing it again.”  Ms. Olivia glances Geneva’s way after passing a car.  “You made a decision the other day, one which you cannot take back.”

            “Yeah, yeah, ring is a part of my nervous system, die if I take it off, responsibility, great power, and everything.”  Geneva slouches.  “Good bye, free time.  I hardly knew ye.”  She sighs.  “Still, what am I going to tell my parents?”

            “I had thought about that.  I have volunteered to be a private tutor to help you with your studies.”

            “So, we’re using my failing grades as an alibi?  That’s pretty brilliant, actually.  With the workload you’ve given me, I’m sure to need your ‘tutoring’ for years to come.”

            “Are you always so negative?”

            Geneva mimes contemplation.  “Yeah, pretty much.”

            “I see.  Be that as it may, we can work on your schoolwork while taking breaks from your exercises if that suits you.  That way, we can at least lend truth to the lie.”

            “Whatever the reason, the help will be most appreciated.”

            Ms. Olivia pulls off the highway and turns toward Geneva’s house.  “I will give you time to rest, but your training will start next week.  I expect you to study over this break.”

            “Not much of a break if you’re assigning me work, is it?”  Geneva looks at Ms. Olivia, who stares coldly ahead.  She sighs.  “Guess I’ll take what I can get.”  They pull up to Geneva’s yard and stop.  Geneva rests her hand on the door handle.  “Before I go, I’ve got a question for you.”

            “Yes, Ms. Oaks?”

            “How did I,” Geneva pauses, deliberates.  “Why didn’t that thing kill me?  I mean, it beat me all up and down that park.  Didn’t seem like the armor did much.”

            “The armor saved your life,” Ms. Olivia says.

            Geneva glances at her throbbing shoulder.

            “I understand you might be imagining something else.  The armor has a lot of power, perhaps even strengths that we will never know outright, but it is like any other tool—it is only as good as the person using it.  Which is why your training is so vital.”

            “Right,” Geneva says.  She takes a deep breath.  “Can’t save the world on willpower alone.”

            Ms. Olivia smirks.  “No, you cannot, but you’ve already taken the first step, which is something.  As for why the demon didn’t kill you, I imagine it couldn’t.  What little we do know of the armor is that it is very resilient.  The plates could survive an attack from any then-modern weaponry and, while we will not be able to test the theory, it is believed to be able to sustain small arms fire at the very least, perhaps even larger shells at range.  The weave, which is lighter, is slightly vulnerable to piercing weapons—knives and thin blades—but will protect you from most attacks as well.”

            Geneva stares at the signet ring.  “So, it’s like a real armor, then.”

            Ms. Olivia nods.  “There is more to it, but I am sure that you would rather save the lessons for later.”

            Geneva laughs and opens the door.  “Yeah.  Let me enjoy my freedom while I can.”  She climbs from the passenger seat, and Ms. Olivia opens the back.  She helps Geneva with her bag and then stands with her by the sidewalk.

            “So, guess I’ll see you next week.”

            “Before then.  You have class tomorrow.”

            Geneva sighs.  “Right, right.  Bit scatterbrained at the moment.  Just became a superhero.”

            Ms. Olivia nods.

            “Anyway, uh, thanks for the ride?  I think.”

            “Yes, and Ms. Oaks, do rest.  You will be needed again.  I am sure of it.”

            Geneva laughs to herself, but without humor.  “Of course, I will,” she says, and she gives a halfhearted wave with her good hand while marching, sullenly, to her front door.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Geneva goes inside and immediately seeks refuge in her room.  She spends the evening at her desk, studying until her head hurts.  Then, holding her shoulder, she climbs into bed and rests her back against the headboard.  She closes her eyes and tries to clear her thoughts.

            She sees Kit, framed in sunlight, her hair gleaming, her skin glowing.  She recounts the freckles on Kit’s face and the softness of her lips, the taste of them.  In three years of friendship, Geneva never once thought of Kit romantically, but she enjoys the attention, and she sees an opportunity.  She takes it.

            Geneva blushes, opens her eyes.  She stares at her closet, and the ache of her shoulder returns in full.  Closing her eyes again, she wills thoughts of Kit away, pushing them out and letting something else in, something tall and green and strong.  Its fingers are around her throat, squeezing the air out of her, the life.  She has spots in her vision.

            The armor saved her life—changed her life.

            Geneva sighs.  She opens her eyes again, and she stares once more at her closet.  Her window is open, and she can smell the warmth and grass.  She can hear cars and people, and she finds it comforting.  It is life, the life she knows, the life she understands.  It is reality, not the fantasy that she has fallen into.

            She looks at her desk.  Piled neatly in one corner are the books Ms. Olivia gave her.  A stack of six, each old and musty, each worn and weathered, each more ancient, perhaps, than even history.  She takes one, feels the rough surface of it in her fingers.  Lifting her legs, she props it open.

            Faded words across a page, without meaning to her, change as she examines them.  They adopt meaning in her mind.  She sounds them out to help her understanding.  To start, the speech sounds almost like English, only stilted, the words missing syllables, the sentences incomplete.

            She says, “In Regards to Belquis, the First Knight.”

            Geneva flips the page and begins to read.

            The book is a biography of the previous Knighthood written by an elven author by the name of Emra Ateus, who Geneva imagines to be tall, lithe, and gloriously mustached.  It details the foundation of the knights during the war with the demons and their subsequent fall from grace.

            Long ago, after the fall of the deities—humanity’s ancient gods—the demons spread across the realms like a plague.  At that time, the elves were still quite primitive.  They were separated into various tribes spread across their homeland and, though they had been met by the deities and guided by them, they had yet to rise to prominence.

            When the demons came, the elves were fractured.  What growing government they had wasn’t enough to combat the demonic threat and so they were pushed away from the gate tree.  For years, they warred endlessly with these invaders until one day they were united by Dartha Caine, an elf who rose from obscurity and may, according to the author, being entirely fictional.

            Leading this newly united force, Dartha was able to push the demons beyond the gate tree and back into the Yggdrasil between the realms.  There, however, the demons held and remained a continued threat in the decades to come.

            The problem was that the demons were stronger and bred more quickly than the elves.  Their disorganization made it easy to control the battle at the gate tree.  Travel between realms left the demons confused and funneled them when they entered the elven world.  With superior numbers on their side of the tree, as well as the use of clever tactics, the elves could keep their realm safe but suffered from the same problems when they tried to pass through into the Yggdrasil.

            Eventually, Dartha died in combat and morale began to drop.  In an act of desperation, the elves sent runners to ancient deity lands to seek help and found only ruin there.  Those that returned came bearing a few ancient weapons.  The map which was used to get there was lost to the war and the elves were desperate.

            One of those weapons found were the signet rings, and though the elves had heard myths of their power, they knew little of their application.  After trial and error, as well as word-of-mouth and years of study and theory, the elves came to the realization that they could not use the rings and so sought others who might.

            Sending yet more runners, they made contact with the dark elves—who had another name at the time—and sought their aid.  The dark elves were suffering similar attacks but had held their realm more easily, being of hardier stock.  Together, the two worlds were able to push the demons back further through relentless, organized guerilla attacks.  As the demons lost ground, however, they fought more fiercely.

            The war continued and both races were growing weak.  The dark elves, like their light elf counterparts, could not use the rings, and the demons were more a force of nature than an army.  After years of desperate conflict and a series of critical losses, the elves found mankind and made contact yet again, and that is where everything changed.

            Against all odds, or so the elves believed, humanity could wear the rings and use their gifts.  Under elven guidance, the humans united into a powerful military arm and struck firmly at the demonic flank.  Lead by the newly formed knighthood, they cut deep and pushed the demons back to their realm.  However the elves hated it, humanity had turned the tide.

            At the time the knights were celebrated, but this would not last.  The demons, now beaten back into their hole, sued for peace and the elves agreed.  Everyone was tired and the damage done to their individual realms was incalculable.  The elves lost much of their literature on the deities, lost their worlds and had only the myths remaining, and the dark elves had given their all to the war and had little left from the effort.

            Peace came for a few decades, and humanity seemed to be the only ones who enjoyed it.  Elven reports, according to Emra at least, had sighted demon raiding parties wandering the realms and war seemed yet again on the horizon.  Just as the elves were to make a preemptive strike, using an ancient deity weapon of unimaginable power, humanity came to stop them.  Specifically, Belquis, leader of the knights, interfered and closed the way between worlds.

            Geneva is just about to start reading theories as to how this was done when Beatrice opens her door.

“Hey there, Gene-Gene.  What’re you doing?”

            Geneva jerks up quickly and closes the book.  She tries to casually hide it underneath the blankets while looking toward the door.  “Just homework.”

            Beatrice leans in through the open doorway.  She smiles a wide and impish.  “Yeah?”

            “Yeah.”  Geneva knits her brow.  “What do you want?”

            “Nothing, nothing.”  Beatrice enters the room with a long, bouncing gait, her hands hidden innocently behind her back, and she pouts.  “Why’re you being so mean to me?”

            “I’m not.  You’re being weird.”

            Beatrice stops beside the bed and messes Geneva’s hair.  “Just wanted to talk, geeze.  I think I liked it better when you were failing.  Sure, you got in trouble, but at least we could have a chat once in a while.”  She slouches down beside Geneva on the bed.

            Geneva adjusts, hanging her legs off the edge, and falling into Beatrice’s side.  In return, Beatrice continues to mess with her hair.  “Sorry,” she says, swatting at her sister’s hand.  “Just stressed.  School is killing me.  And I have tutoring.  And Kit.”

            “Oh yeah, what is going on with that girl?”

            Geneva rolls her eyes.  “‘Oh yeah, what’s going on with drr.’  Like you didn’t come in here to talk about that.”

            Beatrice gasps.  “I take offense to that, madam,” she says.  “I sound nothing like that.  Now, spill.”

            Geneva shrugs.  “Not much to spill.”

            “Not much to spill or you don’t want to spill?”

            “Both?  Anyway, I still have homework to do, so…”

            Beatrice hums and stands quickly, leaving Geneva to catch herself on the mattress.  “Fine, fine, I can take a hint.”

            “When it’s thrown in your face, maybe.”

            “Seriously, though, you should get some rest, Genie.  You look exhausted.”

            Geneva scoffs.  “Rest is for the weak,” she says, but she lets Beatrice push her back onto the bed.  “Then again, maybe I could.  After all, these pills make me.”  She yawns.  “Sleepy.”

            Beatrice tugs the lamp string and stops at the door on the way out.  “I’ll wake you for supper.”

            “Good.  I like eats,” Geneva says before drifting off.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            After dropping Geneva off, Nina goes home to her apartment.  She lives in the middle of the city, well away from the school.  Her apartment is cheap, asks few questions, and allowed her to move in on short notice.  The neighborhood is poor but, from what she could tell, fairly safe, and the people are animated.

            Traditionally, elves working for the border patrol stay at a house well outside of the city, built on land bought before the city was ever there.  They called it the compound.  Nina was asked to stay there but refused, feeling that to properly move among the humans, she must live among them.  This is seen as questionable, as even her predecessors lived as outsiders.

            Nina enjoys her apartment though.  It is small, with one bedroom and few amenities, but it is alive.  She can her neighbors talking and living, hear their children playing outside.  She can hear their cars rolling by on the street.  Humans, Nina believes, are momentum and their energy never dwindles.

            At home she makes herself tea and settles in to grade papers.  In the past, the elven recruits sent to watch the humans and protect the gate tree hardly put effort into their ruse.  Nina is different.  If she is there to pretend to teach, then she will actually teach.  She looks at it as the least she can do.

            After finishing the papers, she settles in with homework of her own.  Literature on the knights is sparse.  The signet rings are not elven technology, but divine technology recovered.  Texts related to the deities are few, and what the elves do have is largely untranslated.  They know the deities existed, that they came before, and that they brought the realms together, but everything beyond that is largely a mystery.

            What is known about the signet rings was compiled during the elven war with the demons three thousand years ago and is composed primarily of second-hand accounts and supposition.  Humans used the rings and relayed their experiences, but their comprehension was questionable, not because of a lack of intellect but a lack of context.  Even now, with all of their technology, the elves cannot truly grasp the signet rings.  Nina finds it difficult to believe that the people of the past could do much better

            The books she has, and the ones she gave to Geneva, are those suggested by Marilith.  She pulls them out and starts reading through them, keeping notes in a nearby journal.  Periodically she takes breaks, to make more tea or to stretch her legs and rest her eyes.  She works diligently into the night, stopping only when she hears a knock at the door.

            “Coming,” she says, and she finds Erak waiting on the other side, nursing a cigarette and a frown.  Despite her surprise, she salutes quickly and hears him grunt as he steps inside.

            “At ease,” he says.

            “Sir,” Nina says, closing the door behind him.  She follows him into the apartment and watches him take stock of her modest living.  He doesn’t seem to approve, but he rarely does.  “Sir, if I may, what are you doing here?”

            “Just wanted to have a chat about your conduct and about your pet.”

            “My pet?”

            Erak looks at her.  “The girl, Lieutenant.  The human girl.”

            “I see.”

            “You see, long ago when this land was first being settled, we couldn’t keep the humans from expanding.  So, when they got close to the gate tree, we had to take steps.  We put elves among them, to watch them, to herd them.”  His expression hardens.  “That was your job.  To keep them ignorant, to keep them blind, and to keep them here, and my job is to keep them safe from whatever might wander in.”

            “Yes, but I thought that we might…”

            “That’s your problem.  You’re thinking, and you’re not doing a very good job of it.  Whatever the Council says, you’re in the wrong here.  You’re not doing your duty by leading little high school girls by the hand and telling them all of our secrets, giving her a signet ring and involving her in the fight.”  Erak pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath.  “The entire thing is a farce, and one I don’t find particularly funny.”

            “Sir, the Council seems to disagree.”

            “Only because you’ve got your friend Marilith up there.”  He smirks.  “Or should I say you put her up there.  Either way, if she wasn’t watching out for you, protecting you, you’d have been fired, court marshalled, but she’s smart, and she has a reputation almost as big as yours.”

            “Reputations we’ve earned in front line service,” Nina says quickly.  After a second’s hesitation she adds, “Sir.”

            Erak laughs, humorlessly. “Finally showing your fangs.”  He pulls his cigarette case from his breast pocket, rolls another cigarette on her end table.  “Yes, you earned it, both of you, but you don’t seem too proud of that.  I’ve read your file, Lieutenant.  You regret what you did.”  He tucks the cigarette between his lips and lights it before carefully, meticulously, putting his case away.  He takes a long drag and releases a haze of blue smoke.  “And that’s where you went wrong.  These people—humanity especially—they’re animals.  They’re wild and destructive and uncaring, and they need to be shepherded, maybe even protected.”

            “Respectfully, sir, I know your beliefs, and I disagree.  And, as I’ve already said, the Council seems to disagree, as well.”

            Erak waves the idea off with his hand.  The glowing end of his cigarette bobs, leaves smoke in its wake.  “We could argue this until our faces turn blue and, in time, I’m sure we will.  Regardless of my feelings for Project Advent,” the words seem to taste sour his mouth, “I will comply.  I simply have concerns that will have to be addressed.”

            “And those are?”

            “The girl.”

            “Geneva Oaks,” Nina says.

            “Yes, her.  She can’t be that—a girl—anymore.  Now that you’ve gotten her involved she’s a soldier, just the same as you and me, and she will act like one.  That fiasco at the park is unacceptable, embarrassing even, and I will not tolerate a repeat.”  He takes a drag, and his cigarette brightens and dims, added dark edges to his face.  “She’s supposed to be the solution to our demon problem, or so you’ve convinced the Council, not another bystander that needs to be saved.”

            “She will be trained, sir.”

            “She better be.”  He snuffs his cigarette on his boot and goes to the door.  “Good night, Lieutenant.”

            “Good night, sir,” she says, and she watches him pull the door open.  “And, sir.  I won’t disappoint you.”

            Erak laughs in the doorway.  “Oh, trust me, lieutenant, it’s too late for that.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            On the way to supper, Marisa stops by her apartment to change.  Claude waits outside in her car, much to her amusement, and stares out the window.  Her neighborhood is quiet and dark.  There are trees there, large, green trees like he hasn’t seen anywhere else in the city.  The building she lives in is tall, made of brick, and deep red.

            She returns to the car shortly, wearing a low-cut top and a high skirt.  Claude politely pretends not to stare.

            They go to a small diner upon Claude’s insistence.  “If you’re paying, then I’d rather not waste your money on a lavish meal.”

            “It’s not a waste,” Marisa says even as she concedes. 

            They pull in, and Claude holds the door for her while she smiles and says something about him being a gentleman.  She finds them a booth looking out on the highway, and they watch the cars go by, red taillights blazing in the night.  An older woman waits on them and tells them how cute they are together.  Claude looks away bashfully.  Marisa gives a glowing smile.

            They order.  Claude gets the cheapest salad they make.  Marisa orders a strawberry shake and fries.  After that, the waitress leaves them to stare at each other.  Claude drums his fingers across the glossy tabletop and tries to think of something to say.

            He almost has something when Marisa says, “So, Claude, tell me more about yourself.”

            “More about me?”  Claude pauses, thinks, says, “Well, I don’t know.  What do you want to know?”

            “Got any other family?  Besides that big hunk of a brother.”

            Claude rolls his eyes again.  “No.  I mean, I’ve got a mother and a father, of course.  Had a grandpa, but he passed not too long ago.  But, in terms of the kids, just me and him.”

            “I see,” Marisa says, “And your mom taught you archery?”

            Claude nods.  “She did.”

            “What about your dad?”

            “Did dad do archery?”  Claude laughs.  “No, no, dad was never—Well, he was never good at that sort of thing.”

            “I see.  So, he’s more like your brother.”

            Claude shrugs, shakes his head.  “No, not really.  I mean, he’s quiet, like Clark, but he’s smaller.  Clark gets the tall thing from my mom.”

            “And you look like your dad?”

            “Yeah, a bit, I guess.”

            She nods in return, watches him.  He can see her smiling and doesn’t know how to respond.  Mostly, he just stares out the window.

            “Anything else,” she asks.  “I mean, come on, you’re a handsome twenty-something, moving all the way up from somewhere-south, Texas, and you’re acting like you don’t have a story to tell.”

            Claude shrugs again, fiddles with the silverware, still wrapped in its napkin cocoon.  “I’ve got a story, but it’s…”

            “It’s what,” she asks, and when he doesn’t respond she says, “You killed someone, didn’t you?”

            “No,” he says, flatly.

            “Got a girl pregnant?”

            “No.”

            “Family problems?”

            “Not really.”

            Marisa hums, thoughtfully, purses her lips.  Then, she laughs.  “You’re just the silent type, then?”

            “Kind of, I guess,” Claude says.  “Sorry, just personal stuff.”

            “Fine, fine, then I’ll go ahead and tell you about me.”

            The waitress returns with their food, and they thank her.  Then, unrolling his silverware, Claude says, “Go ahead.”

            “Okay, let’s see.  I started working at the hotel, oh, six years ago, when I was sixteen, and don’t give me that look.  Tom takes good care of his people, gives flexible hours, and I’m comfortable there.  I know the hours I’ll get, and I know the work, and I know he’ll accommodate my school schedule,” she says, and she sips at her shake and chews the straw.  “Also, I’m a Libra, afraid of spiders, and allergic to eggplant, and I’m boring myself.”

            “You’re not boring,” Claude says while picking at his salad.

            “Please, guy like you, with your mysteries and everything, moving all the way up here with no job and nowhere to live.”

            “When you say it like that, it doesn’t sound exciting, just stupid.”

            “No, it’s not stupid.”  She smiles at him again, big and attractive.  “It’s brave.  I would love to do that, to travel.  Just pack up, not tell anyone where I am going.  Just go.”

            “Okay, that’s not what happened.  Everyone knows where I am.  I call my parents as often as I can.”

            “Aw, that’s sweet.  Momma’s boy?”

            “No,” Claude says.  “Anyway, if you want to do it so bad, then why not do it?”

            Marisa shrugs, blows bubbles in her shake.  “Got too much going on here, I guess.  I’ve got classes, getting a degree in psychology,” she says matter-of-factly.  “And, to tell the truth, earlier, when I said it wasn’t stupid, I was being nice.  Thing is, brave usually is pretty stupid.”  She laughs.  “Anyway, don’t take me too seriously.  I like my life.  It’s good.  Just wish I could be a little stupid sometimes, or a little braver.”

            “Thanks,” Claude says, frowning.

            “So, I know I’ve already asked, and you like your secrets, but why are you here?”

            He stares at her, and then into his salad, and he thinks of something to say.  After a lingering silence all he has is, “I just feel like I am supposed to be here.  Like I’ll find my destiny here.”

            “Okay, no offense, but that’s really cheesy.”

            “Maybe it is, but I can’t help it.  It’s just how I feel.”  He looks her in the eyes.  “It’s like, have you ever felt something so intense in your gut, that you just know?  Like, there’s no reason for you to know, for you to believe, but it’s there, and it’s right, and you can’t keep running from it?”

            “Like instincts.”

            “Exactly.  Exactly like that,” he says.  “That’s how I feel.  I just know I need to be here.”

            “Your destiny, huh?  Cheesy, but I like it.”  She smiles at him, over her milk shake, while she plays with the straw.  “So, would you say meeting me was destiny, too?”

            Claude looks away.  “Well.”

            Marisa laughs.

            They eat quietly from there, chatting about this and that to pass the time.  Despite his complaints, Claude enjoys the meal and the change of pace.  Eventually, he admits that she was right, tells her that he needed to get out.  She responds by informing him that she had, in fact, told him so.

            After eating, she pays and returns him to the hotel.  They walk together through the front.  Claude has his hands in his pocket and stares straight ahead.  Marisa follows, holding her purse, and smiling.  They stop at his door, and Claude unlocks it.

He turns to her.  “So,” he says, looking at the ground, at the walls, at her feet, and anywhere else but her.  His stomach is knotting.

            “So,” she says, staring him straight in the forehead.

            “Thanks,” he says, “And good night.”  He turns to the door, fumbles with the knob.

            She touches his shoulder.  “Claude, can—May I see your room again?”

            Claude holds his breath.  “Sure,” he says, and he pushes his way in ahead of her.  She follows on his heels and closes the door behind her.  Claude turns to speak, to explain himself, his hesitation, his embarrassment, and she kisses him.  They move together, away from the door.  Her body is soft and warm against his, and without thinking, he hugs her midsection.

            For a brief moment he returns the kiss, and then he remembers himself.  They part, first at the lips and then altogether.  Both are breathless.

            “Sorry, Claude, am I moving too fast or?”

            “No,” Claude says.  “I mean, yeah, but not because,” a sigh, “Listen, I appreciate the meal, everything, really, and I don’t want to be ungrateful, I just…”  He pauses.  “It’s just complicated.”

            “Complicated?”

            Claude crosses the room, finds his photos.  He sifts through them until he finds the right one, and then he returns to her.  Marisa takes the photo and looks it over.  She sees Claude, and his big brother, and a pretty girl with auburn hair and wide hips.

            “So, you’ve got a girlfriend?”

            “Not exactly,” Claude says.  “It’s complicated.”

            “Right,” Marisa says, shoving the photo back into his hands.

            “I’m sorry.”

            “For what?  At least you were honest.  Situation like this, you could have led me on, taken advantage.”

            “I couldn’t,” he says.  “I’m not that kind of guy.”

            “I know,” she says.  She goes to the door.  “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

            “Yeah and Marisa?  Next time, lunch is on me.”

            She smirks at him before leaving and says, “I’ll hold you to that.”

 

The Knights of Sheba 105 A…End

10: Episode Five: "Finding Comfort" B

The Knights of Sheba 105 B…Start

            “Kit.  Kit!  Kit,” Geneva calls while weaving her way through the flow of students.  She can see Kit’s tall, blonde head above the crowd, and uses it like a lighthouse to guide her.  She has to be careful, because if she makes one wrong move, she will…

            “Ow!”  Geneva rests against the wall and cradles her injured arm.  She feels tired and not at all young.  Kit, a whole herd of people away, acknowledges her, and moves smoothly through the crowd.

            “Genny?”

            “Kit!”  Geneva looks up and tries to look well.  Failing that, she settles for looking alive.  “Hey, how are you?”

            “I’m fine.”  Kit looks over her shoulder.  “I need to get going or the I.S.S. officer will…”

            “Yeah.”

            “So?”

            “Hey, do you want to meet up after school? Or hang out.  Or whatever you kids are calling it these days.”

            “What?”

            “I was just thinking,” Geneva shrugs to finish the sentence.

            “I guess we should talk.”

            “I’d like to.  I’ve been doing some thinking lately.  A lot of thinking.”

            “Mm.  Then, I’ll drive you home?”

            Geneva nods.  “That works,” she says.  “That definitely works.”

            “Okay.”  The bell rings, and both girls look up.  Only now do they realize how empty the halls have become.  “Crap.”

            “Yeah, we’ll both be late. See you after school,” Geneva says, and she doesn’t trust herself not to fumble at this point, so she runs.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            After that, Geneva’s day passes quickly.  She stays quiet in class, hugs the back of the room.  The other students hardly notice her without Kit to draw attention, and increasingly her teachers seem to mimic that behavior.  Outside of Mrs. Campbell, Geneva’s morning passes by without incident, and considering things, Geneva counts that as a success.

            Due to her arm injury, Geneva finds herself sitting out in gym class, which suits her fine.  She uses the extra time to catch up on homework neglected during her recovery.  At this point in the year she is passing all of her classes, even Biology.  Her parents are ecstatic but pushy.  They still expect more from her, and she doesn’t have to heart to tell them that this is her best.

            Without Lana and Kit parading around, the school is quieter.  For a long time, Geneva never understood how Kit, as pretty and sweet as she is, could have no friends.  Now, after spending weeks without Lana there, she understands.  Lana is like a force of nature.  She runs the school, and it isn’t so much that people hate Kit, as it is that people fear Lana.

            Still, Geneva misses Lana a little.  Without her in class, she has to work with Mrs. Campbell, the greater of two evils, in Biology labs.

            “Ms. Oaks, may I speak with you for a moment,” Ms. Olivia asks, jarring Geneva from her thoughts.  Geneva is sitting on the bleachers with her books and notebooks scattered around her, and Ms. Olivia is now standing over her.  On the gym floor, the students take advantage of their lax supervision.

            “Aren’t you doing that already?”  Ms. Olivia frowns, and Geneva marks the page she is on and sets her book aside.  “Sorry, what’s up?”

            “I was hoping that after class I might take you to the compound and introduce you to my commanding officer.  Maybe, we could even take time to answer more questions and go over the things expected of you in the days to come.”

            Geneva frowns.  “But I’m injured.”

            “Yes, but we have no time to waste, and I won’t push you physically.  I simply want to introduce you slowly, so as allow you to acclimate to your new schedule.  It will be simple, mind you.  I know better than to strain your injured body.”

            “But I’ve got plans.”

            “Then cancel them.”

            “Listen, Ms. Olivia, can’t we do it tomorrow? Seriously, it’s really important.”

            “I apologize, sincerely, Ms. Oaks, for whatever trouble this may cause you, but it is not negotiable.”

            Geneva’s frown turns sharply into a glare.  “So, what, my life just revolves around your wishes now?”

            Ms. Olivia crosses her arms and glares back.  She looks taller than Geneva remembers.  “In a manner, yes.  Until we figure out how the demons are moving or why, this is your life.”

            “Well, that doesn’t seem fair.”

            “I gave you warning about the ring.  It was your choice to wear it, Ms. Oaks.”

            “Those people were in trouble, so it wasn’t a choice.”  Pouting, Geneva looks past Ms. Olivia.  She watches one young girl spike the volleyball hard into another student’s face. “Listen, you might want to get back to your class.  Otherwise, you’ll get a reputation as a negligent teacher.”

            “I can expect you after school.”

            “Yeah, see you then,” Geneva says, tugging her textbook back onto her lap and flipping it open.

            Ms. Olivia nods and turns.  She starts down the stairs and stops, looking back.  “Truly, Ms. Oaks, I do apologize.”

            “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Geneva waits anxiously beneath the awning by the back door Ash View High.  The sun is out and the air is hot.  It clings to her skin in beads of sweat but she hardly notices.  Her mind is preoccupied with responsibilities and excuses.  She imagines Kit coming out the door and all the shapes the conversation could take, will take.  None of them end on a positive note.

            The students are mostly gone.  Kit is always a bit later after I.S.S., but she has her own car and is rarely in a hurry.  She comes out the door and catches Geneva out of the corner of her eye.  Lifting her backpack onto her shoulders, she manages a smile.

            “Hey, ready to go?” She sounds happy, happier than she has been in a while, at least.  It makes the conversation that much worse to have.  Geneva averts her gaze, and Kit notices and crosses her arms.  “What now?”

            “Sorry, Kit, really.  I kind of have to bail.”

            “Kind of have to…”  Kit groans and throws her arms up.  “Of course, you do.  I can’t believe you.  Whatever, Genny, just whatever.”

            “Wait,” Geneva says, taking Kit by the arm, but Kit jerks away and nearly knocks Geneva flat.

            “No!  I’m done with this.  When you figure out what you really want, get back to me.  Or, better yet, don’t get back to me, because I am done.  Just done. Have a nice life.”

            “It’s not my fault, Kit!  It’s Ms. Olivia, throwing her weight around, being a bossy bit…”

            “Ms. Olivia?  Our gym teacher? Really.  And how exactly is she responsible for this?”
            “I am serving as Ms. Oaks’ private tutor,” Ms. Olivia says from the doorway.  She has been watching for some time, her bag tucked conservatively under her arm, and carries herself with her usual confidence and ease.  “And I insisted that Ms. Oaks forego personal pleasures for the evening and focus on her studies.”

            “Oh,” Kit says, calming, going blank.  “So, you were telling the truth.”

            “In a manner of speaking,” Geneva says.  “Anyway, I really didn’t have much of a choice.”

            “Surely, you two could meet later,” Ms. Olivia says.

            Kit looks between them.  She nods.  “Yeah, that works.  So, later?”

            Geneva smiles, weakly.  “Later,” she says, and she follows Ms. Olivia away.  Kit calls after them, and Geneva turns to her.

            “Sorry,” Kit says.  “For blowing up.”

            “After everything, I understand.  I promise, though, I’ll try and clear it up.”

            Kit grins broadly in return.  “Then call me when you get out,” she says, and she stuffs her hands in her pockets and saunters away.

            “You were busy with her,” Ms. Olivia asks.  She is standing straight, waiting patiently for Geneva.

            “Yeah, that was the intention,” Geneva says.  Ms. Olivia starts walking, and Geneva follows again.

            “Are things well between you?”

            “Listen, I appreciate your interest and your help and whatever, but if there is a single person alive who I would feel less comfortable talking to about this with, I don’t know who they are.  I mean, seriously, this is like third intergalactic crisis levels personal we’re talking.”  Geneva pauses.  “Or would it be interdimensional?  Now that I think about it, I’m unclear on the threat.  You know what we need? A prologue.  Narrated by someone British.  Yeah, British would be sexy.”

            “Yes, well, get in,” Ms. Oivia says, unlocking door and holding it for Geneva.  Again, she stows Geneva’s things in the back before climbing into the driver’s seat.  She fastens her seatbelt and waits for Geneva to do the same.

            “You know, you sound kind of European-y.  I think.” Geneva shrugs.  “Don’t know many Europeans.

            “That would make sense. First contact with your people was in what you would call Europe,” Ms. Olivia says as she pulls out.  She weaves onto the highway.  “At least, one of them.”

            “There were multiple first contacts? That’s a thing?”

            Ms. Olivia nods while watching the road.  She slows into traffic.  “Gate Trees last longer but still age and will wither and die like any other, given time.  First contact with the deities, your ancient gods, was near your Middle East.  After that tree died, we made contact with the Europeans before the tree moved here.  Your English is actually descended from old elvish dialects.”

            “Wait, the deities are gods?”

            “From your mythologies,” Ms. Olivia says.  “Yes, though we prefer the divine or deities to separate them from a creator spirit, mind you.”

            “Right,” Geneva says.  She stares out the window, watches the sunlight bounce off the cars around her.  “And do elves believe in God? Or gods or whatever?”

            “I would say some do, but not popularly,” Ms. Olivia says.  “We’re a people who prefer to believe we created ourselves, and our pride would never allow any other story for long.”

            “Sounds, uh, pleasant.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

           

            The elves cultivated a large plot of land just outside of the city when the gate tree blossomed there.  It is largely undeveloped, composed primarily of rich woodland and rolling fields.  At the very heart of this land, hidden from human eyes, is a single building: the compound.  It is three stories tall and very long, with a deck stretching around the entirety of its exterior.  The roof is slanted from the front.

            When Geneva first sees it, she is more distracted by the number of black SUVs parked in the front.  She can’t help but think that for an organization hoping to blend in, their choice in transportation could not be more conspicuous.  Ms. Olivia rolls to a stop among the other SUVs and turns the car off.

            Once at a stop, Geneva takes the time to consider the imposing visage that is the compound itself and frowns.  “You know, I’m really starting to regret this decision.”  She looks at Ms. Olivia.  “You sure I can’t just go talk to Kit instead?”

            “Quite sure, Ms. Oaks.”

            “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

            Ms. Olivia sighs.

            “I’ll haunt you.”

            “Ms. Oaks.”

            “I’m just saying, I will.  Watch you while you bathe and…other stuff.  I’ll leaves message on your mirror,” Geneva says.  “No pound will go unnoticed.”

            Ms. Olivia gives a long, unamused stare before undoing her seatbelt.  “Ms. Oaks, if you would.”

            “Get out of the car, I know,” Geneva says, undoing her own belt.  She grips the door handle.  “Goodbye, cruel world.”

            “Ms. Oaks, please.”

            They exit the vehicle and Geneva follows Ms. Olivia up to the compound.  Up close the building appears larger and older than Geneva first thought, but it is also very well-kept.  It has a rustic air about it, like the people who own it are slow to change.  The lights inside are off and the windows are open and for a moment Geneva thinks it might be abandoned.

            They reach the door and Ms. Olivia unlocks it while Geneva asks, “So, what exactly is this place?”

            “The elves have long watched over humanity, and they often do so with what they believe to be a healthy distance, assuming it offers them impartiality.  This is where they watch from.  Consider it their bastion in the fastmoving world around them.”

            “And why exactly do the elves watch over humanity?”

            “That answer is long and complex,” Ms. Olivia says.  She is standing at the door, her hand resting on the knob.

            “You can go ahead and try to explain it to me, and I’ll do my best to wrap my feeble little mind around it,” Geneva says.  “So not as dumb as I look.”

            “Yes, well, the truth doesn’t paint my people in the best light.  We watch the tree and humanity both, to keep you isolated, for we fear what will happen should your people become aware of their secret history.”

            “You’re afraid?  Of what?”

            Ms. Olivia pauses thoughtfully and then asks, “Are you certain you wish to hear this?”

            “I asked, didn’t I?”

            “So, you did,” Ms. Olivia says.  “Fine, if you must know, think of the demons.  They are considered a threat, yes?”

            “I guess so,” Geneva says.  “Haven’t actually gotten that far into the assigned reading.  Sorry.”

            Ms. Olivia clicks her tongue.  “Well, they are.  Once, the demons descended like a flood and washed away the most advanced civilization known to history, and it is popular opinion among the elves that the humans are capable of the same.”

            “Really?  Why is that?”

            “Because you’re an active and sometimes violent people, always moving and shifting.  And like a force of nature, you’re always changing the world around you.  Think on your history, on your world wars and your genocides and tell me the fear is unfounded.”

            Geneva shifts her weight, purses her lips.  After some thought she says, “Okay, I guess I can see that.”

            “Don’t let it bother you, Ms. Oaks.  However awful humanity can be, I can assure you that the elven people are no better, despite our claims.  Just as there are those who exist in opposition to the storm for your people, there are those who bring the storm among mine.  Now then, do you have any other questions before we enter?”

            “Yeah.  Where are the power lines?  Or, well, anything.  All I see are trees and, uh,” Geneva looks around, “Nope, nothing else.  Just trees.”

            “We are off the grid, in a sense.  We supply our own power here and purchased the land long, long ago, while the city was still young or perhaps even before.  As I told you, my people prefer isolation here.”

            Geneva looks around the empty forests and fields and shivers.  “Creepy,” she says.  “And you live here?”

            “No,” Ms. Olivia says.  “I walk a different path.  Now, come, we’ve little time if we’re to allow for your meeting with Ms. Wright.”

            “Right, right,” Geneva says.  “Onward, into the belly of the beast.”

            Ms. Olivia pushes the door open and leads them inside.  Geneva steps into the foyer and is struck by how cramped the house is.  Like most old houses, it was built in a different age, and it was not built with comfort in mind.  The entrance opens to a staircase leading to the second floor and hallways leading deeper inside.  In the back she can see a small kitchenette.  The other two rooms are out of her vision.

            There are people, elves, everywhere Geneva can see.  Some are moving busily, others are reclining and talking among themselves.  They are speaking a foreign language that sounds like nonsense at first but slowly takes proper form as she listens, and they are talking about her.  She is surprised by the diversity in them—a fair amount are the elves she imagined, tall, lithe, pretty, but some are different.  More than a handful carry weight in their shoulders and stomachs, and some move not with the natural grace of Ms. Olivia, but with the clumsy awkwardness of Geneva herself.

            All of them are wearing various parts of a green military uniform.

            Ms. Olivia closes the door behind her.  “And this, Ms. Oaks, will be your home away from home.  I will train you downstairs every day, as a soldier.  As a knight.”

            “Yay,” Geneva says, twirling a finger lethargically.

            Ms. Olivia leads them down a hall to the right of the stairs, to a door tucked into the wall.  They take a set of long, tight stairs down to an expansive finished basement.  It is easily twice as long and wide as the house above.  Mats line one side and, in the distance, she can see an in-door firing range.  She can also see weapons of all kinds sorted carefully into their own stations.

            “Here is where the true training will take place.”

            “Right,” Geneva says, pacing a small circle and taking it in.  The walls are grey, colorless, and leave her feeling unwelcome.  The leers from the elves don’t help.  “So, what kind of training will we be doing exactly?  Just for reference.”

            “Once your arm heals, we will focus on endurance training, hand-to-hand combat, and sword combat, as your armor should have a blade weapon within it.  Beyond that, I will quiz you on elven history, true human history, and at a certain point run drills so that you are prepared for anything.  Ideally, when you next meet a demon, you will be able to defeat it easily.”

            Geneva rolls her eyes.  “Oh, thanks, lay it on thick while my arm is hurt why don’t you?”  Geneva nods toward the firing range.  “Will I be doing any of that?”

            “We can train you with firearms, though it is likely unnecessary.  The armors are built for melee combat primarily.  While you may find yourself with military support, you, yourself will not be using such weapons in service.”

            “And why not?  Seems a damn sight more effective than a sword.”

            Ms. Olivia tilts her head.  “A damn sight?”

            “It’s something my grandpa says,” Geneva says.  “Grandpa Neil, on my dad’s side.  Not as crazy as Pop-pop Larry, but way more racist.”

            “Regardless, even should you undergo proper training, where would you keep a firearm?  Especially when you have weapons built into the signet?”

            “Fine, you win.  No guns for Geneva.”

            “Good.  Now then, we need to find Erak and introduce you to him.”

            “Erak?”

            “He is my commanding officer and is in charge of the defense forces on this side of the gate tree.  You will answer to him, should I be unavailable.”

            “Oh, goodie.  Have I told you how much I love authority figures?”

            Ms. Olivia returns upstairs with Geneva trailing.  They pass through another room that is tightly packed with computers and personnel and then out a door leading to the back deck.  In the back she finds an archery range set up.  A short distance from that elven soldiers are skirmishing.  Some are half-naked, showing their sleek, tightly muscled frames dancing around each other.  Geneva is surprised to see how strong they appear.

            They approach the skirmishers.  A tall, chiseled elf with dark blond hair is watching from the sidelines.  He is in full uniform and has a cigarette hanging from his mouth.  At first glance he seems unimpressed by the display in front of him.  After further investigation Geneva realizes that is just the natural set of his face.

            As they approach the skirmish escalates.  It is three elven men again one elf with a long braid of dark hair.  Braid is smaller than the others and slender in frame, but when he moves muscle shows.  Every action is precise and measured, and each is seamless.

            The three surround braid and strike simultaneously, and Geneva watches in awe as all three are taken down.  She tries to follow the movements but can’t quite keep up.  Braid seems to bounce between them, landing swift, debilitating blows and then ends it by flipping the last one on his back.  By the end all three are on the ground with him standing over them looking triumphant and slightly sweaty.

            Geneva stares.

            “Major,” Ms. Olivia says, drawing the blond elf’s attention.  She salutes, and he stares back at her critically before giving Geneva a quick appraisal.  He remains unimpressed

            “Lieutenant,” he says.  “So, this is her.  Your human?”

            “Geneva.  Nice to meet you.”  Geneva holds out her hand.  He gives her a humorless smirk in return.

            “Yes, Geneva.  And how did you hurt your arm, Geneva?”

            “She was injured fighting…”

            Erak glares at Ms. Olivia, and it silences her immediately.  “I asked her Lieutenant, and she can clearly speak for herself.”  He nods at Geneva.  “Go ahead.”

            Geneva glances at Ms. Olivia, who stands rigid beside her.  “Well, one of those demon things attacked a couple of people, and I got in a fight with it.  It, uh, it won.”

            “You decided to rescue them.  Admirable,” Erak says, while his tone says something else.  “Wear the injury proudly, then, because once we’re done training you, you won’t be wearing a sling ever again.” He nods at Ms. Olivia and returns to the skirmish.  “Enough gawking.  Continue the work.  Get more people in there.  First one to even touch the new recruit gets extra rations.”

            Ms. Olivia leads them away as a group of five surround braid.  He smiles at Geneva and winks before entering the fight.  Geneva doesn’t stay to watch, but she’s sure he will be alright.

            Geneva turns and finds Ms. Olivia leaving.  She hurries to keep stride with her teacher’s wide gait.  Once side-by-side with her, she says, “Well, that was uncomfortable.”

            Ms. Olivia nods.

            “I’ve got to ask, and you’ve got to answer: does he always have crazy eyes?”

            Ms. Olivia smirks briefly and then quickly restrains herself.  “The major is intense.  He, like many elves, doesn’t approve of the resurrection of the knights.”

            “Oh.  That’s why.”

            “Also, that is just the way he is.”

            Geneva sighs.  “Delightful.  Well, was the meeting everything you hoped it would be?”

            “I am uncertain.  Major Draco has his own agenda.  I’m still trying to figure it out.”

            “So, we don’t trust him.”

            “I don’t, but you should focus on your training.”

            “Right, training,” Geneva says.  “Would it help if I clutched my arm and complained about the pain?  The pain I have because of my incredibly heroic deed?”

            Ms. Olivia looks at her.  “You really want to leave, don’t you?”

            “As much as I enjoy the sight of sweaty men—men who would look better in a dress than I do, I might add—beating on each other, yes.” She glances back at braid’s progress just before they enter the house.  He already has four on the ground and takes the fifth down with a kick.  “Yes, I really want to leave.”

            “Fine, then.  I’ll return you home, and you can focus on your talk with your friend.  No more concessions, however.  From tomorrow on your training will be serious.”

            Geneva smiles.  “Awesome, thanks! Sounds like a plan!”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            As soon as Geneva gets home she runs upstairs and calls Kit.  They set up a time to meet and then Geneva goes for a quick shower.  Once clean, she returns to her room to dress and then returns to the bathroom to groom.  For her, that involves squinting in the mirror a lot and wondering what to do.

            Beatrice catches her in the act while passing through the hall, and she stops and leans against the doorframe to watch.  “Well, aren’t you getting all gussied up,” she asks, grinning.

            “Shut up,” Geneva says while carefully applying eyeliner.  So far, she has managed to keep from stabbing herself in the eyes and feels very accomplished.

            “What’s going on? Got a big date?”

            “Shut up,” Geneva says, eying the powder.  Her last experience with it ended with a comical fit of coughs.

            “You know, not to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re still not old enough to get gay married.”

            “Shut up,” Geneva says, doing something with her eyebrows.  She isn’t sure what she is doing with them, but she feels something has to be done.  After a few seconds of fiddling, she decides it’s nothing, and then she changes her mind when she looks in the mirror again.  She grabs for the tweezers.

            Beatrice watches.  “What’re you doing?”

            “Preening?”

            “Your eyebrows are fine.”

            “You’re an eyebrow.”

            “Give me those,” Beatrice says, finally stepping into the bathroom.

            “No!”  Geneva jerks away from Beatrice, holds the tweezers just out of reach.  “I need these, Bea, I need them!”

            “Neva, I will break you!  Break you Bane-style!”

            Sulking, Geneva slaps the tweezers down into Beatrice’s hands.  “Fine.”

            “Ow!  Thanks for stabbing me.”

            “I didn’t stab you.”

            “Uh, yeah, you did.”

            “No, I didn’t.  I just gave you the damn tweezers.”

            “Well, it still hurt!”  She slams the tweezers down on the counter and stares at Geneva in the mirror.  They go quiet.  Beatrice says, “You look pretty.”

            Silence again, and then, “Really?”

            “Yup.  Hardly recognize you,” Beatrice says.  “Not that you weren’t pretty before.”  She messes Geneva’s hair and has her hand slapped away.  “So, what prompted all of,” she gestures at Geneva, “This?”

            Geneva, now fussing over her hair, “If you must know, I am talking to Kit tonight.”

            “Oh, Kit?”  Beatrice smiles.  “Do I smell wedding bells?”

            Geneva stops, looks at her sister in the mirror.  “I don’t know, do you?  Is that—Is that a stroke thing?”

            “It’s a metaphor.”

            “No.  I don’t think it is.”

            “Semantics,” Beatrice says.  “So, wedding bells?”

            Downstairs there is a knock.  Geneva smiles with false confidence and walks briskly past her sister, who hangs out of the bathroom doorway.

            “Geneva!  The bells, you got to tell me!”

            “Later,” Geneva says, hurrying down the stairs and telling her parents that she has the door.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Kit drives them to a well-lit park on the edge of town.  The leaves are changing here, and a cool wind makes the branches dance.  They walk together to a nearby swing set, where they stop and watch the sun setting in the distance.  The very tops of the trees burn with twilight like freshly lit matches.  Kit sits on a swing and holds the chains while moving idly, dragging her feet in the bare earth beneath her.  Geneva just stares at the ground.   

            After a long silence, Kit looks over and says, “You look pretty.”

            Geneva blushes, scratches her injured arm.  “Thanks,” she says.  “Didn’t do much, it’s just eyeliner, but I’m not used to all of this make-up and stuff, and honestly, I’m not used to getting dressed up at all, mom gets mad sometimes, she says it’s not lady-like, but there was this one time that I found a potato chip in my hair—or was it a pretzel—anyway, I ate it, even though I don’t know how long it was there, and so I don’t think I’m much of a lady, and sorry I’m talking so much, I’m not used to compliments.”  She coughs nervously.  “Really, sorry.”

            Kit laughs.  “It’s fine, and you really look good.  Kind of confident.”

            “Even with the busted arm?”

            “Even with the busted arm.”  Kit stops, swivels her feet in the dirt.  She pulls the chains inward until they touch.  “Listen, Genny, you said you wanted to talk, but I want to get this out, so please forgive me.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry that I’ve been stand-offish or cold toward you.  I’m not mad at you, I’m just,” she sighs.  “Okay, I am a bit mad, but I wanted to give you time to heal, to recover from all of the craziness, before we talked about the kiss.”

            “Yeah, about that…”

            “Wait, let me finish,” Kit says.  “See, thing is, I like you, but I was okay with being friends.  Really, I was, but then you kissed me, and then you ran, and it just confused things. And I think that you don’t really know what you want, and I don’t want to be around to distract you.  So, that’s the other reason why I’ve been avoiding you, so you could…”

            Geneva kisses her, and nearly sends them both tumbling out the other side of the swing.  It is clumsy, as kisses go, deeper than intended but lacking the hesitation of those before it.  This time, Geneva holds Kit’s face, pulls her forward.

            In return, Kit recoils.  She breaks contact, shoving Geneva back and nearly falling flat for the effort.  She stumbles away from the swing set while wiping her mouth and glaring.  When she stops, she finds Geneva working her way back to standing and wiping the dust from her rear.

            “Okay, what the hell is your problem?”

            “I was just,” Geneva looks up, “What do you mean what’s my problem?  First you kiss me and get hurt when I don’t kiss back, now you get all hurt when I do kiss you.  What’s your problem?”

            “My problem?  My problem is your flip-flopping!  What do you want from us, Geneva? What do you want from me?”

            “Isn’t it obvious?”

            Kit, looking mad with bewilderment, flails.  “No!”

            “Oh.”  Geneva stares for a minute, clears her throat.  Then, she leans against the framework of the swing set and shrugs.  “Well.”

            “Well?”

            “I was just doing what they do in the movies.  It’s romantic.”

            Kit stares a moment longer and then sighs.  She shakes her head.  “No, it’s not.  It’s confusing.”  She approaches, hesitantly.  “In situations like this it’s best to talk your feelings through, make sure the other person’s on the same page.”

            “Sorry,” Geneva says.  “I got the talking bit down.  Not so much with the feels.”

            “No kidding.”  Kit slumps back into her swing and sways.  “So?”

            “So,” Geneva says, finding a swing of her own.  She takes a deep breath, holds it, releases. “So.”

            “You kissed me again.”

            “Yup.”

            “What do you want here, Genny?”

            “I don’t know.”

            Kit stops, stares.  “You really don’t?”

            “No.  Yes.  I mean, I do, I just,” she sighs, “I just told you I’m no good with feelings.”

            “Try.”

            “Kit.”

            “Try,” Kit says, more insistently.

            “Fine!  When you first kissed me, I was confused.  I mean, like, we’ve known each other for a few years, but we’ve never—you never,” a pause, “expressed interest? Then, suddenly, you were all about hanging out, all about being my friend, all about being more, and I always thought I was straight, but Beatrice thinks I might be bi, and I liked the kiss, but I was afraid of how it would change our relationship, but at the same time look at me—I can’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

            “Geneva, you’re a catch.”

            “Shut up,” Geneva snaps.  “No interruptions.  Feels!”

            Kit nods.  “Sorry.”

            Geneva takes a deep breath.  “Then, after all of that, I kissed you, because I wanted to kiss you, but I still didn’t know if I wanted to date you.  I was confused, I got scared that our friendship was ruined and, thing is, Kit, I don’t have many friends.  So, I bolted.”

            “Right into the mugger.”

            “Yeah, the mugger.”  Geneva rubs her shoulder.

            “Okay,” Kit says after a thoughtful pause.  “What about that kiss just now?”

            “What about it?”

            “What was it?”  Kit looks at her again.  “You still confused?”

            “No.”

            “Are you sure?”

            “Pretty sure.”

            Kit turns in the swing, twisting the chain into a knot above her, and she takes Geneva’s good hand and looks her in the eyes. “Geneva, are you saying that you…?”

            “I’m not saying anything.  I’ve done enough talking.  Now, it’s your turn.”

            Kit smiles and crawls from her swing.  Holding Geneva’s hand, she wraps one arm around her neck and pulls her into a kiss.  This one lingers, allowing them time to learn each other’s lips, each other’s warmth.  They stay like this, Geneva slouching into Kit, and Kit rising to meet her.  As they part, they are both smiling, and Geneva is blushing.

            “I thought that wasn’t romantic,” Geneva says, breathless.

            Kit shrugs.  “I was just doing what they do in the movies.  Besides, don’t actions speak louder than words?”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            At the hotel, Claude lies awake in his bed and stares up at the ceiling.  He has been like this for hours, his blanket wadded up beside him.  The room is dark and cold, but each time he covers himself it becomes stiflingly hot.  His mind races from point-to-point, never settling long enough to focus on one single thing.

            After a few more sleepless minutes he climbs from the bed and goes to his bag.  His room is still a mess, clothes scattered about, everything scattered.  He reaches into the bag and pulls out some photos, and he looks them over.

            He looks at him and his brother, both children, playing in a nearby creek.  The water there was cold and clear, even in the summer.  They would go every year, and they would swim.

            He looks at him with his mother.  She is holding a bow in her hands and smiling at the camera while Claude, still a child, is taking aim in the background.  He has many memories like this one, to the point where they all bleed together.

            He looks at his fifteenth birthday party, where only one guest was invited.  A young girl with auburn hair and an infectious smile.  It wasn’t the first time she visited, and it wouldn’t be the last.

            He looks at that same girl, years older.  She changed a lot, grew taller, filled out.  Her hips were broad, womanly, but her smile was the same.  Claude stays on this photo, stares at it as he sets the others aside.

            He returns to bed and sets the photo on the nightstand, propped up against the lamp.  Then, he crawls into bed and pulls the covers over his body.  He gives the photo one last glance before curling up and, finally finding comfort, falls asleep.

 

The Knights of Sheba 105…End

11: Episode Six: "Party" A

Episode Six: Party

            Geneva staggers, struggles to keep her footing.  Ms. Olivia is quick, decisive, and insistent.  She approaches smoothly and swings wide, giving Geneva an opening, and then closes it shortly after.  Geneva freezes and barely manages to duck under a strike meant for her left shoulder.

            She stumbles farther back, spinning unnecessarily in the process, as if to throw her opponent off.  Ms. Olivia follows close, blade up.  She holds a moment too long, another opening, another missed opportunity.  Geneva flails aimlessly, swings, and trips.

            “Wait, wait,” Geneva yells while seeking stable footing.  Her feet fumble clumsily across the mats.

            “There is no waiting in combat, Ms. Oaks.”

            “There is in practice!”

            Geneva lunges and hits nothing.  Ms. Olivia steps around the attack and leaves Geneva falling forward, and Geneva lands heavily on her chest and fights for breath.  Her sword, meanwhile, bounces a few times on the mat before settling.

            Ms. Olivia stops beside Geneva and taps her gently on the head with her own wooden sword.

            Geneva groans.  “Ow.”

            “She barely touched you,” an elf says from the sidelines.  A whole group of them are watching, and so is Erak.  He is the most displeased of them all, and unlike the others, he doesn’t see anything funny.  Part way through the session he lit a cigarette, and that seemed to take up most of his focus until the finale.

            Geneva pushes herself up into a sitting position and rubs the knot on the back of her head.  She mumbles to herself until Ms. Olivia offers her a hand up.

            “Would you like to try one more time, Ms. Oaks?”

            “No, not really,” Geneva says.  “Seriously, you keep leaving bruises, my parents will start to wonder about these tutoring sessions.  And I’m not brave enough to try another mugger story.”

            Ms. Olivia casts a glance at the elves around the room.  “Then we will end our training for the day,” she says.  “Put the equipment away and do your stretches.  Then, I will take you home.”  

            “Then again, maybe we could say the first mugger came back to finish the job,” Geneva says, taking Ms. Olivia’s sword and then fetching her own.  She walks them across the basement and hangs them on the wall.  The elves watch her the entire time, as she stretches, as she gathers her things, and they talk. Geneva tries to ignore them.

            She fails.

            Ms. Olivia leads her outside, into the syrupy autumn light.  Six weeks have passed and the seasons have changed.  The leaves, once green, have been set ablaze in a sea of browns, reds, yellows, and oranges.  The grass crunches underfoot, and Geneva has to wear a jacket now to keep warm.

            They get into the SUV, and Ms. Olivia apologizes for the elves. “They’re making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

            Geneva shrugs. “Realistically? I’d have trouble even without the audience or the commentary,” Geneva says.  “Anyway, doesn’t matter.  I’m used to being made fun in not-so-hushed-breaths.”

            “Regardless, their behavior is unbecoming.  We’re supposed to be the high race, to be an example, and that is how they behave?  Disgusting.”             She starts the vehicle and pulls away from the other SUVs, and they turn down the road away from the compound.

            “Okay, let’s be real here for a second.  It’s pretty disgusting to refer to yourselves as the high race in the first place.  So, really, their behavior is just staying the course.”

            “Still, I apologize.”

            “You don’t have to.”

            “No, I do,” Ms. Olivia says emphatically.  “However I act, whoever I am, they represent me by association.  We should find another option, somewhere else to train without their scrutiny.”

            “Would Erak approve of that?”

            “No, but that hardly matters to me.”

            Geneva looks at her.  “Wow, teach, stick it to the man.  Then again, if that guy disapproves of something, then you know it’s the right thing to do.”

            Ms. Olivia allows a smirk.  “That may be true.”

            “By the way, speaking of things he won’t like, can I have tomorrow off?”

            “What? No. Why?”

            “Why ask why if you’ve already said no?”

            “Just answer.”

            Geneva sighs.  “I don’t really want to explain.  I just want the day off.”  She looks at her again.  “Please?”

            Ms. Olivia glances at her before taking a turn.  “Is it important?”

            “To some people.  Yes, yes it is.”

            “To you?”

            “Those people are important to me.  Yes.”

            “But the reason…”

            “Just say yes or no, please.”

            “Fine,” Ms. Olivia says.  “I suppose a single evening won’t hurt.  But let’s not have this become a repeating pattern.  And you will keep your phone on you.”

            “Oh, yeah, the phone!”  Geneva pulls her backpack up from the back seat and pulls her cellphone out.  It is cheap and discreet, and she is supposed to keep it a secret from everyone.  She checks to make sure that it is on.  “You know, it’s sad.  Every time I look at it, I keep thinking there will be messages on there for me.”

            “Why?  You haven’t given the number out, have you?”

            “No.  Chill.  I remember what you told me.”  She clears her throat and deepens her voice.  “’I’m giving you this phone so that if a demon problem arises I can contact you.  Something about rings and monsters.’”

            “Ms. Oaks, you know I don’t like when you do that,” Ms. Olivia says.  “For one thing, I sound nothing like that.”

            “You sound exactly like that.”

            She doesn’t.

            “Anyway, I’m not an idiot,” Geneva says.

            “Yes, well, still, make sure you keep the phone to yourself, please.”

            “I will.  It’d raise too many questions if someone found out I had it anyway,” Geneva says, and she jams the phone back into her backpack to be forgotten.  “And if my parents do see it, I’ll just say I’m holding it for a friend.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            After school the next day Geneva catches a ride home on the bus.  When she arrives, she retreats to her room to study and catch up on homework.  She enjoys the privacy of the evening, almost to the point of forgetting what is coming.  However, Beatrice comes knocking on her door at around six pm, and the illusion comes to an abrupt end.

            The door swings open, revealing her dress-adorned sister behind it.  “It’s time,” she says.

            “No, not yet.  I’m not ready yet.”

            “Sorry, kid,” Beatrice says, taking time to light an imaginary cigarette.  She draws air through her clenched teeth and releases a breath shortly after.  Then, carefully, she taps some invisible ashes onto the floor.  “Got any last words?”  She tries her hardest to sound gruff.

            “I’m too old for this.”

            “Oh, come on, Genie-bear.  Neva-cakes.  Sweetie-poodle.”

            Geneva screws her eyes.  “Sweetie-poodle?”

            Beatrice skips across the room and drags Geneva from her bed.  “You’re going to have a blast.”

            “No, I really won’t.”

            “Not if you keep up that attitude.”  Beatrice shoves Geneva out the door and toward the stairs.  “Now, close your eyes, and I’ll lead you down.”

            “You greatly overestimate how much I trust you.”

            “Oh, please, Geneva, like I’d let anything happen to you,” Beatrice says, guiding her.  “Mom and dad would never forgive me.  So, eyes closed.”

            Geneva sighs and obeys.  She closes her eyes and even covers them for good measure, and she lets Beatrice lead her by the hand.  It is hardly necessary.  She has lived in this house since birth and would know it even in the haze of half-sleep.

            Together they find the stairs and start their way down.  Geneva holds the handrail for support.  “You know,” she says back at Beatrice, “It’s not much of a surprise if I know it’s coming.”

            “Shush your head.  You’re over thinking this.  And you better at least act surprised this time.  Last year nearly broke mom’s heart.”

            “I’ll do my best,” Geneva says warily.

            They alight in the foyer and take a left toward the kitchen.  Geneva feels the entry way before passing through.  Beatrice leads her to the table and places her into a seat before leaving.  Conspiratorial whispers fill the room.  She recognizes her mother’s voice directing everyone.

            “You over there.  Beatrice, right here.  And honey, you stand here.  No, here.  And I’ll go here.  Okay.”  Silence reigns, save for the shuffle of feet. “Okay, Geneva, go ahead and open your eyes!”

            First thing Geneva sees is the darkened kitchen and a row of flames dancing on wax pillars.  A large, white cake is sitting in the center of the table, trimmed with pink frosting.  It holds seventeen candles, spaced evenly across its surface.  Four bodies take shape beyond that as she looks overtop the candle flames.  They synchronize a, “Happy Birthday, Geneva!”

            “Aw, thanks guys.  Mom, dad, Bea, and…Kit?”

            Kit winks and waves at Geneva.

            “Surprised, darling,” her mother asks, smiling.  “I pulled her aside last time you two had one of your little study dates and invited her over.  Thought you might like to have one of your little friends over instead of just your boring, old parents.”

            “Oh, mom, come on.  You’re not old.”

            “Well, thank you, honey.  Now blow out the candles and make your wish.”

            “Right.”  While her mother fusses about the table, Geneva eyes the candles and considers her wish.  After a moment’s thought, and further prodding from her mother, she settles on nothing and gives her greatest blow.  The room goes dark.

            Her father turns on the lights, and her mother starts dividing the cake while chatting excitedly with Kit.  She thanks Kit for coming, comments how surprised Geneva was, and laughs at something Kit says.  Geneva watches the surreal scene playout in silence.

            She takes a moment to consider how strange it is that she is being trained to fight monsters by an elf and how Kit being at her birthday is somehow more unbelievable to her.

            Everyone gets a slice of cake and a scoop of ice cream.  They sit around the table, chatting, sharing stories.  Geneva’s mother asks Kit how classes are and thanks her for helping Geneva to study.  She keeps using the word date, and Geneva can feel her cheeks growing redder with each passing moment.  Eventually, when unable to hide it anymore, she makes an excuse to escape and brings Kit with her.

            “So, you ready for tonight,” Kit says, setting her plate aside.  Her portion didn’t last long.

            “Nervous,” Geneva says, fiddling with her fork.  She draws tiny spirals in the icing.  “You know, we can always hang out here.”

            “This will be fun, Genny.” Kit touches Geneva’s leg lightly, watches her blush.  “I promise.”

            “Well, if you promise then I guess I’ll just have to go, huh?”

            “Yup.”

            “Should I get ready?”

            Kit shrugs.  “There’s no rush.  We’ve got plenty of time, and I wouldn’t mind hanging out with your family a bit longer.”

            “Sorry I haven’t told them.”

            “I haven’t told my parents.”  Kit smiles at her.  “And why should I?  It’s not their business.  It’s ours, and I like it that way.  Not that I am against showing you off.”

            Geneva stammers, stares at her plate.  “And my mom.  Sorry she’s such a spaz.”

            “Oh, stop that.  Your mom is sweet.  She’s just excited that you brought home a friend.”

            “She’s embarrassing,” Geneva says.  “Do you really like her?”

            “Of course.  She’s always nice to me, so I’ve got nothing against her.”

            “Well, of course she’s nice to you.  You’re not her daughter.”

            “That does seem to be how it works, huh?”

            “I don’t know.  My parents don’t seem to harp on Beatrice half as much as they harp on me.”

            “That’s because I’m low-key,” Beatrice says from the doorway.  Light spills out from behind her, illuminating the yard.  “Mom’s been looking for you.  Wants to ask if you’re still going to that thing tonight.  Oh, and hi, Kit.”

            “Hey, Beatrice.”

            “I was planning on going,” Geneva says.  “Why, did she change mind again?”

            Beatrice shrugs.  “How am I supposed to know? Why not ask her yourself?”

            Geneva rolls her eyes.  “Fine.  Kit, you want to come back in?”

            “What, she need your permission or something,” Beatrice asks.

            “Beatrice, would you just shoo?  Shoo!”  Geneva waves her hands at Beatrice, who makes whimpering noises and scurries back inside.  Kit laughs, and stands, and follows Geneva inside to the kitchen, where Mrs. Oaks is busy cleaning after the party.  When they enter, she looks at them.

            “Oh, Geneva, just the person I wanted to talk to.”

            “I had heard.  What’s up?”

            “I was wondering if you’re still going to that other party tonight.”

            “I was hoping to.”

            “And do you have all of your homework done,” her mother asks with a stern, motherly look for added effect.  It involves a perfect tilting of the head that exposes an unnerving amount of pupil in the eyes.  Geneva nearly shivers.

            “Yes, I have it all done,” she lies, almost smoothly.  “That’s what I was doing when Beatrice came up to get me.”

            “So, you aren’t done, but you were doing it?”

            “No.”

            “You don’t sound sure.”

            “YOU don’t sound sure.”

            “Geneva Evelyn Oaks, you know I hate when you do that.”

            “Sorry,” Geneva says, fixing her eyes on the ground.  When she meets her mother’s gaze again, she’s pouting.  “Pleas, mom, can I go?”

            Her mother stares for a moment longer.  “Yes, you may, but only if you promise to get your homework done after you get home.”

            “I promise, and I swear, up and down, whatever that means.”

            “Okay, good,” Mrs. Oaks says, putting the remaining cake into the refrigerator.  She goes to her purse.  “Will you need money?”

            Geneva looks at Kit, who says, “No, Mrs. Oaks.  We’ll be fine.  Just hanging out with a few of my friends.”

            “Okay, dear, and there will be adult supervision?”

            “Yes, ma’am.  My friend, Chelsea, her mom will be there.”

            “I don’t think I know a Chelsea.”

            “I met her outside of school.  She’s cool, in her church’s choir.”

            “Oh, that sounds nice.”  Geneva’s mother smiles.  “Well, come say goodbye before you go, Geneva.”

            “Okay.”  Geneva waits for her mother to leave the room before turning to Kit.  “How much of that is true?”

            “Fifty percent?  I mean, I did meet Chelsea outside of school.  And she does go to church.  I think.”

            “You’re totally a bad influence on me.”

            Kit grins.  “Well, I am dangerous.  Have I ever told you about the time I got in a fist-fight at school?”

            Geneva fans herself.  “Mercy me,” she says, and they laugh.  “Well, I guess I should go get ready.  I’ll be down in a bit.  And something about something more comfortable.”

            “I’ll be waiting,” Kit says, and before Geneva can go she gives her a quick kiss on the cheek.  Geneva’s entire face turns red.  She rushes up the stairs before her parents can ask why.

            In her bedroom, Geneva disrobes and puts on the outfit she prepared for the night.  She wriggles into her pair of good jeans while Beatrice slips into her room.  They make eye contact in Geneva mirror.  “Yes,” Geneva asks, sucking in her gut.

            “Well, aren’t you cute?  Getting all dressed up for your date?”

            “Maybe.  Is there a reason you’re bothering me, or is your life just that boring?”

            Beatrice looks thoughtful.  “Life’s boring,” she says, jumping onto Geneva’s bed.  “I like her.”

            “I’m glad?  This isn’t some awkward segue into a sisterly-threesome, is it?”

            “Not yet,” Beatrice says.  “Just wanted to tell you.  Glad you got all of that sorted out.”

            “Yeah,” Geneva says, and she hesitates to take her shirt off.  After doing it, she pulls on a black top with a plunging neckline, or at least plunging by her standards.  She poses, holds her stomach.  Then, she turns to Beatrice, who is picking her toes.  “Hey, Bea, I just wanted to say—Well, thanks.  For, you know.”

            “You’re welcome.”  She stands from the bed and approaches Geneva, adjusts her collar.  “And I’m proud of you, Geneva, and I love you.  No matter who you are, or who you love.”

            Geneva hugs Beatrice, who is momentarily taken by surprise and hugs her back.  They stay like this for a bit, and then Beatrice breaks away and goes to the door.

            “And, Geneva, remember.  She won’t respect you if you put out on the first date.”

            “I don’t know, Bea.  All those nice gentlemen you go out with seem to respect you.”

            “That’s because I’m good at it.  You?  You’ll need to keep her waiting.”

            “Ouch, Bea.  Ouch.”

            “Truth hurts,” Beatrice says, and she steps back into the hall.

            Geneva shakes her head and returns to the mirror.  She poses, smoothing her stomach and trying to imagine that she is someone else.  She leans in and fiddles with her eyes brows, and she wishes her forehead was different.  Then, she sighs.  “I’m about as good as I’ll get, and better than usual.”  She stares at herself.  “I should go.  Kit’s waiting.”

            Geneva returns to the kitchen, where Kit greets her with a smile and no small amount of praise.  Together, they go to say goodbye to Geneva’s parents, who demand she be back before midnight.  Her father gives her a hug and mutters something about how big his girl has gotten.  Her mother gives her a longer, tighter hug, and tells her to be back before curfew on threat of grounding.

            “Love you, too, mom.”

            They stay embraced for a few seconds longer, and Geneva looks to Kit, who waits patiently in the entryway.

            “Mom? Can I go?”

            “Not yet,” she says.  She lingers a moment longer and then releases.  There are tears in her eyes.  “You girls have fun.”

            “Thanks, Mrs. Oaks, Mr. Oaks.  I had fun,” Kit says, waving as Geneva hurries to her side.  They both return the sentiment.

            Together, Geneva and Kit step into the cool October air and walk across the yard to Kit’s car.  Kit opens the passenger side door for Geneva.

            “You know, you didn’t have to lie to them about the fun,” Geneva says, getting in.

            “Don’t be mean, they’re sweet,” Kit says, closing the door.  She rounds the car and gets in on her side.  “Your parents could be a lot worse, you know.”

            “I know, I’m just kidding.”  Geneva fastens her seatbelt and tries to smother the butterflies in her stomach.  “So, where are we going again?”

            “Just a little party.”  Kit looks at her.  “I told you. It’ll be small.  It’ll be fine.”

            “I know, I know.  Small.  Fine.  But what’re they celebrating?”

            “It’s the weekend and their parents are out of town?  That’s not important.  What is important is that all of my friends are there, and you get to meet them.”

            “Right.  All of your friends.  Are there.  And you’re showing me off.  Because I’m your girlfriend.”  She laughs and stares at her shirt.  “I should have went with the blue.”

            “You’re fine, Genny.  You look hot.”

            “Kit.  Please, I look cute, at best.”

            Kit starts the car.  “Here we go.”

            “I’m just saying, I’m a four, a six on a good day.”  Geneva feels her hair.  “And today is not a good day.”

            “Listen, I’ve seen you with a whole Cheeto in your hair before, and even then you were better than a four.”  Kit looks at her before pulling away from the yard.  “And today you don’t have any Cheetos.  I think.  Either way, you look good.”

            Geneva adjusts her shirt, hoping to hide her belly.  “You think so?”

            “I know.”

            “Okay.”  Geneva takes a deep breath.  “I can do this.  I can do this.”

            “You can,” Kit says, touching her leg again.

            Geneva smiles, anxiously, and feels her cheeks warm.  She looks out the window.  “Hey, Kit, think we can maybe pretend your friends won’t show up?  Might take some of the pressure off.”

            “Sure,” Kit says.  “I’m sure they’ll all be at home.”

            “Thanks.  Think we can pretend that we’re going to go see penguins?”

            Kit glances at her.  “Penguins?”

            “Yeah.  They look so cute, waddling around in their little waiter’s outfits, not judging anyone.”

            “Genny, my friends won’t judge you.  At least, so long as you don’t bring up that penguin thing.”

            “Oh, Kit, lovely, naïve Kit.  You were doomed from the start.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Claude rinses his hands and dries them.  “Okay, I’m done.”

            “Hey, don’t forget your check,” Eddie says.  He is bent over the grill, scrubbing it vigorously before the end of his shift.  Eddie is a short, stalwart man with squared shoulders and strong forearms.

            “Today is payday?”

            Eddie nods in return.

            Claude exits the kitchen and tries to remember the date.  He reaches the office and does the punch on his card.  Then, he goes to the front desk for his check.  The clerk, a tall, bespectacled woman named Joan, is busy with some paper work.  She looks up when Claude rings the bell.

            “Sorry to keep you waiting—Claude.”

            He laughs.  “Sorry, couldn’t resist.  I was coming by to grab my check.”

            “Yeah, yeah,” she says, going to a nearby draw and sifting through envelopes.  She pulls one out and sets it on the counter.  Claude signs for it.

            “Thanks,” Claude says, tapping the check against the counter before turning.

            “No problem.  Oh, and did you see your friend?”

            “My friend?”  Claude looks back at her, and then at the empty foyer.

            “Yes.  A pretty girl came by calling on you. I told her you were in the kitchen, and she told me not to bother you, and said she would wait.  I think she might be around the dining room.”

            “Really?  I didn’t see her.  What does she look like?”

            “Short, long hair.”  Joan smiles.  “She seems really sweet.”

            “Short?  Couldn’t be,” he says.  “Thanks, Joan, I’ll go find her.”

            “Good luck.”

            Claude pockets his check and returns to the dining room.  He finds it empty, save for one of the cleaning ladies, who is busy vacuuming the carpet.  Just as he is about to go ask her, Claude sees the women’s restroom door open and she comes out.

            And she is just as he remembers her, short, slender, wide hips, and long auburn hair.  The only difference Claude can note is the color of her eyes.  They seem bluer than ever before.

            They lock eyes, and she smiles at him.  She takes the first step, and they meet in the center of the dining room.

            “Shirley?”

            She giggles.  “Yup.  Long time, no see, Claude.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The party is going by the time they arrive, and it isn’t much like what Geneva imagined.  When Kit first proposed an outing on her birthday, when Kit first used the word ‘party,’ Geneva imagined roadside brawls, drugs in the bathroom, and sex everywhere.  As they cross the lawn, Kit holding Geneva’s hand and leading the way, Geneva is glad to see perhaps only one drunk person there, muttering to a group of friends who are keeping an eye on him.

            “So, this is what a high school party is like?”

            “Some of them,” Kit says.  “If you’re smart, you avoid the ones that aren’t.”

            They enter the house and step into the stale air of a gathering.  There are bodies from wall-to-wall.  Music struggles to be heard over the voices. 

“Whoa,” Geneva says, “People.”

            “Not too many.” Kit looks at her.  “Right?”

            “This isn’t too many?”

            Kit laughs.  “Just wait until I take you to a club.”

            “Is that a domestic abuse joke?”

            “Geneva.”

            “Seriously, though, I don’t know if I can handle all that.”  She follows Kit in, watchesh er wave at people, and smile, and greet someone from across the room.

            “You’ll manage,” Kit says.  “Now, come on, let’s make rounds.”

            “Rounds,” Geneva parrots, and she stumbles after.  A whirlwind of greetings follows.  Kit glows under the attention.  Geneva, meanwhile, does her best not to wilt while keeping pace and being arm-candy.  To her, that means keeping quiet and smiling without smiling too much.  She lets Kit hold her hand even as their palms grow sweaty.

            Names and faces become interchangeable, and after a few minutes Geneva gives up on remembering anyone and accepts the reality of the moment.  She is surrounded by strange people, in a strange person’s house, while being shown off like jewelry.  The novelty wears off quickly and leaves her feeling tired and, somehow, naked.

            Eventually they find a corner in the living room and stop there.  The people here seem to have less energy than the other partygoers, but still more than Geneva has on a good day.  A few are drinking alcohol, but in measured doses.

            “So, you’re Geneva,” says a tall, redheaded girl with a nose piercing.  Geneva can’t remember her name, but she wants to call her Rebecca or Becky.  “It’s nice to finally meet you.  We’ve heard so much.”

            “Yeah, well…”  Geneva looks at Kit and finds her busy with someone else.  Without anyone to take over, she braces for conversation.  “Hope they were good things.”

            “They were,” says Rebecky.  She sips a soda casually and looks good while doing it.  Geneva can’t help but think that she would buy that soda if she saw this girl in a commercial drinking it.  “She said you were sarcastic, but you seem nice to me.”

            “Well, hate to shatter the illusion, but I am sarcastic.  At least, more sarcastic than nice.  Just a little overwhelmed right now.”

            Rebecky laughs.  “Not used to big crowds?”

            “Not outside in the real world,” Geneva says, and Rebecky laughs again.  “Seriously, though.  First party I’ve ever been to.”

            “Well, fair warning.  You should get used to them.  Kit’s a bit of a party girl.”

            “Is she now?”

            “Yeah, don’t worry though.  She’s not crazy.  No drugs or drinking.  Just likes to have fun.”

            “Yeah.  Fun.”  Geneva casts a glance at Kit, who is talking animatedly.  Suddenly, Geneva misses the safety of a sweaty palm.

            After a lull, Rebecky says, “So, heard you play video games?”

            “Not lately.  Kind of in trouble because of my grades.”

            “That sucks.”

            “Yeah,” Geneva says.  She tries to remember what her mother told her about making friends.  After a discarding a few nuggets of advice she says, “So, uh, what’re you into?”

            “Everything.  Anything that’s an experience.  Went base jumping a while back.”

            “Base jumping?”

            “Yeah.  So, it’s like, you jump off of really tall things with a parachute.”

            “Oh,” Geneva says.  “Sounds safe.”

            “Sarcasm?”

            “Sorry.  It’s pretty much a second nature to me.”

            Rebecky shrugs.  “It’s fine, but you should try is some time.  Total rush.”

            “Yeah, no offense.  Don’t think I’ll be jumping from anything too tall for a while.”

            “Except for Kit, maybe.”

            Geneva blushes, and Kit leans into the conversation, hanging from Geneva’s shoulder.  “Hey, you two.  Talking about me?”

            “A little,” Rebecky says.

            “Not telling her any embarrassing stories about me, are you?”

            “Not yet.  Give us a few minutes.”

            Kit laughs.  “Hey, Genny, Rachel wants to show me something, and I need a new drink.  So, I’ll be right back.  You want anything?”

            “Uh, sure,” Geneva says, and she gives Kit her drink preference.  Then, Kit kisses her on the cheek and leaves.  Geneva, still blushing, looks at Rebecky, and then at all of the people around her.  She smiles anxiously.

            “You two are cute together.  And you really seem to make her happy.  I’m glad.”

            Geneva takes a deep breath.  “Thanks.  To be honest, I’m new to all of this dating stuff.”

            “New to dating girls or…”

            “Dating in general.”

            “I see.  Well, you’ll get used to it.”

            “Like parties?”

            “Exactly.”

            After that, Geneva settles in.  She keeps to her quiet corner and watches people mingle, and she wonders why they are so comfortable with the loud music and the even louder conversation.  While she waits, a tiny girl with curly blond hair and pink highlights comes sauntering through the crowd. She has her nose and right eyebrow pierced.

            She stops in front of Geneva, hips cocked to one side, and looks her over.  It is an act of appraisal, and judging from her expression, Geneva isn’t much to look at.  “So,” she says, her voice surprisingly deep, “You’re Kit’s little girlfriend.”

            “Well, I don’t know about little,” Geneva says, poking her own belly.  “But, yeah, I’m Kit’s girlfriend.  As surreal as that is to say.”

            “Surreal is right.”

            “Uh, who are you?”

            “I’m Eve.  Kit’s ex.”

            Geneva pauses to digest the information, looks for Kit.

            “Or, well, guess I’m not her ex.  We never dated.  Just had sex.  A lot.”

            Rebecky notices Eve and comes hurrying over.  “Eve.  What’re you doing here?”

            “Just talking to Kit’s new girlfriend here.  Telling her about old times with her lover.”

            Geneva’s cheeks burn, and she looks to Rebecky for help.  What she gets is a halfhearted frown and a muttered, “Eve.”

            “What?  I’m not saying anything isn’t true, I can tell you that much.”  She approaches Geneva.  “Hey, lighten up.  You’re so stiff.  Everyone is saying so.”

            Geneva looks around the room.  Suddenly, it feels like all eyes are on her.

            “Come on, girl.  If you’re going to be hanging out with this crowd—and you will, if you’re dating Kit—then you need to relax some.”

            “Sorry,” Geneva says, and she imagines turning into a turtle and retreating into her shell. Without a shell, she finds comfort in backing toward the corner.  “Not used to parties.”

            Eve smiles so sugary and sweet that it makes Geneva sick just looking at it.  “Don’t be sorry, just let Eve take care of you.”  She slips a slender arm over Geneva’s shoulders and leads her away, into the sea of people.  As they depart, Geneva looks back for help from Rebecky, but she finds that the other girl has disappeared from view.

            Geneva is led to where all of the drinks are.  Various colored liquids in big and small bottles are scattered across a kitchen counter with stacks of red solo cups towering beside them.  Eve pulls away and performs alchemy with the liquids, pouring here, mixing, stirring, and then hands Geneva the finished product.

            Geneva smells of it, and it makes her stomach twist.  “What is it?”

            “Confidence,” Eve says, her smile lingering.  “Come on, don’t tell me you’ve never drank before.  What, did Kit get you straight out of the womb?”

            “No.  I mean, I’ve never drank, but…”  Geneva looks for help but finds herself all alone and surrounded by people.  She looks back at the cup.

            “Then it’s time to live a little, don’t you think?”

            Geneva takes a deep breath.  “Just the one drink.”

            “That’s all it’ll take.”

            Geneva nods.  “Right,” she says, and she holds the cup poised against her lips.  “Right,” she says again, and she downs the contents with one gulp.  Fire spreads across her throat and fills her stomach, and she can feel the cake churning.  She winces and wipes at her mouth.  “Ugh!  People really drink this stuff?”

            “People love that stuff,” Eve says.  “You’ll get used to it.”

            Geneva smacks her lips and continues to grimace.  “Not sure I want to.”

            “Come on, give it another shot,” Eve says, holding up another cup.  “This is my favorite drink.  It’s a bit sweeter.”

            “No thanks, I’m good.”

            “Kit told everyone that it’s your birthday today.  How old did you turn, seven?”

            “No.”

            “Then how old are you really?”

            “Sixteen.”  Geneva shakes her head.  The room sways slightly.  “Er, seventeen.”

            “See, you’re old enough to make your own decisions.  So, act your age and drink.”

            Again, Geneva looks for help, and again, she ends up with a red solo cup in her hands.

            A few minutes later Kit approaches, and she finds Geneva alone on one side of the counter, surrounded by a collection red solo friends.  On the other side of the counter, Eve watches, smiling as she fixes drinks.  Geneva downs another cup, and Eve says, “See, not so bad.”

            “Yeah,” Geneva says, shaking her head.  “I can barely taste how awful it is anymore.”

            “There’s the spirit.  Here, try this,” Eve says, handing Geneva another cup, which Kit intercepts.

            “I think she’s had enough.”

            Eve glares.  “What, you her babysitter?”

            “I’m her girlfriend.”

            “Fine,” Eve says, and she takes the cup for herself.  “Whatever.  Have fun with her then!”  She hurries away before Kit can respond.

            Kit turns to Geneva, who falls into her in a fit of giggles.  “Kit, look, Kit.  I finally loosened up.”

            “I can see that,” Kit says, stumbling against Geneva’s weight.  She points to the nearby cups.  “You drink all of these?”

            “I was thirsty.”

            “You must have been.  Come on, Genny, let’s go find you a seat.”

            “I’m good,” Geneva says, swaying.  “The world is spinning, Kit.  Not me.”

            “Yeah, that happens when you drink this much.”

            “No, what I mean is, like, I can feel the world spinning.”  Geneva braces against Kit and stares at the room.  “And it’s taking the room with it.”

            “Come on, Genny.”

            “No, no, I’m good,” Geneva says, staggering away.  She nearly falls forward into the open fire pit, but Kit catches her and pulls her away.  Geneva gives her a pitiful look.  “Kit.”

            “Yes?”

            “I’m not good,” she says, and she vomits on their feet.

            Kit stops, stone still, and holds Geneva up as she continues to vomit.  She sighs when Geneva finally stops, and she does her best to smooth back Geneva’s hair.  “You done?”  Geneva nods, weakly, and Kit rubs her back.  “Come on, let’s get you home.”

            Geneva groans.

            With help, Kit gets Geneva to the door.  On the way, she apologizes to her friends and explains what happened.  Her friend is patient and tells her not the worry, and she does it while showing them out.

            The air outside is cold and moist.  Geneva shivers until Kit gives her a coat.  Holding the coat tight to her body and leaning for support, Geneva says, “Kit, did you tell that girl that I’m sorry about her shoes?”

            “I’m sure she knows,” Kit says, still holding Geneva up.  They make it to the car, and Kit leans Geneva against it while pulling the passenger door open.  She directs her inside and buckles her in.

            “Hey, Kit,” Geneva says, staring at a blurry blonde image with freckles that is standing in the cold, autumn night.

            “Yes, Geneva?”

            “Thanks and stuff.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            After meeting in the lobby, Claude and Shirley stare at each other for a few seconds.  Then, Shirley invites Claude to supper.  He agrees, hesitantly, and lets her lead him out to her car, which is packed full of her things.

            They ride, in silence, about the town.  Shirley asks for Claude’s recommendation and, without anything to recommend, he suggests the place where Marisa took him.  After that, silence settles again, and Claude doesn’t know whether to welcome it or not.

            They arrive and go inside.  Claude holds the door for her.  She thanks him and smiles.  They sit in a corner, by a window, where they can watch the highway.  It isn’t until they give drink orders to a tired looking woman with vibrantly dyed violet hair that conversation starts new.

            “Claude, it’s so great to see you.  You’re looking good,” Shirley says as she appraises him.  “If a bit thin.”

            “Haven’t had time to exercise.”

            “Is that all?  Are you eating well?”

            Claude thinks of the free meals at the hotel.  He sips his water.  “I’m well fed.”

            “That’s not what I meant.”

            “I’m fine, Shirley, and I’m more worried about you.  What are you doing here?”

            “Well, it’s kind of a long story, but my boss had this friend who was looking for a good secretary up here.  Her last one retired, and so I came up to fill the position.”

            “You moved up here?”

            She nods.

            “But what about your life back home?”

            “I can see my family on the holidays,” she says.  “How often do you get an opportunity like this?”

            “Like what?”

            “To see the world, Claude.”

            “But what about your friends?  Your, well, everything?”

            “You came up here, too,” she says.  “What about your friends?”

            She sounds hurt, and she looks worse.  Claude looks out the window.  Outside, the streetlights are flickering to life.  Their synthetic orange clashes with and drains the color of the actual sunset.

            “Claude, I missed you.  We all did.  And I still don’t understand why you had to come all the way up here.”

            “I just do, okay?”  He looks her in the eyes and is disarmed by how blue they are.  For his entire life he has seen those very same eyes almost every day.  The night before he saw them in a photograph, but only now does he notice their color.  “Shirley, you know how it is.  It’s my destiny.”

            “I know that, and if you had let me finish, I was going to say that.”  Her tone shifts, from hurt to stern. “Claude, I know you’re…”  She pauses, looks around the diner.  The only other customer, a bum across the building, is too occupied with his coffee to notice them.  “I know your secret.  So, I understand that sometimes you have to do stuff like this. But I still don’t like it.”

            “You don’t have to like it, but it doesn’t change anything.  I have a responsibility to the world.  I have to be here.”

            “Like I said, I know.  We all do, and that’s why I think it would be wrong of me to stay at home while you’re off fulfilling your destiny.”

            Claude pauses to digest her statement, to tear it apart.  When finished, he sums his thoughts up with a simple question: “What?”

            “If something is happening here, something important, then you shouldn’t be here to fight it by yourself.”

            Claude sighs.  “Shirley, it’s…”

            She puts her hand up to stop him.  “No, Claude.  You don’t have to understand.  If your destiny is to leave, then it’s my decision to follow.”

            “But…”

            “And it’s also my decision to pay,” Shirley says, spying the waitress’ approach.

            “Now that’s not…”

            “Come on, Claude.  It’s the twenty-first century.  Why can’t a girl pay for a meal?  Besides, that new job I got?  It comes with a big raise.  So, eat up, because I intend to put some meat on those bones.”

            “Fine,” Claude says, somewhat warily.  “But, if you insist on paying, then I insist on putting you up for the night.”

            Shirley beams.  “Sounds good.  We haven’t had a sleepover in years!”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Kit drives Geneva home and, on the way, keeps a close eye on her.  In return, Geneva litters heartfelt apologies and appreciations between drunken chitchat.  The ride home seems much, much shorter than the ride to the party for Geneva who, by arrival, has her face pinned flat against the passenger window.

            “Seriously, Kit, I’m so, so sorry,” Geneva slurs as she staggers out of the car.  She falls, securely, into Kit’s strong, thin arms and blushes faintly.  They stare into each other’s eyes.  “Thanks.”

            “No problem,” Kit says, shutting the door with her free hand.  She guides Geneva, carefully, to the front door.  On the way, Geneva nearly tumbles again.

            “No, no,” Geneva says, hanging from Kit.  “Really, thanks.  You’ve been a peach.  A queen.  A real gentle—er—lady.”  They stop at the door, and Geneva leans against the doorway.  “Give me a second.  I’m going to barf.”

            “Go ahead,” Kit says, holding Geneva hair and rubbing her back.  They stand there, Geneva hunched and panting, and Kit waiting.

            Geneva straightens.  “Never you mind.  I’m good.”

            “I’m glad to hear it.”

            “You mad?”

            “No.  I’m not mad.”

            “You sure,” Geneva asks.  She is resting with her back against the door while Kit fiddles with her keys.  Geneva starts sliding sideways.

            “Yes, I’m sure,” Kit says, catching Geneva and righting her.  “Mostly, I’m worried.”

            “Oh.”  Geneva waves her hand.  “Oh, don’t be worried, silly Kitty Kit Cat!  I’m fine.  Just a little dizzy is all.”

            “That can happen when you drink.”

            Geneva makes a sound, with her mouth, that she imagines to sound like a scoff.  In reality, it sounds something more like a halfhearted belch.  “I didn’t drink that much.”

            “You drank plenty,” Kit says.  She sighs and flips the key, hoping to find the lock in the dark.

            “Could drink more,” Geneva says.  “Like a fish.  You know, they’re the ones with the real problem.  Them fishes.  Should probably have a sit down with them. Talk to them.”

            “We can do that tomorrow.”

            Geneva snorts with laughter.  “Kit, you’re silly.”  She slaps Kit across the chest, gently, and then laughs more.  “Anyone ever tell you that your boobs are huge?”

            Kit twists the knob and feels it give.  She pulls Geneva to her again.  “Okay, let’s get you inside.”

            “Inside?”  Geneva groans.  “Oh, no.  My parents.”

            “The lights are off, don’t worry.”

            Geneva takes Kit by the waist and pulls her close.  They fall, gently, into the door and stare, their faces drawing closer and closer.  Kit is wide-eyed; Geneva smiles.

            “Uh, hey, Genny, what’re you doing?”

            “Being inconspicuous.”

            “What?”

            “Whenever people are watching in the movies, you always kiss so whoever doesn’t get suspicious.”

            “Wouldn’t your parents be more suspicious if they saw us kissing, considering things?”

            Their lips touch, lightly, but it is not full contact.  The air is tense and warm, warmer than it should be.  Geneva wets her lips.  “Kit?”

            “Yes?”

            “Did you know you’ve got freckles?”

            “Uh.”

            “Uh oh.”

            “What now?”

            Geneva turns to the side and vomits on the lawn.  She starts to fall forward, but Kit catches her and hauls her back up.  She holds Geneva hair and says, “There we go.  Get it all out of you.”

            “Kit,” Geneva groans.

            “Yes?”

            “I’m never drinking again.”

            “Let’s hope not.”  Kit pulls Geneva to full standing, rubs her back.  “You better?”

            Geneva nods pathetically.

            “Okay, then come on.”  Kit opens the door slowly and keeps Geneva steady.  She checks the living room and kitchen before moving carefully across the foyer to the stairs, where she nearly carries Geneva up the first few steps.  Partway up, Geneva grips the rail and holds.

            “I’m going to barf again.”

            “No, you’re not.  Not here.  Just make it to the bathroom.”

            “Kay.”

            They continue their ascent, one step at a time and reach the hall.  Geneva remembers it being less blurry and braces against the wall for support.  It doesn’t keep everything from shifting.  She shuffles, slowly, toward the bathroom and passes it.

            “Geneva?”

            “I can make it,” Geneva says, with the determination of a drunk on a mission, and she marches forward.  Kit follows along, unwilling and unable to argue.  When they reach Geneva’s room, they stumble their way inside.  Geneva manages to reach the bed before collapsing.  With effort, she rolls onto her back.  Then, she begins to giggle.

            Kit closes the door.  “You okay over here,” she asks, approaching the bed and waiting for instructions.

            “I’m good.  Here.” Geneva lifts her legs and points her feet at Kit.  “Shoes.”

            “Alright, alright,” Kit says, taking Geneva foot in hand and undoing her shoe.  She drops the first and then quickly removes the second.  Then, she swivels Geneva around and throws her legs onto the bed.  “Anything else, you brat?”

            “Mmhmm.  Come here, Kit.”

            “Why, what’s up now?”

            Kit leans forward, and Geneva pulls her into a kiss.  To start, it is simple, clumsy, but Geneva twists and yanks Kit into the bed with her.  She pins Kit against the sheets and puts weight behind the kiss, and Kit embraces her.

            They tumble along the bed and stop against the wall.  Kit is pinned, halfway on top of Geneva, their legs tangled.  Their kiss breaks, briefly, long enough only for a breath or two, and then they resume.  Geneva jams her tongue into Kit’s mouth and presses tight against her.

            Kit’s hands drift down and find home on Geneva’s hips.  From there, she launches a successful expedition into Geneva’s shirt.  A thrill climbs Geneva’s spine.  She feels the hand on her stomach and deepens the kiss.  Just as Kit is about to cup one of Geneva’s breast they part.

            Geneva pulls away and nearly falls from the bed.  She is caught by the quick wit and quicker reflexes of Kit, who seizes her by the arm and pulls her back.  “Are you okay,” Kit asks, breathless.  “Did I do something wrong?”

            “No, you didn’t.  I didn’t.  We.”  Geneva blushes.  “Sorry.”

            “No, no, it’s fine, it’s fine.  You shouldn’t apologize.  You’re still drunk, and it wouldn’t be right,” Kit says.  “I should go.”  As carefully as she can, Kit crawls over Geneva to leave.  As she finds the floor in the dark and plants her feet, Kit feels Geneva’s hand on hers.  She looks back.  “What?”

            “You don’t have to go.”

            “Geneva?  Are you sure?”

            Geneva nods.

            “Okay then, scoot over.”

            Geneva slides over, pressing against the wall, and lets Kit climb in.  Then, she yanks the blanket over them and turns her back to Kit.  They settle together, in the quiet and the dark, and for the first time, Geneva feels the warmth of another body in her bed.  It is strange but comforting.

            She looks back over her shoulder at Kit and realizes just how drunk she is.  The shadows undulate.  She whispers, “Kit?”

            “What?”

            “Do you think you could hold me?”

            “Sure,” Kit says, rolling onto her side and slipping one arm around Geneva.  Shortly after, she hears Geneva snoring, and she smiles and settles in, finding sleep herself.

 

The Knights of Sheba 106 A…End

12: Episode Six: "Party" B

The Knights of Sheba 106 B…Start 

            Claude and Shirley get back to the hotel late.  They are greeted by the woman tending the front desk, who gives a warm smile and a wink at Claude as he passes. Claude blushes and tries not to make eye contact.  Shirley, meanwhile, smiles and waves.

            They walk down the hall together, Claude leading, Shirley trailing.  He unlocks his door and shows her into his dark, cluttered hotel room.  Clothes remain piled around the floor.  A few empty food containers are stacked neatly on his table.  He gathers them quickly and tries to jam them into his trashcan but finds it wanting.

            “Sorry,” he says, looking at her.  He rubs the back of his neck.  “It’s kind of a mess.”

            Shirley nods and looks around the room.  “I understand.  You’re pretty much living out of a suitcase.”

            Claude glances at his empty suitcase and says, “Yeah, pretty much.”

            “Bathroom, over here,” she asks, pointing to a door.  He nods.  “Okay, I’ll be right out,” she says, and she slips inside.

            While she uses the restroom, Claude goes down the hall and asks for the key to the storage closet.  The woman at the desk giggles and gives it to him, and he blushes more and leaves without another word.  He grabs an extra pillow and an extra blanket, and then he returns the key.  Back in his room, he clears a spot on the floor for him to sleep.

            When Shirley steps out of the bathroom, she is wearing nothing but a long t-shirt that barely reaches mid-thigh.  Claude can’t help but stare at her long, shapely legs as she walks. She falls onto the bed and Claude catches sight of her rear before she lands.

            He looks away.

            She pulls the blanket up around her waist and watches Claude clear the floor. “Uh, what in the world do you think you’re doing?”

            Claude looks up, hesitantly and, finding her covered, makes eye contact.  “I’m sleeping on the floor.”

            “I figured out that much.  What I mean is, why?”

            “Because I won’t make you,” he says, dropping his pillow.

            “Right, but there’s no reason for you to, either.  We can share the bed.”

            “No,” Claude says, imagining her rear and the way it filled her underwear.  His blush deepens.  “No, we can’t.”

            “Oh, come on, Claude, we’ve shared a bed plenty of times.”

            “When we were kids.”

            “We’re still young.”

            “We’re plenty older,” Claude says, looking anywhere but at her.

            “Claude, this isn’t that big of a deal, but if you are going to force yourself to sleep on the floor, then I can go to the front desk and rent a room for myself.”

            “No,” he says.  “No, you shouldn’t.  Come on, just let it go.  I’d be more comfortable this way.”

            “No, you won’t.  No one is more comfortable on the floor.  So, just stop being a baby and share the bed with me.  If it makes you more comfortable, we can sleep back-to-back.”

            “It won’t.”

            “Please, Claude.”

            He sighs.  “Fine,” he says, shaking his head.  “I don’t know why I even tried to argue with you.”

            “Neither do I,” says Shirley, beaming.

            Claude climbs into the bed with every intention of slipping out when she falls asleep.  She settles quickly and is out in a matter of minutes, while Claude lies awake, staring at the ceiling, heart pumping and mind racing.  He tries to remember the young girl from his childhood, but the girl he knew didn’t have legs like hers.

            Before he can make it out of bed, Shirley stretched out and throws one leg over him.  Claude sighs and resigns himself to his fate.  No matter how hard he tries, he knows Shirley, and he knows that she will always be at his back, and, deep down, he finds comfort in that.

            He falls asleep with Shirley there beside him just like they did when they were children.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Three demons approach Seere’s vicounty, travelling from Andromalius’ duchy.  They wear dark, tattered cloaks and carry with them heavy satchels filled with loot, and they smile broadly at their return.

            When approaching the city, they are hailed by guards and escorted to the keep.  There, they are immediately granted audience with Seere.  They wait for him in the throne room, holding their satchels tight to their breasts and staring ahead as Ruka watches them.  Even in good times, he is an imposing figure.

            Seere enters from a back passage and greets them warmly.  He wears a long, purple robe with intricate embroidery.  They bow at his presence and wait for him to speak before standing.  “I see you’ve returned, and from the looks of things, you come bearing gifts,” he says, taking his throne.

            The three approach cautiously, watching Ruka as they do.  They set their bags at Seere’s feet and await his appraisal.  “There is more,” says the tall one in the center, their leader.  “Much more, both fitting your description and some entirely outside of it.  We did what we could, but it truly is a magnificent sight.”

            “Oh,” Seere says, pulling open the satchel in the center.  He finds a dark, wooden box with gold filigree cut into the surface, and he pulls it out to examine its contents.  Inside of the box is a soft fabric with three rings evenly spaced on it.  He smiles and sets the box aside on the floor.

            While Seere looks, the leader says, “We were there only a short time, but we saw entire cities, some broken, some standing.  They were abandoned.  No bodies, no blood, just trees and vines and stone, and there was this husk in the sky, floating.”

            “It looked like an eye,” says one.  “Like it was watching us.”

            “Yes,” Seere says, examining the contents of another bag.  Inside is a spear, its blade dulled and aged, its haft broken.  He recognizes it from one of his books.

            “There is much more than that.  We could have brought more, but were afraid it would weigh us down.”

            “I suspected as much.  Genocide is simple.  The extermination of their entire history, however, is not.”  Seere sets the sack aside and graces them with a smile.  “You’ve done wonderfully,” he says, and he carefully undoes the last bag and examines its contents.  Inside is jewelry beset with gemstones the size of eyeball, circlets polished to a shine, and other fineries. “Ruka, see to it that they are paid for their services.”

            “My lord,” Ruka says, and he turns to a guard nearby and issues orders.  The guard goes to the three and leads them away.

            The leader lingers for a bit.  “My lord, will you be calling upon us again.”

            “In the future, yes, but not for now.  Stay alive, however, and I will call.”

            “Of course, my lord,” he says, and he bows again before leaving.

            Once alone, Seere has Ruka carry the satchels to the viscount’s chamber.  There, he carefully extracts their contents, piece by piece, and lays them out on his war table.  Ruka watches nearby, looking bored and, at times, frustrated.  After Seere finishes one satchel, Ruka approaches and picks up the box.  He examines the rings while frowning.

            “Forgive my lack of imagination, my lord, but what will you do with such trinkets?”

            “A great many things,” Seere says, resting the spearhead on the table.  He places the broken haft beside it.  “A great, great many things.  You mustn’t look at each individual piece in terms of what is but what could be.  Myths abound, Ruka.  We have a full stock of them in our library.”

            Ruka returns the box to the table. “Yes, but I fail to see how stories will help us win wars.”

            “Because stories are history, and history is culture.  Everything that we were, everything that we have become, is found within those books.  Again, you must not look at stories and see stories, but see what they could and have become, what history they may be hiding.”

            “If I may, is that how you predicted the reopening of the gate?”

            Seere gives a modest smile.  “If I had to call that anything, I’d call it intuition, or perhaps luck.  No, the myths have given me much more. For example…”  Seere picks up the broken spear and shows it to Ruka.  It glints the midday light.  “This is what those myths have shown me.”

            “And what is it?”

            “A tool,” Seere says.  “Something to bargain with and, if I do it right, it will be the key to our future.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Nina swings high, purposefully missing, and watches Geneva duck and stumble before falling.  Then, she watches Geneva growl and rub her bottom.  Nina pauses and cradles her wooden sword on her shoulder.  “Are you okay?  Your performance today is in decline.”

            “Fine, just…”  Geneva physically reaches for the word.  “Fuzzy,” she says, gesturing vaguely with her hand.  She staggers to her feet.

            “Will this happen every time I allow you an evening off?”

            “No,” Geneva groans.  “At least, I hope not.”

            “Yes, well, we’re not getting anywhere talking about it.  Let’s continue.” Nina steps in and brings her blade down overhead.  Geneva barely reacts before it lands.

            “Ow!”

            “If you don’t want to be hit, then dodge,” Nina says, spinning dramatically on heel and bringing her blade around.  This time, Geneva dodges, ducking under and stumbling away.

            “Can’t we call it a day,” Geneva asks, retreating.  She blocks a series of quick swipes and catches one to her side.  Wincing, she says, “I’m really not feeling well.”

            “Use the pain as a distraction,” Nina says.  She swings hard and knocks Geneva off balance.  While Geneva stumbles, Nina closes distance and knocks her over.  Geneva lies on the floor, holding her stomach and groaning.  “No time for lament,” Nina says, pacing a circle around Geneva.  “Get up and go again.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Early next morning Claude, prepares for work while Shirley sleeps.  He slept better than he expected and finds himself well-rested, if a bit flustered.  After changing into his uniform, he lingers at the doorway and stares at Shirley.  She is half covered by a blanket and sleeping soundly. 

            After his shift, he returns to his room but doesn’t find her waiting.  He showers and changes before returning to the hall to ask the front desk if they saw Shirley leave.  On the way, he finds Shirley talking with Thomas.  The two are laughing as he approaches.

            “Oh, Claude,” Thomas says, pulling Claude over and patting him on the shoulder.  “You didn’t tell me that you had a lovely lady friend visiting.”

            Claude looks from Shirley to his manager and stammers.  “I—Well—See—Thing is…” He takes a deep breath.  “Sorry,” he says, “I hope I’m not taking advantage of your hospitality.”

            Thomas laughs and pats him on the back again.  “Oh, no need to be so considerate.  I’m glad you finally had a friend up.  Was worried you might be getting lonely, and Shirley here is a real sweetheart.”

            “Well, thank you very much,” Shirley says.  “And, thanks for putting Claude up.  We’ve all been worried.”

            “What, you haven’t been keeping in contact with them?”

            “Not a word from him,” Shirley says.  “Can you believe that?”

            Thomas shakes his head.  “Well, it’s no problem besides.  He’s a good worker, and I’m happy to have him.”  He glances at his watch.  “Speaking of which, I should be getting off.”  He nudges Claude.  “Now that you got a friend up here, might be a good time to go house hunting.  No rush, just a thought,” Thomas says.

            Claude pauses, rubbing his neck.  He looks at Shirley.  “So, that’s my boss, Tom.”

            Shirley laughs.  “He seems nice.”

            “He is.”

            “Well, come on, let’s get something to eat.”

            “Shirley.”

            “Claude, do you really want to make an argument over this?”  She doesn’t wait for a response and leaves him with no alternative but to sigh and follow her out the door.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            They return to the same restaurant and settle into the same booth.  Claude watches the cars drift by.  It is the first time he has been here during the day. It is quieter and emptier inside, and the waitresses seem to have much more energy.

            “So, how was work,” Shirley asks while picking at her meal.  She ordered a salad, and Claude figures it is buried somewhere beneath the mountain of dressing and croutons.

            “Fine. Wet,” Claude says.  “Some days, I’m afraid I won’t get the smell off of me.”

            “Oh, you smell fine,” Shirley says.

            Claude blushes, sips at his water.

            “So, I was thinking,” Shirley says, waving a dripping fork full of lettuce at him, “Tom might have the right idea about you moving out. Claude, I think we should move in together.”

            Claude chokes.  He stares at her for a moment before wiping his mouth.  After catching his breath, he sums up his feelings with a simple, “What?”

            “What do you mean, what? I think we should move in together.”

            “I know, but Shirley…”

            “But Claude,” she says.  “It makes sense.  You’ve already got a job, and I already have a job.  You can’t live there forever, and we’ve known each other since we were kids.”

            “I know, I know, it’s just a big step.”

            “So was moving up here on your own,” Shirley says.  “We’re good a big steps.  Let’s take this one together.”

            “Just let me think about it.”

            “Alright, alright, I’ll stop bringing it up,” Shirley says and glances at his fries.  “Can I have one of these,” she asks, spearing one and taking a bite before he responds.  She laughs as Claude complains about her always stealing his food and, for Claude, the familiarity is comforting.

 

The Knights of Sheba 106…End

13: Episode Seven: "Fight or Flight" A

Episode Seven: Fight or Flight

 

           The weekend comes, and, before work, Shirley drags Claude out to look for apartments.  They see four in total, with three that they like.  Shirley leads the charge, pen and notebook in hand.  Claude, meanwhile, trails somewhat melancholically behind.

            After each tour he finds himself growing more anxious.  Each apartment is smaller and more expensive than the last.  Their budget is not what he wants, and he sees no way of improving the situation without imposing further on Thomas or frustrating Shirley.

            After the last appointment they return to Shirley’s car.  It is a long uphill hike, the apartment being far from the parking lot where they parked.  The previous Midwestern warmth has been drained by the early stirrings of winter.  Claude can’t quite see his breath, but he expects to each time he exhales.

            As they hurry across a crosswalk, Claude says, “You know, I’ve been thinking about this moving thing, and maybe we should wait a bit on it.”

            “Wait?  Claude, you’ve been at that place for months.  It’s time for you to get a place of your own.”

            “But it’s not my own place, it will be our place, and you only just got here.”  Claude rubs the back of his neck. “Besides, none of those apartments had more than one bedroom.”

            “I only just got here, but I have a job already.  A good job.  Also, one bedroom isn’t a problem.  We’ve been to the beach before, so nothing we haven’t seen, and for the stuff we haven’t seen, we’ll just change in the bathroom.”

            “Still, I don’t want to rush this.”

            “We’ve already had this conversation,” Shirley says, stopping on the sidewalk and turning.  “And I won’t stay there, Claude.  I don’t feel right living like that.”

            “He insisted.”

            “Until we find a place,” Shirley says.  “And he thinks we’re dating.”  Claude blushes and stuffs his hands into his pockets.  He moves, passing her and leaving her to catch up.  “Listen, we’ve got income, and I have money saved up.  There’s no reason not to do this.”

            “It’s just too fast.”

            “I know, I know, it’s a lot of change.”  She matches his stride and looks him in the eyes.  “Listen when I say this, and I mean really listen, we can’t just sit around and wait for things to happen.  We have to make them happen ourselves.”

            “I know, I agree, but it just doesn’t feel right,” Claude says.  “You know my intuition.”

            Shirley shrugs as they reach the parking lot.  They keep to the sidewalk on the way to her car.  “Yes, but sometimes it’s wrong.”

            “When have I ever been wrong?”

            “You came up here without a job or any money, Claude.”

            “And that worked out.”

            “Because of luck and someone else’s kindness.” She sighs.  “And that’s only if you consider a complete dependency on another’s selflessness working out.”

            Claude rolls his eyes and waits by the passenger door.  “Shirley, I have other things to worry about.”

            “Your destiny, I know.  Righting wrongs, saving worlds.”  She unlocks the car.  “And how is that going?”

            “I’ve been doing good here,” he says before getting in.

            She joins him inside and turns the car on.  “I know, I’m sure you have.  I just think we should really move out.”  She looks at him.  “It’s all part of growing up.”

            “I am perfectly grown up,” Claude says, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat.

            “Claude.”

            He sighs.  “Right, sorry.  I just need time to think.”  He stares out the window and watches the clouds roll by lazily.  “Can you take me back?  I have to get to work.”

            Shirley stares at him silently for a few seconds and then shifts into reverse.  “Yeah, sure.  I’ll have you back in a few.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Dantalion’s duchy lies directly to the north of Seere’s viscounty and, where Seere holds the plains and Andromalius the forests, Dantalion commands the ports.  What goods that were shipped to the south always passed through his lands.  Since the current duke took the throne, however, the ports have been closed and trade stropped entirely.

            Some say that Dantalion is the cause for southern stagnation, though Seere believes differently.  He blames the lingering effects of the war with the elves, the legacy of the gate tree.  Whatever the cause, Seere knows that he needs to unite the south to save it, and so he has eyes set on the duchy.

            Seere travels, this time on foot, with a small assortment of guards, Ruka among them.  He wears a grey travel cloak and looks very much the common traveler.  Dantalion’s city is built upon a foundation of stones and lies, and so Seere must be careful.  He must keep to shadows and make his presence known only when it suits him.

            They enter the city through the front gate, earning only light scrutiny.  The guards here are as hungry and tired as the people making lives and dying in the streets.  Decades ago, Dantalion pulled most of his military from the city itself and barricaded them into his keep.  Yima’s reports say that the people are starving, that there are whispers of revolution.

            Looking at the broken streets now, Seere finds that doubtful.  Buildings crumble, stone laid paths swell with weeds, and demons lie in the streets hungry, tired, and hopeless. They watch him as he passes and know him as an outsider.  They can see the meat on his bones, the life in his eyes, and know he doesn’t belong.

            Seere’s soldiers close rank and keep close watch.

            Dantalion’s keep overlooks the city from a cliff, within the safety of an inner wall.  Seere makes the long climb up unattended stone stairs to the gate and stops, partway there, to take in the decaying city. From here, he can see all of the rooftops, collapsed by negligence and old age, and he resolves to fix them, each of them, however he must.

            He is met at the gate by attentive, well-fed guards, each tall and stout.  Seere stays in the center of his entourage, making himself known only after questioning.  He presents proof of his ancestry and his sigil, and they send word.  Sometime later, Seere is granted entry.

            They follow a group of guards through the courtyard and see a personal garden inside, food kept for lord alone.  As they move through the foyer more guards appear, and soon Seere is surrounded on all sides by Dantalion’s men.  Each looks grimmer and hungrier than the last.

            Inside, the keep is well-kept, much more so than Seere’s own.  The halls are wide, with a high and angular roof.  Sturdy pillars line the walkwasy and banners fly, bearing the antler and mask, sigil of the duchy.  From what Seere can see, there are no leaks or collapsed walls.

            They are led to the meeting hall at the far end of the keep.  The interior is wide, empty, and meticulously clean.  The walls are hung with gold-trimmed, blindingly red banners.  Each bares the house sigil.  Sitting on a high-backed throne, wearing a horned crown, is the duke.

            The duke Dantalion is a tall, lean demon wrapped in dark robes.  He covers his face with a steel mask and wears dark gloves over his thin hands.  When Seere enters and bows before him, Dantalion folds his hands calmly on his lap and speaks in a small, quiet voice.

            “Viscount Seere.  What brings you to my keep?”

            “Don’t you wish to see proof of my lineage before you bestow me such titles?”  Seere offers his damp pedigree.

            Dantalion waves it off.  “Such things may be forged.  I would rather see with my own eyes.”

            “And do your eyes find proof of my regality?”

            “Your bearing proves it.  No demon could stand in the presence of a noble with their head held high, save for those of nobility.  You are the Viscount Seere, as you claim.  I have no doubt of that.”

            Seere smiles faintly and pulls back his hood.  Then, he lifts his long hair from his cloak and drapes it over one shoulder before looking Dantalion straight in the mask.  “Now, now, we both know that is not true.  Why, a demon pauper could look a noble in the eye, were they brave enough, or well-trained.  And I have proof of that.”  Seere nods at Ruka, who hurls a long, thin blade at the throne.  It lands just shy of the Duke’s head.

            Soldiers surround them, pikes drawn, but Seere simply stares.  The Duke pulls the blade from the throne and turns it over in his hands.  “And they are say you are clever.”  The Duke stands from his throne, unfolding as he does.  He looks taller now, and larger.  “You come here, to my city, to my home, and try to assassinate me before my guard?  Perhaps there is something I do not know.”

            “We both know, but I will play along.”  Seere steps forward and pushes one of the pike men to the side.  “Excuse me,” he says absently while approaching the throne.  He stops at the base of the throne and holds Dantalion’s gaze.  “You are no duke, but a pauper playing the part.  The duke is watching from the rafters, aren’t you, Dalton?”

            Seere looks up to the booth set high into the wall to his right.  Hidden behind a curtain is another tall, thin demon dressed in all black and wearing a steel mask.  The demon on the throne slumps back into his seat and watches Seere turn his back to him.

            “My business is with you, not with your players, admirable though his performance was.”

            An attendant pulls the curtain to the side, and Dantalion stares down at Seere for a few quiet seconds before speaking.  “How did you know?”

            “Call it intuition or perhaps a matter of regal bearing.  Now, dear Dalton, if you would join us.”

            “Speak, if that is what you came for, but I will not lower myself to your level.”

            Seere laughs.  “Oh, you may yet.”  He waves to Ruka, who brings him a satchel.  “I’ve come with gifts, an offering of peace, if you will.  For far too long the demon lords have warred with each other, for a throne that has already eroded.  Our people are tired, and our nations are burning.  I believe it is time to bring an end to all of this chaos.”

            “And how do you propose we do that?”

            “We all wage war in hypotheticals, each us too frightened to open our borders or mobilize our armies for fear of what will pass in their absence.”

            “And yet you stand before me, a lord without his nation.”

            Seere smiles.  “I am of a foolish stock.”

            “And I am inclined to agree.”

            “And there it is, the Dantalion wit.”  Seere reaches into the satchel.  “I’m sure you’ve heard news of the gate tree, of its reopening.  The demon realm is no longer a world adrift but has been reconnected.”

            “My scouts brought me rumors, yes.”

            “The south will be first to fall, should the enemy come, and they will come.  I believe that we should be ready, so I come seeking peace.”  From within the satchel, Seere extracts the broken spear brought by the scavengers.  He arranges the pieces, carefully, on the floor and steps away.

            “You bring a broken spear to offer peace?  Your symbolism is as empty as your gesture.”

            “This is no simple spear.  It is grungr, the lance of a god.  Once thrown, it will always find its target, and it will always kill.  Once, it was a mighty weapon used to slay our ancestors, and I believe that it is meant only for mighty hands to wield.”

            Dantalion is quiet, and Seere can see him thinking.  After consideration, he says, “It is broken.”

            “You possess resource enough to fix it, I am sure.”

            “And what would I do with it? I am a merchant, Seere, not a warlord.”

            “Yes, and that is our greatest weakness, is it not?  Scholars and merchants have little place in a world of warlords and kings.  Andromalius has the gate, and beyond it, limitless worlds of resources and ancient, divine weaponry.”

            “What are you suggesting?”

            “I’ve sent scavengers to search the old worlds, to find relics of the past, and return with them to me.  And they have brought me a great many things. I suggest we combine our resources, conquer Androamlius quickly and keep the gate for ourselves, so that we may use it freely, and so that we might keep watch for signs of invasion.”

            “And so, we will be first to fall.”

            “We stand better chance with Andromalius gone,” Seere says.  “And consider this, his forests are thick with game.  Our people would eat like kings, grow fat and strong and loyal as we feed them.  Warlords we’re not, but in time we might have a proper army.”

            Dantalion pauses again, ponders the suggestion.  “And should I agree, we will then lay siege to his keep?”

            “In time.  For now, we will wait, and watch, and prepare, and when the time is right, we will take his lands.  And, of course, you may keep the spear as proof of our treaty.”

            Again, Dantalion goes quiet.  When he speaks, he says, “That I can agree to.  We have an alliance.”

            “Good. And another thing, before I leave these halls.  I would like proof of your commitment.  You see, I have given you the lance, but you have offered me nothing in return.”

            “I see,” Dantalion says.  “I haven’t the resources to offer divine weapons in return.”

            “But you do have something else to offer.”  Seere snaps his fingers, and Yima steps forward from the within soldiers’ ranks, dragging a thin, fair featured figure with her.  She throws the figure down and stomps him into silence before pulling her hood back.  The figure’s hood falls from his face, revealing golden hair and pointed ears.  An elf rests there, pinned beneath her foot, his nose broken and his face stained with blood.

            “You’ve the gift of language, and I am in great need of that gift for now.  If you could, please teach my demoness friend here the elven language, and then we may finalize our treaty.”

            Dantalion stares and then waves his hand.  “Fine, but not here.  I do not trust your men.  We will meet in my private chambers, with my personal guard in attendance.”

            “That sounds fine,” Seere says, and he turns to the imposter on the throne.  “Lead the way, if you would, my lord.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

Geneva tumbles and lands flat on her back.  She is breathless, sweaty, and all around humiliated.  The elves left nearly half an hour ago, bored from watching her fail, and went outside to resume their own training.  The flailing of the little human girl playing knight isn’t even entertaining to them anymore.

            Panting, Geneva forces herself to sitting and wipes her brow.  “Are we done yet?”

            “No. There is still much to do.”  Ms. Olivia takes Geneva’s hand and pulls her to standing.  Then, she hands off her own wooden sword to Geneva.  “We can retire the swords for now, however.”

            “Thank Zeus,” Geneva says.  “I mean, no offense, but I’m not sure you kicking my butt from one end of this room to another is teaching me as much as you like to believe.”

            “You will learn in time.  Until then, I’m at least teaching you how to take a hit.”

            “Hardy-har, teacher’s got jokes,” Geneva says, hanging the swords on the wall.  “So, what’s up next? You want to practice throwing me down some stairs?”

            “Actually, I was hoping to have you conjure your armor,” Ms. Olivia says.

            “Oh.”  Geneva rubs her arm self-consciously.

            “You haven’t done it since that day.”

            Geneva holds out her hand and stares at the ring.  According to the books Ms. Olivia gave her, the ring has insinuated itself into her body, linked to her nervous system.  She can’t take it off even if she wants to, and after a day of trying and a tub of butter, she is inclined to believe that. She shrugs. “I haven’t had much reason to.  I mean, no more demons.”

            “For now but should more appear, I would like to be ready.”

            “Oh,” Geneva says, “That’s why we’ve been playing that game where you try to crack me open like a piñata.  I thought it was some sort of elven tradition.”

            “Ms. Oaks, please do try to be serious.”

            “I am trying. I promise,” Geneva says.  “But, even if I am serious, I don’t know how to turn this thing from a ring into armor. I don’t even know where to start.”

            “And that is why we must train.”  Ms. Olivia paces around the room.  “Unfortunately, the literature is limited.  Few elves believed the knights would be necessary after events transpired.”

            “Yeah?  Well, I’ve got a suggestion.”

            “Yes?”

            “Why don’t we call it a day?  Let me go home and take a nap, and we’ll see if the armor is on when I wake up.”

            Ms. Olivia stops and looks at her.  “Ms. Oaks.”

            “Hey, at least I’m coming up with ideas.”

            Ms. Olivia folds her arms and stares at the floor.  “Try to focus on it.”

            “On the ring?”  Ms. Olivia nods.  “Okay, like, how?  Just stare at it really hard until my head hurts?”

            “No, it is a part of you now, isn’t it?  Try to move it.”

            “Try to move it?  It’s on my finger, but it’s not a finger.”

            “Ms. Oaks.”

            Geneva sighs.

            “If you can’t do that, then try to remember how it felt when you put the ring on.”

            “I don’t know how it felt.  I mean, I was in the forest, I was running, I heard a scream, and then I just kind of put it on.  And got my butt kicked in.  Not much thought involved.”

            “So, when you put it on, what were you thinking?”

            Geneva shrugs.  “Wasn’t.  I saw the demon-thing, I knew how strong it was.  I mean, not specifically how strong IT was, but I have experience.  You get the point.  Anyway, I couldn’t leave those people alone to fight it.”

            “Fight or flight.”

            “What?”

            “Ms. Oaks, I’ve an idea.”  Ms. Olivia turns her back to Geneva and crosses the room to the shooting range.  There, she grabs a pistol.

            “Uh, Ms. O?  What’re you doing?”

            Ms. Olivia grabs a clip and slips it into the pistol. Then, she turns and trains the weapon on Geneva.  “If you cannot use the ring, Ms. Oaks, then we must find someone else who can.”

            Geneva freezes.  She stares, wide-eyed, and lifts her arms defensively in front of her.  Deep down, she knows they can’t stop a bullet.  “Okay, fine, that’s good and all.  So, just tell me how to take it off, and I’ll go on my way.”

            “Unfortunately, that is impossible.  Even if there was a way to remove the ring from your living body—which there is not—you still know too much.  I told you from the start, there is no turning back.  So, you either conjure your armor.”  Ms. Olivia cocks the gun.  “Or you die.”

            Geneva backs away, with Ms. Olivia following, until she meets a wall.  She looks back, to confirm that she can go no further, and then faces Ms. Olivia again.  Her legs feel weak, so weak that they give out.  As she speaks, her voice cracks.  “You can’t be serious about this!  You’re the one who told me all of those things.  It’s not my fault.  I didn’t want any of this.”

            “Perhaps you’re right.  If so, then it is my mistake, and so I must fix it.  Goodbye, Ms. Oaks.”

            “Please.  Don’t.  I’m trying, I’m serious, I promise.  I’m trying so hard!”

            “It’s not good enough.”  Ms. Olivia pulls the trigger, and Geneva closes her eyes and holds her breath.

            A gunshot echoes through the basement.  Geneva can feel the vibrations ring through her chest and keeps her eyes closed, counting the passing seconds.  There is no pain and, soon, there is only silence.  Geneva wonders if it is shock and, after a few more seconds, opens her eyes.

            She is fine.  Not only is she unharmed, her armor has appeared, the beige mesh clinging tight to her form while white plates gleam.  She looks to her side to find a small hole in the foundation, and then she looks back at Ms. Olivia, who is smiling. “You!”

            “I had no intention of shooting you, Ms. Oaks, and I do apologize for the theatrics.  When you told me that the ring activated on its own before battle, it gave me the idea.”  Ms. Olivia returns to the firing range and puts the gun away.  “You see, it was triggered by your fight or flight response.  When you decided to run into battle, the armor reacted.  In the very same way as it reacted now to protect you.”  Ms. Olivia looks back at Geneva, who is still pressed firmly against the wall.  “That is the trigger.”

            “Yay.  Yippee.  That’s good and all,” Geneva says, standing.  Her legs still feel weak.  “Whenever I need to put it on, I guess you have to shoot at me.”

            “Maybe.  It seems to require a mindset for battle.  If we can capture that, then you will able to conjure it at any time.”

            “Yeah, well, great,” Geneva says, crossing her arms.  She is glaring through her helmet and is upset that Ms. Olivia can’t see her disapproval.  They stand in silence for a moment, and then Geneva asks, “So, what are we going to do until the armor goes away?”

            “I am not entirely sure.  I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            After conjuring the armor, Ms. Olivia and Geneva wait thirty minutes for it to recede.  Seeing no changes coming, they return to training, and Geneva finds herself able to keep up, even if she is still technically outclassed. She is able, with luck and the advantage of the armor, to disarm Ms. Olivia once.

            Afterward, a surprise kick to the gut leaves her on the ground and feeling humbled.

            While they continue their training, Ms. Olivia informs Geneva of the benefits of the armor.  Not only does it offer protection to the user, but it increases their strength by nearly five-fold.  According to texts, while wearing the armor, Geneva also has heightened senses, can breathe underwater, and can read and speak any known language.

            As they cool down from the workout, the armor melts from her body like warm ice cream and solidifies around her finger.  By this point, Geneva is breathless and sore.  As an apology, Ms. Olivia takes her home early.

            Just under an hour later, Ms. Olivia parks in front of Geneva’s house and asks, “I will see you tomorrow, yes? After school?”

            “What, worried you’ll miss target practice?

            “Ms. Oaks, I think that will hardly be necessary now that we have figured the trigger out.”

            Geneva frowns. “Trigger, real funny. Yes, I’ll be there, okay?”  As she climbs from the car, she mutters, “Not like I have a choice.”

            “Good.  Then, have a nice night, and get plenty of rest.”

            “Rest!”  Geneva laughs.  “Yeah, that’ll happen.”  She waves after shoving the SUV door shut.

            Inside, the first thing Geneva does is drop her things in her bedroom and go for a shower.  Afterward, she wraps herself in a robe—once pink and long since faded, a hand-me-down from her mother—and slumps down onto her bed so she can stare at her ceiling.

            This is her life now, early mornings, long classes, evening training sessions, and late nights studying.  The deeper in she goes, the less she believes in herself.  Protecting people is important, but there is a great amount of violence involved in it, and she doesn’t feel cut out for it.

            She isn’t a soldier.  She’s just a seventeen-year-old girl.

            She rolls onto her side and sulks.  The decision is made.  Ms. Olivia may have been putting on a show, but she said it straight.  Geneva can’t turn her back now any more than she can remove the ring.  She made her decision and now has to deal with the consequences.

            Sighing, she sits up and reaches for her nightstand.  Pulling the ancient books from her desk, she finds where she left off and starts reading.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The phone rings, and Geneva jerks into wakefulness.  She wipes sleep from her eyes on the second ring and answers the phone just before the third.  “Hello, Oaks residence, this is Geneva speaking.”

            “Aw, that’s darling.  Is that how you answer the phone?”

            Geneva smacks her lips.  “Oh.  Hey, Kit, what’s up?”

            “Nothing much, just wondering, what’re you doing this weekend?”

            Geneva folds the book she was reading shut and sits up in bed.  The room spins gently, and she blinks and yawns to clear her head.  “Why?”

            “What do you mean, why? I want to hang out.  Maybe catch a movie?”

            “Depends, who’s throwing it,” Geneva says, and when Kit doesn’t laugh, she says, “Yeah, I’d like to go.”  It isn’t until she speaks that she remembers Ms. Olivia and her knight’s training, and by that point, she can already hear the excitement in Kit’s voice.

            She decides to try and get another day off or otherwise plan around it.

            “Cool. We can meet in the afternoon on Saturday, I guess?  I still can’t stay out too late, being grounded and all.”

            “But you can go to movies?”

            “My parents are busy.  Speaking of which, they just got home.  I should go.  See you soon, sweets.”

            Geneva smiles.  “Bye.”

            After hanging up the phone, Geneva marks where she was and hopes she can remember where she fell asleep.  Then, she sets the book aside and reaches for her backpack.  Despite Ms. Olivia’s promises, her homework isn’t getting done while training.  Sighing, she pulls a large stack of books and stray sheets of paper from inside and lays them across her pillow.

            She stares at it with the forlorn hopelessness of a teenager.  Sometimes, it doesn’t feel like there are enough hours in the day.

 

 

Knights of Sheba 107 A…End

 

14: Episode Seven: "Fight or Flight" B

The Knights of Sheba 107 B…Start

 

            That night, after the sun sets and the moon rises, Nina moves about her apartment.  She fixes herself tea and settles in to grade the most recent tests she gave out.  She is just through the first stack when someone knocks at her door.  On instinct, she checks her desk for her pistol before checking the window.

            Erak waits outside.

            Nina takes a deep breath and gathers herself.  Then, she opens the door.  “Major,” she says, and he brushes past her without speaking.

            Stopping in the center of her living room, he turns in a small circle.  Nina’s room is much like her office—sparsely decorated and painstakingly organized.  A small desk is set against the left wall from the entrance, with a doorway beside it.  On the right is a small kitchen with a tea kettle warm on the stove.

            “Good evening, Lieutenant,” Erak says, finally turning his gaze. As always, he seems disappointed. “I assume you have time for a quick chat.”

            “Yes, of course,” Nina says, closing the door behind her.  She watches him pace into her kitchen and sniff around.  He frowns at the kettle.

            “Human tea?”

            “Yes.  It is what they sell in the stores here.”

            “Of course it is,” he says.  He lifts the lid and smells again, and grimaces before closing it.  “I could get you proper provisions, you know.”  He turns to her.  “We have them stocked at the compound.”

            “I am aware, but I’m fine with what I have, thank you.”

            Erak returns to the living room, smiling smugly.  “Ah, yes, your assimilation.  If I remember correctly, you think we should become a part of their culture.  Dress like them.  Think like them.”  He stops and stares at her.  “War and die like them.”

            Nina’s skin prickles.  She returns to her desk and sorts the tests.  Stacking what she has graded, she puts a paper clip on them and sets them in her bag.  “With all due respect, sir, I am busy.”

            Erak approaches.  He fingers the papers, glancing through them.  “We worry about you, you know.  Not a one of us has the service record you do, and it is so rare that one of your status would be assigned to such a position.”

            Nina pauses, her fingers pressed tightly against the desk.  She takes a deep breath. “Excuse me, but I do not understand.”

            “I’m no fool, Lieutenant.  The position you’ve been put into, the infiltration of humanity, the role of the watchful guardian, the guiding hand, is empty.  This entire patrol is empty, to be honest, but yours job…No one covets it, and it was open only after Rior died.  And how fortunate for you he did.”

            “I am happy with this job, sir.  In fact, I see myself as being blessed.”

            “Blessed?  What strange terminology.  Perhaps you have become deluded, if you have come to believe in a human divinity.”

            “I simply meant to say that I am proud of the work I do here, sir.”

            “I see,” Erak says.  He glances into her bedroom, earning a glare from her.  Finding nothing of interest, he returns his attention to her.  She is facing him now, a frown creasing her face.  It makes her look older and, to the right person, dangerous.  “Someone with your breeding deserves more,” he says.  “There are some who fear you may be losing your sense of elven pride, losing sight of our purpose here.  Once, Olivier was a name to be respected.”

            “It still is.”

            “Not for long,” Erak says.  “How old are your parents now?”

            Nina’s frown deepens.  “Again, respectfully, what do you want, sir?”

            “The tea and the human girl.”  Erak pauses.  “I’ve seen your mission report after Operation Hellfire.”

            Nina’s eyes go wide, briefly.  “If I remember, the operation was considered a great success.”

            “By some,” Erak says. “But if people knew.”

            “I assure you, my heart is with my people, as are my intentions.  I only aim to make the worlds better.  Anything else is misrepresentation.”

            “I suppose so,” Erak says.  “I only came by to express my worry.  With everything going on, and with our disagreements, I don’t want the patrol to be dragged under because of our differing philosophies.”

            “I understand and appreciate your concern, but we will be fine.”

            Erak looks momentarily thoughtful while staring at her and then nods.  He returns to the door, stopping with his hand on the handle, and looks at her.  “I hope so,” he says.

            She salutes him. “Have a good night, sir.”

            He grunts in response and gives a curt nod.  “I’ll have some tea sent over, proper tea, not this human trash.”  He grimaces at her cup.

            “Thank you, sir, but you needn’t…”

            “I insist.”  He opens the door and stops in the threshold.  Outside, the air is cold and full of life.  Humanity moves around them, in their cars, and their lights polluting the skies.  He stares at the blank darkness blinded by the light of civilization.  The stars are out, but they can’t be seen from there.  “The girl.  She’s no soldier.”

            “She will learn.”

            “For your sake, she had better.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Nothing.” Erak shrugs.  “I just wonder sometimes if she will end up being your next great failure.”

            With that, he leaves, closing the door behind him.  Nina stands there, staring, and fighting her nerves.  After a deep breath and an hour of pacing, she tries to return to grading but can’t focus.  So, she gathers her things and goes for a long bath.  The tub is small and her legs hang out the sides, but the warm water eases her frustrations.

            Staring at her ceiling through a haze of steam, she wonders what future Geneva will yield.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Claude stays late after his shift.  He has had all day to think about his discussion with Shirley and has come to one conclusion—it was definitely an argument.  Beyond that, he is still unsure of how to handle it.  After an hour of hanging around, however, Eddie assures him that they are fine and sends him on his way.  Claude leaves the kitchen feeling defeated.

            Shirley is waiting for him in the room when he gets back.  She is sitting on the bed, legs crossed, watching the TV.  When he enters, she turns it off and stands to meet him.  As they make eye contact, she gives him a small, uncertain smile.  “Long shift?”

            Claude pauses at the door.  He nods.  “Yeah,” he says, brushing past her.  She watches him move about the room, grabbing a towel and a change of clothes.

            “Going for a shower?”

            “I normally do after a shift,” he says, stopping at the bathroom door.  “I get covered in all sorts of things.”

            “I understand,” she says.  “I wasn’t—I was just hoping we could talk a bit.”

            Claude pauses.  He reaches into the bathroom and flips the light on.  Then, he steps inside, bare feet cold against the tiles, and starts the shower.  Shirley watches from beside the bed.  He peeks his head out.  “I’m sorry, Shirley.  I know you want to talk, but,” he scratches the back of his head, “I’ve had a long day, and I have to work an early shift tomorrow.”

            “Claude, really, I understand, but we need to talk,” she says, “Please.”

            He stares at her for a moment, and then through her.  After some thought, he shakes his head.  “I know this is important to you, but I really need to get to bed.  Maybe tomorrow morning?  After my shift.”

            Shirley chews her cheek. She nods.  “Sure.”  Then, she remains by the bed, watching as he closes the door.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Early the next morning, Geneva boards the bus and is greeted by the very tired looking driver. They nod at each other in mutual fatigue, and Geneva takes a seat in the back.  The bus is empty and still cool inside.  Winter is coming in a rush, as it often does, and to Geneva’s overwhelmed mind it seems like time travel.  To her, summer seems both so long ago and also very recent.

            As the bus pulls away from her house, Geneva stares out the window.  The light this morning has a gray, flat quality to it.  Everything looks two-dimensional as it drifts by, and she loses herself, momentarily, to the motion, waking only after they reach the next stop.

            Another student boards and Geneva decides to use her time wisely.  She pulls her book bag up and pulls out one of the books Ms. Olivia gave to her.  It, like the journal, is written in what Geneva can only assume is elven.  The script is flowing but precise and very nice to look at.  It was clearly written long ago.  The pages feel rough with age.

            She thumbs through it, glances at different pages.  There are illustrations, of dragons and of people.  Slouching, Geneva pins her knees up against the seat in front of her and lays the book out against her thighs, and she begins reading.

            Like the journals, the book seems to be about the elves, but it is written far more objectively.  It describes, initially, the foundation of elven society and lists the worlds now counted among the Elven Empire.

            There are thirteen known worlds, Geneva learns, four of which are lost.  And all worlds are held by the Yggdrasil, the world tree, each with a gate tree connecting them to each other.  Each world is also counted among the Council of Races, situated in the Realm of Light, where the elves originate.

            The human world, called the Realm of Man in the book, is counted among the lost worlds.  The book explains that this is because humanity is considered dangerous, as the demons before them were, and must be watched.  So, they are kept oblivious of the worlds around them, for fear of the havoc they will wreak.

            The other lost worlds are the Realm of Beasts, where the demons dwell; the Realm of Gods, where the gods came from; and the Realm of Thrones, the first world colonized by the gods.  All three were lost to the war with the demons, the book says, and on one of the pages it has an illustration of an enormous eye with fire writhing about its iris.

            Next, Geneva learns of the remaining realms, some of which were found by the elves after the fall of the gods.  Those colonized by the council are The Realm of Water, home to the water elves; the Realm of Light, their seat of power; The Realm of Tranquility, a world of plains being converted largely into farmland; The Realm of Wood, home to the wood elves; The Realm of Night, home of the night elves; and the Realm of Shadows, home of the dark elves.

            It is there that Geneva drifts off, staring at a hand-drawn picture of an enormous tree, holding the heavens in its branches and all the worlds in its roots.  A serpent is coiled about its trunk.  Geneva dreams, then, of thirteen worlds and a great fire that sweeps over them, and she fears that she will never be able to stop it.

            When they arrive at school, the bus driver wakes her.  The bus is empty, and Geneva has to rush reach class on time.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            After school, Geneva goes to training and asks Ms. Olivia for the weekend off.  She is given a quick, firm, “No,” before they continue their work.  This time, Geneva manages to conjure her armor without the aid of a bullet, and she counts that as the closest thing to a victory she will get.

            When she talks to Kit again, Geneva makes plans to meet her Saturday evening, accounting for her time training, and uses study as an excuse.  After that, she waits for the slow drag toward the week end and, on Saturday evening, after training, is at home long enough to shower and tell her parents where she will be.

            Her father, tired from a long week of work, gives a nod and a smile and tells her to have fun.  Her mother, however, has questions.

            “Will you need money for food,” is the first.

            “No,” Geneva says, “But maybe some for a ticket?”

            “Right.”  Her mother goes to her wallet.  She opens it and hesitates before digging through it.

            Geneva watches her for a moment and then says, “Actually, I think I have some from last time.”

            “Oh?  Then just use that, sweetie,” her mother says.  She closes her wallet and tucks it away inside of her purse.  “You’re sure about the food, though?  We can scrounge some snacks for you to take.”

            “We’ll be fine,” Geneva says.  “Thanks, though.”

            “You’re welcome.  When will you two be back?”

            Geneva shrugs.

            Her mother frowns.  “Geneva Evelyn Oaks.”

            “I’m not sure.  Really.  I don’t even know what movie we’re seeing, but I won’t be out past curfew,” Geneva says.  “I have a curfew, right?”

            “Of course, you do,” her mother says ambiguously.  “Make sure you’re back in time.”

            “Right.”

            “And don’t watch anything too graphic.”

            “They sort of check IDs now, mom.”

            “Right,” her mother says.  Kit knocks at the door, and her mother says, “Is that her? Invite her in for a bit.  You two aren’t in a hurry, are you?”

            “Kind of,” Geneva says, rushing out of the room.  “Want good seats and all.”  She and Kit nearly bump into each other.  Kit is already in the hallway, smiling.  They stand together, Geneva staring up at her, remembering how tall she is.

            “Well, hello there.”  Kit moves closer, putting her hands on Geneva’s hips, but she has them quickly removed.

            “My mom might be watching,” she says, pushing Kit out the door.

            “If she is, then she knows,” Kit says, looking back.  “I mean, hand on the hip isn’t exactly girl friend stuff.  It’s girlfriend stuff.”

            Geneva sighs as they approach Kit’s car together.  She waits at the passenger door and stares back at the house.  “Sadly, I think I understood that sentence.”

            “Of course, you did,” Kit says, trailing shortly after.  She unlocks the door electronically but rushes to open it for Geneva.  Bowing, “My lady.”

            “My, aren’t you the gentleman?”

            “Gentle woman.  I’m a woman, Genny.  Boobs, remember?”

            “So that’s what those big old things are.”

            “Yup, been there since the fifth grade.”

            “Lucky you.”  Geneva tugs on her shirt.  “Mine are still coming in.”

            “Yours are fine,” Kit says, and Geneva blushes.  “I’m just saying, I’m a fan is all.”

            “I know what you’re saying,” Geneva says while taking her seat.  She pulls her seatbelt on, suddenly self-conscious of the way it fits between her breasts.  “Now, get in the car, pervert.”

            “Yes, ma’am!”

            The theatre they visit is in a nicer part of town than Geneva is used to.  It is large and packed with cars at approach.  Kit finds a place near the front and they walk together, side-by-side, talking on the way in.  Kit pays for both tickets and dismisses Geneva’s gratitude with the wave of her hand.

            “You’re my girlfriend,” Kit says while leading them in.  “I get to spoil you.”

            “Still, thanks,” Geneva says, “My mom was struggling for the money, and I—I don’t want you to think I am taking advantage.”

            Kit stops and turns.  She takes Geneva’s hands and stares her in the eyes.  “Genny, listen and listen well, because I shouldn’t have to keep saying this.  I want to do this for you.  No one is taking advantage of anyone.  This is my treat.  Really.”

            Geneva smiles and blushes.  “Come on,” she says.  “Let’s get to the movie.”
            “Nope,” Kit says, turning again and this time marching toward the concession line.  “Not without snacks.” Geneva follows, grimacing at the prices.  “And I’m not taking no,” Kit says over her shoulder.  “We’re at least sharing popcorn.”

            “But it’s so expensive.”

            “Nonsense.  This is the best part of the movies.”

            They end up getting a small popcorn, to share, and two small drinks.  Then, they go to the movie and find seats in the middle aisle.  The previews start and more people fill the auditorium.  There are less people than Geneva expected.

            Before arrival, they couldn’t settle on a movie.  Geneva wanted to see an off-beat comedy.  Kit wanted to see action.  Eventually, they settled on romantic comedy and left it at that.  Before the movie starts, Geneva finds herself surprised by how spacious her seat is and how much legroom the rows offer.

            She holds the popcorn and snacks on it a bit to ease her anxieties.  The movie starts.  Credits roll, and an attractive man with nice eyes and dimples fumbles his way through life until he runs into a petite, attractive woman with dark hair and bright eyes.

            Geneva isn’t sure of the details beyond that.  She can’t focus on the movie.  Everything about it, the theatre, the popcorn, the girlfriend, leaves her feeling out of place.  It is like she is living someone else’s life, and they have set out into new, uncharted territories.  There is exhilaration and excitement and a lot of uncertainty.

            Somehow, she feels like the knights are a better fit for her than Kit.

            When Kit laughs, Geneva glances at her, and she marvels at her girlfriend’s beauty.  Kit is tall, shapely in places and thin in others.  Her face is well-shaped, her nose petite but attractive.  Her forehead is perfect, Geneva thinks, and she envies her for it.

            Catching her staring, Kit smiles and takes Geneva’s hand.  They lace fingers and stay this way for a few minutes.  Geneva now stares at their joined hands.  She wants to bury her face in the popcorn.

            Kit leans over and whispers.  “Something wrong?”

            Geneva looks up, pretends to be staring at the screen.  She hesitates before answering.  “No. Nothing.”

            “You want me to let go?”

            “No,” Geneva says.  She smiles faintly and squeezes Kit’s hand.  “No.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            After the movie, Geneva and Kit walk out of the theatre together, holding hands and smiling.  If asked, Geneva can’t remember even half of what happened.  She just remembers how warm Kit’s hand feels, and how soft her skin is, and how long her fingers are.

            She is also aware of how sweaty their palms are after being pressed together for so long, and how that doesn’t bother her in the least.

            It is still light out, but the sun is setting.  The sky is overcast, a thick, gray curtain, and snow falls and gathers on the sidewalks.  They watch it together for a moment, standing close for warmth, before getting into Kit’s car.

            The ride home is quiet but contented.  Geneva is smiling so much her face hurts.  The jitters remain, but the fact that she has a girlfriend—a real girlfriend—is finally starting to set in.  Her palms remain sweaty the entire way home.

            “So, what did you think,” Kit asks after some time.  She is staring ahead, focused on the road, and Geneva thinks she is smiling but doesn’t feel confident enough to look.

            “I think,” Geneva pauses for a moment to consider it.  She doesn’t know what to say, if she should be positive or negative, so she settles on honesty.  “I thought it was awful.  One cliché after another.”

            “Really? I didn’t think it was so bad.”

            “It was,” Geneva says firmly, holding her ground in an argument where she has no ground.  She feels her hand and stares at her lap and tries to sound confident.  “Clearly, you saw a different movie.”

            “Listen to little miss critic here,” Kit says as they pull up to the house.  “Then again, you do have pretty good taste.”  She winks.

            Now blushing, Geneva looks out the window.  “So, guess I should be getting inside, huh?”

            “Want me to walk you to the door?”

            “No,” Geneva says, watching the snow dancing in the headlights.  It makes her think of stars flying by spaceships in science fiction movies.  She looks at Kit again.  The warmth in her cheeks lingers.  “But.”

            “But?”

            “Well, we went on a date.”

            “Yeah?”

            Geneva fidgets and keeps smiling.  She’s becoming worried over her own condition.  “Well, aren’t dates supposed to end with a kiss?”

            Kit grins.  “Only if the date went well.”

            Geneva gives a self-conscious glance at her knees.  “Want to kiss?”

            Laughter. “You’re so well mannered.”

            “Don’t tease me, darn it!  I’m new to this stuff, and I—Mph!”

She is silenced by a kiss.  They stay like this, lips locked, eyes closed, for what feels like an eternity, though by this point Geneva is fairly certain her internal clock is stuck on romance-time, which seems to simultaneously accelerated and stationary.

            They break, smiling and staring, and Kit says, “And that’s good night, I guess.”

            “Yeah,” Geneva says, staring at Kit’s lips.  They look wetter and plumper than she remembers.  She can taste strawberries.  “Good night,” Geneva says, and she leans forward and makes contact.  She braces against the dashboard for support.

            Kit hugs Geneva about the waist, holding her by the hips.  Their kiss grows deeper, their tongues touching.  They part briefly for breath and then meet again, like the churning ocean against the shore.  Geneva can taste Kit’s soft drink and stale popcorn and is surprised to find how inoffensive it is.

            She clutches Kit’s head, pulls her deeper, her body moving of its own accord in violent want.  They move together, Geneva falling back and pulling Kit with her.  Their bodies press together, their chests touching, their heat merging, when a ringing tone breaks the spell.

            They part unwillingly, both breathless and foggy-headed.  Kit settles her in set and pulls up her cell.  She stares at it.  “Sorry, my parents.”

            “No, no, it’s cool,” Geneva says, fiddling with her shirt and wiping her mouth.  Somehow, her skin feels almost itchy, and her clothes and hair are askew.  She adjusts herself and pulls her shirt down.  At some point, Kit had it lifted.  “I should…”  She points to the house.

            Kit nods and lifts the phone.  “Hey, mom.  Yes, the movie just ended, and I should be home soon.”  Before Geneva gets out, Kit takes her by the hand and pulls her back, kissing her on the cheek.  She smiles as Geneva stares, and she gives a quick wink before returning to the conversation.

            Geneva crosses the yard to her front door and looks back.  Kit waves before pulling out, and Geneva watches her car disappear down the street.  Snowflakes spiral down in a dizzying dance, and Geneva shivers and waits. 

            She needs the cold air to calm her down before she can face her parents.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            After his morning shift, Claude stays late to avoid the fight he knows is waiting for him.  He does whatever he can to keep himself busy, scrubbing floor, polishing shelves, and signing out only after Eddie and Marisa force him from the kitchen.

            Then, he makes the short walk back to his room.  On the way, he imagines how the conversation will play out.  In his head she is understanding, even apologetic.  Briefly, she offers to move back home, then he decides he would prefer if she stayed with him at the hotel, and then he isn’t sure that is better, either.

            When he opens the door, he finds her waiting with packed bags, and his heart sinks.  “Shirley? You going somewhere?”

            “Yes.” She stands from the bed and grabs her bags. “I’m moving, Claude.  I decided on one of those apartments on my own, and they said I could move in immediately.  And I think you should come with me.”

            Claude holds the doorknob tight, leans into it for support.  He rubs the back of his neck.  “Shirley, you can’t just come here and make all of these decisions for me.”

            “I’m not,” she says, “I’m making you an offer.  I’m moving, with or without you.”

            “What?”

            “I’m tired of waiting.  Tired of excuses.  So, here’s your chance. Either you can come with me or you can stay here and keep living off of your boss’ charity.  Your choice.”

            “It’s—It’s not that simple.”

            “It is from where I’m standing.”

            “I have responsibilities, Shirley.”

            “So?  Everyone has responsibilities, Claude.  Do you even realize how lucky you are?  How special you are?  So, you have responsibilities.  Fine.  But the world doesn’t owe you anything, and you aren’t doing anyone any favors by taking advantage of them.”

            “I’m not taking advantage! I’m doing what I have to do to survive!”

            Tears come to Shirley’s eyes, and she breathes through them.  Adjusting her bag on her shoulders, she says, “And so am I.”

            “By giving me an ultimatum?”

            “There’s no ultimatum, Claude.  You’ve made your decision, and I’m sticking to mine.”  She looks him in the eyes.  “See you around.”  Then, she is gone.

            Claude stands in the doorway as she passes him.  He thinks to grab her, to beg her to stay, but the words won’t come.  So, he just holds the door tightly in his hand and stares at the far wall, and focuses on breathing.

            He stays this way, tense, coiled, and indecisive for minutes after she is gone.  Then, slowly, he closes the door and stands in the darkness of his room.  Without Shirley there it seems much darker.  He screams and kicks over his nearby table, knocking his clothes and arrows to the floor and falls beside them, holding his foot.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Geneva’s first thought when stepping into her house, is how much warmer it is inside than outside.  Next, she makes sure to close the door quickly enough so as to let her parents know she is home but to also give her a head start up the stairs before they can question her.

            Failing, she manages to escape by using school as an excuse.  She makes it to her room and changes before Beatrice peeks in wearing a knowing smile.  Geneva gives a cold stare in return.

            “Yes?”

            Beatrice leans against the door frame.  “How was the date?”

            Geneva shushes her and peeks out into the empty hall.  “Mom and dad don’t know.”

            “They know more than you might think.”

            “What?”

            “You two aren’t exactly subtle.”

            Geneva climbs onto her bed and hugs a pillow to her chest.  “Bea!”

            “Relax, I’m kidding.  Kind of.  I mean, you two are affectionate, but not so much that you wouldn’t know without knowing.  And I know, because I know, you know?  Anyway, mom is just happy to see that you have a friend.”  Beatrice enters the room and picks up one of Geneva’s game cases from her desk.  She turns it over in her hands while pretending to look at it.  “A girlfriend.  You two are cute together.  Does she like games?”

            “I don’t know,” Geneva says.  “And it was fine.”

            “What?”  Beatrice sets the game aside.

            “The date.  It was fine.”

            “Fine?  Did things get hot and heavy? Did you lose it?  Did you lose your V?”
            “I need to study.”

            “Need privacy after a date, hmm?”  Beatrice lingers in the doorway.

            “Leave my room now or get a teddy bear to the face.”

            “You know, only little girls keep teddy bears.”

            “They’re ammunition.”

            Beatrice blows a raspberry.  “Does your girlfriend know that she’s dating a little girl?”  She barely has time to duck out of the room before a teddy bear comes flying out into the hall.

 

The Knights of Sheba 107…End

15: Episode Eight: "To be a Knight" A

Episode Eight: To be a Knight 

            At midday, Viscount Salamand Seere enters his meeting hall and finds a messenger waiting.  The messenger wears a dark purple rope emblazoned with the horned mask of Duke Dantalion.  He bows low at Seere’s appearance and waits for permission to rise.

            Seere is wearing a loose, white robe with red fringes.  The sleeves hangs long over his thin hands. He pulls them back and waves those hands.  “Now, now,” he says, “There’s no need for such flattery.”  He settles on his throne.  “Rise, so that we may speak.”

            The messenger does as instructed.  He wears his large, dark hood with a mask underneath, like all those who speak on behalf of the duke. Behind the mask, Seere can see hints of green flesh and dark hair.  When the messenger speaks, he has a voice deep like a cavern and equally rough.  “I apologize, my lord, if I have offended.  I was instructed to give due courtesy.”

            “Your behavior does everything but offend, I assure you,” Seere says, crossing his legs and smoothing his robe to them before continuing.  “I am simply pragmatic, and while manners and tradition have their place in the world, that place is not my meeting hall. I would rather attend to business here, not flattery.”

            “Of course, Viscount,” the messenger says before giving another deep bow.

            Seere smiles.  “Now then, if you would, why have you come to me on this day?  What word do you bring from the duchy?”

            “My lord, the Duke Dantalion, sent me with only one message, sir.  He wished to inform you that his armies are supplied and ready upon your word.  You need only ask, and he will follow you into battle.”

            “Good,” Seere says.  “Though, hardly necessary to send you so far.  Regardless, I will have you return with a message from me, if you are so inclined.”

            “Of course, sir.”

            “Then inform your lord that we will move soon, that he will need only wait a short time, and then he will be given his due.”

            The messenger nods.  “Yes, sir.  He will be told.”

            “I thank you,” Seere says, bobbing his head in a halfhearted bow.  The messenger bows low in return and leaves.  Once he is away from the hall, Seere turns to Ruka, who is ever at his side, and says, “Soon, Ruka.  Soon, we will take our first step toward seizing our destiny and, from there, the destiny of all our kind.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The bell rings, and winter vacation begins.  Geneva moves through the halls with uncharacteristic alacrity and purpose, finding her locker and stuffing her things inside.  She plans to forget them for the entirety of her break.  Between Kit, school, and the knights, life has been too busy, and she is looking forward to a moment’s reprieve.

            After stowing her things, she goes straight to the gym and waits inside of Ms. Olivia’s office.  This has become their familiar routine.  Sometimes, Ms. Olivia makes her wait for nearly an hour, and Geneva uses the time to catch up on homework.  Or she would, if she were more industrious.  More often than not, she naps.

            Today, Ms. Olivia makes her wait longer than usual.  Rather than rest, Geneva paces a small, anxious circle in one corner and contemplates her free time.  She schedules her fun in blocks and struggles to sort them properly, in order of least-to-most important.  After some contemplation, she decides that Kit falls somewhere in the middle.

            Ms. Olivia finishes a final check in her planner and then puts it away inside of her desk.  Gathering her things, she pulls her satchel over her shoulder and stands.  “Ms. Oaks, if you’re ready, I would like to go.”

            Geneva stops, hands on her hips.  “I was waiting on you.”

            Ms. Olivia glances Geneva over.  “Where is your backpack?”

            “In my locker,” Geneva says.  “No reason to bring it.  Luckily, my teachers aren’t so vindictive as to assign homework for over break.”

            Ms. Olivia goes to the door and waits for Geneva to follow her through. She locks it after.  “You don’t think you should study over break,” she asks as they cross the gym floor toward the exit.  Geneva responds with a long, dead stare.  “Yes, I suppose that was a rather silly question.”

            “It’s okay,” Geneva says, “You’re still learning.  Pro-tip: humans hate hard work, and we especially hate extra credit.”

            “All humans?”

            “All humans named Geneva Evelyn Oaks.”  She points at herself.  “Yo.”

            Together, they step through the doorway and out into the chill of winter.  Snow has gathered in large, white clumps around the parking lot.  Water freezes in the cracks of the asphalt.  Ms. Olivia pulls her jacket close and says, “My, does it ever get cold here.”

            “Not the same where you’re from,” Geneva asks, her head down against the wind.

            “There are places in my realm that are cooler, but nothing quite like your poles, I must admit.  Where I was born is warm and humid, more like your summer.  The change here is drastic, and one I was not expecting.”

            “Oh, yeah, you’re still new here, aren’t you?”

            Ms. Olivia nods.  “Less than a year.”

            “Well, now you know what to warn others about.”

            “I suppose so.”  They reach the SUV and climb inside.  Ms. Olivia turns it on while Geneva fiddles with the heater.  It blows cold air on her fingertips as she waits patiently for it to warm.

            “So, what’s on the schedule today, teach?”

            “I was thinking of working with the ring again.”  Ms. Olivia fastens her seatbelt and pulls forward, turning onto the road.  The heater starts to work, stirring the cold air of the car with fresh warmth.

            Geneva glances sideways at Ms. Olivia.  “You aren’t going to pull a gun on me, are you?”

            “Hopefully, that will not be unnecessary.”

            Half an hour later, they arrive at the compound’s front gate and follow the long, winding dirt road into the thicket where the building stands.  The changing of the seasons has brought early nights, and a thick darkness chokes the still, white landscape.  In the distance, the city glows like a gathering of fireflies.

            Geneva’s parents still believe Ms. Olivia is her tutor.  After months of training, Geneva has mixed feelings on the matter.  On the one hand, the lie allows her to train to be a knight.  On the other hand, the lie makes it possible for her to even be a knight.  In fits of frustration, she blames her parent’s gullibility for all of her problems.  Usually, that helps her feel better in brief spurts.

            They enter through the front door and head straight to the basement.  Anymore, the elves no longer gather to watch her fail.  It is a small comfort.  Stepping into the basement, she finds it well-lit but chill.  The rest of the house is dark, even the rooms that are occupied.  The elves conserve their energy where they can and run the entire facility on solar power.

            Before they begin, Ms. Olivia has Geneva strip her jacket.  Geneva stands stiff, holding her body and shivering as she waits for instruction.  Meanwhile, Ms. Olivia pulls a few books from her satchel and lays them out on a table.  When she turns, she says, “Are you ready, Ms. Oaks?”

            “To go home? Yes, please.”

            “Ms. Oaks.”

            “Just a joke.”  Geneva lowers her arms and takes a deep breath.  “So, need to put the armor on, right?”

            “Yes.  By now, I imagine it shouldn’t be any sort of trouble.  You should be quite familiar.”

            “Totally familiar,” Geneva says.  “Still, kind of afraid of what will happen if I fail.”

            “Then don’t fail.”

            Geneva blows a raspberry.  “Okay, here I go.”  She closes her eyes and focuses on the ring.  In each instance since, Geneva has found the switch more swiftly, and she has learned to harness the ring, to conjure it, as if it is second nature, and she does it without the aid of adrenaline or fear.

            Weeks ago, Geneva realized something important.  The ring is, scientifically speaking, an impossible thing.  It is small and weightless, yet it houses an entire armor inside of it.  It is technology so advanced as to be magic and, after she put it on, it became a part of her.  It wormed its way into her nervous system, merged with her flesh and became a part of her body, her bone, itself.

            Sometimes, she could feel it in her heartbeat, in the expanse of her lungs, in her aches and pains.  It was her, and she was it.

            Being a part of her, Geneva realized the ring didn’t require fear.  It knew when she wanted it, because it could feel that want.  Like her hand, she simply had to reach out and flex it.  It was speech and movement.  She had the ring inside of her, she simply needed to use it, to move muscles she didn’t previously understand.

            Rather than think of combat, Geneva started thinking of choices.  When she first put the ring on, she made a choice, a decision to be more than she was.

            “Always impressive, Ms. Oaks.”

            Geneva opens her eyes and the armor is there, light as air and molded to her form.  She blushes to think of anyone seeing her in it.

            Ms. Olivia puts a hand on her hips.  “You’ve learned to summon it smoothly.”

            “Yeah.  See what happens when you let me work at my own pace.”

            “Yes, well, we will see how quickly you will take to this next task.”

            “Oh God,” Geneva says, eying her teacher apprehensively through the lenses of her helm. “What now?”

            “You needn’t be afraid, Ms. Oaks.  I simply wish for you to draw your wand.”

            “Wand? Like, a conductor’s wand? Or a fairy wand?”

            “Neither,” says Ms. Olivia, sounding somewhat bemused.  “The wand is a weapon each knight has, unique to each signet armor.  We’ve discussed, at some length, the abilities of the armor.”

            Geneva counts them out on her fingers.  “We’ve got strength, speed, rejuvenation, languages, underwater stuff, environmental stuff…”

            “Yes, a vast assortment, but also, each armor has an ability unique to it, and each armor also has a wand to channel those abilities, focus them, though I am hesitant to admit that I am unsure how they do so. The texts are unclear.”

            “That sounds like a reoccurring problem.”

            “True, our resources are limited in relation to the armors.”

            “Then it’s a good thing you put a teenage girl in one to fight off monsters.”

            “This was your choice, Ms. Oaks.”

            “Yeah, yeah, and you like to rub my face in it,” Geneva says. “So, how do I get this wand out? Do I need to rub something?  Like a lamp? Or other things you rub.”

            Ms. Olivia reaches for a book and pauses.  “Ms. Oaks, are you making a sexual joke right now?”

            “No, I would never,” Geneva says, and she pauses.  “Yeah, I am. Sorry.”

            Ms. Olivia picks up the book and paces the length of the table.  “In truth, I was hoping you could figure it out, as you did the conjuration of the armor.”  She looks hopefully at Geneva—who is busy scratching a knee—and then sighs. “No, that would be too easy, wouldn’t it?”

            “Afraid so, teach.  So, what can you tell me about the wands right now? I mean, what do the texts actually say?”

            “As I previously said, each armor—five in total—has its own ability unique to it.  The wands serve as both weapons and conduits, linked to the armor and meant to focus the energy of the armor.  As a result, the knight can amplify and direct the powers.  As an example, the shield signet has a natural shield which can be projected over a wider area.”

            “Right, but that doesn’t tell me how to find it,” she says, looking around her armor.  She sees nothing but plates and weave.  “By the way, what does my armor do?”

            “Yours is the white signet,” Ms. Olivia says, flipping the book open to a marked page.  “Also known as the feather signet.  The information on it is particularly sparse, due to the last wearer, a woman named Belquis.”

            “Belquis, huh?  And, remind me, what exactly did she do to be so, er, sparse?”

             “Back on topic—each signet armor has a place to keep the wand when not in use.”  Ms. Olivia runs her fingers along a page, mouthing the words as she reads them.  “And it says here that the signet’s sheath is.  Near the tail bone?”  She looks over the book at Geneva.

            Reaching back and feeling about her rump, Geneva says, “I’m literally pulling a wand from my butt. That’s some magic trick.”

            “Ms. Oaks, there’s no need to be crass.”

            “Right, right, sorry, forgot I was doing combat drills with my grandma.”  Geneva finds something protruding from the armor plate away from the small of her back and grips it.  “Wait a minute,” she says, and she gives it a tug.  It moves, slowly, resisting at first and then sliding free.  A long tongue of liquid steel unravels from her waist and solidified into a short, flat double-edged blade.  The blade has vents running along its length, making it look serrated, and is hollow inside.  Geneva finds it is surprisingly light.  She holds it up.  “This it?”

            “Why, yes, Ms. Oaks, I do believe it is.  Good job!”

            Geneva bows. “A-thank you.”  She swings the wand, slicing the air cleanly in two.  The edges of it catch the light and gleam sharply.  “You know, when you said wand, I was imagining something more stick-like.  This looks more like a sword.”

            “No, wand is the proper translation into your language, I believe,” Ms. Olivia says, returning to her book.  “And it is a device for channeling the armor’s energy after all.”

            “It can channel whatever, I don’t think wands are supposed to be sharp.  This thing looks like it could cut.”  She fingers the grooves along the blade, sticks her fingers inside it.  “And it’s hollow?”

            “No, right here,” Ms. Olivia says, tapping her book.  “Wand,” she says in elven, and she repeats it to Geneva in English.

            “I heard you the first time.”

            “You heard,” Ms. Olivia smiles, “Ah, yes, of course, the ring translates for you.”

            “Anyway, I don’t care what your book says.”  Geneva points at her wand.  “This isn’t a wand.”

            “Well, it most certainly isn’t a sword.  While it can be used for melee combat, that purpose is supplementary, not primary.”

            “Then we’ll come up with something else,” Geneva says.  She looks it over.  “A wand-sword?  A sword-wand? A swand?”

            “Ms. Oaks, perhaps this is better left for later.  For now, I would like you to run through the sword exercises we’ve been doing recently.”

            Geneva grins behind her helm.  “See, even you think it looks like a sword.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            After training, Nina drives Geneva home and then returns to the school.  She wants to touch up her notes about her training sessions with Geneva.  Normally, she would take such work home, but Erak’s sudden visit has left her feeling safer at the school.

            By the time she finishes her work it is nearly nine p.m.  She gathers he things into her satchel and steps out into the cold night.  The temperature has dropped dramatically and will continue to do so, she is sure.  Her coat, she decides, is not thick enough for these winters, and she resolves to purchase a new one.

            And some gloves.

            As she approaches her vehicle, she sees a man in the distance, an elf wearing a patrol uniform.  He is thin and shivering in the cold wind. She calls out to him, and he salutes clumsily, shaking in the cold.  She returns the gesture before speaking.  “Corporal, what in the worlds are you doing here?”

            “Oh.”  He glances back toward the gate tree.  “I just got here.”  He looks at her, breathes into his hands for warmth.  “And, uh, I was wondering if I could get a ride back.”

            “Isn’t someone scheduled to come get you?”

            He shrugs.

            “Well, I suppose it’s too cold to wait.  Get in, I’ll give you a ride.”

            “Thank you,” he says, approaching her SUV curiously and watching her.  He opens the door after her and climbs in after, as well.  She buckles in and turns the car on.  Before pulling out, she gives him an expectant glance.  He is busy warming his hands.

            She clears her throat, and he looks at her.  “Yes?”

            “Your seatbelt, Corporal.”

            “My…”  He looks at the strap across her chest and then follows it up her shoulder.  Looking back, he finds his own seatbelt and fumbles it out.  “Oh, yes, my seatbelt.  Sorry.”

            “It’s fine,” she says, pulling forward.  “You must be a new recruit.”

            “Yes,” he says, wrestling with the clip.

            “Welcome to the team.  I hope you like it here.  The Human Realm isn’t nearly so bad as they make it out to be at home.”

            Holding the clip in place, the corporal stares out the window at the city lights.  He marvels.  “Yes, it seems magnificent.  There’s so much light.”

            Nina gives him a quiet glance.  “You come from a rural area, I take it?  Perhaps a colony.”

            “Ah, yes,” he says, peeling his eyes away city momentarily.  “Yes, this is all quite new to me.  Actually, I have a few questions, if you would oblige.”

            “Certainly.”

            “The watches, are they normally so light?”

            “Normally? No.  We assign watches in groups of four.  To have one of you…”  Nina sighs.  “The resurgence of the demons has drawn attention, but perhaps Erak is growing lax without any recent sightings.  Erak being your commanding officer, Major Draco, as I am sure you are aware.”

            “Demons,” the elf says.

            “Yes.  You haven’t heard?  I thought they had put it in the report.”

            “I guess they haven’t updated it yet,” he hazards.  “Or, they might have.  I only glanced at it.”

            Nina shakes her head.  “You really should read each report thoroughly. The information is important to the success of our mission here, I assure you.”

            “Of course, ma’am.  I apologize, and I promise to do better.”  He returns to staring out the window, awed by the cityscape.  The lights glitter like little stars, hanging, suspended in patches of darkness.  “Is there anything else I should know,” he asks, looking back at her reluctantly.

            “Well, have you heard about the resurrection of the knighthood yet?”

            “The knighthood?”

            “I’ll infer that to mean ‘no.’  Recently, we’ve reassigned one of the signet rings of old. In case you aren’t well-versed on the subject—few elves are anymore—the knights were an ancient order of demon slayers.  With the demon threat returning, it was thought prudent to bring them back.”

            “I see,” the corporal says.  “And it was this new knight that killed the demons that came earlier.”

            “No,” Nina says warily.  “No, she is still in training and far from combat ready, I am afraid.  But she did battle one briefly,” Nina pauses, “It did not go optimally.”

            “I see,” he says.  “Her training, though.  How is it going?”

            Nina frowns, deeply.  “Perhaps we should change the subject.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

The Oaks’ household is quiet.  The girls gather in the kitchen, well-dressed and somber.  Geneva has squeezed herself into a poofy black dress with open reluctance.  The lights are off and the room is lit only by candle light.  Beatrice takes her turn lighting another candle for the Menorah.

            Their mother watches from the background, wearing her own dress, and wipes a tear from her eyes.  “Thank you, girls.  I know we don’t always keep to the traditions, but it is nice to remember our heritage every now and then.”

            “Yeah, nice,” Geneva says, and her sister nudges her.  The phone rings, and Geneva is quick to say,” I’ll get that,” before rushing off.

            “Look at her,” Beatrice says, “Gets a little girlfriend, thinks she doesn’t have to set the table anymore.”

            “Shut up,” Geneva calls from the hallway.  She scoops the phone up on the second ring.  “Hello, Oaks residence, Geneva speaking.”

            “Hey, Genny.”

            “Oh, Kit,” Geneva says, wrapping herself in the phone cord while working her way into the living room.  “Uh, what’s up?”

            “Not much.  Wondering if you’re busy this weekend.”

            “Well,” Geneva says, pausing to give a moment of respectful silence to all the naps whose lives will be cut short by Kit.  “No, not really.  Why?”

            “A couple of my friends are throwing a birthday party for this girl they know—Sophie is her name, I think.  Anyway, they’re just now getting the list together.  Guess she’s a bit of a recluse or something, so they’re trying to make it a big old thing and get her a few new friends.  I was invited, and I was wondering if you wanted to be my plus one.  It’s Sunday night, I think.”

            “Yeah, Sunday,” Geneva says.  “Sounds like fun.  Should I dress up?”

            “Have you washed the vomit from that dress you wore on your birthday?”

            “Not yet.  I was saving it for something, but I guess I can throw it in the wash.”

            “Then that will be fine,” Kit says, and she can hear a smile in Kit’s voice.  “It’ll be a date.”

            “Yeah, it will,” Geneva says, smiling despite herself.  She glances back across the hall, into the kitchen, where she can see her mother and sister waiting.  “I think I need to go.”

            “You busy?”

            “It’s Hanukah here in the Oaks’ house,” she says, and she adds in a whisper, “Around the holidays my mom gets, like, weirdly Jewish, and she makes us Jew it up extra hard to compensate for our debauchery over the rest of the year.”

            “Ick.  Sounds like Catholics on lent.”

            “I guess,” Geneva says.  “You’re, what, a hedonist or something?  So, you don’t have to worry about this stuff.”

            “Methodists. So, basically.  Anyway, have fun doing that kosher thing you do.”

            “It’s a meal without meat and cheese, Kit.  That’s, like, my only food group.”

            “It’ll be good for you to try something else.”

            “Good for me?  You saying I’m fat? That’s thin ice, Kit.”

            “I think I should go before I piss my girlfriend off.”

            “Good idea,” Geneva says, smirking.  “Good night and see you Sunday.”

            “Maybe sooner,” Kit says, and Geneva says a silent farewell to her video games, too.  “Night.”

            Kit hangs up, and Geneva untangles herself from the phone cord before doing the same.  She returns to the table and tucks her dress forward while sitting.  Her mother and sister watch her.  After a breath, Geneva says, “That was Kit.”

            “Oh, we know,” Beatrice says, smiling, and Geneva rolls her eyes.

            Their mother asks, “What did she have to say?”

            “Wants to hang out on Sunday.”  Geneva searches her mother’s face and finds no clear response.  Tentatively, she adds, “I said it would be okay?”

            “Yes, of course,” her mother says.  “Though, I swear, between you and your father we’ll never have a family meal together again.”  She checks her watch and clicks her tongue.  “Where is that man?”

            Around then the door opens and their father steps into the house.  He saunters in, tall and thin as always, and he gives them a smile before stealing a roll.

            “Hey, dad,” Geneva says, and he messes her hair.

            “Genie-bear,” he says, and he winks at Beatrice, who smiles back at him.

            “You’re late,” their mother says.

            “Sorry, hon.  I got caught up talking to Stephen and…”  He looks around the room, taking note of the candles and dresses.  “And I’m a bit underdressed, aren’t I?”

            “A bit,” Beatrice says, “It’s okay, though.  Men rarely know what they look good in.”

            “Suppose I should go for a shower then,” he says.

            “You’re fine,” their mother says primly.

            “No, no, you don’t want me getting my grimy trash hands all over the food.  It won’t be long,” he says, and he nibbles on the roll on the way out of the kitchen.

            “Girls, excuse me, I’ll be right back,” their mother says, and she follows their father out of the room. 

Beatrice gives them a lingering look before sighing.  “Here we go.”  She looks at Geneva, who is staring apprehensively at the rolls.  Beatrice knits her brow.  “What?”

            “Dad’s a garbage man.”

            “Yeah, so?”

            “I just hope he washed his hands before coming home.”

            Both girls cringe at the rolls.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Days pass without word from Shirley, and every time Claude thinks about her, he gets twisted up inside.  He spends his nights alone in his hotel room, waiting by his phone and staring at the ceiling.  The days, he spends alone at work.

            Marisa invites him out for drinks, and he turns her down.

            Claude and Shirley have fought before.  When they were children, they would bicker over everything, and a few hours would pass, and she’d come back and apology, and he would apology after.  This time, however, he fears there will be no apologies.  He’s afraid that there won’t be any chance to forgive her.

            Saturday morning marks the end of her silence.  On his way back to his room after work he passes the front desk and is informed of a call from Shirley. At first, he feels excitement, followed shortly after by a wave of anxiety.  Before he can clock out, he makes a decision: he will ignore it.

            Marisa is already in the office when he steps in to clock out.  She greets him with a smile.  “Well, good morning, Mr. Sulky.”

            Claude frowns.  “I’m not sulky.

            “You’re a little sulky,” she says, punching out and stepping aside.  She holds up his card for him.

            “Thanks, I guess,” he says, taking his card and punching it.

            “Oh, come on, don’t get all mad.  I’m only playing.”

            “I know,” he says, leaving with her.  “Guess I have been a little upset lately.”

            “Tell me about it?”

            “Yeah,” he says, and she stands there waiting.

            “No.  Really, tell me about it.”

            Claude gives her a quick uncertain glance.  “Really?”

            “What?  We went to dinner once, Claude.  Don’t make this a thing.”

            “Right, right,” he says, jamming his hands into his pockets.  “Well, you know Shirley, right?”

            “Everyone here knows Shirley,” Marisa says, “And everyone likes her, too.  For the record.”  She smiles at him.  “We approve.”

            “Yeah, well, thing is, we kind of had a fight.”

            “We’ve also heard all about your little tiff.”

            “What? How?”

            “You know how Thomas is,” she says.  She pulls her hairnet off.  “So, what’s up? Why’re you two at it?”

            “You don’t already know?”

            “I’d rather hear it from you, hear your side since everyone has a bias for her big, blue eyes.”

            “Yeah, that happens,” Claude says.  “Anyway, she wants us to move in together.  To get a place, and I’m just not so sure about it all.”

            “And why aren’t you sure?”

            “Because,” he says, and there his words fail him.

            “Hey,” Marisa says, “That’s a good reason you’ve got there.”

            Claude rubs the back of his neck.  “It’s just weird.  I’ve known her for so long, since we were kids.  We used to do everything together.”

            “Do you like her?”

            He blushes.  “She’s like my sister.”

            “Do. You. Like. Her?”

            “I,” he looks away, “’m not so sure.”

            “You look pretty sure,” she says, looking out the window at the pale, winter morning.  “Listen, Claude, it might be weird taking advice from me, considering that one date we had.”  She smiles as he rolls his eyes.  “But I think you should at least call her back.  I mean, whatever is going on between you, it’s pretty clearly tearing at you.  And maybe you’re not ready for all of this yet, but don’t you think it’s better to face up to it than to ignore your best friend?”

            Claude shrugs.

            “Well, isn’t that nice and stoic of you.  Now, despite what my empty calendar book says, I am busy, so, later.” She heads toward the front while Claude waves.

            “You have a good night, Marisa.”

            She stops at the door and turns.  Waving, she backs her way out and says, “For God’s sake, just call the girl, will you?”

 

The Knights of Sheba 108 A…End

16: Episode Eight: "To be a Knight" B

The Knights of Sheba 108 B…Start

            Claude stares at his phone, which sits there silently, not staring or moving at all.  After a few hours of contemplation and imaginary conversations, he finally gets the courage to call.  After few more hours of getting courage, and one attempt that led to him hanging up after the first ring, Shirley calls him.

            “Claude,” Shirley says.

            “Shirley.”

            “I have a missed call from the hotel.  Figured it was you.”

            “Uh, yeah.”

            “So, I called back.”

            “Yeah,” he says.  “Hi.”

            “Hi.”  She pauses.  “So…”

            “The front desk told me that you had called.”

            “Yes, I did.”  She laughs ruefully.  “To be honest, I didn’t expect you to call back.”

            “Really?”

            “It’s been the better part of a day, Claude.”

            “Well.”  He sighs.  “Yeah, sorry about that.”

            “It’s fine,” she says, and he almost believes her.  She sounds sincere at the very least.  “So, I’m glad to hear from you.” That, he readily believes.  “Do you want to meet up and talk?”

            “Yeah, actually, I do.”

            “Okay, I’ll be there in a bit.”

            They hang up.  A few minutes later, Claude waits in the foyer, watching the front door for Shirley’s car.  It is snowing again.  Fat, white piles of snow gather around the parking lot.  Were he on shift, then he would be out sprinkling salt and shoveling.  The hotel gets business on days like this.  The restaurant doesn’t.

            Shirley pulls up to the front and Claude hurries out the door.  Cold bites deep at his exposed flesh.  He offers a brief greeting from the passenger seat before they pull out.  Shirley gets them on the highway before speaking.

            “So, where do you want to go?”

            Claude shrugs.  “We could just drive.”

            “We could,” she says, flowing through traffic.  She is a safe, if somewhat haphazard driver.  It isn’t that she multitasks poorly, but that she seems lackadaisical.  It is part of her charm.

            They drive down the highway.  Cars drag slowly around them.  In the distance, the city shines as it always does.  Above, the clouds gather the light and swell with it like a purpling bruise.  Claude has never seen a true winter before and finds the fragile beauty of fresh snow fascinating.

            “So,” he says after a lingering silence.  “What is it you wanted to talk about?”

            “You know what I want to talk about.”  She glances at him.  “We need to sort out that argument we had.”

            Claude goes quiet, thinks.  He slouches in his seat and stares out the window, and everything he had to say suddenly seems like a lifetime ago.  “There’s nothing to sort.  We already said everything we could.”

            “No, we didn’t,” she says.  “Listen, I’m sorry if what I said was hurtful or mean.  I know that doesn’t take it back or make it better, but it is true.  I really am sorry, and I’m just worried about you, and, honestly, a little offended.”

            “Offended? Why?”

            “I came up here to help you, Claude.  I dropped everything I had, left everything I know, for you, and you seem upset at me for it.”

            “No one asked you for your help.”

            “I never said anyone did!  I’m just,” she sighs, “You don’t need to ask for help to need it, and you definitely need it.”

            “I’m doing just fine.”

            “You’re living in a hotel.”

            “You keep bringing that up.  I’m living off people’s charity, but how is it different if I move in with you?”

            “Because…”

            “It’s not, Shirley.  It’s just me living off of your charity, and I refuse to burden you like that!”

            “I want the burden!”  She twists the wheel and the car sways.  After righting the car, she says, “Claude, I didn’t follow because I had to.  I followed because I wanted to.  I WANT to help you.  It’s not a burden.  It’s my choice.”

            “Fine, that’s fine, but this is my duty.”

            “It can be ours,” she says, her tone softening.  “Just—come see the apartment, okay?”

            Claude pauses, watches the snowflakes dance by.  The sun is already down, and night is gathering, but with the clouds holding the light, the world remains bright.  The snow on the ground reflects the light of the streetlamps in the most beautiful way.

            “Fine,” he says.

            Shirley takes them off the highway and into downtown.  The streets here are long and narrow, and the buildings tall monuments to labor and, possibly, hubris.  She moves through the winding streets with familiarity and finds a parking spot across the street from a tall, old brick building.  The fire escapes look like they were built before Claude was born.

            They step out into the cold air together, shiver, and cross the street.  Claude trails after Shirley, taking the place in.  Closer up, he can see decks built onto the building, their wood dark with moisture.  She stops at the front and opens it, and she leads them up a few staircases and to an unassuming green door in a hallway with yellow wallpaper and brown carpet.

            She smiles at him.  “Are you ready?”  The excitement shows in her tone and in the way she dances a little as she asks.

            Claude has his hands in his pockets, an image of apathy. He shrugs.  “Sure.”

            She unlocks the door and pushes it open.  It swings in, revealing a single, small room, a studio.  A modest kitchenette is built into one side and a door to the right leads to an even more modest bathroom.  She has a lone mattress on the floor and little else.

            Claude stares, less than underwhelmed and more than a little embarrassed. She, however, is still smiling.  “Isn’t it great?”

            “Uh.”

            “I know it’s small, but it’s homey, and it’s mine.”  She steps into the room, stopping beside the mattress.  “And it could be ours, you know.”

            “Shirley…”

            She walks about, picking up trash and stuffing it into an open trash bag by the kitchenette.  “And it’s bigger than your hotel room. And it’d be yours, really yours.  We could decorate together, maybe display your bows.”  She gestures toward the wall, as if the display is already there.  “It would look good here, don’t you think?”

            “Shirley.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Why are you doing all of this?”

            She stares at him, as if confused by the question, and then says, simply, “I want to help.”

            He approaches her, stares into her eyes.  “I know you do, but why?”

            “Because we’re friends.”

            “We are but,” he shakes his head, “You uprooted your whole life.  For this.  You left your family, your friends, your job, your home, all so you could come live in this tiny room, in the middle of a dirty street, in a big city that hardly knows you’re here. Why?”

            She stares a moment longer, and then she laughs, hard.  She laughs so hard her cheeks reddened and her eyes sprout tears, and she keeps laughing until he begins to sulk.

            “What’s so funny,” he asks as her laughter dies.

            “You’re really something special, you know that?”

            “Is that a joke or something?”

            “No, it’s not,” she says, still smiling, still flushed.  Her face is vibrant and alive, and there is something else Claude can’t quite recognized.  Her eyes look half-lidded.  “Claude. How, after all these years, can you not see it?”

            “See what?”

            “I like you.”

            The words are followed by silence.  Even the traffic outside goes quiet, and the admission hangs there. Then, the three words register, and Claude’s entire universe realigns.

            Looking back, he can see every little hint, every advance.  It leaves him clumsy and self-conscious, and he stares at the floor, bashfully.

            Seeing this, Shirley backs up.  “I mean, that is, I have feelings.  For you.  But if you don’t…”

            He kisses her, awkwardly, her mouth half-open and his eyes closed.  They hardly make contact, but Claude is confident and follows through.  He pulls her close, and they meld together, their bodies connected, their lips finding each other.

            Once embraced, they tumble back onto the bed, and they stay together through the night.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The next morning is cold and distant, framed by a grey sky and fat, crystalline snowflakes.  They gather in in the edges of the streets as the snowplow pushes through.  Inside, hiding from the cold of the day in the warmth and safety of Shirley’s apartment, Claude wakes up naked, covered by a thin blanket.  Beside him, Shirley sleeps soundly and equally nude.

            At first glance, shock sets in, shock at the whirlwind of events that led to this morning.  He remembers waiting anxiously in the hotel’s foyer, remembers a long, tense car ride, remembers the disappointment of the apartment.  Then, there is a blurry haze of limbs and rapture.

            It all felt like a long time coming.

            As the night unravels itself in his mind, horror sets in.  He worries over Shirley, over himself, over the relationship that is not even fully healed.  He remembers how empty his life felt without her, how scared he was of losing her, and can only see how sex complicates it all.

            Then, he looks at her, sleeping beside him, her hair askew, her makeup smudged, snoring softly.  He watches the way she breaths, and he squeezes her tight to him and hopes the day doesn’t come.

            She murmurs and rubs her eyes.  “Good morning,” she says, stretching, and she smiles sleepily.  “So, I have to be honest with you.  I didn’t expect this to happen last night.”

            “Really?”

            “Well, I mean, I planned to get here eventually.  Just didn’t expect it to happen so fast.  But don’t get me wrong, I’m happy.”  She looks back over her shoulder.  “You’re happy, too, aren’t you?”

            “I’m confused,” Claude says.  “Happy, yes, but also confused.  And about moving in…”

            “You can’t say no now,” she says, “I won’t be your booty call.”

            He laughs and hugs her and buries his face into her auburn hair.  It smells like her.  “I know, and I don’t want you to be.”  He reaches over her body, finding a cell phone and clicking it on.  Seeing the time, he jumps up, rising from the bed in the nude.  Shirley appraises him in the dull morning light.

            “You know,” she says, eying him, “It’s awful cold out.  We could just stay in all day.”

            “Can’t,” Claude says, feeling very self-conscious about his nudity.  He shimmies into his pants.  “I have to work in a few minutes.”

            Shirley pouts and sits up.  The blanket falls down her chest, exposing creamy flesh.  She smiles.  “Really? Because you look very sick to me.”

            Claude stares.  “Really, I wish I was.”

            She shrugs and stands, naked and completely at ease with it.  “Well,” she says, bending to gather her things from the floor, “I guess this gives me a chance to move your stuff in.”  She looks at him, her bra halfway up her arms.  “You are moving in.”

            Claude laughs.  “Yes, I am.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            “Would you just hold still?”

            “I am holding still.”

            “Well, you need to hold more still.  You need to be holding so much still that your hands are overflowing with it.  But, seriously, more than anything, Genie, you need to stop fidgeting before I hurt you.”

            “By accident,” Geneva asks, holding her head high and her eyes closed.

            “No,” Beatrice says firmly.

            Geneva holds her breath and does her best not to move.  She is sitting in the bathroom while Beatrice fusses around her.  “I can put on makeup myself, you know.”

            “You can,” Beatrice says, pausing to take Geneva in and then returning to work.  “But tonight is a big night, so I’m thinking we might go elegant and attractive and less with the meth-clown chic.”

            “Ha. Ha.”

            “Still!”  Beatrice kneels down.  She holds a brush between her teeth and grabs the tweezers from the counter.  Squinting, she says, “You’ve got a stray eyebrow hair…”

            “I thought they were—Ow!”

            “Got it,” Beatrice says, tossing the tweezers aside.  She takes out concealer and goes to work.  “So, you excited about your big date?”

            “Nervous, more like,” Geneva says.  “Think, monster-zombie butterflies nervous.”

            “Zombies?”

            “They’re eating my stomach, Bea.”

            “Why? You’ve been to a party with her before, haven’t you?”

            “I kind of made an ass out of myself.”

            Beatrice shrugs. “You’re in high school. Goes with the territory.

            “She never makes an ass out of herself.”

            “She’s cool.  Cool kids save all their assery for later in life.”

            “So, it’s not big deal?”

            “Not in the grand scheme of things.”  Beatrice closes the concealer and tosses it haphazardly at the sink.  She digs through a drawer and finds an eye liner pencil, and she blows on it before tilting Geneva’s head back.  “Now, remember, still.”

            “Did you ever do something stupid thinking you would impress a bunch of people, but really you just made yourself look like a fool?”

            “No, but I sort of skipped the whole high school part of development.  You, I’m afraid, have a few years of awkward left in your future.”

            “You give me so much hope.”

            “That’s what I’m here for.  Now, quiet.”  Beatrice drops the pencil to the floor and applies lipstick.  “Now smack them.  Good girl.”

            “We almost done yet?”

            “No, we still haven’t done your hair.”  Beatrice stares at her.  “Up or down?”

            Geneva tugs at her hair, trying to hide behind it.  “Anyway to cover up my forehead?”

            “No, dear.  It’s hereditary.”

            “You don’t have a giant forehead.”

            “I take after the good-looking side of the family,” Beatrice says.  “Hey, is it this dress I loaned you, or are your boobs bigger?”

            “I don’t know,” Geneva says, squeezing and inspecting them.  “They could be.  Maybe Kit’s are radioactive and her boobs are bringing out the bust in me.”

            “That’s so scientific that I don’t even know.  And here, everyone is saying how I’m the smart one.”

            “No one says that,” she feels a pinch on the back of her neck and winces.  “Ow! What was that for?”

            “Because I’m your big sister and sometimes you forget that.  Now, up.  Let’s get you in front of a mirror so you can see the masterpiece I’ve painted upon the canvas of your face.”

            Geneva stands and, upon Beatrice’s insistence, closes her eyes.  She is led from the bathroom and to her room by the hand.  “You think mom is mad?”

            “If she is, it’s nothing to do with you, so don’t worry your, if I dare to compliment myself, pretty little head over it.”  They come to a stop.  “Now, open!”

            Geneva opens her eyes to find someone else staring back from the mirror.  The person in the mirror isn’t an awkward teenage girl but a woman.  The makeup ages her elegantly, accentuates her strengths while playing down her flaws.  It makes her proportions work to her advantage, while the dress fits her well about the midsection, enhancing and flowing from there to hide her baby fat.

            After a few seconds, Geneva says, “Wow.  Bea, thanks!”

            Beatrice shrugs.  “Truth told, I was working with good material.  You’re a nice-looking girl, Genie, you just don’t give yourself enough credit.”

            Geneva blushes, looks away.  Her eyes keep coming back to her reflection.  “I wouldn’t say that.”  She smooths her dress, puffs her cheeks like a fish to make sure it’s her.  Then, she smiles at Beatrice.  “Think Kit will…”

            “If you’re a virgin after tonight then that girl isn’t really a lesbian.”  Beatrice tilts her head to the side.  “Did I just say that about my own sister?”

            “Yeah. Weird.”

            Beatrice shrugs.  “By the by, you losing weight?”

            “Oh?”  Geneva pulls the dress against her body.  “Maybe.  I guess I have been exercising lately.”

            “Goodie for you,” Beatrice says, slumping onto Geneva’s bed.  She stretches her legs languidly.  “I, for one, don’t have the energy for that nonsense.”

            Geneva laughs.  “Trust me, it’s not my choice.”

            “What?”

            “I just.  Gym.  I’m in gym class.”

            “Ah.  Don’t have those in college.”

            “Yeah,” Geneva says, looking away.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Beatrice does Geneva’s hair before leaving her to pace around the room while waiting.  Geneva is partway through her fourth round when she hears Kit’s car pull up and rushes to the door to meet her at the door before her parents can intercept.  They meet in the front yard, and Geneva regrets not bringing a coat as her feet sink into the mud.  Luckily, Kit is there with a jacket for her.  She slips it onto Geneva’s shoulders before taking the time to appraise her.

            “Wow.  You’re in a dress like that.”

            Geneva blushes, feels momentarily like she is on display.  “Is that bad?”

            “No.  You look amazing.”

            The blush deepens.  “Thanks.  Bea helped me.  She did my makeup and—Ah!  We should hurry, shouldn’t we?”

            “No rush.”  Kit checks her phone. “We have all the time in the world, and I don’t mind standing here and watching you talk.”

            Geneva flips the jacket collar to hide behind it.  “I do, though.  I’m freezing.”

            “Then your chariot awaits.”

            Kit leads Geneva to the car and holds the door for her.  Then, she gets in on the driver’s side and they set out.  Geneva folds Kit’s jacket up and rests it on her lap before fiddling with the heater.

            Kit glances at her.  “Well, aren’t you just comfortable in here now?”

            Geneva glances, recoils quickly.  “Sorry, I didn’t—I was just cold.”

            “It’s fine,” Kit says, smirking.  “I’m glad you’re loosening up.”

            “Well, I won’t get too loose tonight.  I promise.”

            “What, you don’t get a repeat performance of your birthday?”

            “Ugh,” Geneva says.  “Sorry. Apparently, I’m a lightweight.”

            “You’re fine.  Besides, it got me into your bed.”

            Geneva blushes again and doesn’t even have the jacket to hide behind.  She fiddles with the knobs of the heater to look busy.  “We, uh, we didn’t…”

            “I already told you.  No, we didn’t.  Just cuddled.  It was nice.”

            “Well, if you liked it so much, maybe we can try that again tonight,” Geneva says.  “The cuddling, I mean.”

            “Yeah?”

            Geneva tries out a smirk and finds it helps her feel more confident.  “Depends on how the night goes.”

            “In that case, I promise to be on my best behavior.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            When Nina gets the call she leaves immediately, speeding through the city streets and skidding to a halt at the school parking lot.  From there, she runs through the snow, ignoring the bite of the whipping winds, and makes her way to the woods just off grounds.  She can see the Gate Tree in the distance, shimmering faintly in the darkness.

            The area is in ruin.  Trees have been uprooted or tossed aside.  Those that stand are shattered and splintered.  Two elven soldiers lie dead on the ground, their bodies crushed as if by a giant boot, their insides left outside.

            Other elves are on scene, gathering their allies remains and investigating the damage.  Erak stands among them, his coat tail tossing in the wind.  He surveys the scene from behind his hand, his skin pale, his eyes wide.  His other hand clutches an unlit cigarette.  When he sees her, he composes himself, drawing up to his full height, squaring his shoulders, and taking a deep breath.

            “Lieutenant, it’s about time you showed up.”  His voice is shaky.  He lacks his usual resolve.  Nina remembers that he, like many of the others on the border defense, have never seen live combat.

            She salutes. “Sir, what has happened?”

            “Isn’t it obvious?  We’re under attack, and as far as I am concerned, it’s a declaration of war.”

            “Sir?”

            “What else could it be?  The first were scouts, but this…This has to be a raiding party.”  He looks around at the scattered tree trunks, at the broken bodies, and shudders.  “What?  What could have done this, Olivier?”

            “Monsters,” Nina says.

            “Demons,” Erak whispers.  He turns to her.  “We’ll be mobilizing all troops.  You should contact the girl.”

            “Geneva?”

            “She’s a knight, isn’t she?  If I recall, her kind are supposed to be well-suited for fighting demons.”

            “Yes, sir.  But…”

            “This is your chance, Lieutenant.  Prove her worth to me,” he says.  “Why have a weapon if you can’t even use it.”  He turns his back on her, and the conversation ends.

            Nina lingers, shivering in the cold.  She looks at the dead bodies being scooped up into bags, at the trail of chaos leading off to the highway.  The enemy is strong, perhaps numerous, and Geneva is unready, but Nina has her orders.

            She pulls out her phone and makes the call.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Kit and Geneva arrive to a sea of people.  They pull up beside a long line of cars and get out.  Kit is quick to run around and hold Geneva’s door for her, and she unfolds her jacket and slips it around Geneva’s shoulders again.  Then, she puts an arm around her.

            Geneva smiles, her stomach fluttering.

            They walk together, bodies close, up to the front lawn.  The house is modest and packed with people.  Light spills out from the upstairs windows, looking like two giant, shining eyes.  There are a few people on the porch smoking as they approach.

            Kit opens the gate and stares at the house.  “I was afraid we would be the only ones who showed considering the weather.”  She holds out her hand to catch a few snowflakes and shivers.

            “Come on,” Geneva says, taking Kit by the hand, “Let’s get you inside before your chivalry freezes you to death.”

            Kit smiles.  “Yes, ma’am,” she says, and she follows Geneva through the yard.  Frosted grass crunches under their feet.  People wave from the front as they approach, and Kit waves back.  Geneva sees Rebecky among them and gets to wave, too.

            They are halfway there when Geneva’s dress buzzes.  At first, she stops, horrified, and then remembers her phone.  She stares anxiously, and she finds Kit waiting.  “Give me a second,” she says, turning and answering her phone. “Uh, hello?  Yeah.”  Geneva plugs her ears and steps away from Kit.  “Now?  But…” She sighs.  “Fine, fine.”  Geneva finds a street sign and gives the address.  Then, she hangs up and tucks her phone back into her bra, where Beatrice had told her to keep things in the first place.

            She turns to Kit, who is staring.  A few seconds pass, and then Kit says, “You have a cell phone?”

            “Well, it’s a long story.  You, uh, you see, it’s complicated.”  She paces away from Kit.

            “Genny, what’s going on?”

            “I’m sorry, Kit.  Really, I am, but I don’t have time to explain.  Or I don’t know if I can.  It’s just one of those things.  If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”  She laughs.  “But, seriously, I’m really sorry.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            A black SUV pulls up, and Ms. Olivia honks from the driver’s seat.  Geneva looks back and thinks that she made good time.  Then, she grabs Kit’s coat and tosses it to her.  “Really, I’m sorry,” she says, and she bunches up her dress and stumbles her way toward the street and to Ms. Olivia’s car.

            Kit watches from the lawn, more shocked than hurt, and holding her jacket.

 

The Knights of Sheba 108…End

17: Episode Nine: "Battle" A

Episode Nine: Battle

            While Claude works, Shirley packs up his things and loads them into her car.  She crinkles her nose while stuffing his laundry into his bag.  He never really got around to washing things, and what few things he did wash were just at the top of the pile.  This proves to her, more than ever, that Claude needs her.  He may consider himself a hero in the making, but he needs someone around to keep him in clean underwear.

            After work, she and Claude gather his remaining things and finish packing.  Then they return inside to say goodbye to Thomas and thank him for all of his help over the past few months.  They shake hands, and Thomas tells Claude to take care of Shirley and winks at him. Claude smiles bashfully in return.

            Then, they leave.  The storm is already gathering overhead, full, fat dark clouds heavy with snow and eager to release their burden.  They meet traffic on the way.  The sky is darkened and opening.  Snow gathers rapidly on the cold asphalt of the roads.

            “God,” Shirley says, shifting in her seat and trying hard to see where the cars begin.  It is far, far ahead, too far for her to see.  She frowns.  “I always heard that traffic was bad in the big city, but this is ridiculous.  Think there is an accident?”

            Claude stares ahead.  He feels happy to be moving, to live with Shirley, to start something new with her, but there are alarms going off in the back of his head.  His stomach twists and knots.

            “Hope it’s nothing bad, huh,” Shirley says, leaning back into her seat and settling in for a long wait.

            “Yeah,” Claude says, and realization settles.  He can feel it, danger, ahead.  It is his reason, his purpose.  He sighs through his clenched teeth.  “Shirley, really, I’m so, so sorry,” he says, pushing the door open and going to the back of the car.

            “Claude?  Claude!”  Shirley shifts the car into park and follows him out.  She finds him waiting by the trunk with a resolute expression and opens it for him.  He starts digging through his things before she can stop him.  “Claude, what’s going on?  What’re you doing?”

            He pulls his bow from the trunk, along with a quiver of arrows, and he looks her in the eyes.  “The reason why I came here.  It’s out there, waiting for me.”  He looks ahead.  “Or maybe it’s not waiting.”  He returns his attention to her.  “Either way, I have to go.  I have to stop it.”

            Shirley looks ahead now.  She shivers in the cold.  Snowy winds whip her hair around her.  “You think it’s why traffic is all backed up?”

            “Probably,” Claude says.  He fastens his quiver to his right shoulder and checks it to make sure the fit is right.  Then, he slips the bow around his other shoulder.  He shivers, now, too.  “Whatever it is, it’s dangerous.  And it needs to be stopped.”

            “And you’re sure?”

            Claude smirks at her.  “Shirley, you know me.  I’m sure.  I have to go.”

            “But…”

            “It’s my destiny,” he says, and he moves to pass her.  She catches him by the hand, pulls him back into a kiss.  They stand there like this, their warmth breeding between them.  He kisses her back, embraces her.

            They part, and she smiles at him.  “That was for luck.”

            Claude smiles, breathlessly.  “Thanks,” he says.  “I’ll be back.”

            “I know.  Just remember, I’m waiting for you.”

            “You always do.”

            “I love you,” she says, and he pauses and smiles back at her.

            “I,” he pauses to digest the words, the feelings that were always there.  “I love you, too.”  It feels natural on his tongue, and he enjoys it.  He takes her hands and squeezes them.  “Really, I do.”

            “Well, go, then.  Save the world,” she says.

            Claude lingers, taking in the sight of her.  He will always remember this moment, her standing in the snow, nose slightly red, eyes and smile shining with pride, cutting through the darkness and doubt.  The cars behind her make halos of light that frame her and make her shine.

            “I will,” he says, and he gives one last squeeze of her hands before turning and running toward the unknown danger.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            “I am sorry to have interrupted your night,” Ms. Olivia says, glancing at Geneva’s dress.  Geneva tugs on the hem anxiously but stays quiet.  They are swerving through the streets, breaking laws when necessary. “I assume I did interrupt something.”

            “Something,” Geneva says, “But, to be honest, I’m kind of relieved.”

            “Oh?”

            “Well, I mean, I’m not relieved to be fighting deadly monsters or anything.  But I’m beginning to think that big parties aren’t my thing.”

            “Then why attend?”

            Geneva shrugs.  “It’s what girlfriends do. I think.”

            “The lives of human adolescents seem so complicated.”

            “You have no idea,” Geneva says.  “Do you have anything else I can wear?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “I mean, dresses—good for wooing your pretty lady-partner.  Not so good for winning a battle to the death.”  She smooths the dress against her thighs.  “Seriously, I won’t be too mobile in this.”

            “True, I hadn’t thought of that.  If I had known, I would have brought something for you.”

            “Great,” Geneva says.  She stares out the window.  The sky is black, and so is everything else.  She can see police lights up ahead or something flashing like them.  “And there’s a real demon here?”

            “Unfortunately, it seems so, and not just any demon.  From evidence gathered on the scene, they have informed me that it may be a lone target, but one that is very large and very deadly.”

            “Right, it can never be easy.”  Geneva undoes her seatbelt and begins to clumsily tug her dress off.  Once out of it, she tosses it into the back seat and settles again in her underwear.  Her cheeks are burning red when Ms. Olivia looks at her.  She covers herself as best as she can with her arms.  “Don’t stare!  I know it’s weird, but what else am I supposed to do?”  She conjures her armor out of modesty.

            “There is no need for embarrassment, Ms. Oaks.  In truth, your dedication is quite impressive.”

            “Yeah, well, I did already bail on my girlfriend to fight a demon.  So, there’s that, too.”

            “I apologize.”

            Geneva sighs.  “Let’s just get this done and get me back so I can do damage control.”

            “Ms. Oaks, I must warn you to take this seriously and be careful.”

            “Right, because I was planning on going in and getting killed, but you’ve got me reconsidering it.  I mean, the more I think about it, being dead might be relieving in the short, but I don’t think it’ll be as rewarding in the long term.”

            “Your jokes aside, we have fear that it might be a demon lord.”

            “A demon what-now?”

            “Myths say that there was a demon king, whose blood was distilled from the essence of their very gods.  Seventy-two bloodlines descended from him, each founding houses and declaring themselves lords upon his death.  Those carrying this blood are said to be endowed with strange, mystical gifts.”  Ms. Olivia pauses to let the information sink in, and then says, “The texts are sparse, but…”

            “So, you’re saying he’s, like, what?  The final boss or something?”

            “I suppose?  Honestly, I don’t fully understand what you mean.”

            “He’s strong.”

            “Very, very strong, I’d say.”

            “Great.” Geneva sighs again.  “Anymore good news?”

            They come to a halt a few feet away from the rows of cars trapped on the bridge, and Ms. Olivia’s lips grow thin.  “Only that we can’t go any further by car.”

            “That’s fine,” Geneva says, conjuring her armor.  She opens the car door.

            “Ms. Oaks, where are you going?”

            “To kill the monster.  That is my job now, remember?”

            “But, how will you find it?”

            “Shouldn’t be too hard, right?  Just have to look for the giant green guy wrecking the city.”

            Ms. Olivia considers it for a moment and then nods, reluctantly.  “Fine, you go on ahead.  Your armor will protect you from the cold and grant you greater speed than you would normally have.”

            “I know,” Geneva says, stepping out of the car.  The snow is already deep enough to leave footprints and only growing deeper as more falls.

            “Mind your wand.”

            Geneva looks back.  “You mean sword.  Or swand?  Did we ever settle on one?  Anyway, stab it.  Got you.”

            “Yes,” Ms. Olivia says and, before Geneva can close the door, “Geneva!”

            Holding the door, Geneva peeks back inside.  “Yes?”

            “Be careful.”

            Geneva laughs nervously.  “Kind of a silly think to say when you’re sending someone into battle, don’t you think?”  She closes the door and runs off, weaving between cars on the way.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            A car goes flying in a low arc, hitting the ground hard and bending under its own weight.  It slides to a stop and falls onto its hood.  Glass spills out around it like glittering drops of blood, and Andromalius stomps passed, growling at his surroundings.

            The world is blinding with light and noise.  Even here, with the elven partitions, the abandoned streets seem full of life.  The sky shines in refraction.  Travel between worlds had been disorienting, but it is nothing compared to the burning skyline of the human realm.

            He stops in the empty streets and stares at the sky, watching the snow fall.  There are no soldiers here and no leaders, simply tiny men and women running for their lives.  They are soft things, not worthy of his attention.  There is nothing.

            “Now, that’s just not nice,” he hears, and he turns to find Geneva behind him.  She stands near the end of the street, clad in white armor with beige weave, her hips cocked to one side.  She is nearly four feet shorter than him and much lighter.

            He snorts. “I came hearing stories of the return of the knights, the demon slayers of lore.  And all I find is a world sick with light and noise, and a tiny human infant playing at hero.”

            Geneva stares at him for a long moment, her right hand on her hip.  After some consideration, she says, “Infant?  That’s not nice, either.  Or even remotely accurate.  I mean, I have a little baby fat.”  She pinches her stomach through the weave.  “Still, guess I can’t imagine manners from someone who comes storming into the city, stomping around, breaking stuff, going all ‘take me to your leader.’”

            “I did not come for a leader.  I came to issue warning.  Our world is open, and I won’t have your kind invading.  My lands will be protected.”

            “So, you propose to stop war by starting a war.”

            “This is no war.  It is a warning.  I will break you, make you an example, and then the worlds will know.  And they will fear Andromalius, the knight slayer!”

            “Sorry to tell you, but I don’t think breaking me will be nearly as impressive as you think.”

            “Do all humans talk so much?”

            “Nah.  I’m special.”

            Andromalius roars and charges like a bull, head down, shoulders forward.  Geneva tumbles out of the way and rolls to a stop beside a car.  He slides to a halt in the snow and turns on her, bringing his meaty first down toward her head.  She side-steps, avoiding the attack and leaving him to drive his fist clean through the windshield of the car.

            Geneva sprints away, putting fifteen feet between them before coming to a stop.  She turns to him, hands on her hips, and says, “Listen, all joking aside.  We really don’t have to fight.  If you give up now, I promise I’ll get you amnesty or whatever it’s called.  You’ve just got to pinky swear.”

            Andromalius yanks his arm free in an explosion of glass and seems no worse for it.  He glares.  “You think I should be afraid of you, when all you have done is retreat?”

            “No, not afraid.  Not exactly.  Just, I don’t know, reasonable?  I mean, is that really so much to ask?”

            Animals, when angry or ready to fight, swell.  Andromalius does, too.  His muscles tighten in a display of supremacy.  Already, he towered over her, but now he does it with purpose.  “As a child I heard stories of human soldiers wearing magical armor, who, single-handedly, turned the tide of the war, who met our soldiers on the field and cut terror into their flesh. I come here seeking the myth, and instead I get you.”

            “So, I am taking that as a no?”

            “You are all talk,” Andromalius says.  “A disappointment.  A lie.  But you will not be worth nothing.  I’ve told you—you will be an example.”

            Geneva sighs.  “Right, right, give me a second then.”  She reaches back and unstheaths her wand with one smooth motion.  As it forms, she levels it at him, and she gathers all of her courage.  Even at a distance, she feels like she is staring up into his eyes.  “Last time.  Stop now.”

            “I will not be intimidated by a child.”

            “Is the child thing really necessary?”

            Andromalius yanks the door off of the nearby car and tests its weight.  Then, he hurls it at her overhand.  She sidesteps it and watches it bounce along the street before crashing through the storefront window of a nearby shop.

            By the time she turns, Andromalius is there.  He barrels through her, hitting with his shoulder and knocking her to the ground.  When she lands, her wand slides across the street, coming to a stop underneath a parked car.  She rolls onto her stomach and plans to go for it when Andromalius takes her by the leg and tosses her in the opposite direction.

            A brick wall stops her, cracking underneath the force of her landing.  She slides to the ground, dazed and breathless.  He leaps, landing just in front of her, and brings his fist down as he does.  She rolls away at the last minute, coming to a stop face down in the snow, and while she doesn’t see the blow land, the sound of cracking stone gives her a solid indication of the result.

            Before he can close in, she shuffles to her feet and stumbles away.  She hears him stomping after her and knows that escape is impossible.  So, she turns on him and sinks into her best boxing pose. She tries to draw on her training, which focused primarily on blade work.  Suddenly, she feels entirely unprepared.

            “You sure we can’t talk this out?”

            “We have talked enough,” he screams, stepping into range.  For his size, he moves very quickly.  His fist is a blur, moving too fast for her to follow, and strikes her in the chest before she can even blink.  The second punch leaves her staggered, but the armor protects her.

            She throws her right arm up to catch a third swing, but it lands with devastating force.  It knocks her sideways, into a nearby building, where she braces against the wall for balance.  Her head spins, and another hammer-like strike sends her to her knees.

            He stands over her, sneering in disappointment, his fists bleeding.  Geneva is on her hands and knees, panting and trying hard not to cry.  Her entire body aches, and the last blow left her helmet cracked.

            “It seems you’re no longer so intent on talking,” Andromalius says.

            “Funny, seems like you are.”  Geneva jumps up and kicks him, hard, in the shin before running away.  Androamlius stumbles back and screams before giving chase.

            She sprints as hard as she can through the snow, dropping down a few feet away and sliding the remaining distance to the car.  She has to grab a wheel to stop herself as she slides under.  Her fingers brush against her wand just as he grabs her by the shoulder and lifts her up.  He crushes her between his two enormous hands, and she flails and struggles for breath.

            “So, this is a knight.  A petty thing, using petty tactics.  Weren’t you taught how to fight?”

            “Apparently,” she coughs, “not.”

            “Disappointing,” he says.  “I was expecting a challenge, but still, glory is glory.”

            With all of his weight and strength, he slams her down onto the car beneath her.  The hood bends and twists, the frame groans under the impact.  The last thing Geneva remembers before passing out is the windshield rupturing, raining down on her, the shards catching the light of the lamps and casting little circular rainbows across her body.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Nina was never one to wait and can’t wait this time, either.  So, not long after Geneva leaves, she follows.  Gun in hand, she runs through the streets, ignoring the bite of the cold or the chill of the snow melting upon her exposed flesh.  She imagines Geneva caught in battle against an unstoppable enemy and knows who it was who put her there.

            The storm reaches apex.  The snow is heavy and streets clogged with exhaust and cars as she approaches the roadblock.  There, she finds elven soldiers dressed in police uniforms.  Upon arrival, she hears a few elves warding people off with imaginary threats.  They are working for now, but Nina can feel the growing agitation in the cold air.

            She slips past the roadblock and pushes ahead toward the danger when she gets a call from Erak.  “Sir?”

            “I hear your girl is out there.  Congratulations.  Looks like she’s finally grown up.”

            “Yes, sir.  Thank you.”

            “Where are you right now, Lieutenant?”

            “On my way to offer support, sir.”

            “Don’t.”

            Nina stops, her gun clutched tightly in her cold hand.  “Excuse me, sir, but could you repeat that?”

            “Don’t support her.”

            “But, sir…”

            “You’ve been training her, haven’t you?”

            “Yes, but…”

            “Then she shouldn’t need your help, should she?”

            Nina pauses, stares ahead.  She can see downtown through a haze of snow and shadows.  “But, sir, this is no ordinary demon.”

            “And she’s no ordinary girl.  Or so you say.  Listen, this is her job.  Her only job.  It’s the entire reason we’ve allowed you to play this little game of yours.”

            “But if it is a demon noble…”

            “All the more reason to hold you in reserve.  The knights were founded specifically to deal with the corrupt bastards of the demons’ so-called high lineage.  Anyhow, you’re of better use to me at the blockade.  I hear the humans are getting restless.”

            Nina looks back.  She can see rows of lights gathered, each blinding in intensity.  She can hear honks from the cars in the back and see shadows moving.  “Yes, sir.  I can imagine, but what if she fails?”

            “If she fails, we step in.  Until then, you’ll just have to believe in her.”  He pauses.  “You do believe in her, don’t you?”

            Nina hesitates.  She imagines the sixteen-year-old girl flailing with a wooden sword and takes a deep breath.  Then, she remembers the sixteen-year-old girl who led a demon away from someone else to keep them safe.  “Yes, sir.  Of course, I do.”

            “Then follow orders and get back to the blockade.  You know how to talk to humans.”

            “Yes, sir.”  Nina hangs up and stares back at the city and truly believes in Geneva.  She just hopes belief is enough.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Geneva slides from the hood like an afterthought, landing face first in the snow and remaining there.  She feels battered, perhaps even broken, but Ms. Olivia is in her head, talking to her, ordering her to wake up and, more importantly, to move.

            Andromalius stands over her, hands fixed on the front end of the car.  It groans as he lifts it into the air, and Geneva watches through the helm’s lenses as his blurry form strains to keep it aloft, preparing to drop it on her.  In her periphery, she sees the wand gleam under the glow of a nearby streetlights.

            Again, Ms. Olivia is there, ordering her to reach out, to grab it.  The car obscures the light now and casts a long shadow.  Geneva holds her breath and waits for the end to come.  Instead, she hears a harmless clatter.

            She opens her eyes and finds an arrow in the snow.  Andromalius looks off to the side at someone holding a bow.  “Elves,” Geneva whispers to herself, and then she remembers that the elves use guns.

            Another arrow sails in.  It hits Andromalius across the chest and bounces off. Grunting, the demon tosses the car aside and turns away from Geneva, a sneer written across his large, angular features.

            “Who?” Geneva moves her head slowly, shuffling in the snow to catch sight of her mysterious ally.  It is no elf, but Claude, standing there, bow ready, his jacket fluttering in the hard, cold wind.  He has another arrow nocked and ready to fire, and from what Geneva can see, he is whispering to it.

            Andromalius barks or laughs, Geneva can’t really tell.  She turns away and crawls toward her wand, hoping to reach it before her enemy notices.  That is when she hears an explosion.  It is just behind her and leaves her ears ringing.  She can feel Andromalius’ big frame moving staggering in its wake.

            Taking this as her cue, Geneva snatches her wand.  She pulls it in close and curls into a little ball.  Immediately behind her, Andromalius settles in the snow and glares at Claude, who has another arrow ready.  Another explosion and this time Geneva sees its origin.  Each arrow fired explodes with a blinding, roaring flame.

            As terrifying as the display is, each time the smoke clears there is little damage done.  The surface of Andormalius’ skin is slightly charred but more than anything it only seems to leave him angry.  He snarls and charges at Claude, who keeps drawing arrows, keeps whispering, and keeps firing.

            Geneva groans.  “Maybe those arrows won’t work, but I’m sure this can.”  Geneva stands. Her legs quiver under her weight.  She calls to Andromalius, who stops and turns to regard her dismissively, and she levels her wand at him.  “Hey, guess what, ugly.  It’s two on one now.”

            Andromalius snorts and looks between him.  Again, he barks, and his massive body shaking.  “Yes. Two.  Even more for me to kill.”  He sobers and glares at her.  “An entire army wouldn’t save you, child.”

            “Man, you’re really starting to piss me off.”  Geneva takes a deep breath, tests her footing, and then charges.  She means to attack in some way but doesn’t have a plan ready by the time they meet.  So, he slams his open palm into her gut with enough force to throw her into a distant stoop and leaves her tumbling down onto the sidewalk.

            Claude fires and Andromalius swats the arrow out of the sky.  It explodes against his hand and, as the smoke clears, Andromalius marches through it.  He glares at Claude and, in his coarse, demon language, shouts, “I must admit, I am curious, human.  How is it that you make your arrows burn?  Are you, too, blessed by your gods or is this some other power I do not know?”

            Claude retreats while readying another arrow.

            “Can you not hear me, or has your fear rendered you mute?”

            Claude lifts his bow and aims, and Andromalius roars and closes distance.  Rather than taking the head shot, Claude lowers the bow and fires into the demon’s gut.  The arrow explodes with enough force to stagger Claude and with enough light to blind him.  Andromalius, meanwhile, swings wide and catches Claude across the side.  It snaps Claude’s bow and arm simultaneously

            Afterward, Andromalius takes Claude by the chest and holds him against the alley wall.  He lifts Claude head, holding it again the cold bricks.  Claude pants and bleeds. His vision blurs, but he makes an effort to stare Androamlius in the eyes.

            “Once, humanity fought us in a great war, but this is no war, is it?  No, it is simply execution.  Thousands of years, a lifetime of stories, and this is what I find?  Disappointment doesn’t begin to explain my feelings.”

            “Hey,” Geneva shouts, stumbling to her feet.  She uses a nearby lamppost to keep steady as she leans down to grab her wand.  It feels heavier than she remembers.  “I think he may be a bit distracted, what with the busted arm, but if you want, I can keep you entertained for a bit.  Want to have a chat?  Maybe we can talk about the weather? Or politics?  Maybe you can tell me what it’s like to be a big, green outsider in a tiny human world.”

            Andromalius frowns and drops Claude like a broken toy.  “It is annoying,” he says, turning.  “I keep swatting you down, and you keep getting back up.”

            “Yeah.”  Geneva staggers forward on legs that feel like jelly.  “My sister says I’m like herpes; itchy, red, and you just can’t get rid of me.”

            Andromalius looks down at Claude, who nurses his damaged arm.  “Wait here, little man, I will return for you shortly.”

            “Ah, no, you won’t,” Geneva says, lifting her wand and trying hard not to shake.  She fails.  “Because, I plan to end this once and for all.”  She hopes that sounds more impressive to him than it did to her.

            Time stands still as they eye each other.  Snow drifts between them, carried by uncaring, unfeeling winds.  Geneva feels unsteady but still considers herself in the battle.  At the very least, she seems better off than her archer friend.  Simply looking at his arm makes her skin crawl.

            Then, they move.  As if on cue, they charge each other.  Andromalius stomps forward, using his momentum and weight to his advantage.  Once close, Geneva plants her feet with both hand and braces the hilt of her wand against her leg, and then winces.

            First, she feels pain.  They collide with enough force that the wand’s hilt cracks her armor.  The blade digs into Andormalius’ side, leaving him momentarily shocked as he regards the wound with short-lived respect.

            Then, he scoops her up and tosses her in a fit of rage.  She lands beside Claude, collapsing a few trashcans on impact, while Andromalius roars and pulls the wand from his flesh.  He examines the blade, his blood on it, before feeling his side.  Blood flows through his fingers.  He stares at them next before dropping the wand in the snow.

            “And here I thought all humans were weak.”  He looks up to find Geneva, face-up on a wrinkled trashcan.  “And already you disappoint me again.”

            “No, no disappointment,” Geneva says, pushing herself up, onto her feet.  “Just new to this.  Give me a second.”  She uses the wall to keep herself steady as she moves to Claude’s side and kneels.  “Hey, uh, guy.  You okay?”

            “I’m,” he struggles to focus on her, stares into her helm but not into her eyes.  His arm is bleeding, and Geneva can see bone protruding.  “I’m sorry, I can’t fight.”

            “Figured as much,” she says, regarding his splintered bow.  “Can you still do the arrow thing?”

            “What?”

            “You know, how you make the arrows go ‘boom.’”

            “I can, but…”

            “Great, and about how long till they go off?”

            “A few seconds…”

            Geneva pulls an arrow from the snow where his quiver had emptied and hands it to him.  “Then gambit this thing up for me.”

            Claude regards the arrow curiously for a moment before taking it into his good hand.  “How will we fire it at him?”

            “Trust me, I’ve got plans.”  She watches him hesitate and then whisper into the arrow.  Then, he returns it with a warning to hurry. Geneva nods and turns, and she takes off in a sprint, pushing herself harder now than she ever has before and helped a great deal by her armor.

            “Again?  This game grows tedious!” When they meet, it is a dance.  Andromalius swings high, just above her head, and Geneva lunges, ineffectually, at his side.  They stumble together, and she finds another opening and tries hard to drive the arrow into his wound, but he catches her. Lifting her by the shoulder, he smiles.

            “Clever,” he says, eying the arrow as he holds her.  “But ultimately futile.  I am meant for war, human.  My skin is far too hard for something like steel to harm me.”

            “Figured,” Geneva says, and she drives the arrow into his eye just before it explodes.

The force of the explosion throws Geneva into a nearby streetlamp, bowing it around her before she falls forward into the sidewalk

            As the smoke clears, it reveals Andromalius’ enormous body, crowned by a ruptured skull.  He sways, briefly, and then falls.  Fragments of him lie scattered, red in the snow.

            Cradling his arm, Claude stumbles over to Geneva, who rests hunched, snow gathering on her armor.  He settles beside her, wet with snow and blood, half afraid to touch her.  After a few seconds, she jerks up and looks around.  The right lens of her helm is fractured into a tiny web-work of cracks.  “Huh, what, huh,” she looks at Andromalius body, and then at the splatter of blood across her body.  “Okay, ew.”

            “You’re okay.”  Claude sighs and settles.

            “Yeah, and so are you.”  Geneva reaches up and feels along her helm. Its pieces rearrange, sliding open, allowing her to pull it off. The cold air feels good on her face, bracing, but the smell makes her recoil.  She clutches her nose. “Okay, mistake.”

            Claude laughs weakly and looks her over.  “Who are you?”

            “Geneva,” she says, extended her armored, soot blackened hand.  She looks down at Claude’s hand, which rests limply on his thigh.  “Ah.  Sorry.”

            “Don’t be,” he says.  “I think you saved my life.”

            “Don’t worry about it,” she says.  She stares at Andromalius’ body and sighs.  “Now, the hard part.”

            Claude looks at it, too.  He can see the blood gathering in the snow, see the fresh snow gathering in the blood.  “What’s the hard part?”

            “How do we tell them that we won?”

           

The Knights of Sheba 109 A…End

18: Episode Nine: "Battle" B

The Knights of Sheba 109 B…Start

            Nina waits anxiously at the road, her back turned to the traffic and the elves working around her.  She has an earpiece in now and listens to each update.  Everyone is quiet, tense with expectation.  She is afraid that Geneva will get hurt in the battle, and she is even more afraid that Geneva will die.

            She shivers.  Snow continues to fall and, despite the tension, adds serenity to the night.  The harsh winds die, leaving the flakes to drift lazily in the darkness, to gather at their own peace.  Behind her, the humans grow restless, but she can hardly hear their complaints.

            Staring at the city, she waits and imagines the battle unfolding.  She plays it out in her head, over and over, imagining every potential twist and every potential turn.  Sometimes, she finds Geneva’s body broken.  Other times, she sees Geneva standing triumphantly over her foe.

The latter seems increasingly unlikely as time passes, but the former is too hard for her to think about for more than a few seconds.

            Then, she hears a voice.  It cuts through the night, through the cold, and leaves her breathless.  “Target is down,” it says into her ear.  “Repeat, target is down.”

            Nina waits for the news to settle and, when it does, she smiles.  She is about to take a car downtown when Erak’s voice interrupts.  “Can we get a second opinion on that?”

            Nina holds her breath.

            “I can confirm.  The target is down.  She did it.”

            Silence follows, and then, “Fine.  Move in.  Secure the area.  Get cleanup in there, and start letting people through to safe areas.  We need to figure out a spin.”

            Nina listens to half of the orders before tugging the earpiece out and sprinting toward downtown.  She arrives first, following the carnage to the battlefield.  There, she finds Geneva sitting in the snow beside a very injured, very pale Claude.  Not far behind her elven cars come rolling in.

            Nina kneels beside Geneva.  “Ms. Oaks.”

            “Hey, teach,” Geneva says, and she pushes herself slowly to standing, dislodging snow.  Her armor is cracked in several places, and her nose is swollen and smeared with dry blood.  She is covered in blood.  The enemy’s blood, Nina hopes.  More than anything, Geneva simply looks tired.  “We were talking about you not long ago.”

            “Yes,” Nina says, and she glances at Claude.  Where Geneva looks mostly unharmed, Claude looks like death.  His hand and arm are clearly broken and bone is jutting from the wound.  He has been bleeding and it shows on his clothes.  It isn’t enough to kill, but the cold is.  Nina strips her jacket and wraps it around him.  “Forgive my rudeness, but who are you?”

            “Claude,” he says.

            “Yeah, he’s Claude,” Geneva says behind her.  “He helped me with,” Geneva points, “that.”

            Nina stands and looks.  Andromalius’ corpse is pale and sprinkled with snow.  His head is missing.  “Oh.”  Nina looks back at the two of them.  “Well, very good, then.”

            Claude gives a small wave.

            “Yes,” Nina says, nodding.  She looks at the elves, who are setting up a wide barrier to keep prying eyes away.  “Well, they will be securing the area.  Then, we can get you medical attention.  Both of you.”

            “I don’t need any.  I’m fine, just sore,” Geneva says, stretching.  She winces.

            “Don’t let her lie to you.  She took a beating from that thing.”

            “Yes, thank you for your honesty.  Claude.  I assure you, I will have both of you seen to,” Nina says

            Geneva blows a raspberry.  “Tattle-tell.”

            Shortly after, four dark SUVs pull up onto the scene and park together.  Elven soldiers, dressed in white, scatter across the battlefield and begin collecting parts of Andromalius.  A handful of them gather around his body.  They have a body bag that fits to just about his mid-torso, another in reserve, and a saw for the rest.

            Nina leads Geneva and Claude to one of the medical vans and leaves them there while she coordinates with some other soldiers.  The medical officers set them on the bumpers and begin their examinations.  Both are given painkillers, and Claude has his hand set and bandaged on the spot.

            Geneva stands to the side and watches with a sick stomach.  Then, a tall, thin elf asks her to remove her armor, and she refuses outright.

            The elf sighs at her, giving her a look that says he is having a long night and just wants to go home and rest. He says, “Please, we can’t let you leave until you’re properly attended to.  You could be injured and not even know it.”

            “Yes, but I’m practically naked underneath here.  So, no.”

            He sighs again and puts his hands on his hips.  “I’m a medical professional, and I can assure you that while you may be human, we’re not so different.”

            “And I can assure you that we really, really are.  I mean, come on, you’re a guy.  And a pervert.  Probably.”

            “What does my sex have to do with this?”

            “Considering that I’m still a teenage girl?  Quite a bit.”  Geneva crosses her arms and stares at him. “There’s no show here.  So, move on to someone who actually needs your help.”  She nods toward Claude.  “Like him.”

            Claude lifts his good hand up.  “I’m fine with this guy here.”  Claude nods at the elf attending his arm and gets a smile in return.

            Geneva rolls her eyes.  “Listen.  I have the armor, I’m fine.”

            “We don’t know the impact threshold of the armor.”

            “You don’t, but I do.  It’s high.  Secret’s out.  So, you can go, yeah?”

            “You may have internal bleeding or a concussion.”

            “You might, too, if you keep trying to undress me.”

            “Excuse me, what is going on here,” Nina asks, approaching from behind.  She stops at Geneva’s side, and the elf takes the opportunity to sigh at her, too.

            “Your,” he glares at Geneva, “student refuses to let me give her a proper medical examination.”

            Nina turns to Geneva.  “Ms. Oaks?”

            “I’m fine.  I mean, I think I would know if I were injured.  And I left my dress in your car, remember.”

            “Oh,” Nina says, returning her attention to the elf.  “Yes, I apologize.  Humans are self-conscious over such matters.  If you could, let her stay in the armor, and I will keep watch over her.”

            The elf lingers, giving them both a long, disappointed stare, before throwing his hands up.  “Fine!  I’m just trying to do my job, but no, little girl is worried I might see her underwear.  I’ve been in medicine for fifteen years, seen a lot more than this, but we have to protect her precious, human feelings.”  He slams his kit shut and storms around to the front of the car.  “Want to die?  What do I care?”

            “He seems a little high strung.”

            “Yes, well, he is correct,” Nina says.  “You may have internal injuries.  Be cautious.”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Geneva says, “Man, even when I do it right, I get grief.”

            Nina turns her attention to Claude, waiting for the attendant to finish his work and leave.  Once he does, Nina stands beside Claude, arms crossed.  Claude’s arm is now bandaged, braced, and put into a sling.

            “How are you,” she asks.

            “I’ll heal, I guess,” Claude says, glancing at the injury.

            “We will keep in touch, attend to your needs, whatever they may be.”

            “Thanks,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.  “I don’t really have medical, so that is a big help.”
            “Yes, well, you helped us earlier.  It is the least we can do.”

            Claude shrugs.  “I didn’t do much.  She saved the day,” he says, nodding past Nina to Geneva, who is staring bitterly out at the working soldiers.

            Nina glances, too.  “Did she?”

            “Yeah.  All I did was get knocked around.”  He sighs and stands, slipping Nina’s jacket off and offering it to her.  She takes it and puts it back on.  “I should be heading out.  My apartment’s within walking distance, so…”

            “Actually, before you go, could I bother you for a word?”

            Claude looks toward the distance for a moment, and then bounces on his feet.  He stuffs his hand into his pocket and shrugs.  “If you can make it quick, sure.”

            “What exactly were you doing here?  How did you get past the blockade, and how are you involved in all of this?”

            Claude pauses, sighs.  “Listen, those aren’t quick answers.”  He shakes his head.  “Sorry, but I don’t have the time.  I’ve got someone waiting for me, probably worried sick I’m dead.  Just know I’m not a bad guy, alright?”

            “I didn’t think you were.”  She holds his gaze for a moment, stern, serious, and then relents.  “Fine.  I won’t stop you, but more information will be required.”

            “I understand, but that can come later.”  Claude turns, stops, returns.  “Let me give you my address, just in case you need to contact me.  In case something happens.”

            “That seems agreeable.”

            They trade information, Claude giving her his address, Nina her number.  Then, she watches him shuffle away through the snow and down an alley and out of sight.

            Nina returns to Geneva then and finds her waiting, watching the cleanup crew work their way through Andromalius in slow, laborious movements.  Blood stains the snow.  Elsewhere, elves are scanning carefully for bits of him.  Nina touches Geneva’s shoulder to draw her attention.  “You did well today.  I’m proud of you.”

            “Yeah,” Geneva says.  She only glances back.  Her expression is distant.  She keeps her arms tight to her body, like she is holding it for warmth.

            Erak approaches from a few feet away.  He was gathering information from soldiers on the scene and dishing out orders when appropriate.  They salute and run off, leaving him to fix his attention on Nina and Geneva, who turn to regard him.  Nina salutes.  Geneva doesn’t.

            Stopping, Erak folds his arms and rubs his chin and appraises Geneva.  A strong wind whips at his jacket.  “So, the girl got her first kill.”

            “Yes, sir,” Nina says.  “It seems all of our training is paying off.”

            “Is it now?  I heard a rumor she had help.”  Erak gives Nina a hard look.  “That’s two now.”

            “I have spoken with him and have his information,” Nina says, and she quickly adds, “I don’t believe he is a threat.”

            “What? Want to give him a ring, too?”  Erak shakes his head.  “And where were you?  It took you nearly thirty minutes to arrive on scene.  We can’t have that sort of response time, not from you.  We’re already racking our brains on how to clean this up, and I refuse to….”

            “Know what,” Geneva interjects, “Just shut up.”

            “What did you just say?”

            “I said to shut up.”  Geneva stares at him, not fearless, but angry.  “I know you think you’re some big badass, but all you do is bully people, and I’m sick of it.  Where was I? Where were you while I was fighting for my life?  You got a problem with Claude helping out?  At least he was helping! And so what it if took thirty minutes? I’m a seventeen-year-old girl, my life isn’t fighting monsters.  That’s your job, and maybe if you were better at it, I wouldn’t have to come in and clean up your mess.

            “No, stuff it, cause I’m not going to listen.  Here’s how things are.  I’m a knight.  I answer to Ms. Olivia, no one else.  I fight monsters that you and yours are either too weak or too afraid to fight.  I don’t take orders from you anymore.”  With an air of finality, Geneva turns to Nina.  “I want to go home,” she says, and she stalks away.

            Nina and Erak stay, standing in the snow and the wind.  Erak is quiet, jaw tight, eyes narrowed.  He reaches for his chest pocket and pulls out a cigarette in a cold fury.  Nina keeps quiet, awaits punishment.

            He pauses with the cigarette to his lips, his lighter poised and ready.  “Well, what are you waiting for, Lieutenant?”

            “Sir?”

            “I thought she had made it all very clear.  The little princess wants to leave and I, frankly, don’t want her around anymore, either.”

            “Yes, sir.”  Nina salutes and turns as Erak lights his cigarette.  She can hear him take a deep drag, and knows he is glaring intently at Geneva’s retreating back.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The ride home is quiet.  Geneva doesn’t speak and feels grateful to Ms. Olivia for doing the same.  She changes back into her dress, briefly seeing the bruises along her back, legs, and sides, before covering them.  They pull up to the snowy street in front of her house, and she exits without a word and shuffles, leaving deep foot prints up to her front door.  Ms. Olivia waits until Geneva is inside before she pulls away.

            Inside, Geneva can hear her family watching television in the living room.  A new reporter says, “We have an update on the trouble downtown.  It seems that during the filming of an unnamed movie, a particularly dangerous stunt got out of control, causing considerable property damage.  It is still being cleaned up, but in an official statement from the company, all damages will be paid for.”

            Geneva strips her jacket and goes for the stairs, but finds her mother waiting for her at the end of the hallway, showing a level of shock and worry that only a mother can manage.  The older woman nearly breaks down as she says, “Oh, Geneva!  We’ve all been so worried!”

            “There was nothing to worry about,” Beatrice says, joining them.  “She wasn’t even downtown, right, Gene?”

            Geneva passes them without a glance.  She climbs the stairs in complete silence and finds her room quiet and dark. Then, shuffling forward, she falls onto her bed and lies there for an hour, facedown, just breathing.

            They don’t follow.  When she has the energy, she gets up and goes to the bathroom.  There, she strips and stares at herself in the mirror, counting her bruises, prodding them gently.  Blood has dried brown on her lips and nose.  It is subtle and at a glance might just look like shadows.

            Her wounds let her relive every punch, every blow she suffered.  She took the arrow and jammed in his eye.  At that moment, there was relief, maybe even joy.  She had won; she had killed.  Emptiness follows.

            Tears come to her eyes.

            She climbs into the shower and curls up at the bottom.  Warm water cascades down her tense muscles, hot steam swirls around her.  She feels warm but only on the outside, only at her skin.  Deep, powerful sobs rock her body.  She hugs herself tighter and rides it out.

            Beatrice knocks at the door.  “Hey, Genie, Kit’s on the phone for you.”  She waits, and when Geneva doesn’t respond, “Geneva, you okay in there?”

            “I’m fine.  I’m—I’ll call her later.”

            Beatrice is quiet for a moment.  She says something onto the phone, and then, “Okay, told her.”  A pause.  “You sure you’re okay?”

            “Yeah.  Just want to shower.”

            “Okay.  Don’t drown in there.”

            “Okay, I won’t.”  Once Geneva is sure Beatrice is gone, she hides her face in her knees and continues to cry.  The water runs until it goes cold, and she stays there shivering and crying still, trying desperately to see it to the end.

            Once she can cry no more, she rises, shivering and wet, and she dries herself absently.  She avoids her reflection because it is too much for her.  Finally, she feels empty, devoid of anything that might bring her more tears.

            With a towel wrapped around her wounded torso, she makes the short walk back to her room and closes the door behind her.  She falls shortly after, and the bed catches her again, and she just lies there, breathing, feeling the ache set into her bones.  She reaches for her phone and decides against it.  It is late, and Kit should be sleeping.

            Geneva should be sleeping, too.

            She rolls onto her back, naked, bruised, and stares up at the ceiling.  Her room is cold, but so is she.  Another roll, and she pulls her blanket over her, and she closes her eyes.  It is late, and Geneva is tired, and after everything that has happened, she feels like she deserves a rest.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Claude runs to the apartment and climbs up the front steps.  The inside smells slightly musty but the warmth of the halls staves off the lingering chill in his bones.  His arm throbs gently as the warmth returns to it, and he remembers the pills the on-site physicians gave him but chooses to wait to take them.

            After climbing the stairs, he reaches their apartment door and feels his pocket, and that is when he remembers that he doesn’t have the key.  Bracing against the wall, he slides into a sitting position and stares at the corresponding wall across the hall, and he thinks about the night and the battle.

            It wasn’t the first demon Claude had fought.  He came to the city knowing that there would be danger.  In fact, it is the very reason he came—to protect the world from such dangers.  He killed one of the first invading demons, a lone creature as lost in the city as he was.  Using an arrow, he slit the things throat and left it to bleed.

            This battle was different.  This demon was different.  And without Geneva’s aid, he could have died.  A lifetime of training, of knowing, and all of his gifts weren’t enough.  Claude is special, chosen, but it didn’t matter.  He still could have died.

            It leaves him feeling very normal.  More than that, however, he feels sore and very, very tired.  The warmth has his skin needling as sensation returns, but he still feels somewhat cold.  It is like the draft followed him inside.  His bow is missing, broken, and he doesn’t know how he will fight in the future.

            Leaning back, he rests his head against the wall, and he swallowed heavily.  He focuses on his breathing and on the positives.  He survived the battle, that is the most important thing.  In such situations, the learning curve is steep, and any victory is worth celebrating because it may be his last.  There isn’t time for lamentation.  Only for contemplation and adjustments.

            For an hour Claude waits in the hall, replaying the battle in his head, looking for where he went wrong and where he can improve.  Then Shirley arrives.  He can feel her before she sees him but doesn’t have enough time to react before she shouts his name, drops her things, and rushes to his side.  “Oh, God, I was so worried!”  He barely stands before she hugs him.

            “Ow!”

            “Ow? Why ow?”  She pulls back and looks him over.  Her focus falls on his arm, and she braces against the wall to keep steady.  “Oh! Claude, what happened?”  She tugs gently on the bandage, peeling it back to see inside, and she grimaces.  “That doesn’t look good.”

            “Doesn’t feel good, but it’ll be fine.  It’s already been seen to.”

            “By who?”

            “Some people at the scene.”  Claude rubs the back of his neck.  “I’m telling you, it’s fine.”

            “No, it’s hurt.”  She takes him by his good hand and gives him another, more thorough look over.  “You look awful.  Come on, we’re taking you to the emergency room.”

            “Shirley, we shouldn’t.  I don’t have insurance anyway.”

            “So, what? We’re just supposed to let you run around with a broken arm?  Let it heal up malformed?”

            “Shirley, it won’t.”

            “No more arguments.”  She gives him a hard tug.  “We’re going.”

            “What about my stuff?”

            Shirley stops, eyes him warily.  “Is this really the time to be thinking about that?”

            “I just don’t want it to get stolen.”

            She gives him a long stare.  “You’re just like a child,” she says, and she bends to pick up the things she dropped.  Gathering them in her arms, she says, “We’ll bring it in, and then we’re going to the E.R.  And, no, I’m not letting this go.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            After dropping Geneva off, Nina returns to the quarantine. The path there is clear of cars and, upon approach, she finds the elves still working in the snow.  They move quickly and discreetly, clearing away any signs, blood and bits, of Andromalius’ invasion.  The search becomes more difficult as the snow continues to gather.

            Nina pulls her jacket tight to her torso as she exits the car.  She approaches Erak and another elf talking.

            “And they bought the story,” Erak asks.  He has a cigarette in his mouth.  It is half finished and the tip glows with his breath.

            “Yes, sir. We’ll do extra clean up and pay collateral where necessary, but they believe it.”

            “Good,” Erak says.  He releases a long, smoky breath.  “We’ll keep it that way.  Anything else I should know?”

            “Seems a few people did see the fight, some even tried to put footage up online.  What we’ve found has already been pulled, and it isn’t much.  Just some shaky videos taken on a camera phone.  Still, rumors are out that there are monsters on the streets.”

            “Then spread rumors countering it,” Erak says.  “Discredit anyone who tries to argue, call it conspiracy.  Do whatever it takes.”

            “Of course, sir.”

            “Good.  Then go.  We’ll be back soon enough.”  He takes a last drag on his cigarette and watches the elf go.  Then, he snuffs it out in the snow and collects it in his tin.  Smoke trails from his nostrils as he turns to face Nina.  “You’re back.”

            Nina salutes.  “Sir.”

            He gives a half-hearted salute in return.  “So, what are we going to do about your little pet?”

            “How do you mean?”

            “I mean, how she talked to me, an elf.  We can’t have that sort of disrespect, lieutenant.  You know that, and she should know it, too. So, beat it into her head if you have to, but she can’t be speaking to any of us that way.  Least of all me.”

            “Of course, sir, but with due respect, Ms. Oaks isn’t a hardened soldier.  She is just a girl, and I believe she was simply tired from her encounter.”  Nina watches him sour and quickly adds, “And, I believe she performed admirably, considering the danger she faced.”

            Erak scoffs.  “Admirably and with assistance.”

            “There is no way we could have predicted that.”

            Erak crosses his arms.  “We should do something about it.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “You know what I mean,” he says, coldly.  “There can be no leaks, lieutenant, and I doubt your little speech can persuade the council a second time.”

            Nina looks away. “I wasn’t thinking that.  But don’t you think killing him would only raise more questions?”

            “So, what, you’re suggesting we let him go?”

            “Perhaps we pretend he is a coconspirator.  We use him, if we can, and if we can’t, we discredit anything he says.  Think about it.  Who in this realm would ever believe demons, in-the-flesh demons, have been here?”

            “The people who saw this,” Erak says, gesturing toward the snowy remains of the battle.  He stuffs his hands in his pockets and frowns the deep, uncomfortable frown of someone in charge. “Lieutenant.”

            “Sir?”

            “You’re dismissed for the night. Go home. Rest”

            “But, sir, I can help.”

            “Clearly you can’t, not with the way your mind is working.  We don’t need you here and, considering how you’re handling everything, I can see you’re already overwhelmed.”  He turns his back on her.  “Go home. That’s an order.”

            Nina lingers and goes, shuffling back to her car and worrying over the future of both Claude and Geneva.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Shirley speeds through snowy streets to the hospital. On the way, Claude insists he is fine but knows his words aren’t being heard.  Each attempt is rebuffed with opposing insistence on going and, after a time, he finally settles into a sulk and watches the city race by in a blur.

            Where Claude comes from snow is on television.  It is his first time seeing so much, and he is astonished at the way it blankets the city.  Upon arriving within the city, he had thought how the buildings were so big, so bright.  From a distance they now look like a snow globe.  Even injured, he feels glad for seeing it.

            They arrive at the hospital and find it packed.  People are gathered from all around, driven into a panic by the sudden snowstorm.  Shirley pushes Claude to the front, where he half-heartedly relays his information to an overworked, tired looking nurse.  She takes it down and sends him to wait.

            They aren’t there long before another nurse, who has more pep and deep lines in her face, shows them in.  She takes his vitals and glances under the bandage before sending the doctor in.

            The doctor, a tall, thin man with a bristling beard and thinning hairline, examines the arm and the sling.  Then, he scribbles something along his clipboard.  “While I can’t agree with home bandaging, the work is very good,” he says.  “The arm should be fine, though I recommend going to a real doctor for a follow up.”

            Claude nods.  “I’ll definitely try.”

            From his side, Shirley says, “And you’re sure it’s fine?”

            “I’m sure,” the doctor says, scribbling some more.  He looks up and adjusts his thin, round glasses.  “What happened to you, anyhow, son?  Don’t tell me you got caught up in that mess downtown.”

            Claude goes stiff.  “No.  What, uh, what happened downtown?”

            “Apparently some big movie stunt got out of control.  Tore up some buildings down there, caused a bit of property damage.”  The doctor laughs.  “Though, if you ask some of the locals, they say it was a battle between a big, green monster and a little girl in white armor.  Kept insisting, even after I told them about the movie.”  He laughs more.  “Some people.”

            “Yeah, sounds crazy.”

            The doctor’s smile lingers.  “You get all kinds around here,” he says, and taps his pen on his clipboard.  “Well, take care of yourself, young man, and don’t forget the follow up.  Wouldn’t want it to grow back wrong now, would we?”

            “Right,” Claude says, easing himself from the examination bed.  Shirley slips his jacket on him and they leave the room together and walk, cautious, around the labyrinthine halls toward the exit.  “I told you I would be fine,” Claude says once they are alone.

            “Sue me for being concerned,” she says.  “So, the big, green monsters, was that true?”

            Claude nods.

            “And the little girl in white?”

            “That, I’m not so sure about.  I was going to tell you later, but…”  He pauses to speak with the nurse.  She gives him some paperwork and tells them to drive safe.  Outside, in the wind and snow, they walk back toward the car together, and Claude continues, “Anyway, it seems like I’m not the only one out there fighting.”

            “Wow.  So, what, she can do what you can do?”

            “No, it’s not the same, it’s different. She has this armor.”  Claude sighs, shakes his head.  “It’s all kind of hard to swallow.”

            “Considering what I’ve seen you do with a blade of grass, no, no it’s not.” Shirley shrugs as they reach the car.  “Makes sense to me that there’s more than just one of you in the world.”

            “She’s not like me,” Claude says, frowning.  He gets in with her.  “And she’s young.  Like, still a teenager.”

            “So were you, once.”

            “Anyway, it was the girl’s friends who helped to bandage me up.  They looked like military, but I didn’t recognize the uniforms.”

            Shirley starts up the car, adjusts the heat.  Then, she pulls out of the parking lot and back onto the snow-covered streets.  “Ooh, maybe they’re some top-secret government organization.”

            Claude stares ahead, his mouth tightening into a grimace.  “You think so?”

            She shrugs.  “What else could it be?”

            “I guess.”  He stares out the window, ignores the itching in his arm.  “Though, it’s strange that they got someone so young involved.”

            “You’re young, too.  Still in your early twenties,” Shirley says.  “When fighting monsters, you take what you can get.”  She squints out the windshield and into the snowfall.  Normally the city glows with nightlife.  Tonight, it is obscured.  “We need to get back.  It’s getting bad out there.”

            “Yeah,” Claude says.

            “Oh, and by the way, thanks for coming back.”

            Claude looks to find her smiling and smiles in return.  He looks ahead, trying his best to look cool for her, and says, “I told you I would, didn’t I?”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The battle was short. Both armies converged on the city walls and together crashed through the gates.  Like a force of nature, they swept through the streets, slaughtering all those who refused to kneel and sparing the rest.

            Without Andromalius to lead, his lands were in chaos.  They couldn’t repel the invading forces and so surrendered.  In under an hour the city fell and, shortly after, with organized strikes and colorful threats, the rest of the county followed.

            Dantalion and Seere meet at Andromalius’ throne.  Each has an escort that followed them like shadows, an assortment of guards and attendants.  As always, Ruka stays close at Seere’s side.  Dantalion’s own group is made up of men in dark robes and iron masks, much like their lord.

            Seere wears a traveler’s garb, with a loose vest, loose pants, and boots crusted with mud.  He wears a dark cloak made of soft, sturdy fabric that is frayed with age.  While the entourage watches, he walks a small circle around the throne and then sits on it, his legs crossed, hands folded, and smiles.

            After a moment, he huffs and stands to regard it.  “Really, who crafts a throne from rock?  Well, no matter.  It was far too large for someone such as me anyhow.”  He turns his smile on Dantalion.  “We have done it, my lord.  We’ve taken the lands, and, as per our agreement, shall divide the them evenly between us and share the city and forest, yes?”

            “That was our intention,” Dantalion says.  “Shared control.”

            “Yes, yes, just wanted to make sure,” Seere says.  “It will be nice, using the tree without asking permission.”

            Dantalion glances around the room, at all those watching, or so Seere imagines.  It is difficult to tell with the mask. “What are you looking for out there, anyhow, Viscount?”

            “Our future,” says Seere.  “Now, I have other matters to attend to.  As do you, I imagine, but first, a request.”

            “Of course,” Dantalion says, wariness showing in his tone.

            “I would like, if at all possible, to maintain a united front.  There are demons—other demons—who would take this opportunity to strike.  Separate, we are but minor lords with withered legions at our call.  Together, however, we may yet hold the far south reaches, perhaps even take the entire south itself.”

            “Ambitious,” Dantalion says.  “Cooperation is not in our nature.”

            “Maybe it is time for someone to change that.”  Seere extends, and Dantalion regards it blankly.  “What do you say?”

            Dantalion remains still for a long moment.  Then he nods, barely, to his attendant, who shakes Seere’s hand in his place.

            “Strange, but I’ll take it as an accord.  That done, I could use your services one last time—and offer compensation, of course.  Yima, if you would be a dear.”

            Seere’s entourage parts and Yima steps out from the group, dragging a man after her.  She wears her dark hair up in an intricate braid and a muddy, worn travelling cloak hangs wet from her body.  The man wears a t-shirt and jeans and has a bag over his head.  His hands and feet are bound.

            “Another?”

            “If you wouldn’t mind,” Seere says, and he looks over his shoulder to a group of soldiers.  They produce a large, heavy chest filled with shimmering relics and gemstones.

            “What are you using all of these languages for?”

            “The preservation of our people, nothing less, nothing more.”

            “For some reason I doubt you.”

            “Please, my lord, even I wouldn’t be brave enough to insult your intelligence in front of your army.  Now, if you would grant young Yima the gift we seek, then we can be done with the matter, and you can return that much richer.  After all, we are allies, aren’t we?”

            Dantalion contemplates quietly.  “Fine but not here.”

            “Of course.  Wouldn’t want anyone to learn your secrets.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Seere departs, leaving Yima and a small number of troops behind him.  He returns to the forward camp, where he speaks with his generals and congratulates them.  They offer him drinks, and he refuses, citing a county to run.  They laugh it off and insist, and he tries a touch of alcohol.  It burns greatly as it goes down.

            Later, Seere finds Yima in her tent.  Two large, stout demons stand guard outside and bow at his approach.  Inside, Yima is crouched over the body of the man, who is bent over her knees, with blood oozing down his chest and arms, pooling in the grass beneath them.  She is biting from his throat while he gasps, chewing at the flesh bit by bit.  He tries to scream but is unable to speak anymore.

            Seere steps around them, grimaces.  “Hungry, are we?”

            “Not nearly so much as you might think.”  Yima looks up at him, fresh blood spread across her chin, running down her neck.  It is splattered across her chest and torso, too.

            Seere throws her a cloth.  “Wipe your mouth, dear.  You’re a mess.”

            Yima drops the now lifeless body to the ground and grabs at the cloth.  She wipes her mouth and fingers and offers it back to him.  Seere politely refuses, so she shrugs and tosses it onto her bedroll.

            Seere taps the body with his boot.  “How much do you have to eat exactly?”

            “Enough to kill them,” Yima says, “My father was never clear.  Only said I need their life’s blood.”

            “I see.”  Seere turns to her.  “And did it take?”

            “Let’s find out.”  Yima looks at her hands, flexes them.  They are slender hands, with long fingers, calloused by war and life.  They are not the hands or fingers of a lady but a survivor, shaped by tragedy.

            In the darkness of the tent, those hands change.  They grow pink and soft and smooth.  The rest of her changes, too, growing fair, her hair receding and brightening into a short, stylish boy cut.  Her face develops angles, while she shrinks and grows stocky.

            When finished, she is a human man standing before Seere in a bloody leather vest and leather pants, and when she speaks, it is in the voice of a human man, the same human man who just died, but using demonic words.  “How do I look?”

            “Repulsive,” Seere says, grimacing again.  “And weak.”

            Yima examines her body, her arms, her chest.  “Yes, they are soft, aren’t they?”

            “Though not nearly so soft as the elves, I imagine.”

            “You’re wrong about that.  Elves are,” she pauses thoughtfully, “sturdier than you might expect.”  She looks at the body on the floor, kicks it over to reveal the open wound at the neck.  Seere glances at the body, too.

            “And what Dantalion did?”

            Yima smiles, her teeth stained with blood.  In perfect English, she says, “Oh, I’ve learned, and I am ready whenever you need me.”

 

The Knights of Sheba 109 B…End

19: Episode Ten: "Blood, Sweat, and Sacrifice" A

Episode Ten: Blood, Sweat, and Sacrifice

            A week passes and the morning finds Geneva lying in bed staring at the ceiling.  School is out for winter break, and she is spending it alone, in her room, leaving only for training or food.  She hasn’t seen Kit since the night of the party and feels no great need to change that.

            After staring at the ceiling for some time, she rises from bed for a shower.  Partway through her shower, she hears the phone but ignores it.  After getting out and drying she goes straight to her room and locks the door behind her.  While she is changing Beatrice knocks.

            “Hey, Gene, call for you.”

            Geneva clasps her bra.  “I’m not here.”

            “Uh, yeah you are.  I’m talking to you, so answer the phone.”

            “I’m busy.”  She dries her hair a second time for good measure and tosses the towel on the floor.

            “No, you’re not.”

            “Just tell her I can’t come to the phone.”

            “I’m not telling her that again.”

            “And I’m not answering the phone.”

            Beatrice leans against the door. “What the hell is your problem lately?”

            “I just don’t want to talk to her, okay?”

            “Fine.”  Beatrice leaves, and through the door, Geneva can hear her say, “Sorry, turns out she’s busy.  Yeah, I’ll definitely have her call you back.  Sorry.  Bye.”

            Geneva stares into her closet, at the clothes piling in the bottom, at the empty hangers, at the shadowed wall.  She closes her eyes, sees flashes of the battle, feels the inertia of being thrown.  The bruises still ache, when she remembers them, and she always remembers them.  Sometimes, when she looks in the mirror, she can see where her nose is swollen, even when she wears makeup to hide it, like how Ms. Olivia showed her.

            She grabs a shirt and a pair of jeans and pulls them on.  They fit loosely now, and she remembers staring into her reflection earlier this week and wondering who that was looking back at her. She looked like a woman then.  Now, she looks different, stronger, but hollow.

            She isn’t herself.

            Tugging her shirt on, she thinks how she will need to buy new clothes soon.  She goes to her nightstand, picks up the phone, and dials Ms. Olivia.

            “Hello?”

            “I’m ready.”

            “Oh, good morning, Ms. Oaks,” Ms. Olivia says.  “Isn’t it a bit early for training?”

            “If I start early, then I have more time to get it right.”

            “Yes, but Ms. Oaks, you are on break.  We’ve trained enough this week.  Don’t you think you should…”

            “Just come pick me up.”  Geneva hangs up.  She grabs her cell phone and sets it to vibrate before stuffing it into her pocket.  Then, she goes downstairs to grab breakfast before Ms. Olivia arrives.  She finds her parents there, waiting in the silence, sipping coffee.  Her father has a plate of eggs in front of him.  Her mother has just finished eating.

            “Oh, good morning, Genie,” her mother says, rising from the table with her plate in hand.  “It’s a surprise to see you up this early.”

            Her father smiles over the top of the paper.  “Normally don’t see you up before noon without school.”

            Geneva shrugs.  “Been waking up early.  Can’t sleep.”

            Her parents exchange glances, and her mother looks at her.  “Is something the matter, sweetheart?”

            “No.”  Geneva places a bagel in the toaster.  “Just busy.”

            “Do you have to see your tutor today?”

            “Yeah, she’s on her way now.”

            Her mother smiles.  “Well, we’re proud of you, dear.”

            “Thanks,” Geneva says.  Her bagel pops out, and she picks it up and drops it quickly on her plate.  Then, she sucks her burning thumb while grabbing the cream cheese from her fridge.

            “Really, honey, you’ve matured so much in only a few months.  Ever since the mugging…”

            “I’m fine, mom.”  Geneva flashes a half-hearted smile.  “Too stubborn to let anything like that change me.”

            Her mother smiles.  “Oh, we know how stubborn you can be.  I thought that labor was never going to end.”

            “Gross, mom.  Eating.”

            “Ha, that sounds more like our girl,” her father says, and he raises his mug in salute.  “Welcome back.”

            Geneva nibbles at her bagel quietly, and her mother gives her a small hug.  “Still, dear, if there is anything wrong, you can tell us, you know.”

            “I know,” Geneva says.  “Thanks, mom.”  Through the window she sees Ms. Olivia pull up, and she jams a bite of bagel in her mouth and runs for the front door.  She is throwing her jacket on when she hears her mother call, “Geneva, you left the rest of your bagel, dear.”

            “You can have it,” she says, and she is out the door.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Nina takes Geneva to the elven compound, where they continue their training in the basement.  Despite her injuries, Geneva has trained every day since the battle and has even extended her training regimen considerably.  She is taking to it with surprising enthusiasm and no small degree of intensity.

            The elves don’t watch her anymore.  Few even make eye contact with her and Erak seems to avoid her altogether, which suits Geneva just fine.  Anymore, when she arrives, Nina leads her straight down the stairs and what few elves are training leave shortly after she enters the basement.

            This morning is the same.  In a matter of seconds they are alone while Nina prepares their equipment.  She starts by grabbing two wooden swords and passing one to Geneva.  They begin with simple exercises, forward overhead strikes.  Nina doesn’t have any formal training with a blade but has been doing research and compiling what she can.

            Geneva swipes at the air a few times before looking around the empty basement.  “Seems I’m not too popular around here anymore.  What, did I piss off the wrong guy?”

            “In truth, you were never very welcome here.”

            “Thanks.”

            “I didn’t mean to,” Nina sighs, “I simply meant to say that the elves aren’t fond of outside help, especially from those races that they view as lesser.  We are an…isolated race and like to keep it that way.”  She swings her own sword overhead.  “And, yes, you did piss off the wrong person.”  Nina manages a small smile when Geneva looks at her.  “That said, I think you did well standing up to him.”

            “Thanks, I guess.”  Geneva shrugs and paces a few feet away.  When she turns, she has her weapon ready.  “Okay, let’s do this.”

            “Now? Shouldn’t we run our usual exercises?”

            “Why waste the time?  The sword will be my primary weapon, right?  So, I need to learn to use it if I want to keep fighting.”  She adjusts her grip on her sword, making room for both hands.  “So, let’s train.”

            Nina nods.  “I suppose.  Then, I will start.”

            They walk a tight circle around each other.  Nina’s movements are smooth, practiced, and Geneva’s are more measured than usual.  Early in their training, she was clumsy and impatient.  She would rush forward, strike at false openings, flail when attacked.  Now, she is thoughtful, considerate of the distance between them in both space and skill.

            After another circle, Nina strikes.  She takes a few wide steps and swings overhead.  Geneva deflects to the side and slides in, knocking Nina’s blade up while bringing her own in to strike.  The movement, though more polished than usual, is too wide.  It leaves herself open for Nina to duck under and lunge.

            Geneva sidesteps, stumbles, and Nina retreats.  When Geneva regains her footing, she glares.  “Don’t do that!”

            “Don’t do what exactly?”

            “Don’t baby me.  I know I messed up.  Or, I mean, I don’t know.  But no more kid gloves!  I’m supposed to be a soldier now, right?  So, treat me like one.”

            Nina hesitates, then nods.  “Of course, I apologize.”

            They resume their circling, and this time Geneva initiates. She takes a few uneven steps and lunges for Nina’s chest only to have the attack knocked to the side.  A seamless movement follows, and Nina lands a blow to Geneva’s arm.  The contact is enough to knock Geneva to the mat.  She punches the floor as she recovers.

            Pushing up, she swings hard at Nina’s head.  The attack is parried, but the energy is brought into another overhead strike.  Geneva keeps swinging, fast and hard, and Nina retreats calmly, blocking and dodging as she goes.  When Geneva stumbles, Nina strikes, knocking Geneva’s weapon from her hand and sending her tumbling.

            Nina spins her blade and points it at Geneva’s prone form.  Then, she bows and offers her hand.  “Very good.  You’ve got some real power in your swings.”

            Geneva glares again.  She brushes the hand aside and crosses the room to pick up her sword.  “It wasn’t good enough.  I didn’t even hit you.”

            “But you’re keeping pace now.  That is an improvement.”

            “It’s not enough,” Geneva says.  “Enemies won’t hold back.”

            “True,” Nina says carefully.  “Well, I think we’ve done enough for today, don’t you?”

            “No!”  Geneva fixes the glare on Ms. Olivia now.  “I’m not done yet.  I can keep going.”

            “I am sure you can, but it is best to be patient.  You’re still injured.”

            “I’m fine!”

            “Ms. Oaks!”  They hold each other’s gazes, Geneva’s hardened, and Nina’s tranquil but firm in its own right.  “I must insist that we end for the day.”

            “So, what, I woke up for, like, ten minutes of training?”

            “I had said we could rest today,” Nina says.  “You need your rest.”

            “No, I need training, not naps.  I’m fighting monsters, remember?”

            “I do, and we don’t know when they will strike again, and we can’t have you too tired or hurt to fight if they do.  It is best to be cautious.”

            Geneva rolls her eyes.  “Whatever.”  She tosses the sword onto the mat.  “I’ll be outside.”

            Nina watches Geneva leave the basement and shakes her head.  She picks up the sword and puts it away on the wall before grabbing her coat.

            Outside, Nina finds Geneva waiting beside the passenger side door of Nina’s assigned SUV.  The sky is gray and the air chill.  There is no snowfall, but what has already fallen lingers, thawing and freezing in a repeated cycle.  Nina pulls her coat tight and approaches, unlocking the car with the press of a button.  Geneva shivers and climbs in.

            “Ms. Oaks, I would like to ask you, how are your injuries healing?”

            They are in the car together now.  Geneva pulls her seatbelt on while Nina works the keys into the ignition.  “They’re fine.”

            Nina starts the car and adjusts the heater.  She pulls away from the compound and notes Erak watching her from an upstairs window before turning the car around.  “And might I ask something else?”

            Geneva sighs.  “Go ahead.”

            “Is there something wrong? You’ve been acting strangely lately.”

            “I’m in a strange situation.”  Geneva stares out the window, slouching, sunken like all of the rage inside of her earlier was sustaining her.

            “Of course, but I believe if you would wish to talk about it, we might be able to find a solution for this.”

            “The only thing I wish is that you would stop, that everybody would just stop.  I wish Beatrice would stop harassing me, Kit would stop calling me, that my parents would stop telling me how proud they are, and you—you should just stop prying.  I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to do anything.  I just want to…”

            “To what?”

            “To nothing.”  Geneva sinks further into her seat and crosses her arms.  “I just want to not talk about it, because there’s nothing to say.  Nothing.”

            “I see.  Then, I apologize,” Nina says, and she glances at Geneva, who hardly seems to hear her.  They pull out onto the highway and start the short journey back into civilization.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Claude sits on the edge of his mattress, in his underwear, staring at his arm.  In the week since the battle, he hasn’t worked a shift.  Instead, he has nursed his injured arm and injured pride.  There haven’t been any hospital bills.  Nina was true to her word, arriving to check in on him, and bringing along medical experts to attend to his wounds.  So far, his recovery has been solid, and they promise full mobility once his arm has finished healing.

            Shirley, meanwhile, has worked extra to make up for his lack of income.  This morning, she is already dressed for work, wearing a fitted burgundy jacket with a matching skirt and heels.  Her auburn hair is up in a conservative bun.  She kisses Claude on the cheek while grabbing her lipstick.  “Got one of your meetings today,” she asks from the bathroom.

            “Nope.”  He watches her from the bed. Their lives have changed so quickly, so dramatically, and yet the transition happened with surprising ease.  They are together, but looking back, it feels like they always have been.

            She leans out from the bathroom and flashes him a pretty, red smile.  “I still can’t believe what you did.  I mean, you killed a monster not even two blocks away from our apartment.  You’re a real hero.”

            Claude shakes his head.  “Nah, the girl did all of the work.  I was just in the way.”

            “You did the thing with the arrow, right?”

            Claude rubs the back of his neck.

            “So, you helped.”  She sets down her lipstick.  “Don’t you sell yourself short.  It’s your destiny to do this sort of stuff, isn’t it?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Then own it.”  She checks herself in the mirror, and then looks at Claude.  “How do I look?”

            “Uh. Good?”

            “Professional?”

            Claude looks her over and finds it hard to believe the girl with pigtails and dirt perpetually caked on her face was ever real.  “Definitely professional.”

            She smiles.  “Need anything before I go?”

            “I’m good.  Just going crazy hiding out in here all day.”

            “Then go for a walk.”  She gathers her purse and keys from the counter and peeks back at him from the front door.  “And don’t let any of this get to you, Claude.  You weren’t in the way, and you definitely helped out.  And, for what it’s worth, whatever you do, you’ll always be my hero.”

            Claude smirks.  “Thanks.”

            “Yup, yup.  I’ll pick up dinner tonight.”

            “You don’t have to,” he says.  “I can cook.”

            She snickers.  “Since when?”

            “Hey, I’m a perfectly fine cook.”

            “So, what, we’re having toast tonight?”

            “Ah, just go to work.  You’ll see when you get home.”

            She blows a raspberry and slips out the door.  “See you then!”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Geneva and Ms. Olivia are silent.  They stare out the windows, Geneva watching the landscape roll by, Ms. Olivia focusing on the road ahead.  It feels longer than usual, the road, and both count the seconds as they pass.

            When they arrive, they find Kit’s car parked in front of Geneva’s house.  Geneva eyes the car with apprehension, her fingers tight about the door handle, but doesn’t say anything.  After a deep breath, she leaves, hopping from the SUV and slamming the door behind her.  She hurries across the yard, even as Kit gets out to meet her.

            They race to the door, Geneva ahead, Kit trailing.  Kit calls, but Geneva ignores her and is nearly inside when Kit takes her by the shoulder and wheels her around, and now they are face-to-face, and Geneva is sure Kit will hit her.  She tries to remember her training.

            Kit takes a deep breath and settles for a glare.  “What is your deal?”

            “Haven’t got a deal.”  Geneva pulls her jacket up, stuffs her hands into her pockets.  “Just busy, don’t have time to argue.”

            Kit’s lips tighten.  She glances back at the SUV, watches Ms. Olivia pull away and disappear down the street.  “Tutoring,” she asks, meeting Geneva’s gaze.

            “Yeah.  Lots of studying, and I still got more to do.  Can I go?”

            “No,” Kit says.  “I mean, we should talk.  I can come in, if you want.”

            Geneva glances at her house and thinks of all the prying eyes.  She shakes her head.  “That won’t work.  Listen, I’ll call you later, and…”

            “I’ve heard that all week, Genny, and I’m tired of waiting.  I won’t.”

            “Well, it’s all I’ve got.”

            Kit’s shifts now, looking more hurt than angry.  “Are you really so busy that you can’t even talk to me?”

            Geneva holds her breath.  She tries to view the conversation as a battle.  Kit is losing, and Geneva has a way to end it here, but staring into Kit’s eyes, defenseless, searching, she can’t.  So, she sighs, her breath coming in curls of steam.  “No,” she says after a long silence.  “No, we can talk now.  I’d just rather not do it inside.”

            Kit nods.  “We can grab brunch?”

            “Kit, no.  I don’t have any money.”

            “I’ll pay.”

            “Kit.”

            “Come on, Genny.  We really need to talk, and if this is the only way…”

            “Fine.” Geneva hangs her head.  “Fine, let’s just go.”

            “Don’t you need to tell your parents?”

            Geneva shrugs.  “Tutoring ended kind of early.  They weren’t expecting me back yet anyway.”  She moves passed Kit, her head down.  “Come on, before they notice.”

 

The Knights of Sheba 110 A…End

20: Episode Ten: "Blood, Sweat, and Sacrifice" B

The Knights of Sheba 110 B…Start      

 

            Kit drives them across town, to the diner where they ate together for the first time.  The ride is long and silent.  Outside, the streets are clogged with traffic and cold air whips around jackets of pedestrians on the sidewalk.  Geneva watches them, her head leaned so far forward that her face is nearly against the glass.  Even in the warmth of the car, she can feel the cold trying to seep in.

            Inside of the diner, they find a booth in the corner and sit in uncomfortable silence.  The waitress takes their orders.  Kit gets a large order of biscuits and gravy with orange juice.  Geneva orders two pancakes and a water.  The silence lingers as they wait, and when the food arrives Kit devours her portion.  The gravy looks a bit soupy but she seems content with it.

            Meanwhile, Geneva picks at her pancakes, sliced into tiny chunks on her plate.  Once Kit finishes eating, Geneva sets her fork down.  “So,” she says, drawing the word out.  “What did you want to talk about?”

            “Are you done with that already?”

            Geneva pushes the plate away. “I’m not that hungry.”

            “Then we’ll get you a box.”

            “It’s fine.  I’ll just let them toss it.”

            “But it will go to waste.”

            “Kit, I don’t want to take it home.”  Geneva sighs, shakes her head.  “I thought we were here to talk.  This isn’t like you, avoiding things.”

            “We are here to talk.”  Kit wipes her mouth with her napkin, and then bundles it and tosses it onto her empty plate.  She rests her elbows on the table as she leans forward.  “And we’re going to.  I’m just trying to figure out what to say.”

            “Just say it.”

            “Okay.”  Kit sits back now, takes a deep breath.  She stares Geneva in the eyes.  “Why have you been ignoring me lately?”

            “I haven’t.  I’ve been busy.”

            “You have?  I could hear you on the phone each time.  You weren’t busy.”

            “Just because you heard me doesn’t mean anything.  I have been busy, with tutoring, and…”

            Kit rolls her eyes, slaps her hands flat against the table.  “Oh, come on already. Your sister told me you’ve been avoiding my calls! Listen, if you want to dump me, then just do it.  But don’t play these freaking games.  For Christ’s sake!”

            Geneva stops, stares at her plate.  She glances up.  “You want to break up?”

            “No. I don’t want to break up, but I also don’t want to be in a relationship that isn’t there.  Do you understand?”  Kit settles back into her seat, crosses her arms, a calm in the storm. “You’ve been acting strange, Genny.  Like, really strange.  And the party, the other night, what was that all about?”

            Geneva sips her water, sets it on the table.  She spins the glass around slowly in her hands and thinks of every lie she can.  None of them seem adequate.  She says, “It’s hard to explain.”

            “You could at least try.”

            Holding the glass, Geneva laughs, humorlessly.  “No.  I really, really can’t.”

            “Then what about the cell phone?  You always talked about how your parent’s couldn’t afford to get you one.”

            “They can’t.  That’s for my—It’s for my tutoring.”

            “Ms. Olivia got you a phone?”

            “I don’t want to talk about it, Kit.”

            A long pause follows.  Kit searches Geneva’s expression for something, and Geneva does her best to hide it with averted gazes and blank stares at the table.  After a minute of silence, Kit says, “Geneva, is she molesting you?”

            Geneva looks up, meets Kit’s stare, finds her face tight and her eyes narrowed.  Normally, only Lana can elicit such a stare, and then only if she is particularly cruel.  Geneva throws her hands up and shakes her head rapidly.  “No.  No, no, nothing like that.  It’s because,” Geneva stammers, “Well, I’ve been so stressed.  With school.  And tutoring.  And everything.  So, she got me one of those cheap-o phones, so I can call her whenever I need help.”

            Kit considers it and sighs.  “I guess that makes sense, if you’re telling the truth.”

            Geneva relaxes in her seat.

            “But why did she call you the other night, then? And where did you two go?”

            “That, I really can’t talk about.  Just believe me when I say it’s important and leave it.  Please.”

            Kit’s face tightens again.  Sitting in her seat, not slouched but coiled, compacted, she looks imposing despite her litheness.  “Geneva, are you cheating on me with her?”

            “No.  I’m not, and I promise you, if I knew a way to explain, I would.  But, it’s not molestation, and it’s not cheating, and I don’t want to break up.  It’s just complicated.  I got myself into a bind, and I need you to be patient with me.  I need everyone to be a little patient.”

            They stare across the table at each other, a little silent war waged between them.  Kit relents first, sighing, relaxing.  She leans forward.  “Does it have to do with your grades?  Are they that bad?”

            “You have no idea.”  Geneva tells herself it’s not a lie.

            “Well, I know all about how a mistake can ruin your year.”  Kit smiles, winks.

            Geneva tries a smile in return.  It feels like she is borrowing someone else’s.  It doesn’t fit right. Still, she says, “Thanks, Kit.”

            Kit reaches forward, takes Geneva’s hands, and Geneva thinks to pull away.  It feels tense, dangerous, to have her hands occupied, but she stays in place for Kit.

            “Geneva, just, well, whatever you’re going through, always know that I can listen.”

            “I know you can.”

            “And you can tell me whatever you need to.”

            “I know,” Geneva says, feeling increasingly exasperated.

            “Good.”  Kit releases her.  “Now, finish your pancakes.  You’re becoming skin and bones over there.”

            Geneva looks down at her body.  “What? No I’m not.”

            “Well, maybe not yet, but you’ve been losing weight fast, and I’m half afraid you’re starving yourself.”

            “Thanks, mom, but I’m not.”

            “Not on my watch,” Kit says, and she shoves Geneva’s plate back toward her.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The entirety of Andormalius’ duchy gathers at the base of his keep in the morning.  The keep is a tall, stout tower surrounded by ramparts.  In the battle, these ramparts didn’t work so well as the duchy’s military had hoped.  Without a leader, the tower had fell quickly.

            Before the tower is a small pavilion, open at the front with two staircases leading up the sides.  Seere stands atop the pavilion, wearing a dark purple robe embroidered by golden fabric.  He paces with his hands folded behind his back as the crowd gathers and settles.  The dawn hits him and casts him in soft glow, making a halo about his crown.  When he lifts his hands the crowd in entranced into silence.

            “Welcome, everyone, I am Viscount Salamand Seere, and I am sure you have many questions, questions about your nation, questions about your future, and I assure you that I have every intention to answer them.”  His voice, though soft by nature, seems to carry well before the tower.  Even the demons in the back listen raptly to his words.

            “Firstly, I would like to apologize for your rude awakening.  I can understand your fear, considering recent events.  Your home has been invaded, and now the conquerors come calling at your door, demanding your presence.  Frightening, indeed, but also necessary, for if we are to move forward, we must first reach an understanding.

            “I have come to teach you, to tell you the truth, plain as I can see it, because I believe that for us to reclaim our glory, we must work together, a world united, not one torn apart by the selfish squabbles of lords and the blind obedience of those beneath them.  So, I shall speak plainly when I say this, and I hope you understand its full value—the door is open, and our world is connected.

            “Some of you, farmers or bakers or servants might ask, ‘what does that mean to me?’  The records tell of an age where once we had glory, and we spread across the realms and stood alongside gods.  This was, of course, long ago, but it can be again, and the gate tree is the first step, the most necessary.  With it, we have access to trade, to communication, to resources unheard and forgotten, and with them, the south will prosper and your lives will transform.

            “Your Duke, Andromalius, saw that and, seeking that power only for himself, hid the truth from you.  He feared the outside worlds, feared what once was, but I am not afraid, and neither do I think you should be either.  So, I came in the night, with Duke Dantalion at my side, and we liberated you and come offering you a new future.”

            A murmur spreads through the crowd.  Demons and demonesses alike exchange glances, and Seere raises his hands and returns the silence.

            “I believe in a future, one of peace, one that must be earned.  These wars have gone on too long, and our people have suffered for it.  Times are changing and our world changes with them, the opening of the gate is proof enough of this.  And there is nothing to fear, for out in the realms there are nothing but soft things, easily broken, and we are demons, resilient and strong.

            “Instead, we must fear what we have in here.  Higher lords and nobles, waiting only for the proper chance.  They want not to liberate you but to extinguish you, or otherwise, to indenture you to their service.  Either way, it is not a future you should want, nor is it a future you deserve.

            “And so, we come to me now, a humble lord myself, speaking to you from on high after raiding your land and taking your throne, and you ask, ‘how am I any different?’”  Seere leaps from the platform and walks among the people.  Around him, demons and demonesses stare, a lord among their ranks, small and alone and also unafraid.

            “I see what we lords have done, to you people and to our lands, and grow sick of the stagnation.  Once, we had glory.  We walked with gods and warred with gods, and we brought the gods to their knees, and we can again. But to do so, we must be united, and to do that, the world must change.

            “But change does not come easy.  It comes with blood and sweat and sacrifice, and that is what I come today to ask of you.  Join me in my conquest.  Help me to unite the lands under one banner—one rule—to change this world.  Should you do that, help me along, then I promise you reclamation.  I promise you glory greater even than our forefathers knew.  Follow me, and I will make you stronger, and for your efforts, I will fight alongside you, protecting you until my dying breath.”

            Seere walks, slowly, into the center of the crowd.  He is surrounded by the sick and injured, by the weak and lame, and the strong and stout, by enemy soldiers and blood thirsty brigands, and he stands among them, unarmed, fearless.  He slowly looks each in the eye, and he says, “What say you?”

            A cheer spreads through the crowd.  Loudly, they shout and cry, and Seere smiles at them as they bend on knee and bow their heads to him.  When he calls for silence, it spreads quickly through them, and they all watch him as he stands tall while legions kneel.  “In truth, I expected nothing less from you.  Thank you.”

            He moves among them again, and they part as he passes.  Some touch his hand, bow their heads, kiss at his feet.  He meets them kindly, pulls them to standing, or bows in return.  Finally, at the other end, he is greeted by Ruka, who watches with his usual glare.

            They return to the war camp together.  “That was quite the speech, my lord,” Ruka says after a time.

            “Really?”  Seere sighs.  “I had thought it went on a bit long, but still, it seems to have gotten the job done.”

            Ruka looks back at the gathered crowd, still cheering to themselves and now welcoming their brothers from other nations to their fold.  “I’ll say it did.  What will we do about the sick and hungry, sire?”

            “Tend and feed them,” Seere says.  “What we need is not numbers, but healthy soldiers loyal to a cause.  They like me now because of a flowery speech carefully molded to appease, but they will follow because I am more than words.  I am action.”

            “Of course, sire. We will see to it.”

            “Yes, you will,” Seere says, and he stops on the outskirts of the city and looks between it and his camped armies in the distance.  “And bring my soldiers in, move them among the people, and meet them.  We have a long way to go, still, Ruka, but this is an important first step.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            At noon, Nina pulls into the parking lot across from Claude’s apartment building and lets her car idle.  She stares at the squat old brick building for a moment, recognizing it from her previous trips.  To her it looks less like a home and more like landscape, like there was a lot of effort put into creating the proper aesthetic of a downtown here.

            She turns off her car and climbs from it, out into the cold.  After the battle with Andromalius, Nina made contact with Claude at Erak’s request.  He is her responsibility, now, alongside Geneva, and that suits Nina just fine.  It is better than murdering a potential ally in the name of ‘security.’

            The front door is locked, she finds, and she grabs at her phone and considers dialing him.  Then, she paces the stoop and stares up at the building, looking for the window to his apartment to make sure he is even there.

            “Did you forget your key?”

            Nina turns to find Shirley waiting.  While she hasn’t met Shirley personally, she has read reports and recognizes the description.  Shirley is prettier than they implied, and also taller.  “No, not quite.  Actually, I am wondering, would you happen to know a Claude Sylvain?”

            “Yeah, sure,” Shirley says, twisting her brow.  “He’s my boyfriend.  We live together, actually.”

            “As I suspected.  I was hoping to speak with him, if I could.”

            “Oh.”  Shirley passes Nina and unlocks the door.  Holding it open, she watches Nina enter.  “And you are?”

            “An acquaintance, of a sort.  I assume you’ve heard about…”

            Shirley stares at her for a bit, and then her face brightens.  “Oh!  The battle.  You’re one of those, uh, one of the elves!  Awesome, cool, come on in.”

            Leading Nina through the front, Shirley stops to check her mail and then starts up the stairs.  They climb three flights together, Nina keeping easy pace with long, precise strides, and they talk on the way.  Shirley is smiling broadly.

            “I’m on my lunch break right now and thought I’d come eat with Claude.”

            “I see.  Well, I don’t intend to take too much of your time.  I simply wish to speak with him on a certain matter.”

            “What about?”

            “It is a rather private subject.”

            “Oh. Sorry.”

            Nina eyes Shirley for a hint of insincerity and finds none.  “No, it is fine.  I apologize if I am being too clandestine.”

            Shirley laughs, waves it off.  “Oh, don’t mention it.  I know all of this is some sort of big old secret.”

            They reach the third floor, and Shirley comes to a stop.  She looks at Nina.  “I do have a request, though.  Could I, uh, see your ears?”

            Nina blinks, stare, and then tucks her hair back.  Shirley frowns.

            “They’re not pointed.  They’re supposed to be pointed, right, or is that just a stereotype?”

            “Oh.”  Nina releases her hair.  “Normally, they are, but I’ve had surgery so that I could better integrate with humans.  It is common of those working here, but elven ears are normally pointed.”

            “I see.”  Shirley seems, briefly, disappointed, but brightens up shortly.  “Well, thanks anyway.  My apartment is down this way.”

            Shirley leads Nina down the hall to her apartment door and unlocks it.  Stepping inside, they find Claude sitting in bed, reading an old paperback.  He folds it when Shirley enters and smiles until he sees Nina trailing.  Then, he adopts a sharp frown. “Why is she here?”

            “Claude,” Shirley says, her tone almost motherly.  “Don’t be rude.”  She looks back at Nina.  “Come on in and make yourself at home.”

            Nina nods.  “Thank you,” she says, and she stops in the entryway while Shirley closes the door behind her.

            Shirley drops her things on the counter then and goes to the sink.  “Would you like something to drink, Miss…”

            “Olivia.  My name is Nina Olivia.”

            “Nina.”  Shirley smiles.  “That’s a nice name.  So, would you like anything? We’ve got water, and, well, water.”

            “That will be fine,” Nina says, turning her attention to Claude.  He is now leaning against a wall, his book abandoned on the bed, and he is giving her cold stare.  She takes off her gloves and stuffs them into her pockets.  “Yes, well, I do apologize for such a sudden visit.”

            “You don’t have to apologize,” Shirley says, drawing water from the tap.  She sets it on the counter for Nina.  “You’re fine.  Claude, tell her she’s fine.”

            “I don’t want to lie,” he says.

            “Oh, stop it,” Shirley says, slapping him on the shoulder.  She smiles back at Nina.  “Would you like anything to eat? I’m making a sandwich for myself.”

            “No,” Nina says, “I’m fine, thank you.  I won’t be long.”

            “Okay, tell me if you change your mind.  Claude?”

            “I’ll make one later.”  Claude holds Nina’s gaze, goes to cross his arms and remembers his cast, and then suddenly isn’t sure what to do.  “So, what do you want, Nina?”

            “I came to check on you.”

            “Again?”

            “Claude,” Shirley says, two slices of bread pinched between the fingers on her left hand while the right clutches a plate.  “Doctor’s visits aren’t cheap.  You should be grateful.”

            Claude looks at Shirley, scratches the back of his head.  He looks at his cast and puts his arm to the side.  “Fine.  I’m sorry, I just—You guys are freaking me out.  You’re like ghosts, sneaking in, asking questions.  And I know you’re watching me.”

            “Yes.  I apologize for any discomfort, but you must understand our position.  From what we know, what we live, all humans have forgotten their old ways and their histories.  To find we are wrong is unsettling, to say the least.”  She takes her cup, cradles it in her hands and stares him in the eyes.  “You are an unknown, Mr. Sylvain, and that concerns us.  However, that is not truly why I am here.”

            “Then why are you here?”

            “I wished to speak with you about Ms. Oaks—Geneva.”

            “Geneva?”  Claude squints, thinks.  “The girl?”

            “Yes, the girl who fought alongside you.  The knight.”

            “And why do you want to talk to me about her?”

            “Well.”  Nina pauses, holding her thoughts, her breath.  “Have you spoken with her since?”

            “No.  She’s just a kid.  What would I say to her?”

            “That is the question,” Nina says.  “I was hoping that, since you were in a harrowing situation together, you may have insight.”

            “Okay, about that.  What was she even doing there?”

            “That is not an easy question to answer.”  Nina turns the cup around in her hands.  Condensation collects on her fingers.

            Claude holds her gaze, showing his disbelief with his eyes.  “Right, whatever.  Either way, I don’t have any way of contacting her.  And, really, I have no way of contacting you, either.  Seems like you all have the cards.”

            Nina shifts.  “I see.”

            “Is there anything else?  Is that all you wanted, to ask if I had spoken with her?”

            “Claude,” Shirley says, eating.  Her sandwich iss finished, and she has a couple of baby carrots to go with it while she is watching them.  “Be nice, please.”

            Claude looks at her, and then back at Nina, who says, “No, he is fine. I should apologize.  This is a trying situation, and I am being ambiguous.  In truth, I came to ask if you would speak with her for me.”

            “If I would...” Claude frowns again.  “What? Why?”

            “Because, I think the battle has left her scarred.”

            “Make sense.  She took a beating, but your people are better for that, I promise.”

            “I don’t mean physically.”  She looks at the glass, watches the water move, and then sets it aside and shakes her fingers dry.  “I mean emotionally.  She has always been private.  Hides behind her humor, but over the past week, there is no humor in her.  Just rage and indecision.  She is in conflict, I think, over what happened, over what she had to do? And I do not know how to reach her.”

            “And I would?”

            “You fought alongside her.  You were there with her when she,” Nina pauses meaningfully, “Also, you’re an outsider.  She is kind but stubborn, refuses to burden those around her.  She wants to protect, not be protected and won’t accept my help, and with circumstances as they are, she can’t turn to those around her.  But you might have a chance.”

            Claude rubs the back of his neck again, with his good hand, and stares at the floor.  He tries to imagine a conversation between himself and a seventeen-year-old version of himself.  Then, he tries to imagine that version of himself as a girl.  It is not comfortable.

            “Okay, well, I’m no therapist.”

            “I don’t need you to be one.  I’m not even sure if it will help.”  Nina sighs, stares out the window, at the pale storefronts across the street.  “I do not mean to cause you any undue stress, and I know that she is my responsibility, not yours, but it is like you said.  She is a child, unfit for combat but I fear I may have seen that far too late.”

            “Then that’s your problem.”

            “Claude!”  Nina and Claude have their attention yanked to the side and find Shirley standing, hands on her hips, and a glare on her face.  “Really?  Are you really going to be like that?  There’s someone needing you help!  What about your destiny?”

            “This is different. Look,” he stops when Shirley’s eyes narrow.

            “No, you look.  You should help her.  It’s the right thing to do.  Besides, didn’t she help you?”

            Claude groans, rubs his face now.  “Fine,” he says after a long pause.  “Fine, I’ll help.  Send her over.  I’ve got plenty of free time anyway until my arm heals up.”

            Nina and Shirley smile in unison, and Nina bows her head slightly.  “Thank you very much, Mr. Sylvain.  Ms…”

            “Seville,” Shirley says, nibbling a carrot and smiling cutely.

            “Yes, thank you.”

            “Yeah, yeah.”  Claude looks toward the door, and Nina nods.

            “Yes, of course.  I will see myself out.”  She goes to the door and stops to look back.  “Thank you, both of you.”

            “You’re quite welcome,” Shirley says, “Oh! And feel free to stop by any time.”

            Nina slips out the door, and Claude stays by the wall, staring across the small apartment at Shirley.  “Sometimes, you’re too sweet.”

            She smirks.  “Someone has to make up for you, you old grump.  Here.”  She crosses the room and shoves a plate into his good hand.  “Let’s eat while we can.  I need to head back soon.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            After brunch with Kit, Geneva goes straight to her room and hides.  She sits alone in her bed, and eventually lies down for a rest.  It is the first time in weeks where she can breathe without school, Kit, or the knights there to take the breath from her, and she feels restless without distraction.  Her mind won’t settle, nothing will.  She tries video games, sleeping, reading, and none of it works.

            As night comes, she decides to stretch her legs.  She goes down the hall to Beatrice’s room as if on instinct, her body guiding her, and she knocks.  Beatrice welcomes her in, and Geneva finds her sister inside, painting her nails while listening to a podcast of some sort.  When she sees Geneva, she turns it off before continuing work on her toes.

            “Well, hello there, Genie-butt.  Strange to see you out and about these days.”

            “Yeah.”  Geneva closes the door behind her, leans against it.  “Been busy these days.”

            “All that tutoring.”  Beatrice angles her toes and blows on them as best she can before screwing the brush back into the bottle and giving it a shake. Then, she switches feet.  “So, what have you been up to lately?”

            Geneva shrugs.

            Beatrice glances at her.  “That’s descriptive,” she says, twisting the brush out of the polish, wringing the access out against the bottle lip.  She starts applying it to her left big toe.  “So, what? You came here just to watch me paint my toenails?”

            “Didn’t know you were doing that.”

            “Then you came here to stand quietly while I did something, anything at all?”  Beatrice moves to the next toe.  “Must be a nice life, to have so much time.”

            “Not really,” Geneva says, meaning it.  She never realized how much time there was in a day until she didn’t have any.  “Kit stopped by today.  We went to lunch.  Had a talk.”

            “That’s good to hear. So, everything good in paradise?”

            “More or less.”  Geneva stretches her arms and pretends to yawn.

            “What’d you two talk about?”

            A shrug.  “Stuff.”

            “Girl stuff?”

            “Stuff-stuff.  She did say something interesting, though.”

            “Yeah?”  Beatrice glances up, tucks her hair back and moves onto another toe. “Probably something about me telling her how you’ve been screening her calls?  No need to be coy, Gene.”

            “I’m not being coy.”

            Beatrice stops, stares Geneva in the eye, and the older sibling-younger sibling relationship reasserts itself for a moment.  “Yeah.  You are.  You’re not doing it well, but you’re definitely making an attempt.”  Next is her pinky toe, and she squints and moves carefully to keep from touching skin.  “I got tired of lying for you.  I’m your sister, not your secretary.  Your problems are yours, and you kept shoving them off.  So, I made them mine, and I handle my problems.”

            “Would it have killed you to keep your mouth shut?”

            Beatrice pauses, as if thinking about it.  “No, guess not.”  She puts her polish away inside of a drawer on her writing desk.  Then, she holds out her feet to appraise her work.  Finally, she turns her attention full of Geneva.  “But I think it was killing Kit a little bit, and she’s so sweet on you.  She doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment, and you should be better than that.”

            Geneva crosses her arms, frowns.  “And where do you get off being all high and mighty?  You never date anybody, so what would you know?”

            “I know it’s not a relationship if only one person is in it.  Seems a bit like commonsense.”

            “I am in it,” Geneva snaps.  “I’m trying, Bea, I’m trying really hard.”

            “Oh, sweetie, avoidance isn’t trying.  It’s avoidance.  Do you need to borrow a dictionary to help out with the subtleties of our language?”

            “Now who’s being coy?”

            “More sarcastic, perhaps even a bit hateful, but not really coy,” Beatrice says.  “But I can tell you who’s being petulant.  Don’t want me to tell the truth, then speak for yourself.  Don’t want to speak to your girlfriend, then don’t have one.  Cause I’m pretty sure communication is fairly important in these sorts of situations.”

            Geneva rolls her eyes.  “You just have all of the answers, don’t you?  God, why do you always have to butt in?”

            “I don’t and didn’t,” Beatrice says.  “Remember, sister, not secretary.  You shove your problems onto others, they solve them how they like.  And what is that all about anyway?  Lately you’ve been a real tough pill to swallow, and frankly, I’m sick of it.”

            “Then choke on it!”

            Beatrice pauses, knots her brow.  “What does that even mean?”

            “It means…”  Geneva goes quiet.  Then, she screeches and yanks the door open.  “Just shut up!”  She slams the door on her way out.

            Partway down the hall, she hears her sister call, “Nice talking to you, too, dollface!”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The ride back to Seere’s viscounty is long and quiet.  He rides with a small group, those chosen specifically by Ruka to serve as his royal guard.  Ruka is, as always, by Seere’s side.  When they reach the city gates they are welcomed inside.  The streets are quiet and dark in the night but will be loud with revelry in the morning.

            It was the first battle won in the south in over four decades and the first fought in almost as long.

            They arrive at Seere’s keep and enter through the front.  Seere removes his cloak and tosses it absently after him.  Ruka catches it, trailing along, leaving muddy boot prints on the stonework as he goes.  Outside, the rain patters across the roof.

            “The weather certainly took a quick turn,” Seere says, ringing out his hair.  He shakes off his hands afterward and unbuttons his vest.  “Such a bother.”  He smiles.  “Good to be home, though.  Never feels right to be far away.”

            “I agree,” Ruka says, setting his things aside.  He crosses his arms and looks over the empty room.  “Easier to keep you safe here.”

            “Please, Andromalius’ hall is much sturdier and has many more barricades.”

            “Yes, but we have more tunnels, and I know them.  They won’t find us unless I let them find us.”

            Seere glances back, flashes his teeth.  “And you would never do that.”

            “Never.”

            Together they leave the entry way.  They make the long walk toward the back of the keep, to the throne room, where Seere settles upon his throne.  He rubs the smooth, polished wood of the arm rests with both hands.  “Ah.  A proper throne.”  For a moment, he closes his eyes, rests his back against the throne.  Then, he straightens up and stares at Ruka, who waits at the base of the stairs leading up to the throne itself.  “I have a task for you.”

            “Lord?”

            “Call for the messenger.  I’ve need of an audience.  Now that we’ve secured the gate, it is time to do more.”

            “Shall we call the scavengers?”

            Seere’s face brightens.  “Oh, you darling thing.  How would I ever live without you?”

 

The Knights of Sheba 110…End

21: Episode Eleven: "Wings" A

Episode Eleven: Wings

            Geneva remembers the halls at summer time, how empty they were, how they echoed her footsteps, but they were nothing compared to this.  The lights are out and the halls are lit only by what pale, winter light the windows let in.  It stabs at the darkness but does not penetrate deep, and she has to take a moment for her eyes to adjust before entering.

            She follows Ms. Olivia through the empty halls.  Their footsteps echo.  The compound never truly welcomed Geneva, but her harsh treatment of Erak has made it worse.  A new place was needed, and so Ms. Olivia decided to use the school until she could find another, more perminent solution.

            With school out the halls are cold and, Geneva finds, unfriendly.  The air feels tense, like there are ghosts around every corner watching them.  She keeps close to Ms. Olivia for fear that a teacher will manifest in the air and reprimand them for being there.

            They reach the gym and flick on the lights.  Geneva rubs her arms, trying to get warmth in them.  Her jacket isn’t thick enough.  “Think we could turn on the heat?”

            “No,” Ms. Olivia says.  “I want our presence here to go unnoticed.  We cannot stay for long, but I assume this is preferable to the compound?”

            “What,” Geneva says, puffing into her hands.  “You saying I’m not welcome there?”

            Ms. Olivia gives a level stare and turns.  She sets a black duffle bag on the bleachers and begins extracting a host of training equipment.  She pulls out a few bottles of water, some bandages, a few empty bottles, and two wooden training swords.  She twirls one absently while turning to speak to Geneva.  “You’ll want your jacket off, I think.  If things go well, you’ll be plenty warm soon enough.”

            “Exercise and all of that.”  Geneva undoes her jacket and sets it aside.  Her arms prickle as soon as they touch the cold air.  She rubs her hands together again, futilely.  “Let’s hurry up then.  How do you want me?” She pauses.  “That sounded better in my head.”

            “Armor first, please.”

            Geneva nods, closes her eyes.  She imagines the switch, the choice, and makes it.  The ring spreads up her hand, up her arm, and across her body.  It slithers and crawls and solidifies.  When Geneva opens her eyes, she finds Ms. Olivia smiling.

            “You’re faster.”

            “I’ve had some free time to practice.  Now what?”

            “Your wand, please.”

            “Swand.”  Geneva reaches down, draws her wand in one smooth motion.  “So, is this review or something, because I think I have all of this mastered.  My problem isn’t dress up.  It’s everything after.”

            “We will be practicing our combat, but I have ideas.  I’ve been doing research on the armors, reviewing what texts we have.  How much do you remember of what I’ve told you?”

            “That there is more than one.”

            Ms. Olivia sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose.  Then, she picks up one of the bottles from the bleachers and steps out onto the gymnasium floor.  “Yes?  And what else?”

            “They have swands, too?”

            Ms. Olivia places the bottle at the center of the gym and stares across at Geneva.  “Ms. Oaks, please, do try and take this seriously.”  Geneva shrugs, and Ms. Olivia shakes her head.  “Each armor has its own special strength, a gift of sorts.  Do you remember yours?”

            Geneva looks her armor over.  “It’s white and blends in with the snow.  Winter soldier style.”

            “Ms. Oaks.”

            “You know, you could just save yourself some time by telling me the answers you want to hear.”

            “Yes, I suppose I could,” Ms. Olivia says, strained.  “Yours is the feather signet.  Supposedly, your armor is gifted with flight, though we won’t be doing that just yet.  Instead, I want to test the capabilities of your wand.”

            Geneva holds the wand up and turns it over in her hands.

            “If you remember, each armor has its gift and also a wand with which to channel that gift.”

            “So, what, my swand can make things fly?”

            Ms. Olivia smirks.  “In a sense, if I understand what I read.  Your armor catches air currents.  In particular, it glides and, if done properly, can do so for extended periods of time.  In the same way, your wand can be swung and release bursts of air.”

            “Right?”  Geneva takes a few steps forward, swings in the direction of the empty bottle.  “Sounds like science.  Don’t know if you’ve seen my grades, but I don’t exactly science well.”

            “Yes, which is why I have an interest in giving you hands-on experience.”  Ms. Olivia steps away from the bottle and points at it.  “Knocks this over, if you will.”

            Geneva stares across the room, her attention now on the bottle.  She looks between it and Ms. Olivia.  “Yeah, I’ll get on that.  How, exactly?”

            “Try swinging your wand.”

            “At what? The air?”

            “Yes,” Ms. Olivia says, and then more certainly, “Yes, try that.”

            “Guess I’ll try anything once.”  Geneva looks at the blade of her wand, eyes the evenly spaced notches across the surface of it.  There are eight in total, each granting access to the hollow interior.  To Geneva, it makes the blade look to her almost like a feather.  She takes a deep breath.  “Okay, time to feel silly.”

            She takes a charge and leaps into the air, spinning her sword and swinging it about like a child with a basket.  Then, skipping and stumbling to a stop, she lunges forward.  A hard roar of air fills the room and knocks a foam pad from its place on the far wall.  The bottle rattles gently on the floor.

            Ms. Olivia looks between the pad and the bottle.  She takes another step back.  “It seems as if you were able to make a current.”

            “You sound surprised.”

            “Try again.”

            “Could’ve said you weren’t to make me feel better.”  Geneva walks back to where she was and turns.  She sets her feet and this time flourishes, twirling the blade around her.  She gives four quick swipes at the air, feeling the momentum building, and then swings down.  Another current of air, a howl of wind, and Ms. Olivia falls flat onto her rear.  “Oh, crap!”

            “No, I am fine.”  Ms. Olivia pushes herself back up.  “I think you were a tad high.”  She eyes Geneva and takes another step away. “And perhaps a bit too far to the right.”

            “Yeah…”

            “Try to aim lower and over.  Also, try the thrust.  It seems to give you more precision.”

            Geneva nods and holds her blade before her.  She lines it up with the can and closes her eyes.  A deep breath, and then she repeats the process.  Again, she takes for quick swipes and then steps forward, thrusting

            The air shifts, spirals forward, and tears the bottle apart while scattering it across the floor.  It comes to a stop, the lid tossed to one side with the body sundered.

            Ms. Olivia claps.  “Quite impressive, Ms. Oaks!”

            “Yeah.  Only took three tries.”  Geneva cheers ruefully.

            Ms. Olivia climbs the stairs to the bleachers and grabs another bottle.  She sets it in the same place.  “Now, let’s see if you can give a repeat performance.”  As she speaks, she makes sure to put distance between herself and the target.

            “No problem, I’ve got this.  In fact, I’ll try something a bit more flashy. Maybe show off a bit.”  Inside of her helm, Geneva sticks her tongue out while lining up her sights.  She takes another deep breath and starts spinning her wand.  Then, she twirls and swings upward, holding her blade like a golf club.

            Air rushes across the floorboards, shifting the dust.  It hits the bottom of the bottle and this time sends it rocketing up toward the ceiling.  Ms. Olivia cheers in the background as the bottle takes a quick, decisive flight into the light directly above it.  Sparks shoot and fly, and the bottle falls, a blackened, smoking chunk on the ground.  Glass gathers around it.

            “Oh, my,” Ms. Olivia says after a brief silence.

            Geneva, cringing, whines out a, “Sorry,” and then whistles nonchalantly.

            Ms. Olivia sighs.  “Yes, well, I suppose that is our cue to move on to something else.  First, let’s change the light, though”

            Geneva slides her wand back into the waist of her armor.  “Right. Yeah. Good idea.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

They change the light together, an act which involves Geneva watching and making half-hearted suggestions while Ms. Olivia does all of the work.  Afterward, they put away the remaining bottles and stand apart in the center of the gym.  Ms. Olivia paces a wide circle around Geneva.

            “So, what are we going to do now,” Geneva asks.  She is happy to find that the cold seems distant to her now.  Ms. Olivia shivers occasionally and hugs herself for warmth, and it reminds Geneva that her armor protects from extremes in temperature..

            “Now, we will test the other properties of your armor.  The wand allows you to channel your armor’s gift, focus it into a point.  It gives you control of air currents, but your armor should be able to glide on its own.  Before it can do that, however, we must conjure your wings.”

            “Wings?’  Geneva looks over her shoulders and, finding nothing, feels along her shoulder blades.  “Yeah, any advice on that?”

            “How do you conjure your armor?”

            “I don’t know.  I just, kind of—It’s like a switch, but it’s more.” She sighs.  “It’s stupid.”

            “I highly doubt that, but whatever it is, it works, Ms. Oaks, and that is what is important.  Try to do the same sort of thing.”

            “Right.  Just imagine a switch.  That makes wings pop out.  Like a switch blade.” Inside of her helmet, Geneva rolls her eyes.

            “Don’t roll your eyes, Ms. Oaks.”

            “How did you even…”

            “Just try it.”

            “Fine.”  Geneva straightens up, closes her eyes, and she breathes, calm and deep.  She imagines the switch in her head, the one that turns her from a girl into a knight.  Then, she imagines another, one that turns her from a knight into something else, something she can’t fathom.  She opens her eyes.  “This is stupid.”

            “Come, Ms. Oaks.  You’ll never get anywhere with your complaints.”

            “Yeah.  Maybe you should pull your gun on me again.”

            “Ms. Oaks.”

            “You’re a real pain today, you know that?”

            “The feeling is mutual, I assure you.”

            Geneva huffs, closes her eyes again.  There are two switches, but one doesn’t work.  It isn’t right.  It isn’t her.  She can hardly see herself as a knight.  Flight seems so much like fantasy and, after the battle, she knows that none of this is fantasy.  It is real, and harsh, and hard, and her nose still aches, and so does her body.

            Instead of the switches, she clears her mind.  She imagines, instead, wings and feathers, pure and white like snow.  She imagines her armor, extending, stretching, growing into them.  They are fictional but distinct, and they are there.  They aren’t her, but she can feel through them, feel them swaying, folding, fanning.

            “Ms. Oaks?”  

            “I’m trying to focus.”  The image is lost.  She opens her eyes, glares.  “What do you want?”

            “I was just making sure you were okay.  You’ve been quiet for some time.”

            “I was,” Geneva sighs and runs her hands along the helm.  “Know what? Never mind.  This isn’t happening today.”

            “Fair enough.”  Ms. Olivia pulls her sleeve up, checks her watch.  “It is almost noon.  Let’s retire for the day.”  She tosses Geneva her jacket.  “Come, get out of your armor.  I will drive you home.”

            “Wait, we’re done today? We haven’t even trained with swords.”

            “Ms. Oaks, not to be confrontational, but you clearly need a break.  So, we should quit for the day.”

            Geneva holds the glare.  Her armor slips away, compressing back into the ring, but the glare stays.  She jerks her arms into the jacket and zips it up.  “Fine. Let’s go then.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The sun appears at noon, bleeding through the clouds and touching the snow drifts with its warm fingers.  They melt, slowly, great streams of water pooling in the streets, filling the drains.  That night they will freeze, only to thaw and refreeze in the days to come.

            Claude watches from the window, still isolated and increasingly irritated by his situation.  Shirley is at home with him, having lunch.  She sits on the mattress with a plate on her lap and tears small bits from her sandwich before eating them.

            “You should get out of here for a while, get some fresh air,” she says.

            “Nothing to do out there.”

            “More to do than there is in here,” she says.  “Go to that sporting equipment store we saw.  You could look at the bows, see how much a new one would cost.”

            “It’d cost a lot.”  He turns and leans against the wall while biting, almost bitterly, into his sandwich.

            “When you get back to work, we’ll be fine.”  She smiles.  “Don’t worry so much.”

            Claude sets his plate to the side and scratches at his cast.  “I can’t wait until this thing is off.”

            “Me either.”

            “You just want me out of the apartment.”

            “Maybe a little.”  She stands and takes her plate to the sink while he glowers, and then she blows him a raspberry.  “I’m just kidding.  But you are getting little cranky.  Go out for a walk, at least.  It’s sunny out, and you don’t know how long that will last here.”

            Claude glances back out the window.  “Probably only a few hours.”  He sighs.  “Maybe I will.”

            Shirley crosses the room, takes his plate and puts it in the sink with hers.  She runs water over both of them before going to Claude and hugging him about the waist.  Then, she smiles up at him.  “I think you should.  It might cheer you up.”

            He smiles back at her and relaxes into her grip.  Sometimes when she is away, it startles him to realize that they are living together, as a couple, even sharing a bed, but when they are together, it is like they were never anything else.

            They stand together, swaying, and kiss.  “Okay, if you insist.  I’ll go.”

            “Good.”  They part.  “Maybe you could buy something nice for your date.”

            “I really wish you would stop calling that.  It’s weird enough that we’re meeting at all.”

            “Oh,” she slaps his chest before grabbing her purse from the bed.  “You’re over-thinking it.  She’s just a girl who needs help, and you’re the one who can help her.  It’s sweet.”

            “I have no qualifications for this sort of thing.”

            “You’re a hero, aren’t you?”  She gives him that look, the one she always wears when she says something like this.  It is her way of saying that she knows what he is and that he better know, too.

            “I guess.  Just wish it was a little more impersonal, you know?”

            “It’ll be fine.”  She goes to the door and stands with it open.  “I’ll see you tonight.”

            “Yup.”  He waves, and she blows him a kiss.  Though embarrassed, he returns it.

            “Also,” she says, peeking back inside, “Go for that walk!”

            “I will, I will,” he says, and he smiles as she closes the door.  Then, he turns to the window and watches the people on the street, watches the snow melt again.  Soon, Shirley is out there, looking both ways before crossing to the parking lot.

            When she is gone, he has nothing to distract him, and he starts thinking about tomorrow.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            “You know, you could always use the house phone.”  Geneva holds her cell to her ear while crossing the room to lock her door.  Once the door is locked, she returns to her bed.  “I’m weird, but even I don’t walk around my room and talk to myself.  My parents are paranoid enough without me having to hide a cell phone from them.”

            “Tell them it is from your teacher.”

            Geneva shakes her head.  “Listen, that isn’t really the best excuse in the world, and it would definitely start more fires than it would put out.”

            “Well, we can’t risk anyone listening in, so this is the safest option.  Erak is already upset that Mr. Sylvain is involved.”

            “Yeah, yeah, wouldn’t want to put my family in danger, secret identity, yadda-yadda.  I know.”  She falls back onto her bed and stares up at her ceiling, traces a small spiral leading in toward her ceiling light with her gaze.  After wincing in the light, she follows the spiral back out.  “So, what do you want now?”

            “I had considered surprising you, but I think it is better to give you warning ahead of time.  Tomorrow, your training will be different.”

            “What, are we taking a class trip to the nearest mountain so I can try jumping off?  Because, I don’t really think that will help me much with the whole sprouting wings thing.”

            “No, Ms. Oaks, but we will not be training at the gym.  Instead, I would like for you to meet with Mr. Sylvain.”

            “Mr. Sylvain?  Oh, that Claude guy?”  Geneva furrows her brow.  “What for?”

            “Now is the time to build connections, Ms. Oaks.”

            “But I thought Erak hated him.”

            “He does.”

            Geneva waits, shrugs.  “Okay, fine, whatever.  I’ll meet with him. I guess.”

            Ms. Olivia is quiet for a moment, perhaps apprehensive.  “Really?”

            “Yup.  You say jump, and I say, ‘I’m tired,’ and do it anyway.”

            “I see.  I suppose that will work.  So, I will pick you up at our usual time then.”

            “Yeah, yeah, and I’ll go build some connections.”

            “Yes,” Ms. Olivia says, briefly, sounding somewhat surprised.  “Well, then, I will see you tomorrow.”

            “Ah-huh.”  Geneva hangs up and goes to her jacket.  She stuffs the phone inside.  Then, she goes back to her desk and sits.  She stares at the wall but doesn’t see it. Instead, she sees a young adult, a man, with dark hair and dark eyes and a serious expression on his face.  He fires an arrow that explodes on contact, moves with precision, with meaning, and perhaps this works against him.

            She sees a beast towering over them.  It attacks the man, snaps his bow, snaps him limb.  She sees bone through flesh and blood in the snow, and then she sees fatigue and smells burnt flesh and, over that, fresh blood. The bruises across her body, now healed, ache in remembrance.

            Looking at her ring, the material polished and shining, she wonders what sort of battles the knights fought, wonders what sort of person Belquis was behind the legend.  Having fought demons, she finds it hard to see someone so different from her, someone larger than life, and she thinks how experience seems to make the mythic mundane.

            She wonders if Belquis was there, fighting the big demon, would Claude have gotten hurt, or would Belquis have gotten hurt, but she knows there are no answers to those questions.  She knows, also, that they are pointless, that Belquis is gone and dead, and she is there.  She is wearing the armor, the armor without wings, the armor that can fly but won’t for her.

            It reminds her that, whatever she is wearing, she isn’t really a soldier, or a knight, but a scared young girl crying herself to sleep in the dark.

            The phone rings, the house phone, and Geneva jerks into awareness.  She waits for someone to answer and, after three rings, sighs.  “Oaks residence, Geneva speaking.”

            “Hey, just who I was looking for,” Kit says from the other end.

            “Oh. Hey.”

            There is a short pause.  “So, how are you?”

            “Good.  I guess.”  Geneva shifts in her seat, drums her fingers on the desk.

            “Me, too,” Kit says quietly.  “You busy?”
            “No more than usual.  Why?”

            “Wondering if you wanted to go out tonight, maybe catch a movie.”

            “Oh.”  Geneva looks around her room, leans back in her chair.  She stares at the ceiling and tries to come up with an excuse, but her thoughts never go where she wants them to anymore.  “Can’t tonight.  Sorry.”

            “Oh. School stuff?”

            “Always,” Geneva says, and she worries that the lie is getting too easy for her.  Sometimes, she worries that she is even beginning to believe it, but then she always thinks that Kit is just being patient with her.  The latter options always hurts worst.  “Sorry.”

            “It’s fine.  What about tomorrow?”

            Geneva thinks about Claude again, about blood in the snow.  “Can’t, either.”

            Kit sighs on the other end, not angry but disappointed.  “That’s fine. Rain check?”

            “Yeah.  Sometime.  When I’m not so busy.”

            “Of course.”  Another pause, more silence.  “I’ll let you get back to it, then.”

            “Thanks, Kit.”  She hangs up without waiting for response.

            Off the phone, Geneva pulls open her drawer and finds the journal inside.  She eyes it and then shoves the draw closed.  Instead of reading, she crawls into bed and curls up, and she hugs a pillow tight to her chest and tries hard not to think about anything at all.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The sky is dark, bleak, and the air so cold that it chokes.  Icy winds blow, tossing snowflakes, twisting them across the sky.  There is no light to speak of, but everything shines in the darkness.  A creature glides through the air, shaking in the earth with the movement of its leathery wings.

            A woman, tall, blonde, and shapely, is pursued by figures that glow.  They follow her close as she retreats, but she never turns her back to face them.  She isn’t running; she never runs.  They surround her, holding blades that gleam in the non-light.  The woman staggers and stumbles, landing on her back.

            A tower looms in the distance, watching without a care.  The beast sweeps by it again, going unnoticed.  Whatever it is, it is enormous, and its scales gleam white in the dark, pure like the snow.

            The woman is surrounded by light but doesn’t seem afraid.  Instead, she looks furious, stands up and stands her ground, fists balled, jaw set.  She is wearing a dress and a crown and looks to be a princess of some sort.  The lights ready their blades and close rank.

            The beast drops and lands amidst them, the size of a house and its scales shining.  Talons cut the earth, leave deep gashes as its feet settle.  Its body, long and serpentine, curls around the princess while its wings fold in, and it snaps at the light, roars like a maelstrom.

            The wind shifts, fast and hard, and the light is carried away, and he stands in the center of it, hair tossing, blinded and deafened by the wind.  He hears voices calling out to him, and then…

            Claude wakes up, stares at the ceiling.  The room is dark, but the first blades of sunlight drift in.  He sits up and stares, at first, at the wall, and then rubs his face.  He is sweating.

            Shirley peeks out of the bathroom with a toothbrush in her mouth. “You okay, sweetie?”

            “Yeah, I just,” he looks at her, “Strange dream.”

            “Dream or dream?”  He looks away, and she joins him on the bed.  “One of those, huh?  You sure you’re okay?”

            He nods.  “Nothing bad, just confusing.”

            “Should we cancel your date?”

            “No.  And stop calling it that.”

            She giggles and stands, spits and rinses before going to the clean laundry and digging around until she finds socks.  Then, she slips them on while looking around their tiny apartment.  “We really need a dresser.”

            “We need a lot of things.”  He leans back, supporting his weight with his good arm while Shirley closes in and kisses him on the lips.  He smiles up at her while she stands and poses.

            “How do I look?”

            “Good.”

            “As always.”  She flips her hair and laughs.  “Guess I should head out.  I’ll get something for lunch today, if that’s fine with you.”

            “It’s fine, but why not come home?”

            She grins.  “You might need some privacy.”

            “You are really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

            The grin spreads, and she goes to the door.  “Just have fun, okay?”

            “Yeah, yeah, you too.”

            “Love you, Claude.”  She pauses at the door, leans against it and waits.  “Always have.”

            He smirks.  “I love you, too.”

            “I know,” she says, and she saunters out the door.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Nina picks Geneva up shortly before noon and drives her downtown.  The ride there is quiet, with Geneva slouching in her seat and staring, absently, out the window.  She has her arms crossed and her feet up on the dashboard.

            As they enter downtown, they slow to a stop at a traffic light.  The streets are long and narrow, clogged with lunchtime traffic.  People walk brusquely in the sunny cold, passing the cars by.  Geneva shifts in her seat.

            “This isn’t some weird child prostitution thing, right?”

            Nina gives a befuddled glance.  “Excuse me?”

            “This visit.  I mean, you weren’t clear on the details.  So, I’m just asking, it’s not a child prostitution thing, right?  You’re not selling him my body or anything, are you?”

            “No.  Ms. Oaks, I would never!”

            The car inches forward, and Geneva tugs on her seatbelt and shrugs. “Now that I think about it, and I mean really think, I guess it wouldn’t be so bad. If it was child prostitution, I mean. So long as I got a cut.” Geneva pauses, thoughtfully. “Though, I don’t know if you can still count me as a child. I’m a bit too old for childhood. So, it’d be teenage prostitution, I guess. Is that even a thing?”

            “Ms. Oaks, this is in no way any form of prostitution. I simply feel we should reach out to Mr. Sylvain and make connections.” Nina takes a right, stops suddenly and waits for the other cars to start moving again. “He was quite helpful during the battle with the demon lord, was he not?”

            “Yeah,” Geneva says, distantly, sinking further into her seat. “Wouldn’t have won without him.”

            Nina glances again before pulling forward. They turn down another long, narrow street, this time going north. The buildings in this area of town are tall and old. Though it is late morning, they block much of the sunlight and cast everything in deep shadows.

            “Hey, Ms. Olivia, can I ask you a question?”

            “Of course.” Nina eyes the numbers on the buildings as they pass.

            “It’s about Belquis. Or the Queen of Sheba. Or whatever she’s called.”

            Nina slows the car and they make brief eye contact. “And what would you like to know about her?”

            “Well, I was reading, and it said she betrayed the elves. Froze an entire world shut, and I was wondering, well, how did she do that?”

            Nina goes quiet, pulls into a parking space across from a squat, brick building. With the car parked, she keeps gripping the steering wheel and stares ahead, as if considering her words.  Finally, she says, “In truth, Ms. Oaks, I am uncertain. No one really knows, and so few people—elves, mostly—are willing to ask the question. If there ever was an answer, it has long since been lost to the revised and re-revised history of the knights.”

            “It all just sounds like magic.” Geneva stares across the street, too, unclips her seatbelt. “This is the place, I assume.”

            “Yes.”

            “Okay. Well, guess I should go inside. Make connections.”  he grabs hold of the door handle. “Though, I don’t think I’m the best of representatives.”

            “You will do fine.” Nina watches Geneva open the door and then grabs her by the shoulder. They make eye contact again, and Nina pulls her hand back quickly.  “Ms. Oaks, call me if you need anything.”

            Geneva quirks her brow. “I’m going to need a ride home.”

            “Yes, of course, I simply meant—I will be waiting on word from you.”

            “Sure,” Geneva says, and she climbs from the car and shuts the door behind her. After a half wave and a shiver, she crosses the street. Nina watches Geneva to the doorway, where Claude greets her and shows her in.

 

The Knights of Sheba 111 A…End

22: Episode Fifteen: "Unfaithful" A

Episode Fifteen: Unfaithful

A week has passed since the trial.  Now, Nina is entirely in charge of the border defense and is promising great changes.  Despite this, Geneva is on her back staring up at the basement ceiling, panting and sweating and, more than anything, feeling a bit foolish.  The only difference she can see in any of it is that Viness is now the one who put her there.

“Now your stance is too wide,” Nina says.  She watches from the sidelines while going through paperwork.  Even with all of her new responsibilities, she makes time to see Geneva fail.  Geneva likes to say it is kind of her, but she always says it with a glare.  “You put too much weight on your right foot.  It makes you heavy in the front.”

“You said to brace against attacks.”

“I did, but if you stay rooted like that, you’re attacks will lack reach and follow through, and it will not only leave you open but make it easy to control your energy.  That’s why he keeps putting you to the ground.”

Viness grins.  “Also, I’m just faster.”

Geneva frowns at him.  “You’re also a trained soldier with however-long-you-people-live years of experience picking on a seventeen-year-old girl.”

“A seventeen-year-old girl I’m training to be a soldier.”  He messes her hair.  “We all have to start somewhere, kid.”

She blows him a raspberry in response.

“Try adjusting your stance, keeping limber and distributing your weight evenly,” Nina says.  She licks her finger and returns to sorting papers, looking up regularly to check their progress.

Viness and Geneva part and ease into their stances.  Viness keeps his stance wide but seems fluid whenever he strikes.  He wears sweatpants, a braid, and a smile.  His body is lithe when it moves, bending and twisting in ways that make Geneva hurt to see.

“And remember, Geneva, watch your punches,” he says as they walk a slow circle, staring at each other.  “You’re supposed to punch through your opponent for power, but you punch too hard.  You start too far out and then over-extend your reach.  It puts too much momentum behind a blow that won’t land.  Don’t strike until you’re close, and don’t put yourself into it unless it’s a killing blow.”

Geneva sighs, nods, tries not to trip over her feet and not to look down and check her footing.  “Right.  Better stance, don’t over-extend.  Any other ways I suck?”

“Yes,” Nina says.  “Think fast.”

Viness charges, moving quickly but with control.  Geneva watches him, backpedals to the edge of the sparing mat and walks the rim.  He keeps close to her, approaching and stopping, testing and teasing her.  She can almost hear his future laughter, as if it’s echoing back through time just to taunt her.

“Can’t win a war by retreating,” he says, moving around to cut her off.

“Do you know that? I mean, have you ever tried? Like, really tried?”

“Ms. Oaks,” Nina says, drawing Geneva’s attention.  “Focus!”

Viness steps in just as she her attention is turning back to him.  She thinks to strike, hesitates and watches him instead as he lands a soft jab to her shoulder.  She lets it roll off, steps into him and tries to punch him in the chest but hits the air.  He takes her arm, moves her, and soon she is flipping again.  The landing forces the air from her lungs. 

She coughs.  “Why does that always happen?”

He looks down over her, still smiling.  “You think too much, and you only react.  If you don’t control the battle, then you are controlled.  And that makes you easy to beat.”

“Then when should I act if not after you swing?”

“As I’m doing it?  Watch how I move, how I stand.  Predict my movements before I even know what I am doing.  A lot of this is instinct.”  He pulls her to standing and helps to smooth out her clothes.

She huffs.  “Which I clearly don’t have.”

Viness laughs.  “The punch was better though.”

She gives a half-hearted thumbs up.

“Ready for more?”

She frowns.

“Come on,” he says, stepping back, sinking into his stance again.  Geneva envies how limber he is.

“Can’t I just wallow for a bit?”

“I don’t know.  Let me ask.” Viness looks at Ms. Olivia.  “Boss, she wants to wallow.”

“Then let her wallow while she does some push-ups.”

Viness looks back to Geneva.  “Well?”

“I hate both of you.”  She looks pointedly at Ms. Olivia. “You because you’re cruel,” then to Viness, “And you because you enjoy her cruelty.”  With another huff, she drops for push-ups and focuses on keeping her back straight, because she knows however much paperwork Ms. Olivia has, she is always watching.

Viness drops down beside her.  “If you’re going to whine, I’ll do them with you.”

“I still hate you.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

After training, Geneva changes into clean clothes and finds Ms. Olivia waiting outside on the porch.  The weather is improving after winter.  The cold is still there, but the sun is out, melting the snow and warming the air.  On the horizon rain clouds gather, a usual sight in spring.

They sit together on the porch and sip water while watching the clouds drift by.  Long shadows cascade over the landscape, interrupting the light at irregular intervals.  Geneva hugs one of her knees to her chest while Ms. Olivia sits back on her arms.

“We haven’t had time to talk since I came back,” Nina says.  She looks at Geneva.  “How are classes?”

“Fine, I guess?  I’m passing, but just barely.”  She meets Ms. Olivia’s gaze.  “Don’t give me that look.  I’m a busy girl.”

Nina shrugs.  “And how is Ms. Wright?”

“Still in I.S.S., still pretty, still her.  We haven’t had much time together, honestly, but we talk almost every night.  And I use the phone to text her when I can.  Thanks for that.”

“I still wish you wouldn’t.”

“And I still don’t care.”  Geneva hugs her leg tighter.  “Anyway, I’m teenager-stuff.  How is the,” Geneva waves her hand in a lazy circle, “Elfy-stuff?”

“Complicated, as they often are.  The Council supports us on the surface, but they are watching.  Many of them don’t like me personally, and even more don’t like you and what you represent.”

“What do I represent? Children in the military?  Yeah, it’s pretty-well frowned on everywhere, really.”

“No, Ms. Oaks, I meant the Knights and the empowerment of humanity.  They want to keep you on a leash.”

“Well, isn’t that kinky.”

“We need to be careful.  They won’t wait for us to make a mistake like they did for Erak.  With us, they’ll look for them.”

“Mm.” Geneva stares down into her water.  She moves it in small circles, watches the water climb up the edges of the glass.  “What happened to him, anyway?”

“He has been punished, court marshaled and striped of his rank.  Now, they are making him work off his crimes alongside many of the very people he hates so much.”  Ms. Olivia looks at her.  “Honestly, it is more than I had expected from it.”

Geneva smiles.  “It’s not exactly a whole book, but I guess it’s pretty good.”

Ms. Olivia nods.

“Hey, Ms. O, I was thinking.”

“Yes?”

Geneva sets her glass to the side and stares into the sky.  She can feel Ms. Olivia’s eyes on her and isn’t particularly comfortable with it.  She switches legs because the one she was hugging feels numb.  “I was just—The whole thing, with him, and when I—I know you didn’t do anything, and…”

“I understand, Ms. Oaks.  It was a confusing situation.  In such circumstances it is easy to make a mistake, to see villains in every corner.”

“Especially since you all kind of look alike to me.”  Geneva grins at Ms. Olivia, who is stoic.  “It was joke.”  She squints at her teacher’s fair features, knits her brow.  “Sort of?”

“I assume you know where my loyalties stand now, however?”

“Not really.  Not entirely, but I know they’re not against me, and that’s enough.”

Ms. Olivia nods.  “Good.”

An engine echoes through the woods and soon Kit’s car reveals itself.  It pulls into the drive and stops beside a long row of black SUVs.  Kit gets out, waves her long, slender arm as she smiles.  “Hi, you two!”

Ms. Olivia waves back.  “She seems in high spirits.”

“She always is.”  Geneva stands from the porch, leaves her glass where it is.  She looks back at Ms. Olivia.  “See you tomorrow, then.”

“Assuming nothing goes wrong.”

“Fingers crossed.”

“What?”

“It’s a human thing,” Geneva says.  “Means let’s hope.”

“Oh.  Then, yes.  Fingers crossed.”

Geneva waves and turns to meet Kit.  They kiss, and Kit takes her hand and leads her back to the car.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

Kit drives Geneva home and then waits around in the living room while Geneva takes a shower.   While Kit sits alone, occupying herself by texting friends, Geneva is upstairs soaking and scrubbing her training away.  She rests against the shower wall and lets her aching muscles soak in the warmth while they can, and she pushes away tomorrow.

After her shower, Geneva runs a quick brush through her hair and hurries to dress in her room.  She comes down wearing jeans and a white tee with a thin jacket over that.  Her hair hangs wet over her shoulders.  She meets Kit in the living room and finds her parents there as well.

Stopping in the doorway, she looks between them and tries not to look surprised.  “Oh.  Hey.  You two are here.  In a room.  With Kit.  Alone.”

Her mother smiles at her from the couch, where she sits beside Kit.  “And is that a problem?”

Geneva pauses, looks first at Kit, who smiles back, and then at her father, who shies away.  Finally, she meets her mother’s gaze.  “I don’t know, mom.  Is it?”

Her mother rolls her eyes.  “Now, don’t get smart, missy.”

“Right.  Sorry.”

“Kit was just telling us about your friends that you’re going to see.”

Geneva, who had taken to sulking, returns quickly to shock when she hears this.  She also manages to yell Kit’s name without raising her voice at all.  “Kit.” In response, she earns a motherly frown.

“Now, Geneva, don’t be rude.”  Her mother leans over to Kit.  “She always does this, tries to hide things from us.  As if we’d be upset that she has friends.  Honestly, I’m surprised she ever invited you over in the first place.”

“Oh, trust me, I’ve come to regret it,” Geneva says, and she hears Kit snicker.

Her mother looks between them and sighs.  “Well, at least your friend finds your antics funny.”

“How else do you expect me to keep her around?  Anyway, I’m ready to go when you are, Kit.”

Kit stands and crosses the room, and Geneva lingers in the doorway as her mother rises to meet her as well.  They hug and, when Geneva is ready to part, she is kept there by her mother.  “You have fun.”

“I will.”

“And call if you’ll be late.”

“Mom.  Really.”

“I know, I’m fussing.”  She steps away, smiles while adjusting Geneva’s jacket.  She smooths the hood on it and fiddles with the tassels.  “But, I’m your mother.  So, I’m allowed.”

“Right.”

Her mother waves over her to Kit, who waves in return.  “Goodbye, Kit, it was nice seeing you again.”

“You, too, Mrs. Oaks. I’m sure I’ll be back soon.”

“You’re always welcome.”

Together, Kit and Geneva go to the door.  Geneva holds it open for Kit and follows only after receiving another round of farewell from her mother.  On the way, Kit takes Geneva’s hand, earning a blush and a glance back.

“Kit!”

“It’s fine.  She’s not watching,” Kit says.  She loosens her grip.  “But I can stop if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Geneva lets her hand linger, and then tightens her grip.  “No, it’s fine,” she says.  “I’m going to need you to drag me to the car anyway.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“Yeah, that’s what everyone keeps saying.”  They stop at the car and this time, Kit holds the door for Geneva.  Once Kit is in the driver’s seat, Geneva continues, “But every time I get invited to go anywhere I either get drunk or get in a fight.”

“I doubt there will be any demons,” Kit says while pulling away from Geneva’s house.  “But then, I guess demons are what you two have in common.  That and lovely girlfriends.”

Geneva looks at Kit, then looks ahead.  “Well, then let’s hope that our lovely girlfriends can carry the conversation, cause outside of monsters, I don’t think we have much to talk about.”

“You’ll find something,” Kit says, and she takes Geneva’s hand again, squeezes it.  “And I’ll be right there with you.”

That, Geneva realizes, is actually something of a comfort.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

Kit holds the door for Geneva and follows her up the stairs.  The halls are empty and cold as they pass through them.  The carpet is green, old, and threadbare.  Kit stares distastefully at something that she hopes isn’t mold and keeps her hands in her pockets just in case.  She looks at Geneva.  “You nervous?”

“I’m,” Geneva look back at her and sighs, “Well, it’s weird, right?”

Kit shrugs.

“I mean, they’re adults.”

Kit shrugs again.

“Yeah?”

“What?  I have adult friends.”

“Dealers aren’t friends, Kit.  I keep telling you.”

“Ha.  And, oh yeah, before I forget: ha.  But, seriously, how old is he?”

“I don’t know.  Over twenty, I think.”

“See, that’s not too bad.”

“I guess.”  Geneva sighs again.  “And, I mean, it’s not like he’s trying to sleep with me.  So.”

“That’s not so bad, either.  I’ve slept with twenty.”

“I feel like we’re stumbling into one of those things I don’t want to know about you.”

Kit flashes a smile, leans into Geneva.  “Oh? You don’t want to hear about my crazy sex life anymore?”

“I never did,” Geneva says, and she stares into Kit’s grin.  “Just saying, keep the mystery alive.”

“Whatever you say, dear.”

They reach the fourth floor and go down the hall.  The carpet here is more off color than the last, has large bare patches and stains.  Kit grimaces as they pass.  They stop a few doors down, and Geneva looks at the door.  The number fell off long ago it looks like.  

“I think this is it.”

“Then knock,” Kit says.

Geneva takes a deep breath.  She knocks, and Shirley answers.  Shirley is wearing a loose, pink blouse and a pair of jeans.  Her hair is back, styled to frame her face.  She smiles when she sees them and welcomes them in. 

“Claude, they’re here!”  She closes the door behind them.  “Welcome, you two.  It’s not much, but it’s ours.”

Geneva enters with Kit trailing, and she agrees that it isn’t much.  It is the same apartment she remembers, except now they have a couch and a small dining table.  Outside, downtown is paled by midday light.  From here, she can see a few squat, stone buildings and a number of parking lots.

Kit doesn’t seem to take notice.  She is instead drawn into the kitchenette, where a powerful and wonderful smell radiates from the oven.  Geneva smells it, too, but isn’t sure what it is.

“Hello, there, I’m Shirley,” Shirley says, shaking hands with Geneva first and then with Kit.

“Geneva.”

“Katherine,” Kit says, smiling, “But you can call me Kit. That’s what this one calls me.”  She points at Geneva, who waves as if on cue.”

Shirley smiles.  “It good to finally, really meet the two of you,” she says.  “And lunch should be ready soon.  I hope you two like quiche.”

“That’s the thing with the egg and cheese,” Geneva says, sniffing the air again.  She finds herself drifting toward the oven.

Shirley watches, chuckles.  “Yes.  Yes, it is.”

Geneva makes a strange gurgling sound, and Kit shakes her head.  “That means she likes it,” Kit says.  “I think.  Oh.  Should we have brought anything? I didn’t even think to.”

“No, you’re fine,” Shirley says.  “Just go take a seat at the table.  It’s small, but…”

“It’s cute,” Kit says.

“Well, thank you,” Shirley says.  She smiles out at her apartment.  “We do our best, and we’re doing it on our own.”

“And that’s something in itself, right?”

Shirley nods.  “Would you two like anything to drink?”

“Water, please.”

“And Geneva?”  Shirley and Kit turn to find Geneva hovering around the oven.  They stare.

Geneva looks back, blushes.  She holds her stomach.  “Sorry.  I—I kind of didn’t eat this morning.”

Their stare is broken by their laughter and, Geneva, feeling very silly, decides it is better to wait at the table, where she won’t get so much attention.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

Three helpings later, Geneva is reclined in her chair, rubbing her belly and humming her contentment.  The others watch her in mixed awe and, in Claude’s case, mild disgust.

“We have a bit more, if you…”

“No, thank you, Shirley.”  Geneva sits up.  Already, contentment is turning to regret.  “It was amazing, but if I get any fatter I think Ms. O might murder me.”

“Fat?  Dear, you don’t look fat at all.”

Geneva looks down, tugs on her shirt, and then looks at Kit.  “Guess I have lost weight.  But you should’ve have seen me before all this knight business.  Was like a blimp.  A blimp!”

“Don’t pay attention to her,” Kit says.  “She was never that big.”

Shirley looks between them, giggling at Geneva holds her hands apart and continues to mouth the word, “Blimp,” at her.

“So, Claude,” Kit says, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that night you should up at my house.  You said something about knowing I was in danger.  What was that all about?  I assume you weren’t spying on me.”

Claude wipes his mouth on his folded napkin and leaves the napkin on his plate.  He leans forward, with his hands together, and gives a long, thoughtful pause.  Then, he looks at Shirley, who shrugs and stands to start clearing the table.  “Well, it’s hard to explain, really.”

“It’s not that hard,” Shirley says while staking plates.  He gives her a look, and she smiles back at him before turning to them.  “He’s magic.”

“I’m not magic,” he says.  “It’s not magic.”

“Limited experience with it, but sure looks like magic to me,” Geneva says, and Claude gives shoots her a cold glance.  “What?  It did.”

“Well, it’s not.  Not really.  It’s like,” he sighs and holds his hands out, his fingers curl toward each other, like he is holding something between them, perhaps a world, perhaps an entire universe.  “There’s this energy, this universal will.  Call it God or whatever you like, but it’s there, and it’s all around us.  I can, somehow, I don’t know how, but I tap into it, and it lets me do things.”  He drops the universe to the table.  “But it’s not magic.”

Geneva leans over to Kit and whispers, “Sounds like magic to me.”  Claude looks less amused by the second.

“Okay, so it’s not magic, but what can you do with it exactly?  Other than make playing cards explodes,” Kit asks.

“What are you, Gambit?”

Claude shrugs.  “A lot of things.  I can twist the flow of things, reach into them and not quite remake them but redirect their energy.  That’s how I could make the arrows explode,” Claude says, looking at Geneva.  “And I can do other stuff, like make illusions or I could sharpen those cards into blades, basically.  It’s all about rearranging things.”

“Mmhmm, definitely not magic,” Geneva says.

He frowns at her.  “I also have premonitions, which is how I found you.  Or, well, it’s not premonitions, but heightened intuition.”  He smiles as Shirley returns and sets a cup of tea in front of him.  She settles beside him with her own cup and stirs cream in.  “It’s not always clear, but I can trust it.  That’s how I found you.  I didn’t know much other than you were in danger and it was related to Geneva.  From there, I just had to follow my gut.”

“That sounds convenient,” Kit says, and Claude laughs.

“Not so much.  Sometimes it’s clear.  Sometimes it’s just an itch at the back of my brain.  I don’t always figure it out but…”

“Is that why you came up here?” Geneva asks the question. Everyone looks at her, and she looks back.  “What? I’m curious.”

Claude nods.  “It is.  I could feel something wrong, that something was coming.  So, I came up here to fix it.”

Geneva looks down at her open palm, at her fingers and at the signet ring she is wearing.  “Wish you had gotten here earlier.”

“I was here from the start,” Claude says.  “I just didn’t know everything.  I didn’t realize how big the danger was or that the elves would be involved.”

Geneva sighs.  “Wish they weren’t involved, but, you know what my nana used to say?  Of course not, because you never met her. Anyway, she said, wish in one hand and shi…”

“Geneva.”  Kit sighs.

“Well, it’s what she said.”

Shirley laughs again while Kit, shaking her head and grinning, takes Geneva’s hand.

“Anyway, how long have you known you can do all of that,” Kit asks.

“Pretty much since I could talk.  My family knows.  Shirley did.  Everyone.”

“And he was always so pompous about it,” Shirley says, giggling again as Claude sulks beside her.  “When we were kids, he used to show off, making fire from the air, bending light, and gosh, everything he tried he was good at.  Like he just knew how to do it all.”  She smiles at Claude.  “And you should meet his parents.  They’re so proud, they dote on him like crazy.”

Claude, now leaning into his chair with crossed arms, grins and shrugs.

“What about you, Shirley,” Geneva asks.  “What’re you doing up here?  Do you have any special powers that we don’t know about?  Like, stuff that’s magic but isn’t really magic?  Are you bullet proof-y?  Or really tall building jump-y?”

She laughs and shakes her head, making her hair dance.  “No, no, nothing like that.”  She smiles again at Claude.  “I came up here for him.  He’s always been my big hero, but even he can’t do it all on his own.”

“That’s sweet of you,” Kit says, and Shirley shrugs.

“We all have something we can do.  This is what I can do.”

Geneva purses her lips in contemplation.  Then, she looks at her signet again and smiles.  “Know what? I like that.  No point in fussing over what we have or don’t have.  Just do what you can, right?”

“Exactly,” Shirley says.  “Though, I do have to say, Geneva, you seem a bit young to be a soldier.”

“Don’t know if I would call it being a soldier,” Geneva says, looking to Kit for help.  Kit just holds her hands and watches.  Geneva sighs.  “You want to hear me talk about this, too, don’t you?”

“A little.”

“Ugh.  Well, okay, so,” she pouts.  “This is stupid.”

“Come on, we’re all interested, and everyone’s been spilling the beans.” Kit squeezes her hand.  “How did you become a knight?”

Geneva takes a deep breath.  “It was nothing.  There was a monster at the school.  One of those demon, things.  It attacked a teacher—not one of my teachers.  Not that I have teachers, like pets or anything.  And I don’t think I even knew her.  She might have been new.  You know, now that I think about it, how is that for a warm,” she finds everyone staring, “Welcome.”  She swallows.  “Anyway, she was attacked, and I sort of got involved and got the thing to chase me.  Then, Ms. O found me and saved my rear before I got crushed like a grape, and she gave me a ring.  And that is that.”

“Wow,” Shirley says.  “That was very brave of you.”

Geneva looks up, blushes.  She waves her free hand.  “No, no, it wasn’t brave.  It was—What else could I do?  Leave her there?”

“Geneva,” Kit says, staring in open affection and smiling.  She bites her bottom lip and squeezes Geneva’s hand tighter.  “It was super brave.  And kind of hot.”

Geneva’s blush deepens.  “So, anyway, that is my story.”  To end all conversation, Geneva gulps down her water and then stares out the window.

Shirley smiles at them and rests her hand on Claude’s knee.  She sips at her tea before asking, “So, how long have you two been dating?”

“Six months?”  Kit looks at Geneva, who squeaks in response.  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“That’s quite a while.”

“Yeah, we work together.”  Kit smiles at Geneva, who tries to smile back.  She feels more like she is just staring blankly and everyone notices.

“Well, you two certainly are cute together.”

“Ice cream,” Geneva says, pulling her hand free from Kit’s.  “I could, uh, really go for some ice cream.”

Shirley laughs.  “You know, that does sound really good.”  She looks at Claude.  “You want some?”  He shrugs in return, and she stands.  “Well, I do.  And Geneva, we might just be in luck.  There’s an ice cream place just down the street.  We can hoof it over and get some.”

“Kit?”

“I’ll be fine here,” Kit says.  “You ladies have your fun.”

Geneva rounds the table and rushes for the door while Shirley grabs their coats.  “Come on, Shirley, let’s leave the men to scratching themselves and grunting across the table at each other.”

Shirley laughs again.  “Sometimes, you say the strangest things.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

Shirley leads Geneva out into the street, where they are greeted by warm sunlight and cool spring air.  Geneva undoes her jacket and walks with her hands in her pockets.  Shirley wears a long coat that looks almost like a dress on her.  It flows in the breeze, blossoming like a flower.  Geneva is momentarily struck by how pretty Shirley is.

“So, uh, Shirley, tell me about yourself,” Geneva says.  “That’s what I’m supposed to say, right?”

Shirley grins, nods.  “I believe it is, but unfortunately, there’s not much to tell.”

“Oh, come on, you had plenty to say up there about hero-boy.  What, you can’t bring that sort of enthusiasm to your own life?”

Shirley shrugs.  “I’m an only child, so no family to speak of.”

“Well, how do you two know each other then?”

“Claude and I?  We grew up next to each other.  I was always over at his house when I was a kid and, when we grew up, I followed him here.”

Geneva stares at the sidewalk while they walk, following the cracks with her eyes.  She imagines a little man running their length and jumping between fissure whenever he reaches a dead end.  “Sounds like you’re something of a hero yourself, then.”

“What?”

“You gave up everything to follow him here, to help him.  That’s pretty brave, isn’t it?”

Shirley laughs.  “No, it’s nothing like that.  I’ve just,” she smiles, and the sunlight makes the flush of her cheeks glow.  “I think I’ve always loved him, from the moment I met him.  I’d do anything or him.”

“That sounds pretty brave, too.”

“No,” Shirley says, somewhat more insistently.  “Really, it’s not.  Sometimes, I feel a bit selfish, monopolizing him like I do.”

Geneva looks up, stares into Shirley’s blue eyes and pretty face.  “What? No, that’s not—you’re not—listen, just from my own experience at least, I can tell you, fighting all those monsters and all of that, it’s nice to have a shoulder.”

“Like Kit is for you?

Geneva kicks a pebble.  “Sure.”

They walk to the edge of the sidewalk and stop.  Shirley presses the button to cross and then leans against the stoplight, facing Geneva, and watches the younger girl.  “You know, Geneva, I know we’ve only just met, but you can talk to me, too.  About anything you want.”

Geneva shifts her weight.  “Come on, you don’t even know me.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t get to know you.”  The light changes, and they cross quickly together.  Shirley walks closer to Geneva now.  “You have Claude’s number, right?”  A nod.  “Good.  We share the phone, so just call up and say you want to talk to me.  Call it girl-talk, if you like.  It makes men think of lady-problems, and then suddenly they go deaf.”

Geneva grins.  “You’re an evil mastermind, aren’t you?”

Shirley grins in response, knowing yet sweet, and then shrugs.

The next block is taken in comfortable silence.  They move through herds of people, who amble about the streets, enjoying the warm weather and the fresh air.  Geneva watches the ground, looking up only periodically to keep sight of Shirley, who has her head up and meets the world always, invariable, with a smile.

Geneva finds herself wondering how this girl came to be so strong.

They reach another light.  Shirley presses it and waits beside Geneva, bouncing gently with unbridled energy.

“Hey, Shirley, I just—I wanted to let you know, thanks and stuff for your offer.  I don’t know if I’ll ever call.  I’m, well, I’m not much of a talker, but I do appreciate it.”

Shirley winks.  “You’re welcome.  And you don’t have to, I just wanted to put it out there.”  She watches the light, waits for a change.  “Growing up with Claude, with his dreams and his destiny, I know the kind of stress you’re under.  And he’s not the kind to want to talk about it, either.”  She looks at Geneva again.  “You two are kind of similar that way.  Maybe that’s why you’re both heroes.”

Geneva laughs, sudden and deep, eyes wide and waves her arms in disapproval.  “Whoa.  Whoa.  I’m no hero.  I’m just a kid with stick playing dress-up.”

“Then let’s get you some ice cream, kid.”

“Sounds good to me.”

They cross the street and take a right, where they come to a stop in front of the parlor.  It is a small building with a large window and a green-white interior.  A large, red signs in the front door reads ‘closed.’

Geneva groans.

“Sorry.  I didn’t think they would be closed.”

“Not your fault,” Geneva sighs, staring at the sign.  She glares at it.  “You.  We will meet again, and when we do, I’m getting a sundae.  With hot fudge.  Delicious, delicious hot fudge.”

Shirley laughs again.  “Come on, I’ve got some cookies back at the apartment we can snack on.”

“That,” Geneva says, looking at her, “sounds perfect.”

 

The Knights of Sheba 115 A…End

23: Episode Eleven: "Wings" B

The Knights of Sheba 111 B…Start

            Claude is just finishing his breakfast and setting his bowl to rinse when he hears a buzz at the door.  He peeks out the window and finds Geneva waiting.  She looks different as a civilian, younger, more a teenage girl than a knight, and it makes him that much more uncomfortable.

            He goes downstairs to let her in. On the walk back up they don’t speak.  This continues until they are inside of the apartment, and the first thing he does is offer to take her coat.  It doesn’t help at all to ease the tension.

            Geneva paces around the apartment, sizing it up.  After a few weeks, Claude is used to living sparsely, but this is the first time he has had a real visitor and not elves checking his arm, and he has nowhere for her to sit and nowhere to hide the mattress.  So, Geneva stands there, staring at the bed, while he forces a smile. “Sorry, we don’t have much space.”

            “No, it’s fine,” Geneva says, “You live on your own in a city like this.”

            “Well, not on my own.  I have a roommate.  My girlfriend, actually.”

            “Oh.  Cool, cool.”  Geneva goes to the window, peeks out of it.  “You’ve got a nice view of the street.”

            “Yeah,” he says, and he leaves it at that.  He goes around the counter and into the kitchen and asks, “You hungry?  I’m not much of a cook, but I can make something.”

            “No, I’m good.  Thanks.”

            “Okay.”  He turns to face her, leaning against the counter and watching her stare out the window.  When she turns to meet his gaze, they remain like still, silent, blank faces looking for a place to start.

            Geneva clears her throat, crosses her arms.  “So, how’s your arm?”

            “My arm?”  Claude lifts his cast, as if to show it off.  “Should be fine.  The, uh, elves have been taking care of it.”

            “Hmm.  Yeah, they’re pretty organized.”

            “You hurt?”

            “Nothing major.  Just some bruising, a bloody lip.  Had to hide it from my parents.”

            “Parents,” Claude says, “You live at home.  Makes sense.”

            “Right.  I’m only sixteen.  Er, seventeen.  I had a birthday recently, but in all the commotion...”

            “I understand.  Must be crazy, being so young and fighting battles.”

            She shrugs, and they go quiet again.

            Claude traces one finger on the counter, thinks of things to say.  He remembers Nina’s visit, Nina’s request, but feels entirely out of his element.  He isn’t a psychiatrist or therapist of any sort, and he keeps thinking that.  Then, he remembers Shirley’s words, that he is a hero, that he should help Geneva.

            He sighs.  “Okay, I’ll just come out and ask, you been feeling weird ever since the fight?”

            She looks up.  “What?”

            “Like, have you been feeling weird? Or something?”  He rubs his neck with his good hand.  “I don’t know.  I was told you needed someone to talk to about all of this.”

            “Told by who?”

            “Your boss, the blonde lady.  Tall, shortish hair.”

            Geneva’s eyes narrow.  “Oh, that bitch.  Excuse me a second.”

            “Uh.  Sure?”  Claude watches her go out into the hall and listens through the door.  He can hear her muttering to herself for a short time.

            “Yeah, Ms. Olivia?  This is Geneva.  So, figured I needed a little counseling, huh?  Well, session’s over.  I’m ready for my pick-up.”  She pauses, listens, and then says, “No, listen to me.  I don’t need help.  I don’t need your pity or your concern.  I just need you to train me so I don’t die.  That’s it, end of discussion.”  Another pause, then, “Good.  I’ll be waiting.”

            After that Geneva hangs up, Claude sneaks away from the door before she stomps back inside.  She marches into the room and looks around before turning back to face him.  “May I have my jacket?”

            “Yeah,” he says, taking her jacket from the counter and tossing it to her.  While she slips it on, he says, “I take it she didn’t tell you what this is about?”

            “Not at all.”  She stuffs her arm through the second sleeve.  “Sorry, I’m not mad at you. I just don’t like being lied to.”

            “I understand completely, and to be honest, I’m a bit uncomfortable with this entire thing.”

            “Yeah, well…”  She shrugs.  “Thanks, anyway, I guess.  It’s pretty cool of you to try.”

            “No problem.”  He reaches for the door and stops.  “Bu, you know what? You should wait up here instead of waiting outside.”

            “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

            “Nah, I’m going to have to insist.  It’s cold out there, and I really don’t trust my neighborhood.  I mean, you’re seventeen, and…”

            She looks him hard in the eye, and the way her face tenses makes the bruises show.  She seems hardened but also vulnerable.  It makes Claude remember the night of the battle, when she removed her helmet, blood crusted across her lips and her nose.  She seemed so young, so fragile.

            “I can take care of myself.”

            “Okay, but I’d be worried.  So, please?”

            She lingers, her hand on the doorknob, and then shrugs.  “Fine, whatever,” she says, and she unzips her jacket and paces back into the room with her arms crossed.

            “Thanks.  Want anything to drink while you wait?”

            “Nope.”  She leans against the wall and fixes him with her gaze, and she scrutinizes him.  Now, Claude realizes, he is her enemy as well.

            He leans back against the sink and cradles his injured arm, and they remain like this, just watching each other.  Claude runs a few more things through his head, searches for the right answer.  His last attempt didn’t turn out so well, but he feels like the direct approach is still preferable to a lie.

            “Listen, I know it’s troublesome to have people fussing over you.  Hell, Shirley, my girlfriend, she fusses all the time.  When she first moved up here, she came in and started telling me all the ways I needed to run my life, all the ways I messed up, and it left me feeling like a child.”

            “Yeah,” Geneva says, impassively.

            “Yeah.  But, honestly, I can look back at it and say that, as annoying as all the fussing was—is—it’s coming from a good place.  And it always will, because she just wants to help me.”

            “And, what, Ms. Olivia is the same?”

            “No, I’m not saying that.”

            “Implying it, then.  Well, that’s good and all, but I don’t need her help.  And I don’t want it.”

            “And I get that, but it doesn’t mean she can’t offer it.  Especially if she’s worried.  Cause it just shows she cares.”

            “I don’t know why everyone is so worried about me.”

            “Because, you’re a seventeen-year-old girl.”  She gives him a glare, and he says, “Hey, I’m not saying you’re not brave or that you’re weak or defenseless.  What you did the other night was amazing.  Hell, you saved my life.”  He lifts his arm.  “But, you’re still a kid.  And we’re grownups.  And in my opinion, it should be us out there.  Not you.”

            Geneva gives him a long, cold stare.  “You can’t be that much older than me.  You’re what?  Twenty-five?”

            “Twenty-One.”  Claude scratches at his stubble.  “Do I look that old?”

            Geneva shrugs.

            “And anyway, I’ve trained my entire life.  I expected this, from day one.  The minute I realized my gift, I dedicated myself to protecting this world, to fighting monsters like that.  I knew it would happen.  From. Day. One.  Can you say the same about yourself?”

            She stares.

            “What I’m trying to say is, I expected the violence.  Was prepared for it.”

            “So, you’re okay with it,” she asks after some thought.

            “No.  I hate it, the blood, the killing, but I know it’s my duty, my destiny.  I know it keeps people safe, so it’s worth it.”

            “I guess.”  She sighs, hangs her head.

            “Also,” Claude pauses, considers his approach, “I used to keep a lot in.  Take it out on those around me, those who cared.”  He laughs.  “Shirley is fussy, but she has my back, and it helps.  I mean, she’s never out there fighting monsters, and I want to keep it that way.  But when I’m home, and I’m tired, and I can’t keep standing, she lifts me up.”  He finds Geneva staring at him now, looking small, looking young.  “Does that make sense?”

            “Yeah,” she says, “Sounds nice, actually.”

            “I’m not telling you what you should do.  Or what you need to do.  But I know, for me, it helped to let her in.”  He waves his good arm around the tiny apartment and says, “And it got me all of this.”

            Geneva smirks.  “Like a mansion up in here.”

            He laughs and strokes his chin.  “Guess it’s not the most impressive sight.”

            “No, it’s nice.”  Her phone buzzes then, and she finds a message from Ms. Olivia.  She tucks her phone back into her pants.  “She’s here.”

            “Cool.  And, hey, keep in touch.  Not for inspiring talks, but if you ever need help fighting monsters.”

            Geneva zips her jacket, pulls her hood up.  “What? You going to wave your arm at them?”

            “I could be bait,” he offers, and she chuckles.

            “Yeah, we could be a brand new superhero team.  Teenage Girl and Bait Boy.”  She shakes her head.  “Even I wouldn’t read that.”  Smiling, she adds, “But I will keep in touch.”  She opens the door, pauses, and looks back.  “And hey.  Thanks and stuff.”

            Claude nods and waves.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Nina waits outside of Claude’s apartment watching the door.  She thinks to leave, to drive circles around the neighborhood or around the city, just to keep herself occupied.  However she hopes this might help, deep down she has doubts, and without anything to keep her busy, they are bubbling to the surface.

            So, she waits in silence, gripping the steering wheel until her hands hurt and then resting them on her lap.  She stares at the dash and then at her pink, pulsing fingertips, and she tries to think of something, anything else.  Without school work and papers there are too few distractions in her life.

            She decides she needs a hobby.

            A knock on her window pulls her into reality.  She reaches, first, for her glove box and then stops upon seeing Kit standing among the cars outside.  After a breath, she rolls her window down.  “Ms. Wright?”

            “Ms. Olivia.”  Kit’s jacket is too thin for the weather, but she doesn’t seem to notice.  Her stance is tight, and her face twisted into a scowl.  She reminds Nina of enemy soldiers seen on the battlefield, so hardened by rage that it keeps the elements at bay.

            “Can I help you?”

            “Maybe,” Kit says, and she crosses her arms.  Despite her thin frame, she looks formidable.  Nina, having the background she does, isn’t afraid, but she knows most people would pause.  “What’re you doing here?”

            Nina glances ahead, at the apartment building that Geneva just entered.  Kit knows Geneva and knows something is wrong.  She must have followed them there.  Nina looks back to Kit.  “I know someone who lives here and was just coming in for a visit.  It’s so cold out, I was looking for my gloves but couldn’t find them.”

            Kit’s jaw tightens, and her scowl deepens.  “Don’t lie,” she says, and her tone indicates that it’s not a request.  “What is Geneva doing here?”

            Nina pauses, takes a deep breath.  She fixes her hands around the steering wheel again.  “Ms. Wright...”

            “Is this what you do when you tutor her?”  Kit is yelling now, flailing and pacing in place.  She has tears in her eyes, borne of frustration and rage.  Her face is red, and she is shaking, but she still isn’t cold.  “Who is in that building? Huh? Who is that guy who met her at the door?” She stops and plants her feet, and her fists are white around the knuckle.  “What the hell are you making her do in there?”

            “Ms. Wright, I understand your concern, and I understand how this might look, but I assure you, I can explain.”

            “Then explain.  And do it fast before I call the cops.”

            Nina opens her mouth, thinks, closes her mouth.  She sees a shiver move through Kit and wonders just how much restraint the young woman is showing in that moment.  On instinct, Nina runs through all the way she can neutralize Kit, all the weaknesses she can exploit.  Kit is a strong girl, and she carries herself well, but she isn’t trained.  She could be dead in an instant.

            “Ms. Wright, would you like to come into the car.  It’s quite cold out there.”

            Kit stares her in the eyes.  “No.”

            Nina sighs.  “Really, it is a lot to explain, and I would feel better if you...”

            “No.  Now, start talking.”

            Nina meets Kit’s gaze again, and she can see everything in her eyes.  She can see all of the hate, all of the hurt, she can see everything Kit thinks of her, and she knows that lies will only make it worse.  Now, she plays it all out from Kit’s perspective, a new teacher calling on Geneva at all hours, pulling her away at a moment’s notice and taking her to strange places and to strange people. 

Nina releases the steering wheel. “Well, let’s start with this.  How long have you been following us?”

            Kit purses her lips and narrows her eyes.

            “I ask only so that I might know where to start.”

            “Just today, just now.”

            “I see, then that will make this more difficult, but I will do my best.”  Nina pauses to regard Kit again and finds her rooted in place.  A wind passes through, shifting the snow, and Nina shivers.  Kit doesn’t.  “As you might have figured out, this is not tutoring, and I do not tutor Ms. Oaks.”

            “Duh.”

            “But I do teach her, in a sense.  I instruct her in the ways of combat, as unbelievable as that may be.  You see, Ms. Oaks is a knight, the first in approximately two thousand years, sworn to protect humanity from a monster-threat equally ancient and forgotten.”

            Kit listens and stares.  Her expression doesn’t change, and she doesn’t move at all, save for the soft shifting of her torso and nostrils as he breaths through her anger.

            “And she is here because I am worried about her.  You see, not long ago, on the night of the party that I called her away from, she went off to fight one of those monsters, a terribly powerful one, and she came back hurt, perhaps even broken, in ways that I am untrained to mend.  She met that man in there,” she nods toward the apartment, “during that battle, and I am hoping that he might help her in a manner which I cannot.”

            They go quiet, with only the sound of the city to fill the silence between them.  Nina stares calmly into Kit’s eyes and is stared at hatefully in return.  The tension between them keeps the world at bay, to the point where even Nina can hardly feel the cold.  She is just about to speak when Kit finally says, “Knights? Monsters? You really expect me to believe that.”

            “Not at all, but I would rather tell the truth that you won’t believe than a lie that you won’t believe.”

            “This is stupid.  I’m calling the cops.”

            “Ms. Wright, please, calm down and listen to me.  Consider, if you would, Ms. Oak’s tumble outside of the school and her mention of green men?  Or her injury at the park and the mugger which I saved her from?  Her disappearance from the party on the night of the damages down town?  Whether you believe my story or not, these facts at least corroborate my story to some extent, don’t you think?”

            Kit has her phone out already, but she stops with her fingers hovering over the keys.  She slips it back into her pocket and breaths into her hands before crossing her arms again.  The scowl remains, though it has softened some.  “Okay, let’s assume I believe you—which I don’t, because it’s nuts—why would Geneva be doing this?  Why is she the knight?”

            Another hard question, another hard answer, but Nina can see Kit’s wheels turning.  The cops won’t be the problem.  If called, Erak will have the entire situation handle, and he will have Kit handled, too, if for nothing else to get back at Geneva.  He is already looking for collateral to settle their issues, so Nina opts to try the truth again for the sake of brevity.

            “Because from the moment that I have met Ms. Oaks she has risked herself to protect everyone in her path,” Nina says.  “She fought for you, albeit non-literally, saved a teacher at the school, saved two young people at the park on the day in which she was injured.  If I am to find a protector, I think it best to look for one who comes by it naturally.”

            “Wait, you’re saying she got hurt protecting people from the mugger, or the monster, or whatever?”

            Nina nods, and Kit turns a small circle.  She paces around, chewing her lip and staring at the ground.  Then she stops and shakes her head.  “No.  No, no, this is too weird.”  She meets Nina’s eyes.  “I mean.  How?  How could anything you’re saying be real?”

            “I imagine it must be difficult for you to believe.”

            Kit frowns again.  “If it is real, why wouldn’t she just tell me?”

            “Because, she is protecting you.”

            “From monsters?”

            “No.  From the people I work for.”

            “The school?”

            Nina laughs gently until she remembers herself, and then she shakes her head.  “No. Different people, very different people, and far worse, and they want this—the knights, the demons, themselves—to all be a secret.  They want it so badly that they would hurt you if you ever found out, and I would be hard pressed to stop them.”

            “I’m not afraid.”

            “Perhaps you should be.”

            “Then why are you telling me?”

            Nina looks up.  “Because it is preferable to hurting you myself.”  Another silence follows, interrupted by the sound of Nina’s phone.  She pulls it from her pocket and checks it.  “It is from Ms. Oaks,” she says, and she looks to Kit, who nods, and then answers it.  “Hello?  Already?  But, I had thought you would want to—Ah.  Yes.  Fine.  I’ll be back soon.”  Nina hangs up and stares at her phone.  “That did not go as I had hoped.”

            “What? He refuse to pay?”

            Nina frowns.  “Ms. Wright.”

            “What? This all still sounds crazy to me.”

            Nina sighs and stuffs her phone away.  She exits the car and steps in front of Kit, being about the same height as her.  “Fine then.  She is just inside, and I am sure we can ask her directly, though I’m sure you already have, and she evaded the question entirely.”

            Kit hugs her arm and chews her bottom lip again.  For the first time, she doesn’t meet Nina’s gaze.

            “I’ll be succinct, Ms. Wright.  She is no whore, as you seem to believe.  She is simply a young woman on a dangerous path.  Worse than that, she is a young woman unwilling to share her burden with anyone around her who might be able to help, and I know that is what matters most to you.  Helping her, and I can respect that.  So, if you still don’t believe me, then I will wait and let you call the cops on me, but when they arrive, they will find no drugs and no coercion.  Just a young woman who knows that you have been looking into her life after, I imagine, she explicitly asked you not to.”

            Finally, Kit softens and recoils, and Nina feels for the first time like she can walk away from this without anyone getting hurt.

            “It all must be confusing. It was for her, too, and if it helps, I think it is good what you are trying to do, and I know that Ms. Oaks needs the help.  Were I in the position to allow it, I would have told you everything from the start to make it easier on both of you.  As it is, however, this must remain a secret.”

            Kit looks at her again and tries to glare, but she is feeling the cold now, and all she can do is sigh.  She rubs her nose and her eyes and then smooths her hair back, looking for the first time like a woman her age and not like someone far older and more serious.  “This all still sound crazy, but I’ve got a pretty solid bullcrap meter,” she says, and she meets Nina’s gaze again and gives yet another sigh.  “She really fights monsters?”

            “She really fights monsters.”

            “God,” Kit says, hugging herself for warmth and for comfort.  She laughs quietly and without humor.  “I really don’t know if I like that anymore than the alternative.  Will she be okay?”

            “So far she has survived,” Nina says.  “And, if she’s ever in over her head, I promise you, I will be there to help her along.”

            “Good.  I mean, I don’t really believe it.  Not all of it, anyway, but I don’t think she’s doing anything against her will or anything,” she trails off.  “Point is, I don’t know what is going on, but if I decide to change my mind, yours is the first name I’m giving to the cops.”

            “That will suit me just fine.  And thank you for your discretion.”

            Kit rolls her eyes. “You’re ice cold, you know that?  And a little scary.”  She rubs warmth into her cheeks.  “Whatever, I’m going now.  And, don’t worry, I won’t say anything to Geneva.”

            “Yes.”  Nina checks her phone.  “And I should be getting to her anyway.”

            Kit lingers and watches Nina cross the street, but by the time Nina reaches the door, Kit is already leaving for her car.  Nina waits at the doorway to watch Kit drive off and then sends Geneva a message to let her know that her ride has arrived.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

           

            The candles flicker and make the shadows in the room dance.  Geneva watches them absently, her mind elsewhere.  She shakes out the match used to light them and rests it in the ash tray nearby.  Meanwhile, her sister is busy setting out place mats and plates for their meal.

            Their mother checks the roast and then closes the oven.  Next, she checks her watch.  “God knows where your father is,” she says, wiping sweat from her brow.

            “He’ll be home soon,” Beatrice says.  Now she is setting the silverware.

            “He has been late every night this week.”  Their mother stirs some mashed potatoes on the stove.  “I’m not letting our food go cold again waiting for him.”

            True to her word, their mother pulls the roast a few minutes later and they settle in for a quiet supper.  Geneva keeps her eyes fixed on the plate during the meal while her mother watches the door.  Their father still isn’t home by the time they finish eating, and they start cleaning up.  Beatrice offers to do it herself, and Geneva takes the chance to return to her room.

            She does her exercises before going for a shower.  After that, she prepares for bed.  While dressing, she hears the door downstairs open and then hears her parents arguing in hushed tones. Their voices are quiet but the intensity of their conversation carries through the walls.  She ignores it and curls up into bed, folding a pillow over her head to shut out the noise.

            The argument is short-lived, but the night is not, she finds.  She feels restless and hasn’t had proper training in days. She climbs from bed and tries to play a video game to pass the time, but it can’t hold her attention.  The conversation with Claude keeps replaying, as does the long, tense car ride home that followed.

            She keeps looking out her window.  Snow is falling again in a lazy flurry.  Outside, the light from the streetlamps bounce off the collected snow and reflect on the low hanging clouds.  It makes the sky burn purple and yellow.  She wonders idly if Claude does the same thing at night when he is alone, but she knows that it is different.

            Even though he is injured, and even though he may not have anything with him at times, he is never at alone.  He has someone who will always support him, who will pick him up and carry him when he is too tired to carry himself.  She feels the bruises on her face, the scab on her lip, and she feels alone.

            She stares at herself and finds that months of training have brought on subtle changes.  She is slimmer now and shows muscle when she flexes.  Long days of hard work no longer leave her aching, and any time off has her pacing her room at night, anxious and sleepless.  Even bruises don’t hurt in the same way they used to.

            She thinks about the people in her life, about her mother, about her father, about Beatrice and Kit, and she thinks about Claude and Shirley.  It is different for her.  Claude told her that he always knew how special he was, but Geneva never knew.  Even now, she isn’t even sure that she is special.  She is just a teenage girl telling lies to the people she should trust most with the truth.

            Even if she wanted to share, though, she never will.  Relations with the elves, with Erak, are tense enough.  Involving Beatrice or Kit in any of it would only complicate matters.  At best, it will earn her a lecture, and at worst, it will get them hurt.  She trusts Ms. Olivia to do right by her, as much as she can trust the woman who deemed it necessary to make her, Geneva, a soldier, but she isn’t willing to give Erak an inch.

            She goes to the window and watches the snow again.  It is gathering quickly, casting the landscape in a pristine, white blanket.  It all looks polished and seems to glow in the night, casting its light up into her room.  Geneva presses her fingers to the glass of her window and can feel the chill outside trying its best to bleed its into her room.

            She is alone, in an empty room and an empty life, without anyone to catch her when she falls.

            She opens her window and climbs out onto the roof in her bare feet and pajamas.  The air is cold and silent, and there is no breeze.  She breathes in and feels the chill in her lungs and then her entire body, and it is bracing.  Before climbing higher, she makes sure to close her window to keep the warmth inside of the house, and then she makes a clumsy path up the slanted roof of her home.

            At the top of the house she comes to a stop, and she stands there, staring down at her back yard.  Her toes are numb, and a breeze stirs, catching her hair and sending goose pimples across her skin.  She shivers and climbs carefully over to the edge.  It is a two story drop with only light powder to catch her.

            She holds up her right hand and stares at her signet ring.  Over the past few months her life has changed so much.  She has changed so much, and she had to.  She had to learn and grow so quickly just to stay alive, and still she feels like she is behind.  War certainly doesn’t seem to be calling, and the thought of her as a soldier still makes her want to laugh.

            She closes her hand and closes her eyes, and she breaths in the cold again.  Regardless of how she feels about it and of how far behind she is, she is a knight now, however poorly suited she may be.  It is like Ms. Olivia says—it was her decision, and she refuses to fail.  She will protect people no matter the cost.

            The signet warms and spreads across her body, stealing the cold from the night.  She looks over the edge of her house again and nearly tumbles forward.  She is alone there, balancing at the edge of the roof, with no one to catch her if she falls, but she realizes something that she didn’t understand before.  She doesn’t need anyone to catch her.  She has wings.

            She walks back to the center of the roof and takes a deep breath.  “I’m a knight,” she says, to herself and to the night, and she fixes her gaze on the roof’s edge.  “I’m a knight, and I can do this.  I can fly.”

            Another deep breath.  “I can fly,” she says, barely a whisper in the darkness, and she sprints along the roof, her feet running a thin line across its angles and ridges.  At the edge, she leaps, and her armor augments her strength enough to throw her farther than she intended.  She sails high into the air, making it a few feet before reaching acme, and then plummets.

            “I can do this!”

            She feels momentarily weightless but the ground is coming up at her fast.  She braces for impact, her heart hammering so hard against her chest that it hurts, and she keeps repeating it to herself.  She is a knight.  She can do this.  She can fly.  No one will catch her when she falls, so she will catch herself.

            Briefly, in the back of her head, she sees a dragon with bird-like wings and feathers as white as snow.  Then, she slows, and there is no impact.  She opens her eyes to see the snowy earth drifting by inches beneath her.  Two wings, each twice the length of her arms and white as the fresh snow surrounding her have grown from her armor and now carry her on the wind.

            She goes a few feet before losing altitude.  Her descent is light and the landing painless as she rolls a few times and slides to a stop at the fence at the far end of her backyard.  When she sits up, she feels the back plate of her armor and finds the wings missing, but she is smiling at the distance she went.  She falls back and laughs and makes a snow angel around her as she shouts into the darkness.  “Ha!  Haha!  I knew it!  I can fly!  I can really fly!”

            The light comes on over the back door and Geneva’s parents step out into the darkness.  Her mother is in a robe and her father is wearing only his underwear and carrying a baseball bat.  They stare out into the darkness, and her father squints.

            “Geneva?”

            She approaches them timidly with snow gathering in her hair.  Her pajamas are damp as she hops and skips through the snow, trying to avoid the deepest areas.  She comes to a stop in front of them with wet ankles and wet hair.  “Uh, hey, guys.”

            Her father lowers his bat.  “What in the world are you doing out here, honey?”

            “Ah.  Heh.”  Geneva looks back at the fence, at the signs of her landing which are slowly being covered by snow.  She looks at them again and shrugs.  “Going for a walk?”

            “In the middle of winter,” her mother snaps, “And with no shoes?’  She grabs Geneva by the arm and yanks her inside.  While her mother fusses over her, Geneva’s father follows them inside.  “What in the world were you thinking,” her mother says, dusting the snow from Geneva’s shoulders.  “You could have gotten frostbite!”

            “I was only in the back yard, mom.”  Geneva ducks out of her mother’s grip and looks them both in the eye.  “I’m sorry.  Really.  I just couldn’t sleep and needed some fresh air.”

            Her father sets the bat aside.  “Think you can sleep now?”

            Geneva wiggles her toes, which feel both wet and numb.  “Yeah, think I’m ready for a nice warm blanket.”

            “Good.  Then get up to bed and I’ll bring you some cocoa,” her mother says, and she is in the kitchen before an argument can be made.  The light comes on, and Geneva hears pots being moved around.

            She looks at her father with water still dripping from her hair.  “I don’t really need cocoa.”

            He smirks and scratches his mustache.  “Yeah, but you’re getting some anyway.  So, get up to your room, dry off, and change out of those clothes, okay?”

            “But...”

            He ruffles her hair.  “Let her take care of you once in a while.  Tonight, at least.  She’s had a long night, too.”

            Geneva sighs.  “Okay.”  She starts down the hall and up the stairs, and she stops partway to look at him over the bannister.  “Could you tell her to add some marsh-mellows?”

            Her father smiles.  “I got you.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

           

            The next morning Nina arrives early to pick Geneva up.  Geneva joins her in the SUV and before they can pull away, Geneva’s mother joins them, too.  She stands at the door while Nina rolls the window down and gives a glowing smile. 

“So, you must be Ms. Olivia.”

            “I am,” Nina says.  Geneva buckles her seatbelt in silence.  Nina extends her hand, and Mrs. Oaks shakes it.  “And you are Ms. Oak’s mother.”

            “Mrs. Oaks,” she says.  “I just wanted to come out and tell you how much we appreciate all of the extra effort you’ve put into our little Geneva.  She’s such a smart girl.  She just doesn’t apply herself.”

            “Yes.  Well.”  Nina glances at Geneva, who stares ahead blankly.  Then, she looks back at Mrs. Oaks’ tired face. “I believe in her,” she says with a small smile.

            “That is so good to hear.  You know, I work in education, too.  I’m a part-timer, and so many times—too many times—I see teachers who have burned out.  Who’ve given up on their students.”  She smiles and smooths Geneva’s hair.  “Thank you for not giving up on her.”

            “I would never.”

            “We should really get going, mom,” Geneva says, trying and failing to avoid her mother’s hands.

            Mrs. Oaks nods.  “Oh, of course.  Don’t want to hear your poor, old mother carrying on.”  She looks passed Geneva.  “Do you have any children…”

            “Nina, ma’am.  And no, I don’t.”

            “Too young,” Mrs. Oaks says.

            “I’m older than you might think.”

            “Well, either way, they grow up too fast.  Anyhow, you two have work to do.  I just wanted to thank you.” She waves and mutters a quick goodbye before they pull out.  Nina watches her disappear through her rearview mirror and then turns a street.

            Geneva slouches down in her seat, puts her feet up.  She has her jacket partway undone and stares out the window.  “So, that was my mother.”

            “I see.”

            Geneva shifts in her seat.  “Sometimes, I think they’re too gullible, believing all of this tutor stuff.”

            “Oh?”  Nina gives a sidelong glance.

            “Tutors don’t normally come pick you up from your house.  Or leave bruises.”

            “Sometimes, parents simply don’t want to believe harsh truths.”

            “Yeah, and I guess it’s for the best.  I wouldn’t want them thinking you beat me or something.”  Geneva smirks.  “Or for them to know the truth.”

            “No.  I think that might be much worse.”

            They arrive at the school shortly and head straight for the gymnasium.  Once inside, Geneva strips her jacket and calls her armor.  Nina praises her skill and asks to see the wand.  They train, briefly.  Even in the armor, Geneva hesitates and fumbles, and she spends much of her time on the ground or unarmed.

            After that, they train with the air currents.  This time, they are careful not to damage the lights.  Geneva shows surprising finesse with her wand.  While clumsy with more complex movements or gestures, she takes to it much more easily than combat.

            “Okay,” Nina says after watching a bottle sail across the gym floor, “Now, I think it is time to try the wings again, if you’re feeling up to it.”

            Nina can’t see it, but Geneva is smiling inside of her helm, and she sheaths her wand into place on her hip.  “Oh, I’m ready, but this place is a little cramped.  What do you say we go outside?”

            “Ms. Oaks, all due respect, we’re likely to be seen if we’re out in the parking lot.  The gym is much safer.”

            “Yeah, but I wasn’t talking about the parking lot.” Geneva points up.  “I was talking about the roof.  Can you get us up there?”

            “Well, yes, but I don’t think that is safe.  You haven’t even conjured your wings yet, and…”

            “Just get me to the roof.  I’ll take care of the rest.”

            “Ms. Oaks, are you sure?”

            “Trust me,” Geneva says.  “I know I can do this, Ms. Olivia.  I can fly.”

            Nina fingers her keys while hesitating.  She thinks on the ramifications of Geneva’s death, on the suffering of those nearest to her, on her promise to Kit to keep Geneva safe, and then she stares into Geneva’s visor and imagines a young woman staring resolutely back.  She nods.  “Fine, if you’re certain.”

            They gather their things, and Nina leads Geneva through the empty halls. She takes her to the top of the school, out onto the roof.  Snow has gathered on the flat surface and melted into the wet pebbles.  They step over ventilation shafts, Geneva now leading, as they cross toward the edge of the roof facing the sports’ fields.

            Geneva looks over.  The school is set on a steep hill, which leads down toward the fields.  From here, they can see the track field, the baseball diamond, the soccer field, and the fence that blocks off the wooded area where the gate tree is.

            Nina watches Geneva stand there, arms out, as if testing the wind.  The armor protects her from the cold, but Nina can feel the bite of it in her limbs.  “Ms. Oaks, are you certain this is safe?”

            “Absolutely.”  She turns to Nina and puts her arms down.  “Last night, I was thinking.  I couldn’t fly because I was too afraid to let go, too afraid because even if I did,” she shakes her head.  “I was too scared to jump, because I knew that no one could catch me.  But, if you don’t jump, then you can’t fly, because…”

            “Because, why, Ms. Oaks?”

            “Because you can’t fly if you’re afraid of falling,” Geneva says, a smile in her face, and she steps off of the school.

            Nina screams, rushes forward and nearly falls from the school herself.  When she looks over the edge, however, Geneva is missing.  In the distance, she sees something dart up into the pale sky.  It twirls in the air and then dives back down in a white blur.  When Nina’s eyes catch up, she can see the figure in detail, white armor wrapped around a seventeen-year-old body, suspended in the air by two long, white wings stretching from her back, the feathers bristling in the wind.

            Geneva spirals on her dissent and floats just above the surface of the ground.  She flies small circles around the field until she finally plummets, landing hard on the baseball diamond and coming to a stop at its center.

            Nina grabs their things and sprints down.  They meet on the diamond, with Geneva sitting in the snow, her helmet off, smiling and laughing as Nina approaches.  Her wings are gone, and she is steaming slightly in the cold.  When Nina arrives, Geneva recalls her armor and takes her jacket.

            “Ms. Oaks, that was outstanding!”

            “I told you could I fly.”  Geneva zips her jacket up triumphantly.

            “Yes, you did, but how did you know?”

            “Well, I did it last night.  Used my roof.”  Geneva looks at the school.  “Bigger drop but same principle.”

            “Yes, quite impressive, but how did you figure it out last night, I mean.”

            Geneva shrugs.  “I didn’t.  I just jumped.”

            “You just—You could have died.”

            “I didn’t.”  Geneva stuffs her hands in her pockets.  “Like I said, you can’t fly if you’re afraid to fall.  I’m a knight, now. I can’t keep being afraid.”

            Nina stares at her for a moment, worries that this bravado is a front, and then decides that it is progress.  Geneva isn’t fixed, and may never be, but she is better.  There is light in her eyes, and perhaps a youthful flush and excitement to her cheeks.  “You did well.  Come, we’ve studied enough for the day.”

            “What? We’re done already?”

            Nina nods and makes Geneva turn toward the parking lot.  “Yes, you’ve made plenty of progress, and I think you should rest, because from here on, things will only become more difficult.”

            Geneva sighs and hangs her head.  “Of course, they will.”

 

The Knights of Sheba 111...End

24: Episode Twelve: "Damsel" A

Episode Twelve: Damsel

            The phone rings, and Nina bolts up and answers it.  “Hello.  Nina speaking.”

            “Is that how humans answer their phones,” Erak asks, speaking elven.

            Nina rubs sleep from her eyes, checks her alarm clock and then her window.  The sun isn’t out yet.  She sets the alarm down and rests against the headboard of her bed.  “I’m sorry,” she responds, also in elven.  “I didn’t—I only heard the phone ring and answered.”

            “In a human tongue.  It’s fine.  We’ll say you’re in deep cover, not that you’ve forgotten your people.”  He pauses.  “We can continue in English, if you prefer.  If it would make you more comfortable.”

            “No, sir.” Nina sits up.  “May I ask why you are calling so early?”

            “I wanted to speak with you. To get your opinion on a matter.”  She hears papers shuffling on his end.  “I understand that we’ve had our differences, but I like to think we’re both in this for the same reason.  We care about our people, about the elven people, and about the destiny that awaits us all.”

            “Of course, sir,” she says, and she leaves it there.

            “I worry about it, lieutenant.  About our destiny.  Even just a few months ago it seemed so clear, so clean, but the waters have grown muddy.  The return of the demons, and then the return of the knights.  The humans say history repeats itself, don’t they?”

            “I believe so, sir.”
            He sighs.  “I’m no scholar, lieutenant.  I’ve dedicated my life to this council, to its military, and to the protection of my people.  I am a soldier and damn proud of it, but if I know my history, then these signs are not good.  They’re not good at all.”

            “We’re strong, sir.  We’ll weather it.”

            “We’re the strongest,” Erak says.  “Again, I know we’ve had our disagreements, but I like to think at the end of the day our interests are the same.  That we share a common goal.  That despite our differences, we can work together.  So, what do you say?  Shall we set aside our differences and do what is best for our people?”

            Nina pauses and lets the words settle in the darkness.  She knows the question but not the intent, which is dubious considering his judgment.  Carefully, she says, “With all due respect for your rank and name, sir, while I do think we both mean well, I am not so certain our differences can be set aside.”

            He is quiet for a time.  Then, his rage showing through the harshness of his voice, “And why not, lieutenant?”

            “Because, sir, while I do believe in your good intentions, I do not believe that you’re doing what is best for our people.”

            “I see.  That is unfortunate, and I hope, for your sake, that you and yours are not swallowed up by this storm.”

            “Sir?”

            “It’s nothing,” he says, and in English he adds, “Go back to sleep.  Wouldn’t want to miss your day in training your little human pet, would you?”  Without waiting for a response, he hangs up and leaves Nina sitting in the dark, holding her phone, and contempling the future.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            “Very good,” Nina says later that day as they finish Geneva’s warm-up exercises.  Without gym class, Nina has taken to giving Geneva floor exercises to keep her in shape. Geneva is just finishing up her last lap around the gym and approaches Nina for a towel and a bottle of water.  She takes a long, liberal drink while Nina says, “Your endurance has improved greatly.”

            “Yeah,” Geneva says through heavy pants.  She wipes her face with the towel and then slings it over her shoulder before returning to the water.

            “And your melee skills have improved, as well.  In truth, I am quite impressed with the progress you’ve made.”

            Geneva rolls her eyes, clicks the lid shut.  She goes to her gym bag and starts digging through it.  “I can hardly touch you.  Still spend most of my time on the floor.  If that’s progress, then I’ve been making steady progress my entire life and never knew it.”

            “It is something, Ms. Oaks.  You don’t give yourself enough credit.  Remember, you’re not a soldier.”

            “Wasn’t a soldier.”  Geneva tosses the towel onto her bag and then looks at her ring.  “Don’t have time for not-a-soldier anymore.  Have to be ready for the next attack.”

            “Yes, well, the demons seem to have quieted some since the last battle.  Anyhow, it isn’t just your combat skills that have impressed me.  You do quite well with the wand-work and the flight, much better than I expected.  Which is surprising, considering our limited information on the subjects.”

            “Maybe that helps?  I mean, like, I don’t have to learn it anyone else’s way, so I just do what feels right.”  She shrugs and shakes her head.  “I sound like I’m nuts.”

            “No, it makes sense.”  Nina grabs their coats and throws Geneva hers.  They gather their bags together and exit the gym.  The day is mild, for winter, being warmer than usual.  Periodically, the sun peaks out from behind the clouds, but it never lingers.  The forecast, Nina knows, calls for snow again.

            Nina pulls her coat tight.  “Have you spoken with Claude recently?”

            Geneva glares.  “Really?”

            “I am simply curious.”

            “You don’t get to ask about that.”  They reach the car together, and Geneva waits for Nina to unlock it before opening her door.  “Not for a long, long time.”

            “Of course.” Nina sighs and gets in.  Sometimes, conversing with Geneva is disturbingly similar to battle.  The only difference is that Nina can’t seem to find the danger zones until she is already caught by enemy fire.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Shirley wakes early Saturday morning and stretches.  She has the day off, and Claude will be out.  It is his first day back at work after his injury, and while his hand isn’t fully healed yet, his manager is kind enough to give him hours to help ease the financial strain.  As a reward for his efforts, Shirley plans to sneak out and buy him a bow and maybe a jacket for the cold weather.

            She smiles as she thinks of him and reaches out for him, her boyfriend.  It is a strange but comforting thought that after so many years things became what they are, that they became who they are.  From the start she knew he was special to her, and that she was meant for him.

            The bed is empty beside her.  She feels around the sheets and then opens her eyes, wincing in the dull light and finds Claude up, pacing the floor on his bare feet.  He looks deep in thought but is moving quietly so as not to wake her.

            She sits up.  “Good morning,” she yawns. Claude stops, smiles at her, and watches her stand.  They hug and kiss, and Shirley yawns again and goes to the kitchen to prepare coffee.  She has the pot filling in the sink while Claude resumes his pacing.  “You okay?”

            “I’m,” Claude rubs his neck, “I’m fine.”

            “Claude.”

            He sighs and joins her in the kitchen, leans against the wall.  “I had another dream.  I’ve had a few lately.”

            “Special dreams?”

            “I think so.  I keep seeing a dragon, and a girl, and a white building.  It’s tall, like a castle or a keep, and there’s a tree shining in the distance.  It’s like the dreams that led me here.”  Claude rubs his chin, stares at her but doesn’t see her.  “I think the keep is the school, the one that girl goes to.”

            “Geneva?”

            “Yeah.  And the tree is the tree.”  He tugs at his hair.  “There’s all this light, I don’t know.”

            “Maybe the girl is Geneva?”  She puts the water on the stove and turns to him, tilting her head.  “Are you dreaming about another woman, mister?”

            “No, I promise.”

            “I’m just playing.”  A warm smile breaks across her face, and she crosses the distance between them and hugs him.  “What do you think it means, though?”

            “I,” he slouches against her, “I have no idea, but it feels important.”

            “You’ll figure it out.”  She kisses his nose and returns to the stove, flicking it on.

            “You think so?”

            She looks at him over her shoulder, smiles with all the warmth and welcome of spring.  “Yup.  I believe in you.”

            “I guess someone has to.”

            She laughs.  “Trust me, I believe enough for the both of us.”  She crosses the room again and this time pokes his stomach.  “Now, go put some clothes on.  You have work today, remember?”

            “Don’t remind me.”  He sighs and shuffles out of the kitchenette to their dresser.

            “Oh, don’t you complain.”  She kicks his rear gently on his way out.  “You should be happy to be getting out of the apartment, and I deserve a little time to myself.”

            “So you keep saying.”  Claude pauses with his shirt halfway down his torso.  “Why is that?”

            “Had my eye on a local barista.  Been wanting to invite him up for a private chat.”  She flashes him a grin, and he returns it in kind.

            “Not funny.”  Claude returns to her, closes in, and she retreats, a squeal swelling inside of her.  He catches her and tickles her with his good hand while she breaks out into a fit of laughter, flailing.  They fall against the counter together, him now holding her in his arms.

            She is still laughing, though she is breathless.  “What? Are you the jealous type?”

            “Maybe a little.”

            “Well, don’t be.”  She turns in his arms, wraps her arms around his neck and smiles up at him.  Looking at him so close, as she has for the past few months, distorts his features.  Sometimes, she thinks how she never really knew him until she knew him.  Seeing him so close, so vulnerable, she gets a new perspective, and it helps her to realize how much she likes the shape of his nose and the cut of his jaw.  “I love you.”

            He smiles.  “I love you, too,” he says, and he holds her and kisses her deeply.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The house is quiet, as it has been for the past few weeks.  Geneva figures it’s a way for her mother to worry without worrying.  Normally, Geneva would kill for quiet, but she is quickly finding that her mother without worry simply isn’t her mother.

            Her father, too, has been strange lately.  His normal vigor and laughter is lost.  His smiles lack warmth and his jokes lack punch.  He seems tired and quiet, and often he is out late, working side jobs to bring in a little more money.

            Money troubles are the only constant in her life.  Her parents have never made their income problems a secret, and Geneva would never ask them to.  Her mother works part-time as a substitute  teacher where she can, but lately her father has been the only one working, and her mother has been sparse on the details.

            Geneva picks at her pasta and looks up at everyone around the table.  It is the first time in weeks they have eaten together, and no one is talking.  In all her life, Geneva can’t recall a single moment similar to this, and she feels somehow responsible for it.

            Briefly, she considers coming clean.  They worry over her, as families do, and ever since the battle she has been more difficult than usual.  As much as she denies it, to them and to herself, she knows deep down that it’s true.  She also knows that, if they worry because she has been quiet lately, that they wouldn’t be able to handle the truth.

            Claude tells Shirley everything, and knowing that makes Geneva consider confiding in Kit, though she imagines it will be much like telling her mother.  Kit fusses every bit as much, only with slightly more aggression and a touch less guilt.

            While surveying the table, Geneva finds Beatrice looking back at her.  They are the only ones not staring at their plates.  Timid, Geneva smiles, and Beatrice raises a solitary eyebrow, as if asking Geneva if she is out of her funk.  Geneva is about to speak, to start some irreverent conversation that will hopefully bring her family back for at least one supper, when her pocket vibrates.

            She goes stiff, and Beatrice’s eyebrows knit now.  “Hey, Gene, you okay?”

            “Ah.  Yeah.”  Geneva presses the phone off through her pocket.  “I just have to, uh, bathroom.”

            “Oh.  A sudden one? Those are the worst.”

            “Beatrice!”  Their mother finally looks up from her plate.  “Don’t be crass.”

            “Right, right.  I forgot, no feces at the table.  Something of a family tradition, right?”

            Their mother’s face shifts, losing its cold, calculated apathy and adopting a familiar frown, and it is a surprisingly welcome sight.  “Now, don’t be getting smart, miss.  Geneva, you are excused, if you need to.”

            “Thanks.”  Geneva hops from her chair and rushes up the stairs.  She slips into the bathroom and locks the door, turning the facet on for good measure.  Then, she pulls out her cellphone and returns Ms. Olivia’s call.

            “Ms. Oaks?”

            “Yeah, sorry, I was eating supper with my family and,” Geneva kneels down in the tub and pulls the curtain.  She is sure that it won’t do much to hide their conversation, but it makes her feel more secure.  “Anyway, what do you need?”

            “Another demon has gotten through it seems, and we need you to mobilize.  I will be by your house in a moment to pick you up, and I need you out there waiting.”

            Geneva sinks down into the tub, leans back against the cold, hard plastic.  For a moment, she sees snow falling, pure white, and then it dissolving into red.  She sees chunks of green flesh lying, half-singed and still smoking, clinging tightly to the bone.  She feels the concussive force of an explosion rattling her rib cage and tensing her neck.

            “Ms. Oaks, did you hear me? We need you ready.”

            Geneva swallows hard, sits up.  “I heard you.  I’ll be ready.”

            “Good, I’ll be there soon.”

            “Right.”  Geneva hangs up and lingers, gripping the phone so tightly her fingers ache.  Slowly, she lifts her right hand and gazes at the signet ring, and she realizes she is shaking. Her breaths are slow and choked.  Someone knocks at the door.

            “Gene, you okay in there? We’re all worried that you’ve lost a few organs in the battle.  Well, mom doesn’t think that can happen, but she said she’s worried all the same.  She’s just that sort of person.”  Beatrice pauses, waits, and then says, “Seriously, though, are you okay?”

            “I’m fine,” she calls through the door, but she feels shaky, sick.  Her voice is steady though.  Even if she can’t lie to herself, she can still manage lie to others.  “Just washing my hands.  Made a bit of a mess.”

            “Okay, first, ew.  Second, I don’t want to know.  Third, we’re getting dessert ready.  Mom bought that pie you like.”

            “Cool.  I’ll be there soon.”

            “Okay. In that case, I won’t eat your piece.”

            “Thanks.”  Geneva accompanies her words with a half-hearted laugh and then waits a few seconds before pulling the curtain back.

            She climbs unsteadily from the tub and balances herself against the sink, and she stares at herself, pale and wide-eyed and unready, in the mirror.  “You can do this.” She splashes cold water across her face, trying to wash away the fear, but it clings to her in her chest.  “You can’t do this, but you don’t have a choice. You’ve got to.”

            She sighs.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Claude’s return is without ceremony.  After weeks without a scheduled shift and a phone call to his boss begging for hours, he is put back on the roster in something of a support role.  His arm is still busted and though it is healing well under elven care, it is not fully functional.  With this understood, he is to help in whatever limited capacity he can.  This means that he mostly gathers dirty dishes and brings them back to be washed.

            His coworkers are happy to see him, though they ask more about the details of his life with Shirley than about his arm.  Normally, this would cause him considerable discomfort, but his mind is elsewhere.  So, he answers their questions brusquely and keeps to himself as much as possible.  Luckily, the day is busy.

            While working he tries to puzzle out the meaning behind his dreams.  As always, they’re hazy, filled with symbols and icons.  They stick after waking but exist without context.  That is the difficulty of his gifts, of his destiny—there is always meaning but not always a way to divine it.

            This one gives him a dragon with feathered wings, men made of light, a princess, and nothing more.  The harder he ponders the more confused he gets, and with confusion comes frustration.  It feels like he has hit a wall and, rather than looking for a door he just keeps trying to walk through it.

            It isn’t until lunch that his intuition sets in.  After hours, even days, of racking his brain it all lines up.  This, too, is normal.  He can never quite remember the catalyst for these thoughts but once it happened, all of the pieces fall into place.  Then, he knows: Geneva is the dragon and someone important to her is in danger.

            He goes straight to the front desks and asks to use the phone.  Joan stares at him from behind her thick lenses in confusion.  “You okay, Claude?”

            “I need the phone,” he says, his tone growing more urgent.  Catching himself, he adds, “I, uh, lifted something too heavy, and I think I might have hurt my hand.  You think Tom will understand?”

            “Darling, of course he will.  He likes you.  We all do, and we’ll give you as much time as you need to get better,” she says, and she reaches for the phone and hands it to him.

            Taking the phone into his good hand, he pinches it between his head and shoulder and censures himself for the hours he will miss before dialing Shirley’s cell.  She answers immediately.

            “Hello, Shirley Seville speaking.”

            “Shirley, it’s Claude.”

            “Oh.  Hey, what’s up?”

            “Ah.  Well.”  He glances at Joan, who is watching him patiently.  “I need a ride.”

            “A ride.”  She goes quiet for a moment.  “Is this about the dream?”

            “Yes.  And I need you to hurry.”

            “They let you off?”

            “Yup.  Told them already that I hurt my hand and they’re very understanding.”  He nods at Joan, who is smiling at him.

            “Okay.  I’ll be right there.”

            “Thanks.”  He hangs up and returns the phone.  “Thanks, Joan.  And you’re sure Tom won’t mind?”

            “I’m sure.  I’ve been here a long time, hon, and he sees his crew as a part of his family.  Besides, we don’t want you hurting yourself worse or, God forbid, doing something and getting someone else hurt.  I’m just more worried about the money you’re missing out on.”

            “Yeah, thanks,” Claude says, staring out the window.  Outside cars rush by on the highway, and he watches them, waiting for Shirley to pull in.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Claude leaves without so much as a goodbye and is soon in the passenger seat of Shirley’s car.  He wrestles with the seatbelt while instructing her on where to go.  She pulls out onto the busy highway and starts toward Ash Valley. “Why Ash Valley?”

            “Because that’s where Geneva’s friend lives.”  He catches her glancing at him and says, “It’s hard to explain, but there was a princess in the dream, and it represents her friend.  This girl.”

            “And how did you learn where she lives from your dream?”

            “I just did.”

            “That’s convenient.”

            “Not really,” Claude says, jerking the belt across his chest and finally clipping it.   “It’s just a part of it.  You should know how it works by now.  It’s just instincts.”

            “Okay, what does she look like?”

            “Blond hair,” he says.

            “That’s it?”

            “It’s what I’m working with for now.  I know she lives near the school, probably in Ash Valley, and I trust my intuition to lead me there.”

            “Anything else you know?”

            Claude shakes his head and watches the cars sway aroundthem.  They pass one on the left.  “Someone or something is going to attack this girl, and I know this girl is somehow related to Geneva.”

            Shirley looks sideways at him.  “Maybe she’s the princess to Geneva’s knight?”

            Claude shrugs.  “Maybe.  Doesn’t matter.  We just need to make it in time to make sure that nothing happens.”

            They speed through traffic and through town, arriving in Ash Valley fifteen minutes later.  It is an area for the rich and affluent of the city.  The houses are widely spaced apart and absurdly large, looking more like mansions or even castles to Claude’s perspective.  Each has level, green lawns, perfectly manicured and used more for show pieces than for play.  Even the sunlight fades perfectly over the tree line for these houses, giving an orange brush stroke that leaves the clouds perfectly framing their angular spires.

            They slow and drift quietly through the cold evening until Claude asks to stop just outside of one house.  Like the others, it is large, white, angular, with enormous windows and an equally enormous driveway.  Just ahead of them is a lone, black SUV.  The sight of it makes Claude’s neck prickle, and he knows.

            He wrestles out of his seatbelt.  “It’s here.”

            “How do you know?”

            “I just do.”  He cracks the door.  “I’ll be right back.  You wait here and keep an eye out.  I know she needs help, but I don’t know why, and I don’t want you getting hurt.”

            “I can take care of myself, Claude.”  She looks at his hand.  “Are you sure you can do this?”

            Claude looks, too, at his hand, and then looks her in the eyes. “I have to.  It’s my job.  My destiny.”

            “Right.”  Shirley smiles a small, uncertain smile.  “You’ll be fine, and when you get back, I’ll have the car running.”

            He smiles, too, looking more certain, and pushes the door open gently with his foot.  “Atta girl,” he says, and he sprints from the car.

            He runs across the lawn to the front door.  Like the house, it is large, expensive, and after knocking gently and trying the knob, he finds it is also open.  He peeks inside and finds the foyer empty.  Deeper within the house he hears grunts and screams.  He leaves the door open and sprints toward the back, coming to a stop in the dining room.

            Kit is on her back, shirt ripped at the shoulder and a thin gash left across her collar bone.  Two men, both lithe and dressed in black clothes and black masks, pin her by her wrists.  Another holds her by the legs while a fourth steps over her.  The fourth is brandishing a knife with the tip pointed down at her.  The blade of it is jagged and has a thin line of blood across it.

            Claude closes his eyes and pulls, from his pocket, a wadded ball of paper.  He imagines, in his mind, the flow of the universe, the flow of light and the atoms that compose it, and tosses the paper into the air.  It disappears in an explosion of light.

            All four men are jarred by the sudden intrusion, turn to face him as he grabs a nearby chair with his good hand and brings it around in a full-bodied motion.  The chair, he finds, is surprisingly solid.  It holds, while the man is knocked back into a nearby wall.

            Kit takes the chance, too, to wrestle free from the men attacking her. She pulls her arms free first and then kicks the man at her feet across the face, knocking him to the ground.  Sitting up, she rubs her eyes.  “What the hell is going on?”

            “I’m here to help you,” Claude says, approaching her with the chair still held firmly in his hand.  He hears a click and turns to find one of the men brandishing a pistol, with it trained on them.  The man presses two thin fingers to his ear and begins speaking in a strange language, sounding to Claude like clipped English.

            Claude reaches down, produces another piece of paper.  This time he imagines a wall of energy between them and, when the gunshot rings a bullet is flattened inches from his face, hovering in the air.

            The gunman mutters what sounds like a curse and retreats out the front with his two allies trailing.  One remains on the floor, unconscious, with a bloody nose soiling his mask.  Claude turns to Kit, who is still blinking with constricted pupils.

            He touches her shoulders and catches a surprisingly solid punch to the chest.  Falling heavily, he gasps.  “Stop!  I’m trying to help!  I’m here to help you!”

            She backpedals into the wall, blinks some more, and then squints at him.  “Who are you? Who the hell are you?”

            “A friend of Geneva’s.”

            Kit settles.  “Geneva?  What’s going on?”

            “Those men, they attacked you because of Geneva.  I don’t know why, but I did figure out that you were in danger, and I wanted to help you.”

            Slowly, Kit’s vision returns, and she stares at him for a moment and then her eyes go wide.  “You’re the guy from the apartment!”

            “Wait, you’ve been to my apartment?”

            “I sort of followed Geneva there.” Kit looks at the man behind Claude.  “Is this—does this have to do with the knight thing?”

            Claude sighs.  “So, you know.  That’ll make this easier.”  He, too, looks at the man behind him.  “And probably, though I’m not really sure.  I just had a vision and…”  He stops as he returns his gaze on her and finds her staring blankly.  “Ah, never mind.  I’m just here to help.”

            “Okay,” she says.  “What about those other guys.  Why did they leave?”

            “I’m not sure, but…”  He pauses, thoughtfully, and then goes tense.  “Shirley!”

            Claude sprints for the front and finds the car empty outside.  The driver’s side has been opened by force with footprints in the snow leading toward the where the SUV had been.  They keys are still inside and the car idling quietly.

            Swallowing a scream, Claude rests against the hood.  Then, his eyes narrow, and he jerks the keys out and marches back toward the house.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The elf wakes to a cold splash of water across his face.  His head throbs while the cold bites at him.  His mask is off, and he is tied to a very sturdy chair out in the snow.  Flakes drift slowly around him while a blade of light stabs him in the eyes. His vision returns slowly, and when it does, he finds two people, Claude and Kit, standing before him.  Kit is holding a flashlight.  Claude is holding a deck of cards.

            “He’s awake.  Now what?”

            “Now, we get information.”  Claude steps forward, one card ready while dropping the others into his pocket.  He holds it in front of the elf.  “I recognize you.  You’ve been by my place, escorting the doctors who have been working on my arm.  I imagine that you’ve been watching me, that you know what I can do, and I hope for your sake that you can speak English.”

            The elf mutters something in his own language and grins at Claude.  The blood from his nose has run down into his teeth and stained them red.

            Claude nods.  “I figured that was the response I would get.”  He stands, looks back at Kit.  “How loud do you think we can get before your neighbors call the cops?”

            “Pretty loud?  I don’t know.  They live far away but…”

            Claude presses the card against the elf’s upper left thigh and leaves it there.  The card burns, slowly at first and then explodes with a small pop.  An open red gash appears with a small tendril of dark smoke where the fabric of his pants has burned away against the elf’s leg. 

            The elf screams.

            Claude hits him across the face with his good hand.  “Shh.  We don’t want the neighbors to come calling, do we?  Don’t want people to see these pointed ears of yours or then the secret is out.” Claude holds a card to his ear now.  “Then again, we can take care of that for you.”

            “No, no,” the elf gasps, still tense, still hurting.  “Please!”

            “So, you can speak English.”

            “Listen, Claude,” Kit says, but she goes quiet when he glares back at her.

            “Don’t show them pity.  They weren’t going to show you any.  They were trying to kill you.”  He turns his glare on the elf now, rubs the card across his face, across his neck.  The card hardens in his grasp as he imagines it as something else.  He leaves a shallow gash on the elf’s skin and watches him shiver.  “Why was that?”

            “Please,” the elf says, panting in fear or in pain, Claude doesn’t know, and at that moment he doesn’t care.

            Claude drops the card on the elf’s other leg, close to his crotch, and the man screams.  “Don’t worry,” he says, “That one won’t go.”  The elf sighs, and Claude tosses a second card on top of the first.  “That one might, though.  I can’t remember.”

            “We were ordered to kill her!”

            Claude takes the card up and tosses it to the side.  It explodes in the air, and the elf stares at the bright flash before looking, hesitantly, back at Claude.  “Good.  Why?”

            “Because.”  The elf looks to Kit for help but finds nothing but a blank stare.  He returns to Claude.  “Because, the girl, the human girl, the knight, she isn’t listening anymore.  We needed to give her a reason to hate the demons, to make her want to fight.  To turn all of her rage and aggression on them instead of us.”

            Claude frowns.  “So, you kill her friend?”

            “Girlfriend,” Kit says, Claude looks at her.  “Sorry.”

            “How would you killing her turn Geneva onto the demons?”

            “We were going to blame the demons.  Right now, she’s out hunting a demon that isn’t there.  When she found the girl gutted, we thought…”  He looks at Kit, who has gone pale in the cold.  She looks sick now.  “I’m sorry,” the man cries, tears mingling with his blood.  “I was just following orders.  Erak, he said that if we did this, if we led the charge, we’d all get promotions.”

            “Lead the charge?”  Claude leans on the man’s injured leg with his foot and holds a card to his face, pinned with a thumb to his forehead.  “What are you talking about?”

            “He wanted to use her to invade the demon realm!  Thought if we could start a war, if we could win it, we could get out of this world.”  The elf sobs.  “Please, you have to understand.  There’s nothing here for us.  We didn’t want to, but we saw our only opportunity…”

            Claude grits his teeth.  “And where did they take Shirley?”

            “Shirley?”

            Claude pins the elf’s head back with his hand, digging the card into his forehead.  “Shirley!  Your friends took her when they ran!  Where would they run?”

            “To the school!  To the gate tree!  They’ll hold her there until they figure out what to do next!”

            “Bastards!”  Claude kicks the elf, hard, in the chest, and lets him fall back, coughing, in the snow.  He turns to Kit, who watches impassively, tears lingering in her eyes.  He takes a deep breath.  “You okay?”

            “No,” she says, and she looks at him.  “They were going to kill me!”

            “They’ll still try.”  Claude paces in the snow, the cold far away to him.  “We need to find somewhere to keep you safe until we can contact Geneva or Nina.  Until we can sort this out.  How long until your parents get back?”

            “They’re at some party.”  She wipes her eyes.  “Won’t be until late, but we can’t keep him here.  And what about your girlfriend?”

            “Shirley?”  Claude shakes his head.  “I don’t know, and I can’t worry about her now.  If they get to you—This is a defining moment.  That’s why I’m here.  To save you.  I can’t turn my back on that.”

            “But she’s in danger.  They might kill her!”

            “They’re after you.”

            “To get to Geneva.  You said it yourself, and if they can’t get me.  They might kill her, too, to get to Geneva, and you’ll just let them get away with it.”

            “That wouldn’t work.  Geneva doesn’t even know her.”

            “And you clearly don’t know Geneva,” Kit says.  “Anyone dies for her, it’ll hurt.”

            “But their plan won’t work.  There wouldn’t be a war.”

            “I don’t care,” Kit says.  “I won’t let them hurt Geneva!  This has gone on long enough.”  She turns toward the house, stomps through the snow.

            “Wait! Where are you going?”

            “To stop this! Geneva is my girlfriend, one of my best friends, and lately, she’s been a huge pain in my ass.  I have a lot of anger to let out, and I know a couple of assholes with knives who seem like a perfect target.”

            “And what do you think you’ll be able to do to them?”

            “I don’t know.  Save your girlfriend.  I’ll figure it out later.  Right now, I’m just mad.”  She turns back to him at the door and glares.  “That guy tried to hold me down while they stabbed me!  You want me to just let that go?”

            “No, but this is just what they want.  I can’t let you die.”

            “Then come with me.  That way, you can help me, but I won’t be a damsel, and I won’t let someone hurt Geneva or let someone else get hurt in my place.”

            Claude rubs his neck, vigorously.  “This is insane.”

            Kit grabs her keys and returns to the backyard.  “It is,” she says.  “I’m just rolling with the punches.”

            He sighs.

            “Listen, I’m going with or without you.”

            “Fine.  Then we’ll take Shirley’s car.”  Claude looks at the elf in the snow, still panting and now shaking from the cold.  “I don’t want to get blood in yours.”

            “We’re bringing him with us?”

            “Yeah,” Claude says. “I’d feel better with a hostage.”

 

The Knights of Sheba 112 A…End

25: Episode Twelve: "Damsel" B

The Knights of Sheba 112 B…Start

            Geneva and Nina come to a stop at a local park on the edge of town.  The sun is already set by the time they park and the chill of night settles quickly afterward.  They wait in Nina’s car, watching the darkness and hoping to find if anything watching back.

            Five minutes pass.

            Thirty minutes pass.

            They search the area and find nothing.  An hour later, they return to the car, hands in their pockets and glaring at the night.

            “Well, this has been fun,” Geneva says as they pass a playground.  She hops onto the slide and walks up its slick surface, arms out like a gymnast.  “Fun and not a complete and total waste of time at all.”  At the top of the slide she stops and looks down at Nina, who watches her impassively.  “That was sarcasm, by the way.  I just wanted to let you to know, so there wouldn’t be any confusion.”

            “Yes.  Thank you for the honesty, Ms. Oaks.”

            Geneva salutes limply.  “You can always count on me to tell you when you suck.”

            Nina turns her back on the slide and marches forward.  She pulls out her cell and dials Erak.  It rings twice and then, distractedly, “Yes, Lieutenant, what is it? I’m rather busy.”

            “Are you? Because we’re not.”

            A lengthy pause, and then a more severe, “Excuse me?”

            Nina takes a deep breath.  “What I mean to say is that we arrived at the specified location some time ago and have yet to see any evidence of a demonic presence.

            “And you’ve taken the time to search thoroughly?”

            Nina looks back to find Geneva lying on her back and riding the slide down head-first. At the bottom she hangs half-off and stares up at the sky.  “Yes,” Nina says.  “We’ve searched and found nothing, sir.  Not even tracks.”

            “I see.  Let me check something.”  He shuffles papers and mumbles.  “Ah.  Intel’s falling behind.  All our fault.  Looks like the target has moved back into the city.  It’s mucking around near downtown.  How quickly can you be there?”

            Nina looks back toward the city’s glittering skyline.  “We’re quite a ways out, to be honest.”

            “Listen, we really need you.  You and your little knight have become quite invaluable to us.”

            Nina pauses thoughtfully before saying, “Yes.  Of course, sir.  If you send me the exact streets addresses, we can be there shortly.”

            “Right.”  Click, and Erak is gone.  Nina glares at her phone before stuffing it into her jacket.  She turns back to Geneva, who is now sitting and staring at her.

            “Let me guess: we have to go back.”

            “Yes.”

            “And we’re sure that he doesn’t just hate me and isn’t running us around for a laugh?”
            Nina doesn’t answer.  She starts toward the SUV.

            Geneva climbs over the side of the slide and dusts off her pants.  “Right.  Well, back to the car, I guess.”

            Nina arrives first and unlocks the doors.  She looks at Geneva over the hood.  “Ms. Oaks, I would just like to apologize, preemptively, should this all be a petty joke.”

            “Yeah, yeah. ‘He’s a jerk.  Makes us all look bad.  Our ears are pointy, and we all look like women.’ Heard it all before.”  Geneva pulls open the door.  “Let’s just get this over with.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Ashview High by night is an imposing white figure cut into an inky black sky.  It is far enough from the city proper so that the city appears like a bleary smudge in the distance but not so far as to escape the light pollution.  The sky is dark and featureless, save for the crescent moon that hangs, hooked, in the sky, winking at the car’s approach.

            Claude and Kit park across the street and watch the building.  The school’s parking lot is lit up even in the dead of night and reflects off the white brickwork of the school walls. It grants the night an ethereal glow that makes the school look haunted and alive.

            Claude shifts in his seat and has a flash of intuition staring at the building, and he knows where Shirley is and where they are waiting.  They are in the darkness, just out of view, watching from just down the hill, and they saw the car’s approach and are mobilizing an armed welcome.

            Kit gets out.  Claude follows hesitantly.  Ducking down, he whispers over the hood of the car, “Where are you going?”

            She looks at him over the hood.  “We’re going to get your girlfriend, remember?”

            “Yes.  But we can’t just rush in.”
            “Okay.”  She stuffs her hands into her pocket.  “And why not?”

            Claude sighs, rubs his face.  “Because they’re waiting for us.  They know we’re coming, and they’re soldiers.  Well-equipped soldiers.”

            “Okay.  And you’re…”  She waves her hand vaguely.  “Whatever you are.  That should even the odds.”

            “All I can do is throw some paper and plan ahead, and if you go charging then that doesn’t leave me much time to plan.”

            “Then plan quickly,” she says, and she shivers in the cold.  “Throw some fire or something.  Whatever we do, we have to do it fast.  If they’re willing to kill me to get to Geneva, then they’re willing to kill your girl, too.”

            “And if we rush in, we’re dead first.”  Claude stares into the distance.  “They’re waiting down that hill, out of the light, and they’ll have all approaches covered.  I think they’ll want to end this quickly, and so they’ll be waiting to ambush us.”

            With a click and the chill of cold steel to his neck, Claude goes still.  The steel nudges him, and he stands, his hands over his head.  Kit turns, wide-eyed on him and finds two figures now by the car, one Claude and the other small, lithe, and brandishing a pistol.  “Maybe you should have thought about an ambush earlier,” the elf says, in English.  “And don’t even think about reaching for that card.”

            Claude freezes again, sighs.  “If you’re going to kill us…”

            “Save the clichés, please.  I just want to talk, and I want you to listen.”

            “So, you pull a gun on us,” Kit asks.

            The elf points the gun at her.  “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but guns are a great way of getting attention.”

            She goes stiff. “I noticed.”

            “So, what do you want before you kill us,” Claude asks.  In the back of his head he searches for ways out, ways to get the upper-hand, but even his intuition is silent.  Everything in his body is telling him to keep still and wait it out.

            “I want to not kill you,” the elf says.  “I want to tell you that I am on your side, and I want you to hear it and know I mean it, because it would be really unfortunate if I have to kill you out of self-defense.”  The elf steps back, safeties his gun and holsters it.  Then, he pulls up his goggles and down his mask, revealing soft features, fair skin, blue eyes and pink lips.  He smiles, briefly, showing off his dimples.  “And I could kill you, if I wanted to.”

            Claude turns, grabs for a card, and has himself pinned, quickly and unceremoniously, against the car.  The way the elf holds his hand makes his fingers feel numb.  “Seriously.  I don’t want to hurt you.”

            “Fine, fine,” Claude says, and he is released.  He flexes his fingers to get the blood flowing to them again and glares at the elf.

            Kit rounds the car. “So, wait, you’re not evil?”

            “No,” the elf says. “And they’re not, either.  At least, not really.”

            “Seem evil when they’re trying to kill you.”

            “It’s all perspective, but that’s another conversation.  What they are, ultimately, is fools, all of them.  And they’re led by an ambitious fool, which is a lot more dangerous than an evil one.”

            Claude straightens up, stares back at the elf. “Who are you, and why are you helping us?”

            “I’m Viness.  Viness Crowenn, and I am helping you because, well, not every elf hates humans, and not everyone one of us thinks that going to war with the demons is such a good idea.”

            Kit chews her cheek and stares at him, her arms crossed, and her humor long soured.  “Then why are you all trying to kill me?”

            “I’m not,” Viness says, and he gives another dimpled smile.  She glares, and he holds his hands up.  “Just keeping facts as facts, Ms. Wright, and facts are that these guys are not under any orders from the higher ups.  They’re doing this on their own, without permission, and they’re doing it sloppy, too.  But that’s what you get when you send a bunch of amateurs.”

            Kit blinks.  “Amateurs?”

            “Amateurs.  The demons weren’t a thing, and humans have long forgotten.  The Border Defense is a nowhere placement, meant for so-and-so’s bastard or so-and-so-and-so’s son, who didn’t flunk out of the military academy but didn’t score so well, either.  Their boss, Erak, is the latter, but he sees himself an opportunity to make a name, and with name goes prestige.  So, he gives a couple of idiots some knives and tell them to go stabbing.”  He points at Kit.  “Stabbing you, specifically.”

            “Why?”

            “Because you know.  And because you’re close to the girl, Geneva Oaks, human, student, first knight in, well, a long, long time.  Not that she told you as much.”

            “And why are you telling us this much,” Claude asks.

            “Because,” Viness says, “I don’t work for the Defense, and I don’t work for Erak.  I work for, let’s say, a higher power, and while they see reason for secrecy, they aren’t stupid.  Things are changing, and with change comes a little mess.  Thing is, blood is messier than lies and harder to clean up.”  Viness shrugs.  “At least, in my experience.”

            “So, you’re here to stop them from killing Kit.”

            Viness gives Claude a flat stare.  “Didn’t I already say that?”

            “I still don’t understand,” Kit says.  “If they’re part of some defense thing, and Geneva is a knight, aren’t they are on the same side?”

            Viness laughs.  “Miss, you have to understand, elves are only, ever, on their own side.”

            “Even now,” Claude asks, and Viness gives a quiet grin.  “Okay, how about this: does Nina know?”

            “She knows nothing of it,” Viness says, and he looks at Kit. “Nina is your teacher.”

            “I know,” she says.

            “She’s also pretty vocal about her views on the mistreatment of other races, especially in the colonies.  Anyway, long and short is you’re in danger, and if you do exactly what I say, you won’t be anymore.”

            Kit looks at Claude, who stares intently at Viness and then shrugs.  She frowns.  “Thanks.”  Then, she looks back at Viness.  “But it depends on what you want me to do.”

            “I want you to be bait.”

            Claude goes wide-eyed.  “Wait, what?”

            Viness looks at Claude.  “They’ve got your friend, the girl,” he snaps his fingers as if summoning the memory.

            “Shirley.”
            “Yeah, her.  They’ve got her.  And if you don’t come down there, she will be killed, and that won’t help elf-human relations, I imagine.  So, that in mind, she doesn’t die.  And neither do you.”  Viness smiles at Kit.  “No one dies.  Except for them.  And, as I mentioned previously, they’re idiots, but we need to make them think you’re giving them what they want.  So, I lead you over, and when you get the signal, you help me out, Mr. Sylvain.  And you, Kit, hit the ground.”

            “I’m not going to curl up and hide.”

            “That’s admirable of you, but admirable fools are about as dangerous as ambitious ones.  You want to save Shirley, keep yourself safe for Geneva, you do what I say.  Otherwise, I may as well just shoot you now.”

            Kit frowns.

            “Good.”  He pulls down his goggles, pulls up his mask.  “Let’s go.”

            “Wait,” Claude says.  “One last question.  Why are you helping us?”

            “Orders.  Also, I like humans.  And I like Geneva.  She’s funny.  So, I don’t want to see her get hurt, and I don’t want to see her dragged into war for the sake of one man’s career.”

            “Good enough for me,” Kit says.  “Don’t get me killed.”

            “Same to you.”  He looks at Claude.  “You keep to the shadows and attack by surprise.”

            “Fine,” Claude says, and then he looks at Kit. “Hey, do you have your cell on you?”

            Kit pulls it from her pocket and hands it to him.  “Who are you calling right now?”

            “Geneva. I just thought of it.  This way, even if we all die, we can ruin whatever crazy plan they have for her.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Geneva stares out the window despondently as they cross the bridge.  Ahead of them is the city proper, stretching out and shimmering in the night. Its glow spills out into the surrounding area and paints the sky.  Once, Geneva visited her grandmother in the country, and she stared up at all of the stars, each one a single, defined point of light, and she felt small when she realized how they outnumbered her.

            Her phone goes off, and Geneva stares out the window.  She ignores the ringing of it until she feels her pocket humming.  Then, she pulls it out and looks at Ms. Olivia.  The number showing is unfamiliar to her.

            Ms. Olivia glances at her.   “Ms. Oaks, what did I tell you about giving out that number?”

            “Only person I gave it to was that Claude guy.”  She looks back at the phone.  “Maybe it’s a wrong number?”

            “Maybe it’s Mr. Sylvain.”

            “That doesn’t make me any more inclined to answer it.”

            “Ms. Oaks.”

            “Yeah, yeah.”  Geneva flips the phone open, holds it to her ear.  “Uh.  Hello?”

            “Geneva,” Claude says, “Is that you?”

            “Yes.”

            “Are you alone?”

            Geneva knits her brow, glances sideways at Ms. Olivia.  “Nope.”

            “Okay, then I’ll be brief.  I know this might seem crazy, but,” he sighs, “I’m not sure how to explain it.”

            “Hey, give me the phone.”  This is Kit.  There is movement, and then she says into the phone, “Hey, Genny?”

            “Kit? What are you…”

            “Listen, Genny, Claude showed up at my place and saved me from the elves.  They’re attacking, attacking me.  They want to kill me to get to you.”

            “Wait, what?  What are you talking about?”

            Another sigh, this time Kit.  “Honestly, I don’t even know anymore.  All I know is, they’re after me, and they’ve got Claude’s girlfriend, and they’re trying to get to you.  To control you.  They think that if they kill me and blame it on the—What are they again?  Demons?  Really?  Who would call themselves that?”

            As Kit speaks Geneva turns to stare at Ms. Olivia, who trades looks between her and the road.  “Kit, are you sure about this?”

            “Yeah, I’m pretty sure.  I’ve been at gun and knife point more times tonight than, well, I mean, I’ve been at gun and knife point tonight.”

            “And is it all the elves?”

            “No,” Kit says firmly.  “No, not all of them.  Ms. Olivia is one, right?  I don’t think she knows about it.”

            “How sure are you?”
            “Uh.”

            “And where are you?”

            “We’re at the school.  We’re going to save Shirley, but in case something happened to us I wanted to…”

            “Nothing will happen.  I’ll be there soon.”

            “Wait!”

            Geneva hangs up, slips her phone back into her pocket, and she stares at Ms. Olivia.

            Ms. Olivia keeps both hands on the wheel while trading glances between the road and Geneva.  Streetlights cast light on them in brief flashes.  “That sounded quite hectic.  May I ask what is going on?”

            “I’d like to talk about that exact thing.  Erak is the one giving you orders, right?”  Geneva grabs her door handle tightly.

            “Yes.  He is my commanding officer.”

            “Strange how there’s no traffic like last time a demon attacked, huh?”

            “I think it’s smaller than the last one.  Or I hope.”

            “If it’s smaller then why do you need me?”

            “Ms. Oaks, please.  You’re a knight.  This is your duty.”

            “Killing demons.  That’s my duty, right?”

            Ms. Olivia pauses. “Ms. Oaks, who called you?”

            “Tell me you don’t know about this.”

            “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

            “Tell me that you don’t know about the attack on Kit.  That they’re trying to kill her to get to me.”

            Ms. Olivia frowns ahead.  “They are—Who told you this?”

            “Just tell me!”

            “Ms. Oaks, I haven’t any idea what you are,” and she goes quiet.  Then, she curses.  “Erak, you fool.”

            Geneva undoes her seatbelt and opens her door.  “I’m sorry,” she says, the wind whipping the words away.  She steps out of the seat, balancing between the car’s interior and the door frame.

            “Ms. Oaks, what are you doing?”

            “What I’m trained to do.  I’m going to go stop the monsters.”  There isn’t a flash but a shift in form.  A liquid carapace spreads over her and solidifies into her signet armor and her wings unfurl and catch on the wind, pulling at her.  She holds firm to the car.  “Don’t follow me!”

            She releases and glides off, away from the bridge and toward Ashview.  Below her, Ms. Olivia skids to a halt on the empty street and watches Geneva drift away toward the school.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Viness assigns orders and leads Kit down the hill at gunpoint.  Claude trails after and hides at the top of the hill.  He tosses a card into the air.  It catches on the wind, doesn’t fly far, but it lands among the elves at the bottom who don’t seem to notice.

            A small road separates the sports fields from the school’s main body.  It is fenced off toward the fields.  A group of elves, eight in number, wait in the darkness, all dressed to blend in with the night.  Shirley stands among them, arms bound and a gun to her back.   She isn’t crying, but that is only because she doesn’t have any tears left.

            Viness leans forward and the barrel of his gun brushes Kit’s neck.  She shivers at the contact of cold steel as he whispers to her, “Keep quiet, keep focused, and do whatever I say.  If you’re careful and you’re smart, you’ll be safe.  I promise.”

            Kit stares ahead as they approach the group, sees them relax at the sight of her.  She even hears a few chuckle.  “I’m not afraid.”

            “Yeah, you are, and you’d be stupid if you weren’t,” Viness says.

            They approach together.  Kit holds her hands up for no particular reason and shivers slightly.  As they approach, a tall, lean elf at the front peels his mask off, revealing curly red hair and a dimpled smile.  His eyes are so vibrantly green that they almost glow in the night.

            “Good job, soldier.  Looks like you were right to do a perimeter walk.”

            “Humans are nothing if not predictable,” Viness says, and he nudges Kit forward.  “What will we do now that we’ve got her?”

            “Kill her, of course.”  The red-headed elf reaches back and brandishes a knife.  It gleams in the distant light of the school parking lot and reflects the elf’s vicious smile on the blade.

            “Of course, kill her, but what about the other one?”

            “Her?”  The redheaded elf looks back, reaches for Shirley, and the elf behind him shoves her forward.  The red-headed elf takes her about the neck and holds her in place.  She stares ahead at Kit, who stares back stoically.  The red-headed elf holds the knife to her cheek.  “We kill her, too, make it all the more tragic.”

            Viness pauses.  “Is that necessary?”

            “You’re new, right,” the redheaded elf asks. “Trust me, you stay around the humans long enough, you’ll know that not one of them deserves our mercy.”  The elf looks Shirley over, stares into her tear-streaked face.  He is still smiling, but the expression is hollow, without feeling or meaning.  “This is for a better world.  I hope you understand.”

            “Wait,” Viness says, his gun still on Kit, holding her in place.  The redheaded elf has his dagger gripped firmly but now held away from Shirley.  He looks at Viness, who says, “Let me do it.”  There is a pause, a hush as the elves listen and wait.  “I’m new,” he adds, “I want to do my part.”

            The redheaded elf’s smile returns in earnest.  “Fine,” he says, and he shoves Shirley forward.  She stumbles, still bound and gagged, and looks back at him.  He motions forward with his knife.  “Go on, girl.  It’s either him or me, and I get the feeling he’ll be more gentle.”

            She looks forward, at Kit and then at Viness, and Vinnes nods.  Shuffling, slowly, she moves forward, and Viness whispers to Kit.  “You’re going to hear loud bang.  When you do, grab her and duck down.”

            Kit’s brow knits and, once Shirley is close, she hears it.  Her ears a ring and whistle, and she can feel the gun blast reverberate in her skull.  It makes her eyes shake but she moves, leaping forward and tugging Shirley down into the dirt.

            There is more gunfire but only from one source to start.  The redheaded elf falls back, his head opened, with a small hole in the front and a larger one in the back.  Other elves duck down, curse and react.  They fire blankly on the moving Viness, who kneels down and shrinks into the darkness as he attacks.

            An explosion and Claude reveals himself.  He steps from his shroud and throws cards at the enemy’s feet.  There is smoke and blood.

            The battle is short and hard.  Viness and Claude quickly subdue the enemies and, by the time Kit is looking up, it is already over.  There are limbs scattered in the dirt, bloodied stumps breaded with pebbles and dust.  She covers her mouth to keep from vomiting.

            Claude, meanwhile, goes straight to Shirley and cuts her binds.  He pulls the rag from her mouth and lets her embrace him.  They kiss deeply and in relief as she settles in his arms and just lets him hold her.  He smells her hair and kisses her head before whispering to her.  “You’re safe.”

            She smiles.  “Of course.  You’re here.  So, I was never in any real danger.”  She smiles up at him, the tears in her eyes finally falling down her cheeks again.  “I knew you would come for me.”

            Claude looks over her, at Kit watching.  He nods.  “I would never leave you,” he says.

            Kit turns, shakily, to Viness, who now has his goggles and mask off.  “How’s your ear,” he asks.

            Kit squints.  Feels her ear and the blood leaking from it.  She sighs.

            Viness feels it too and winces.  “We’ll have that taken care of.”  He smiles.  “You did well.  Better than what I’d expect from a civilian.  You humans are full of surprises.”

            She smiles and holds herself at the waist, and she stares at him, because looking anywhere else would make her feel sick again.  She can smell the iron in the air and the fat, and other scents that she is not familiar with and doesn’t want to know.

            “Come on, let’s get you away from here and get that girlfriend of yours on the phone, tell her everything is alright.”

            A shuddering breath, a nod, and then, “Okay.”

            Behind her there is movement.  An elf, shot in the right arm, rises, pistol drawn.  He screams as he levels his weapon and, before he can pull the trigger, is taken by the wind.  Geneva lands in a plume of dust and, with the accompaniment of a roar, hurls him across the road with the swing of her sword.  He lands heavily and with a wheeze, and he stops moving.

            Before Geneva’s arrival, Viness reacted.  He took Kit, pulled her back and readied his weapon, stopping with the barrel now pointing at Geneva.  She turns on him, bringing her blade around for his neck as Kit screams.  Geneva stops just inches from Kit’s chest, and now they have her between them.  Viness has her arm stretched out behind her, and Geneva has her blade before her.

            “Stop,” Kit says, yanking her arm free from Viness’ grip and forcing them apart.  She pushes Viness’ gun down while staring at Geneva in her armor.  It is the first time she has seen it, and it hard for her to reconcile Geneva with the woman in white plate and beige aweave.  “Geneva?”

            Geneva shakes.  Her gaze is still fixed on Viness, who is tense at Kit’s side.

            Kit reaches forward and timidly takes Geneva’s hand in hers.  “Geneva, stop.  He helped us.  Saved us.  Saved me.”

            Geneva looks at her now, or Kit thinks she does, it is hard to tell through the helm, and she lowers her sword and sighs heavily.  The tension leaves her body, and she slouches now under the weight of her armor.  Pulling her hand away from Kit, she sheaths her wand and removes her helm, revealing herself to them, and she has tears in her eyes.

            “Kit, I...”

            Kit goes to her, and they fall into each other, crying and hugging each other for support.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Nina leaves her car in the woods and approaches the compound on foot.  She comes from the west, away from the light of the city, and shrouded in darkness.  Using the trees for cover, she moves silently through the underbrush without even moonlight to betray her. Even out here the stars aren’t enough to see by, but she is familiar with fighting in complete darkness.

            After all, that is how she made a name for herself.

            She stops at the threshold of the compound.  In the distance it is a solid shadow with faint light bleeding through the windows.  Two guards are out front, each carrying assault rifles.  They move quietly and only when necessary.  In the window, Nina can see the form of a broad-shouldered elf with closely cropped hair.  Erak.

            She pulls her phone out and dials him.  The shadow pauses in the window and then moves forward to a desk, obscuring the light from the computer monitor.  He holds something to his ear, and Erak answers the phone.  “Lieutenant.  I was beginning to worry.  You haven’t reported in for some time and it seems the demon is moving again.”

            “I know,” Nina says, moving slowly and carefully through the woods.  Her footfalls are so light they hardly seem to make a sound.  “He’s right under my nose.”

            Erak pauses, his breath catching.  “Is he?”

            “Yes.”

            “You’re sure?”

            “You’ve seen my record, major.  I know a monster when I see one.  Ms. Oaks is a bit busy right now, but I can take care of this myself.”

            The figure turns to look out the window.  Nina leans into the cover of a thick trunked tree.  “Where are you right now?”

            “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?  Better yet, did you think that this would even work?”

            A pause and then he laughs.  “I see.  Not very clever of you, giving yourself away in such a manner.”

            “I’m not trying to be clever.  I’m giving you a chance, one chance, to surrender now before you get the men under you hurt for your own ego.”  He hangs up, and she turns her phone off immediately after, pocketing it before kneeling close to the ground.  Deep down, she knew he wouldn’t surrender, but she wanted to believe he might.

            The figure inside warns the guards outside to be alert, but even then, they didn’t notice her before she reached the deck.  By the time they saw her she was already on them, moving quickly and without a sound, and she leaped onto the platform and landed with her foot on one of the guard’s knees, collapsing it before he could fire.

            The guard manages half a shout before she kicks him in the head, knocking him face-first into one of the awning posts.   The next guard turns to fire on her, but she is already there, following his movements fluidly.  He opens fire on the empty space where she was while she grabs the strap of his rifle and twists it around her arm.  She yanks the strap back, angling the gun upward while she continues moving.  Using the gun strap, she strangles the man until he goes limp against her back.  Then, she lets him fall.

            With both guards unconscious she kneels down beside the door and listens at the window.  Erak is moving around inside and issuing orders.  He picks up a pistol as he stomps around the room and the soldiers inside with him ready their weapons and train them on the front door.

            Nina searches one of the guards and takes a flash bang from him.  She tosses it through the window and ducks down when she hears the gunfire roaring overhead, followed by a loud burst as the window is blown outward.  Inside, the guards scream orders to each other but hold formation, firing until their clips go dry.

            She moves to the other room and takes a run at the window, leaping through it before they have time to reload.  The first guard hardly has his weapon trained on her before she slams him, head-first, into the wall.  She punches the second guard in the throat and drops him with an elbow to the face.  The last she takes by the arm and hurls him over her shoulder onto his stomach, and she kicks him into the floor before he has time to stand up.

            Gunfire splinters the wood beside her and sends shards of it into her cheek.  She winces and turns to find Erak ducked down behind the stairwell and firing blindly.  With a huff, she stomps forward and grabs the gun from him, twisting his hand in the process before kicking him in the chest.  She undoes his clip and drops the bullets one by one while staring at him.  Then she pops the last bullet from the chamber before dismantling the gun the rest of the way.

            Erak retreats to the nearby wall and brandishes a knife, and she rises slowly.  He is bigger than her, but he is shaking.  “I guess the rumors were true.  You really are a monster.”

            “No, this is simply what a real soldier looks like.  You wouldn’t know, because you’ve never seen battle before.  None of you have.  Not so glorious, is it?”

            “And there you go, showing how soft you’ve become, and just when I was starting to respect you.”  He laughs bitterly.  “I think I could take it, losing to you, if you weren’t such a bleeding heart.”

            “I am only doing what is best for the elves.”

            “You’re neutering us with all of your apologist rhetoric.  All of this talk about helping others, letting the other races rule themselves.  You say you want what is best for us?  Then it’s up to people like me to protect our own best interests.”

            “Enough of this.”  Nina steps forward, into Erak’s lunge, and intercepts him smoothly.  With a flick of her wrist the blade is on the floor, and he is held by the forearm and wheeled around pinned to the wall.  Blood gushes down his face as his nose fractures, and he allows a long string of elven curses while using a nearby table for support.  She holds him by his wrist, twisting his hand to keep him pinned.

            “Major Erak Draco, sir, I am afraid that I must put you under arrest for treason.”

            “Me? You’re arresting me?”  He begins to laugh and struggle against her, and she twists his arm until it snaps and listens to him scream before pushing him to the floor with her foot.  Then, she stands over him and pulls out her phone, turning it on and calling Geneva.

            “Lieutenant Olivier.  I sure am glad to hear from you.”

            “Crowenn?”

            “Ma’am.  Where are you right now?”

            “I am at the compound.”

            “Ah.  Then I’m assuming Erak has already been neutralized.”

            Nina regards Erak on the ground, curled up and holding his arm as he bleeds and glars.  “Yes.  And why do you have Ms. Oaks’ phone?”

            “Because I’m here with her.  She’s busy right now.  I’m sure you can imagine, lots of hugging and crying going on over at the school.”

            “They’re safe?”

            “All of them.  Do you need me there?”

            “No.  I will meet you at the school.  We’ll have to move quick to round them all up before they can mount another attack.”

            Viness laughs.  “I think we’ll be fine between the two of us.”

            “Still, we should contact the council.”

            “I know, I know.  Are you surprised?”

            Nina looks down at Erak, and she sighs.  “Sadly, yes, and also deeply disappointed.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Viness hangs up and approaches Geneva and Kit.  Geneva is still in her armor, holding Kit.  The two of them had stopped crying and now silence has settled.  Viness was taking the time to clear up some of the bodies when Ms. Olivia called and offered to answer it for Geneva, who was still refusing to speak with her.

            Geneva turns to him with a glare as he approaches, and Kit takes her by the hand and holds her tight.  “Genny, he helped us.”

            “I know.”  Geneva takes her phone from him.  “What did she say?”

            “She’s captured Erak.”

            “Good for her.”  She looks passed Viness, at Claude and Shirley.  “Can we get a ride home with you two?”

            “Actually, Kit’s the one who drove us here,” Claude says.  He looks at Shirley, who has stopped crying mostly and is now smiling as she holds him so tightly that it hurts them both.  “You ready to go?” She nods, and he turns to Viness, who shrugs.

            “It’s getting late.  You can all go, if you want to.  I’ve got things here.”

            Geneva turns, and her armor liquefies and condenses back into the ring.  She pockets her phone and starts back toward the school when Viness grabs her by the arm, and she jerks away from him.

            “Listen.  She had nothing to do with this.”

            Geneva breathes deeply and stares at him.  “I know, but I’m still not ready to see her or even talk to her.”

            “Fine, but you’re a knight.  Keep your phone on.”

            She purses her lips and pats her pocket, and then she turns again and starts up the hill.  Kit lingers, offering an apologetic stare to Viness, who gives a friendly wink and grin before nodding toward her.  She nods back and then follows Geneva up the hill.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Shirley drives them back and drops Kit and Geneva off in front of Kit’s house.  They give tired farewells before pulling away, leaving Kit and Geneva standing in front of Kit’s car, staring at the perfectly manicured lawn of her home. It is Geneva’s first time being in the Ash Valley estates.  Normally, she would be in awe of how big Kit’s house is.  Right now, however, she just wants the night to end.

            Kit sighs and gives a weak smile.  Geneva returns it.  In the three years that they have been friends, she has never seen Kit look so tired.  Her eyes are still puffy from crying, and her skin is pale.  Sometimes, Geneva can see her shaking, but Kit seems to notice this, too, and is doing her best to control it.

            Geneva reaches out and touches Kit’s ear.  “Are you okay?  You’ve got blood on your ear.”

            Kit feels her ear, too.  Their fingers touch, and Geneva pulls away.  “Oh, uh, yeah.  A gun went off by my ear.  It’s fine now.”

            “Oh.  A gun.  Makes sense.”  Geneva looks at her feet.

            “Uh, mind if I clean up a bit before I drive you back.  Don’t want your parents asking questions, just in case they see me.”

            Geneva nods, slowly.  “That’s fine.  I’ll wait out here.”

            “No.  Go ahead and come in,” Kit says as she approaches the front door.  Geneva watches her.

            “You sure?”

            Kit nods before opening the door.  She stands with her hand on the doorknob. “Yeah.  It’ll be fine, and it’ll raise more questions if people see you sitting out here or something.”

            “Your parent’s won’t mind?”

            “They won’t be back until late.”  Kit laughs and then looks at Geneva, who has followed lazily behind her.  “And besides, they won’t notice anyway.  You haven’t seen my room, have you?  I should show it to you.”

            “Uh, sure.”

            Geneva follows Kit through an expansive foyer, up two flights of stairs to a room with a view.  Kit’s room takes up the better part of the third floor and is easily twice the size of Geneva’s own room.  It has its own private bath with a luxury tub that is polished to a shine.  From Kit’s window Geneva can see the entire city glittering in the night.  It reminds her of the view from the hillside outside of the city, only at night there isn’t steel spires but a threadwork of light that looks to her like a pearl necklace.

            “I’m going to wash my face.  Sit on the bed, if you like.”

            Geneva settles on the bed.  Like everything else in the room, it is big and expensive, topped with a comforter thick enough to be a mattress on its own.  The room is colored in loud shades of gold and pink.  Posters on the wall show the things Kit likes, the movies, the bands, the people, each lovely and artistic in their own unconventional ways.  Many of them are adorned with tattoos and piercings of various kinds.  Most seem to be screaming.

            Kit returns with her face rinsed and some color back in her skin.  She joins Geneva on the bed, their shoulders touching and their hands resting close together.  She takes a deep breath, holds it, and then releases.  “So.”

            “So.”

            Kit looks at her.  “Thanks for saving me.”

            Geneva slouches forward, her body being crushed by the weight of nothing and everything all at once.  She can feel tears in her eyes and the room goes a bit blurry, and she tries to rub them away.  “No need to thank me.  Sorry you were ever in danger in the first place.”

            “Don’t be.  It’s not your fault.”

            “Yes, it is.”

            “No, Genny.”  Kit takes one of Geneva’s hands and laces their fingers.  With her free hand, she wipes away some of Geneva’s tears.  “It’s theirs. They were the ones who were trying to hurt me.  You were the one who saved me.”

            “I should have told you.”

            “You were protecting me.”

            “No.”  Geneva shakes her head and begins to sob openly.  She tries to pull her hand away, but Kit holds it tight.  “It wasn’t you I was protecting.  It was,” she takes a deep breath and begins to laugh between her tears.  “God, I’m no good at this.  I’m no good at people. And feelings? Ugh.”

            Kit laughs and pulls her into a hug, and she pats Geneva’s hair while holding her close.  There, Geneva relives it all.  She relives every battle, every blow, every bit of training, every nightmare, and every failure.  It passes through her and falls onto Kit’s chest, and she keeps telling Kit how sorry she is.

            The whole while, Kit just holds her, and smooths her hair, and kisses her forehead and whispers to her.  As Geneva settles, Kit releases her, and watches as she sits back and wipes the tears from her eyes.  Still, Kit holds her hand, and she smiles.  “Now, you hush.  You didn’t do anything wrong.  You saved me.  Okay?”

            “But I put you in danger in the first place.  I was the one...”

            Kit puts a finger to Geneva’s lips.  “You. Saved. Me.  Okay?”

            Geneva blinks, dropping more tears from her eye lashes, and then she nods.

            Kit smile again, this time more warmly, and she squeezes Geneva’s hand while resting her back against the headboard.  It, like the rest of the room, is expensive, and it has lions engraved into it.  “Good.”

            Geneva sighs beside her and settles in, holding Kit’s hand tightly and resting her head on Kit’s shoulder.  “Kit?”

            “Yup?”

            “Thanks and stuff.”

            “Thank you,” she says.  “You know, you looked pretty dashing in that armor.  My hero.”

            Geneva laughs.

            “Hey, how did you get there, anyway?”

            “I flew.”

            “You can fly?”

            “Well,” Geneva stammers, “It’s more like gliding, but it,” a sigh, “Yeah.  I can fly.”

            They go quiet.  Geneva sits there against Kit, feeling her warmth and her heartbeat.  She remembers the bodies of the elves scattered around her when she landed, remembers the body of Andromalius scattered around her after the battle ended, and she imagines them to be Kit.  The tears return, moving through her like a great current and leaving her unable to breathe.

            Kit feels her jerk and moves to intercept.  She takes Geneva by the face with one hand and holds her hand tightly in the other, and she pulls her into a kiss.  They stay like this for a moment and, as they part, Geneva whispers more apologies and Kit assurances.  Time stands still like this, and Geneva sees Kit there, breathing, alive, safe, and she cries harder but this out of relief.

            Their lips meet again, and Geneva pulls her hand free and grabs Kit by the head and holds her close.  They part but only long enough to breathe before reuniting, their tongues meeting and their bodies following suit.  Geneva pulls Kit into her, and they fall back onto the bed together, hands wandering but lips never straying.

            There they stay, twined like lace, as the night comes to a close.

 

The Knights of Sheba 112...End

26: Episode Thirteen: "Soldiers" A

Episode Thirteen: Soldiers

            Ms. Olivia steps in, swings wide, and Geneva pivots and brings her sword up.  The wood connects and echoes through the compound’s empty basement.  They slide their blades together, meet at the guards, their faces inches apart.  Geneva is focused, while Ms. Olivia is entirely passive.

            They part, Geneva backing and bringing her blade down overhead.  Nina blocks it and goes for a kick, catching Geneva in the chest and knocking her to the ground.  Then, she looms over Geneva, driving her own blade down only to have Geneva deflect it.  Shifting Ms. Olivia away, Geneva brings Ms. Olivia’s weapon down and pins it to the ground with her foot.

            Now, Geneva lunges backward, her attack missing only by inches. Ms. Olivia lifts her blade, breaking Geneva’s balance and lands a blow to Geneva’s side.  Geneva backpedals, wincing, as Ms. Olivia comes in again and swings. This time, she disarms Geneva and throws her to the ground.

            Ms. Olivia steps over Geneva, poises her blade over Geneva’s head.  Now, she is smiling and panting.  “And I say that is that.”

            Geneva scowls.  “I can still win.”

            “I highly doubt that, Ms. Oaks.”  Ms. Olivia steps away, twirls her blade and tucks it under her arm.  Geneva sits up, and Ms. Olivia says, “Now, don’t be sour.”  She goes to the table and pours herself some water.  “You’ve improved considerably these past few months.”

            Geneva stands, and Ms. Olivia hands her the water before pouring another cup for herself.  “You keep saying that,” Geneva says after taking a long drink, “But I don’t feel like I’ve gotten any better at all.”

            “You’re too hard on yourself.”

            “And you’re still holding back.”  Ms. Olivia shrugs, and Geneva says, “See.  That’s what I mean.  An enemy won’t hold back, will they?”

            Ms. Olivia takes both swords to the weapons rack and hangs them up.  She looks at Geneva over her shoulder.  “Would you like for me to give it my all from now on?”

            “…Not when you look at me like that.”

            “You need to train at your own pace, and you’re doing fine.”

            Geneva slouches.  “I guess you get what you get in this situation.”  She looks at Ms. Olivia.  “Come on, let’s get things cleaned up.  I’ve got an essay that won’t write itself.”  She sighs.  “Turns out there are some things this ring can’t do after all.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Geneva buckles herself in and stares out the window.  She has showered since her training and is now wearing a jacket.  After Erak’s coup, things changed dramatically around the compound.  Erak was captured and sent away with those who supported him to await trial, while Ms. Olivia was made interim commander of the post.  While she doubts a full appointment, she is taking the time to restructure things at the compound and to make Geneva feel more comfortable there.

            Ms. Olivia herself made a point to apologize to Geneva, frequently and emphatically, until Geneva told her to stop.  Things are still tense between them but, Geneva understands these it will take time to be better and is trying her best to stay positive.

            She slicks her hair back while Ms. Olivia climbs into the driver’s side of the SUV.  After that, they pull out onto the long, dirt road and away from the compound.  On the way, Ms. Olivia says, “Ms. Oaks, I had thought you might like an update on the Council.  May I?”

            “Shoot,” Geneva says, and Ms. Olivia pauses and looks at her.  “I mean, uh, go ahead.”

            “Oh, well, yes.  Erak is to be put before the Council to plead his case.  Pending their decision, he will be sent to prison for rehabilitation or put back into service.  His trial will be soon, and he will be defending his claims against me, among others.”

            “So if he wins, he’s just going to come back here?”

            “I find it highly unlikely that he will be found innocent.”

            “Yeah, I don’t.”  Geneva crosses her arms, sinks into her seat.  She feels tense, tight, and angry, but she satisfies herself by glaring out at the city in the distance.  “I’ve been reading those books you gave me.  Seems to me like elves aren’t very fond of everybody who isn’t them, so it seems pretty darn in character for them to look the other way so long as he’s advancing their agenda.  Which is crap, by the way.”

            “While I can agree that the Council and the elven public in general enjoy their illusion of supremacy, I can also assure you that they prefer to be aware of their agent’s actions before those actions are taken.  In that regard, Erak has done very poorly.  And, it may help to learn that I know someone on the Council who is as furious with him as you are.”

            “I doubt that,” Geneva says.  “The jerk tried to kill my girlfriend.”

            “Yes. And you saved her.”

            “Barely.”  Geneva gives a long pause, watches barren fields drift by.  Soon, they will start planting and working the fields again.  “He deserves to get the book thrown at him.  And hard.”

            “Excuse me?”

            “As in,” Geneva sighs.  “This would be so much easier if you just knew this stuff.  Don’t you take, like, language classes or something?”

            “I learned English in preparation for this job, but I didn’t have time to learn all of your idioms.  And sometimes, I hear you say things and fear that no amount of training would have helped.”

            “It would have helped some,” Geneva says, “Anyway, I meant that you guys should give him a harsh punishment.  Cause, you know, what he did was pretty harsh.”

            “Ah.  Indeed it was.”  Ms. Olivia glances at Geneva before taking a turn.  “And, I promise you, I have no intention of letting him get away with it.”

            “Good,” Geneva says, and she leaves it at that.

            They leave the fields and pass over a small bridge into the edge of the city.  Ms. Olivia turns onto the highway.  The sun is high and gives everything a glossy shine. A blue sky greets them from behind the towering buildings.

            The tranquility is broken by Geneva’s pocket.  She pulls her cellphone out and flips it open, and Ms. Olivia glances at her.  “Is someone contacting you?”

            “Kit.”  Geneva taps a few keys on her phone, presses send, and puts it back into her pocket.  She notices Ms. Olivia’s repeated glances and stares back in response.  “What?”

            “And how does she have your number?”

            “Claude used her phone to call me,” Geneva says.  “And, also, I gave her my number later after she deleted it.”  Ms. Olivia begins to speak, and Geneva throws her hands up.  “What? What am I supposed to do?  I have a phone.  And a girlfriend who knows I have a phone.  We can’t just keep pretending.  Besides, there has to be SOME perks to this job.”

            Ms. Olivia shakes her head.  “Really, Ms. Oaks.”

            “It’s fine,” Geneva says.  “It’s fine.  It’s definitely fine.”

            “I don’t like it.”

            “I know you don’t.  You never do.”  The phone buzzes again, and Geneva stares ahead with her fingers on her pocket.

            “Well?”

            “It’s fine,” Geneva says again, and she adds, “I promise.”  She then pulls the phone from her pocket and reads Kit’s response.  A grin spreads across her face.

            Seeing that, Ms. Olivia’s expression softens.  “How is Ms. Wright doing?”

            “Better than you’d expect, what with being targeted for assassination and all.”

            “She does seem quite resilient.  And your relationship is well?

            Geneva winces.  “No, no, we’re not talking dating.  No offense, but that’s, like, super personal.  Let’s keep this relationship professional.”

            “If you insist.”

            “I do.”  Geneva rests the phone on her leg and her head on the window, and she watches the streets pass by.  “It’s fine, though.  Good, even.”

            “I’m glad to hear that.”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Geneva says.  They bounce over a pothole and onto her street.  Ms. Olivia pulls up to her house and rolls to a stop.  Geneva grabs her things from the backseat after undoing her seatbelt.  “Thanks for the ride.”

            “Thank you for all of your hard work, and one thing before you go.”

            “Of course.”

            “I will be gone for some time.  As I mentioned earlier, I must go and speak on behalf of both you and the prosecution, as it is I who arrested Erak and brought his crimes to light.”

            “Okay.  So, what, time from training?”  Geneva hopes she sounds upset but can feel the joy growing in her chest.

            Ms. Olivia laughs, quietly, and stops only when she finds Geneva staring.  “Oh.  I had thought that was one of your jokes.  I apologize.”

            Geneva sinks into her seat.  “Funny.”

            “Yes.  Well, I hadn’t planned on giving you time off.”

            “But, you said I was improving.”

            “And I think we should move forward with the momentum of our progress backing us.  Viness will handle your training in my absence.”

            “Vinnie, huh?”  Geneva scratches her chin thoughtfully, nods.  “I like him.”

            “That is good to hear.  He will be picking you up from school.”

            “Right, right.”  Geneva pushes the door open.  “Well, travel safe, then.  And get that bastard. And by bastard, I mean Erak. And by get him I mean throw the book, which means, well, you know.  I think you get what I’m getting at.”

            “Yes,” Ms. Olivia says, “I will do my best.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            “I like it.”

            Claude stands, arms crossed and staring critically.  The ratty old sofa sits in front of him, mostly silent.  It releases a groan as Shirley sits on it, and a bit of dust as she pats the cushion beside her.  She looks expectant, and he knows that means for him to join her.  He does so reluctantly and with a small frown.

            “Oh, come on,” she nudges him, “Don’t be so sour.”

            “It’s just a lot of money.”  He looks at the couch, picks at the fabric of the arm rest, and grimaces.  “For this.”

            “Well, good furniture—new furniture—costs a lot more, and we don’t make much.  So, we take what we can get.”  She snuggles up to him, smiles.  “Besides, it’ll be nice to have a place to sit for our meals.  Or for reading.  Beds,” she says firmly, “Should be for sleeping.”  Standing, she goes to the kitchen to take the kettle from the stove.  She pours tea for both of them and peeks at him over the counter.  “And you really need to cheer up.”

            Claude shifts in his seat.  “I’ll get used to it.  It’s just going to take some time.”  He falls onto the center beam and reaches between the cushions to feel it with his hand, and he sighs.  “A long time.”

            Shirley brings in two cups, still steaming, and hands him one.  She blows on her own and sips at it.  Claude holds his and lets the smell fill the room.  While Shirley curls up beside him, folding her legs under her as she settles, she asks, “So, have you heard from your little girlfriend lately?”

            “Don’t call her that.  And no.”

            “Do you still have her number?”

            “Somewhere.  Probably.  Why?”

            She shrugs.  “Just thinking, we don’t have many friends around here.”  She blows more on her tea, sips it and winces at the lingering heat.  “Especially not ones who actually know what you are and what you do.”

            “I guess.”

            “I think we should have her over for supper.”

            Claude pauses, wide-eyed, his cup poised for his lips.  His lips open, close, curve back into his frown.  “No,” he says.  “That’s an awful idea.”

            “Why?”

            “She’s a teenager, for starters.”

            “Oh, you’re making a big deal out of nothing.  We’re not that much older.”

            “No, but she’s very, very young, and a few years can mean a lot of difference in situations like this.”

            Shirley rolls her eyes.

            “Okay, imagine how you would feel about two adults inviting a teenage girl over to their apartment.”

            “I wasn’t thinking she would come alone, Claude.  She can bring her girlfriend.  What’s her name?”

            “Kit.”

            Shirley smiles.  “Yeah, her.  They were cute together.”  She sips her tea and hums her approval.

            Claude sighs.  “Shirley.”

            “Come on.  We’ve shared an experience with them that we can’t, or shouldn’t, share with anyone else. Where else can we get that?”

            “This is a really bad idea.”

            “Please, Claude.”

            He taps his thumb on the mug, stares down at rings working through the tea.  Then, he sighs and looks at her, finds her big blue eyes watching him.  “You’re really set on this, aren’t you?”

            “I may have already picked out a table that’s in our price range.”  She pouts skillfully.

            “Fine.  Fine, I’ll call her tomorrow and see if we can set it up.”

            “Thank you!  Thank you so, so much.”  She leans forward, kisses his cheek.  “I know you don’t get it, but I think it’s good that we have friends in this. And, besides, it’s the least we can do after everything that’s happened.”

            Claude looks away, sulking.  “Yeah.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            That night, Geneva and Kit have supper together for the first time in weeks.  With school back in session and the knights still eating up her time, Geneva has little left-over time for Kit, but it is easier now.  They are able to have private phone dates in the evenings, provided Geneva’s schoolwork is done, and there aren’t so many lies.  It is strange sometimes to have Kit asking about the knights, but it is also nice.  For Geneva, it is proof that one thing in her life at least is real.

            Geneva does herself up for the date.  She wears a blue top that used to fit more tightly around her midsection and a pair of jeans which have to be belted to her slimming waist.  Her makeup is light and, by her own admission, a product of Beatrice’s hands.  The different products still bewilder Geneva, though she sometimes likes to pretend she understands what Beatrice is doing.

            Kit picks Geneva up and compliments her at the door, and then she takes her away.  Instead of the diner they head to somewhere bigger and nicer.  Kit is wearing a strapless dress, pink in color, and layered.  It fits her well, as everything seems to, and emphasizes her bust.  When they arrive at the restaurant all eyes are on her, and she proudly takes Geneva’s hand and leads her inside.

            They are seated by a handsome man with a thin mustache who gives them their menus, and, after some debate, they agree to order full course meals at Kit’s insistence..  Geneva also orders a soda, but only after making Kit promise not to tell Ms. Olivia.  Once the food is ordered, Kit stretches in her seat and gives a big smile.

            “Ms. Olivia keeps you on a diet, huh?”

            “As much as she can.”  Geneva grimaces after sipping her soda.  “Though, she doesn’t even have to try anymore.  This stuff doesn’t taste as good as it used to.”

            “Want to order something else?”

            “Nah.  It’s fine.”  Geneva slouches forward and blows bubbles into her drink through her straw.

            “Been a while since we’ve been able to get together,” Kit says, leaning forward.  There are countless attractive people in the room, well-dressed, some with their families.  Decorations line the walls, expensive paintings and sculptures the likes of which Geneva has only imagined are real, but Kit’s eyes are on her.  “You look beautiful, by the well.  Tired but beautiful.”

            Geneva laughs.  “Thanks.  That about describes it, but it’s not too bad.”

            “Yeah.  At least we can text,” Kit says.  “Still, I’ve missed being around you.  Think Ms. Olivia would ever let me stay and watch you train?”

            Geneva blows a particularly loud burst of bubbles as she tries not to laugh, and it earns her a glare from the couple next to them.  After offering a quick apology, she looks back to Kit.  “You want to watch me?”

            “Sure.”

            “No.”  Geneva shakes her head.  “No, no, not a good idea.”

            “Why not? I just want to see what’s going on there.  You’ve been losing weight so quickly that I’m half-afraid she’s starving you.”

            “Bruising me,” Geneva says, “That’s all she’s doing.”

            “Okay, but really, I just want to spend time with you.  More time, I mean.”

            “I know, I know.” Geneva sighs and rubs her neck.  She stirs the ice in her drink about with her straw and stares down at the table.  There is a light at the center, dimmed by a plastic sleeve that glows with a deep red color.  The sleeve has a web of black lines cut across it, isolating the red plastic from itself and casting long, netted shadows across them.  Geneva stares at the light and traces the web-work with her gaze.  “Listen, Ms. O will be out for a few days.  I’ll see if I can find-slash-am able to have some time off, and may we could get together to study.”

            “Study?”

            Geneva shrugs.  “I’m a busy gal.”

            “Well, I’ll take what I can get.  Where’s she going, by the way?”

            “Back to her home world where the elves live—Realm of Light?  Something like that—She’ll be there for a while, too, I think.  She had to go back to, well, you remember that Erak guy?”

            “The jerk who ordered the attack on me?”  Kit’s tone shifts now as she speaks.  She sounds distant, almost like she’s talking about someone else entirely.  Geneva looks up to see Kit averting her gaze and sees where Kit still has bruises around her wrists where the elves held her.

            “Yeah.  Well, he’s going to be on trial, and Ms. Olivia has to go and speak against him or be a witness or something formal like that.”

            “Oh.  Well, I’m glad to see that he’s getting what he deserves.”

            “Yeah.”  Geneva thinks for a moment to tell Kit that the situation is more complex than that but decides against it.  Instead, she says, “Me, too.”

            Kit’s fingers twitch, and then she moves her hand across the table toward Geneva.  She stops partway, palm flat against the tablecloth, and she stares at her hands and at her bruised wrist.  “Hey, Genny?”

            The waiter comes by then and leaves the food with them.  He asks if they need anything else, and they refuse him and thank him for the food.  He leaves, and before they can continue Geneva already has a spoon full of something in her mouth.  It is creamy and rich and smeared across her lips.

            Kit pauses.  “Hungry?”

            “Sorry.”  Geneva wipes her mouth delicately and swallows her bite. “You can’t tell Ms. O about this, either.”

            Kit smiles now.  “I won’t.”

            “So, what did you want to say?”

            “Well, I was wondering.  I mean, we haven’t talked much yet about, well, all of it and I didn’t want to be too forward.”  Kit looks across the table to find Geneva staring back at her in open confusion.

            “Uh, yeah?”

            “Well, I mean, I was hoping we could talk about you.  And you being a knight.”

            “Oh.”  Geneva jams her fork into her mouth and chews with deliberation.  She swallows, sips her soda, and grimaces.  “Depends on what you want to know, I guess.”

            “What’s it like?”

            “A pain in the keister.  Next.”

            “Thanks.”

            “Just saying.”

            “Fine.  Why is it a pain?  What do you do?  What’s the training like?  And what’s it like to fly?”

            “It’s a pain because of the training, and the time I have to put into it.  Mostly, I train.  Training sucks.  Flying is pretty cool, I guess,” Geneva says, and she picks at her meal.  “It’s not glamorous, though.  Not like you might think.  It’s nothing but getting yelled at and getting knocked down.”  Geneva pauses as the memories come.  Andromalius, scattered in the snow, the smell of his blood so thick that she can’t breathe around him.  The elves, dressed in black, limbs and blood scattered in the grass, and all she can think about is how they were trying to hurt Kit. She leaves her fork by her plate.  “I hate it.”

            “Then why not quit?”

            “Can’t.”  She looks at her signet ring now.  It is glossy in the dim light of the room.  “I don’t know the specifics of it exactly, but the armor is a part of me now.  I’ve tried taking it off, and I can’t.  It’s, like, connected to me, to my skin or my bone or something like that.”

            Kit stirs her water while Geneva returns to nibbling.  “That doesn’t mean you can’t quit, though.  Ms. Olivia seems pretty level-headed, and I’m sure she’d understand.  Just tell her that you can’t do it.  That you don’t want to do it.  I mean, you’re only seventeen, and this all seems pretty dangerous.”

            “I can’t do that either.”

            “Why?”

            “Because.”

            “Because why?”

            “Just because.”

            Kit stops.  She reaches across the table to take Geneva’s hand. “Geneva, please.”

            Geneva looks at her, sighs.  She takes all of the breadsticks on Kit’s plate and moves them onto her plate while staring pointedly at Kit.  “We’re getting ice cream after this.”

            “Of course.”

            Geneva sighs again.  “Fine.  Listen, the night of the party, when I had to leave, there was a monster—a demon—downtown.  It was wrecking the place and looking for a fight, and I had to...It was a blur, and my body moved on its own, and I’m not entirely sure what happened,” she pauses to breathe, “But I got an arrow stuck in him.”

            “And?”

            “And I won,” Geneva says.  “But it wasn’t glorious.  It wasn’t heroic.  It was—I can barely remember the night, just bruises when I don’t remember the blows, and being scared.  There was running and jumping and stabbing and...” Geneva’s frown deepens and the shadows cast a mantle over her face, giving it an edge.  “Do you know what it feels like to stab someone in the eye with an arrow?  Or what it’s like to have an explosion go off a few inches from your face?  It’s jarring, steals your breath away, like a punch to your whole body.  Then, there’s all the blood.”  Tears come to her eyes, and Geneva offers an apology as she wipes them away.

            Kit squeezes her hand, and they make eye contact again.  “Don’t be.  Don’t ever be sorry about opening up.”

            Geneva sniffs and wipes her eyes with her napkin before going back to her food.  “Anyway, can we change the subject?  No offense, but I don’t even have a job and all I do is talk about work.  When I’m with you, I’d rather spend the time eating different forms of bread and cheese.”

            “Sure.”  Kit gives Geneva’s hand one last squeeze before taking her first bite.  “But, just for the record, I’m always here to help you.  And I always will be.”

            Geneva smiles, faintly, before stuffing her mouth full, and she says a silent thank you in response.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Nina sits in her car and stares out at the compound.  Since Erak’s arrest, she has taken over daily operations of the border defense.  It was difficult to start.  Many of the elves were loyal to Erak or, at the very least, disagreeable toward her.  It took weeks to quiet those voices of dissent down to mere whispers.

            Viness helped.  His time at the compound didn’t make him friends, but the elves there were afraid of him.  He had single-handedly defeated each of them in hand-to-hand combat enough times that they knew any form of mutiny would be met with swift and painful arrest.  In all honesty, Nina fears him to, if for nothing else that his unclear intentions.

            She chooses to live away from the compound still, though she has spent many nights there, falling asleep over school work she has nearly forgotten to grade.  At Viness’ insistence she has taken up residence in Erak’s former quarters and has even started keeping back up supplies there for extended stays.

            Today, she is making her final tour of the facility before leaving for the Realm of Light.  Viness walks alongside her, assuring her that the compound will be as she leaves it and that Geneva will be kept training in her absence.  Despite this, she still feels the need to look over the patrol schedules, as well as question him about Geneva’s training.

            “I’m thinking of teaching her some hand-to-hand,” Viness says when asked.  He sweeps his long hair back and leans against the nearby wall as he speaks to her.  “She won’t always have that little wand of hers, and it will be good for her to know how to defend herself in a clutch.  Besides, we don’t have enough information to train her properly as a knight.”

            “Yes.  Unfortunately, the information is limited.”

            “Still, I’ll keep it basic.”

            They climb the stairs up to the first floor together, and Viness follows her out to the front lawn.  The sky is overcast and the air a bit cold and wet.  It had been sunny only a few hours before.  The weather here turns quickly.

            Viness watches the clouds grow dark and heavy as they approach the SUVs.  “Are you sure I shouldn’t come with you,” he asks when they reach the vehicles and comes to a stop.  “After all, I was there from the start.”

            “Trust me, we have enough people who can speak on it, and we have him.  That man will do more damage to himself in the end, I am sure.  You’re of better use here, watching the humans and Ms. Oaks.”

            “And all the elves still wanting a fight.”

            Nina nods.  “Are you sure you can handle this?”

            “I’ll be fine, I’m sure.”  He clutches his chest.  “Though, your concern is touching.”

            “I see you’ve adopted human sarcasm.”

            “I’ve perfected it.”

            “Yes, well, just keep an eye on the tree.  I worry what might come out of it.”

            “I’m sure the entire world won’t burn while you’re away.”  Their gazes meet, and he sobers and salutes her.  “Still, I’ll keep it safe.”

            “Do.” She salutes in return.  “Until my return, Lt.”

            “Take care.”

            She nods.  “You, too.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Kit parks her car on the street in front of the Oaks’ house and lets it idle.  She sits there, trading glances with Geneva.  The day was warm in the morning, but storm clouds are moving in, blowing wet and cold.  Geneva tucks her hair back while Kit keeps her hands on the wheel.

            Finally, Kit says, “So.”

            “So, guess funs over,” Geneva says.  “Back to the grind.”

            “Guess so.  You have a busy night?”

            Geneva shrugs.  “Homework, homework and, uh, oh yeah, more homework.”  She sighs.  “But tomorrow I have to train after school.  So, I have to get my homework done while I can.  Maybe try to get ahead.”

            “I see.”  Kit drums her thumbs on the steering wheel.  “Sounds rough.”

            Another shrug.  “Sad part is, I think I’m kind of getting used to it.  Whenever I do have free time, I feel like I’m going nuts from boredom.”

            “Whoa there, that doesn’t sound like the Geneva I know.”

            “Right? How’s a girl supposed to be a slacker when she can’t slack?”  She shakes her head.  “What’s the world coming to?”

            Kit laughs.  “Sounds to me like you could use a distraction.”

            “Like a shot in the foot,” Geneva says, allowing herself laughter, and they meet eyes again.  Geneva smiles before turning her attention to the floorboard.  She presses her feet together.  “Thanks for supper, by the way.  And for, well, just thanks and stuff.”

            “Anytime. Sorry they didn’t have any ice cream.”  Kit releases the steering wheel and takes Geneva’s hand, and she squeezes until Geneva looks at her again.  “But, seriously, anytime.”

            Blushing, Geneva pulls her hand away to fake-stretch.   Then, she stares out the window at her house.  The windows in the front glow with light and make her wince.  She rests her hand on the door handle.  “So, uh, Kit, I was thinking, I’ve got some sciency questions I could use some help with.  Maybe.”  A fleeting glance at Kit and, “What do you think?”  She says it how she imagines cool people say things.

            Kit smiles, turns off the car.  “I think that it would be cruel and selfish of me to leave a beautiful girl in need, that’s what I think.”

            “Oh.  Then I guess we’ll have to find a beautiful girl.”

            “I already have,” Kit says.  She undoes her seatbelt.

            “Really? Just like that?”

            “You said it yourself, limited time.  I’ll take what I can get.”

            “Fine, then welcome to my humble abode.”

            “I feel like I’ve racked up some frequent flier miles here lately.”

            “A few. Maybe.”

            Kit grins toothily, lifts her eyebrows.  “Think I’ve earned a free ride.”

            Geneva blows a raspberry, pushes the door open.  “Pervert,” she says, and she steps out of the car with Kit trailing.  They walk to the front together and Kit holds the door while Geneva enters.  As soon as they are inside, there is a call from the living room, and they stop to make an appearance.

            Everyone is gathered in the living room.  Geneva’s mother is wearing a nice dress and has her hair curled.  Her father, on the other hand, is reclining in his chair with a beer and a wary expression.  He is still wearing his uniform.  Beatrice is on the couch between her mother and a handsome-to-average looking boy sitting beside her.

            “Hey, Genie,” Beatrice says, wearing a big smile and even bigger earrings.  She waves from the couch.

            Geneva takes in the scene with her usual calm and strips her coat.  “Uh, hey,” she says while Kit takes her coat and puts it on the coat rack.  They stand together near the entrance, being careful of how close they keep their bodies and how that might be perceived.  Geneva hugs her own arm to keep from accidently taking Kit’s hand.  “So, uh, what’s going on, everyone?”

            “Your sister has brought over her new boyfriend,” Geneva’s mother says, her excitement making her voice high.

            “Mom, he’s not,” Beatrice looks at Geneva.  “We’re just friends.”  She looks at the boy.  “And we’re just hanging out.  No commitments.”

            The boy shrugs noncommittally.

            “Oh.  I’m Geneva.  Her sister.”  Geneva crosses the room, shakes his hand.  He nods at her, she nods back.

            “So, where have you two been,” Beatrice asks, her smile knowing.

            “Just grabbed supper.”

            “Well, don’t you two look all dressed up for supper?”

            Geneva looks at Kit, who shrugs, and then blushes before returning her attention to the family.  “Don’t you look all dressed up for no commitment?”

            Beatrice frowns, a warning that all younger siblings know.  Her eyebrow twitches.

            “Anyways,” Geneva says, “I think we should be heading upstairs.”

            “What, already? Don’t you think you should stay and tell us more about your evening,” Beatrice says.

            “No, no,” Geneva says from the doorway.  “Wouldn’t want to steal the thunder from you and your new boyfriend.”

            “He’s not my,” Beatrice looks at the boy, looks back at Geneva, “It wouldn’t be a problem at all.  In fact, we have…”

            “Listen, that’s interesting, but I’m really swamped with homework.”  Geneva takes Kit by the hand and drags her from the room.  “Sorry, guys. Love you.  Nice meeting you.  We’ll talk to you later.  Ta-ta!”

            They retreat up the stairs and into Geneva’s room.  Inside, Geneva sighs and leans against her door before locking it behind her.  Kit comes to rest on the bed.  “Well, that was interesting,” Kit says as the air settles.

            “Beatrice was trying to get my mom distracted.”  Geneva grins. “They’re getting the third degree about their relationship-that-so-totally-isn’t-but-totally-is-a-relationship.  Poor saps.”

            Kit laughs.  “You’re such a sweet sister.”

            “Hey, siblinghood is rough.  You do what you’ve got to do.  Sometimes, it’s the only way to survive in this world.”

            Again, Kit laughs, and she shakes her head.  Then, she looks around the room.  “So,” she says, reaching down into Geneva’s book bag.  “Where exactly is this homework you need help with?”

            Geneva approaches the bed while Kit is distracted and shoves Kit back.  Then, she climbs on, straddling her.  “Let’s forget about that for now.”  She smiles, self-consciously, but leans forward anyway, resting a hand on each side of Kit’s head.  “We’ll have time to study later.”

            Kit smiles up at her.  “Genny?” Geneva kisses her, quickly and decisively.  As they part, Kit is blushing. “What in the world has gotten into you?”

            “What do you mean? Weren’t you asking about your free ride earlier?”

            “Yeah, but I didn’t think—You said homework.”

            Geneva sits up, lifts her shirt off.  “And we will do homework.  Later.  For now, I think we need to use the time we have wisely.”

 

The Knights of Sheba 113 A…End

27: Episode Thirteen: "Soldiers" B

The Knights of Sheba 113 B…Start

            Geneva stretches.  Her limbs feel heavy and her body somewhat sticky, as if after a hard workout.  She is naked and, beside her, Kit sleeps soundly, equally nude.  A thin pool of drool has collected on Geneva’s pillow.

            Geneva sits up, rubs her eyes and smacks her lips.  Then, her mind focuses.  She stares at her far wall, at the morning light, and she falls from the bed as she scrambles.  “Oh, crap!”

            Kit stirs.  Rubbing her eyes, she sits up on one arm and the sheet falls from her body.  Geneva stares.  Kit always looks good, but in the morning after, she seems to glow.  Somehow, the thick waves of her hair appear to be styled.  “What’s wrong?”

            “You’re—We—I,” Geneva looks down, covers herself with her hands.  “Oh God!”

            Kit furrows her brow, yawns.  “You okay?”

            “I just—We!”  Geneva moves her hands, tries to cover as much as of herself as she can.  Nothing seems to work.  “I don’t think my door is locked.”

            “It is.  You locked it yesterday.”

            “I did?”  Geneva thinks back, sighs.  “I did.  Still!  Not the point.  You spent the night.  What if my parents KNOW?”

            “People spend the night at each other’s houses all the time.  Anyway, weren’t they all distracted by that boy?  What was his name?”

            “He was,” Geneva pauses, “It doesn’t matter.  There’s no way they were that distracted.”

            “Genny.  Chill.  What’s done is done.”

            Geneva takes a deep breath, lets it flow through her.  She shuffles, carefully, to her closet to finds clothes.  “You’re right.  We should get ready.  We’ll be late.”

            “Late?”

            Geneva looks back at her, panties on and bra halfway there.  “School, remember?”

            “Oh.”  Kit nods, stands.  “Right.  School.  You have anything clean I can borrow?”

            Geneva looks at Kit’s chest, blushes.  “Nothing that will fit.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            They reach the parking lot just before the doors lock.  The teacher on duty, checking the doors, gives them a disapproving stare as they pass.  Kit laughs and pulls a stammering Geneva along behind her.  The halls are empty, and their laughter and footsteps echo as they move.

            They come to a stop in the central hall, fingers twined, and they linger.  Geneva blushes; Kit smiles.  They pull apart but keep their hands linked, as if reluctant to part.

            “So,” Geneva hazards.

            “So,” Kit says, her smile spreading.  They can hear footsteps in the distance

            “After school, can I have a ride to the compound?”

            “Oh, can I drive you there, please? What a treat!”  Kit squeezes Geneva’s hand.  “I’ll look forward to it.”

            “Have fun in ISS.”

            “Have fun with Lana.”

            Geneva sticks her tongue out.  “See you later.”

            “You, too.”  They kiss.  “Love you,” Kit says, and she rushes off, leaving Geneva stunned and staring at her back.

           

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            After school, Geneva waits by the back doors for Kit to meet her.  Then, she walks with Kit, holding hands, to Kit’s car.

            The ride to the compound is quiet.  Geneva spends her time staring out the window and avoiding eye contact.  Her entire day has been spent trying to figure out what to say and if she should say anything at all.  Kit, meanwhile, is nothing but a smile with limbs.

            They stop outside of the compound, parking among the SUVs, and Kit looks over at Geneva.  They kiss again, and Kit’s smile not only lingers, but seems all the brighter.  “Want me to stay?”

            “Stay?”  Geneva shakes her head.  “No.  No, no, you don’t need to do anything like that.  It’ll just be me getting wailed on with a stick.  Nothing interesting.”

            “Oh, come on.  I bet it’s a little interesting watching you work up a sweat.”

            Geneva grimaces.  “Don’t be gross.  Sweat is squicky.”

            Kit shrugs.  “I don’t know about that.  Remember, I like my girls a little on the greasy side.”

            “There’s is nothing sexy about me and grease, I promise you.”  Geneva shudders for effect.  “You know, I’m starting to think our fetishes aren’t compatible.”

            “Really? And what, pray-tell, are your fetishes?”

            Geneva pushes the door open.  “On that note, it’s time for me to get.  I’ve got sweat to build up, as you’ve already noted.”

            “Yum.”  Kit laughs when she hears her girlfriend groan.  “When should I come by to pick you up?”

            Geneva pauses with one foot out the door, and she imagines the car ride home.  It is nice to see Kit, but she still doesn’t know what to say.  She looks back.  “Eh, know what?  I’ll grab a ride from Viness?”

            “Viness?”

            “He’s, like, Ms. O’s assistant.  Or man-slave.  Or something.  I’m kind of murky on the details of elven social custom.  Any-who, he’ll give me a ride home, so no point in you coming back for me.”

            “Well, there is.  I want to see you.  Crazy as it might sound, I kind of enjoy spending time together.”

            “Weird.”

            “Genny.”

            “Sorry, I’m just going to go home and study today.”  Geneva blushes.  “For real.”  Then, she sighs.  “Oh, the life of a teenage girl.  Fighting math tests, passing monsters,” pause, “Wait, I think I got something mixed up there.”

            Kit laughs.  “Genny, really, it’s no problem.”

            “I know, I know, but you don’t have to help me so much.  Not that I don’t appreciate it.  I do.  Really.  Just, there’s no need.”

            “I know, and I know you can take care of yourself.  But, and follow along, I want to help.”  Kit winks.  “You’re kind of worth the hassle.”

            Geneva’s blush intensifies to the point where her whole head feels warm.  She can vaguely imagine the heat distorting the air around her.  She chews her inner cheek.  “Fine.  If you insist.”

            And here it returns, that smile, Kit’s smile.  It is unstoppable.  “I do.”

            “Then, I’ll, uh, call you when I’m done.”

            “Okay.  See you then.”  She blows Geneva a kiss.  “Later.”

            “Yeah.  Bye.”  Geneva steps away from the car and closes the door, and she watches Kit pull away, waving as she goes.  She watches Kit roll down the drive and disappear into the woods, and then she sighs.  The walk to the compound seems longer and steeper than she remembers, though it is under a hundred feet away.

            On the way, she steels herself, pushing Kit from her mind and turning her attention to the task at hand. The distraction is a relief to her, but that only makes her feel worse.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Geneva enters the compound through the front door and goes straight to the basement.  She sets her things in one corner and joins Viness at the far side of the room.  He is fiddling with a gun at one of the work benches.  His long, dark hair is up in a high ponytail, and he wears a loose tank top and a pair of shorts.  She can see his pointed ears.  Like most elves, his figure is long, sleek, and he moves with an almost unnatural grace.  Sometimes, he looks almost like a woman to her.

            She comes to a stop behind him and clears her throat.  He looks back at her, and she says, “You know, Viness, you’re too damn pretty to be a boy.”

            Viness shrugs.  “Jealous?”

            “Very,” she says.  “I bet you’d look killer in a dress.”

            He grins.  “I do, indeed.”  He puts the gun back together quickly, with practiced movements.  Once the final piece is in place, he looks down the sight and pulls the trigger.  It clicks efficiently.

            “Wait, you actually wear dresses?”

            “Sometimes,” he says.  “We elves lack the social paradigms you humans have spent so many years cultivating, especially in regards to gender roles.  We wear what we like, when we like, and no one cares one way or the other.  I like dresses, and I make them look good.”  He sets the gun down.  “Elves don’t care what you wear.  They just care if they can use you or not.”

            “I see.”

            “Does that make you feel uncomfortable?”

            Geneva shrugs.  “Apparently, I’m bi, and that’s considered pretty weird here, too.  So, who am I to judge?”

            Viness knits his brow.  “I don’t understand entirely, but I think I get the point.  Anyway, we’re not here to talk.  At least not about that kind of stuff.  We have work to do.”

            “Nice getting to know you, too.”  Geneva goes to the wall where they keep the swords and grabs two.  “We doing this first or do you want me to take the armor for a spin?”

            “Neither, actually.”

            “Neither,” she says, returning the swords to their rack.  “Then what are we doing?”

            Viness folds his hands behind his back, walks into the center of the room, onto the training mats.  “After reviewing your mission files, I’ve decided that while the first lieutenant has given you extensive training in melee combat, she has done very little in the way of showing you how to fight capably in hand-to-hand.  And from what I’ve seen of your training, you need it, considering you inability to hold onto your sword.”

            Geneva shrugs.  “What can I say, I’m clumsy.”

            Viness nods.

            “So, what, you’re going to teach me kung-fu or something?”

            “I will be teaching you what I know, which is an amalgam of council military training and various elven martial arts.”  He grins.  “And, just as a warning, I’m not like Lt. Olivier.”

            “Eh, and why do you say that?”

            “Because, I won’t hold back.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Viness is lying and does hold back when they spar, though there is truth enough in that he does show more ferocity than Ms. Olivia ever has.  His movements are fluid and graceful, and his body twists and forms to each situation.  No matter how she tries, Geneva can’t keep up.  Each punch is too slow, too direct.  She never meets force.  Instead, she is redirected, moved wherever Viness wants her.

            Training stops with a heavy toss that leaves her lying on her back and staring up at the ceiling.  The air in her lungs is gone, and she is left wheezing in the effort to gather it back.

            Viness stands over there, hands on his hips, and while women don’t glisten, he certainly seems to.  “You look where you’re punching,” he says.  His breathing is even, and it’s almost enough to make Geneva hate him.

            She coughs.  “Aren’t you suppose to look where you’re going?”

            “You need to trust your instincts more.”

            “Really? Cause my instincts tell me to run.”  She blinks, wipes sweat from her eyes.  “You saying I should trust that?”

            “Probably.”  He helps her to standing, pats her back and grimaces.  Wiping his hangs against his pants, he says, “When you fight, you’re tense, and you’re thinking too much.  You try to remember what you’ve been taught, what you’ve gotten wrong but you can do right.  Thing is, your body will find the right movement when it needs it, but only if you give it the chance to.”

            Geneva, bent at the waist and still struggling for air, looks at him.  “How does that even make sense?”

            Viness pauses, rubs his chin.  “Think of it like your flight.  It took you time to conjure your wings, right?”

            Geneva nods.  “Some.”

            “But after doing it a few times, it’s like second-nature to you.”

            “Eh.  Not quite.”

            “But your body knows.  You don’t have to relearn it again each time.  Without thinking, you know to stop falling and fly instead.”

            “So, what, muscle memory?  Like with bikes?”

            Viness pauses.  “Yes?”

            “What? You don’t have bikes where you’re from?”

            “I’m not sure.”  He shrugs.  “Cultural differences, I guess.  I find it strange that you don’t know any forms of martial arts.”

            “We’re not all soldiers.”

            “But you are one now.”  She groans, and he says, “Anyway, would you like to take a break?”

            “Yes and please,” she whines, shuffling after him.  They get drinks and towels and settle near the shooting range.  It is empty now and, according to Geneva, it is cooler in that corner than anywhere else in the basement.  Viness makes effort to argue the point as Ms. Olivia never did, and it makes Geneva miss her teacher some.

            Geneva sits with her back to the wall and her shirt up.  She sighs as the cold stone makes contact with her flesh.  “So, tell the truth.  Am I that bad?”

            “Yes, but that’s why we’ll continue your training after you catch your breath.”  Viness is standing beside her, sipping at his own water. She watches him.  He meets her gaze after a few seconds.  “What?”

            “I was just wondering, who are you?”

            “Viness,” he says.  “You should know that by now.”

            She rolls her eyes.  “Yeah, but, like, what does that mean?  As in, who are you? What’s your history? I mean, I don’t know much about elves in the first place, and what I do know isn’t too flattering.  But you don’t seem too bad.”

            Viness hums noncommittally and bobs his head from side-to-side, weighing his answer.  “I guess I know quite a bit about you, so it’s fair for you to know about me.”

            “Yeah, exactly—Wait, what? What do you know about me?”

            “Things,” he says, “As for me, I was put here as Lt. Olivier’s support.  As corrupt as we are, there are some who would like to see her, and you, succeed.”

            “Oh.”  Geneva looks at her feet, flexes her toes to keep the blood flowing to them.  “But she never mentioned you before.  I didn’t meet you until Major Jerk-Ass had his little fit.”

            “That’s because she didn’t know I was here until then,” Viness says.  “Olivier is important, but don’t think for a minute she is in charge.  But I won’t go into that.”

            “Won’t or can’t?”

            “Both,” he says.  “You’re better not knowing the details.  Just do your job and do it well, and you’ll be fine.”

            “And what is my job exactly?”

            Viness smiles.  “To be a hero.”

            Geneva frowns.

            “And my job is to help you, and the lieutenant, along to that goal.”

            “This is sounding more and more suspicious,” she says, and he shrugs.  “So, you’re what? A spy?”

            “No.  I’m a soldier,” he says.  “And a good one, too.  Top marks in all field combat scenarios.  Expert hand-to-hand, capable field medic and squad leader.  Specialized in sharpshooting, though.”  He closes eye and makes a gun with his fingers.  Pointing it at her, he fires.  “I’m a sniper.”

            “Is there anything you’re not an expert on?”

            He thinks for a moment.  “Not much. No.”

            “You’re humble.  I like that.”

            He shrugs.

            “What about Ms. O?  I mean, I’ve never seen her fight, but from what I heard, she took down, like, a hundred guys by herself on the night of the attack.”

            Viness laughs.  “It wasn’t quite that impressive,” he says.  “The Border Defense isn’t the best of the best, usually.  Instead, they’re middle tier soldiers and middle tier nobles, not good enough to lead but not disposable enough to see the front lines.  Few of them have seen any real combat, and those that have didn’t last.”

            “Oh,” Geneva says, sounding a bit disappointed.

            “But don’t misunderstand.  Let me be clear when I say, that was beneath the lieutenant,” he says.”

            “Really?  So, she’s pretty good?”

            “More than.  In fact, she makes me look like a run-of-the-mill soldier.”

            Geneva stares in disbelief, and Viness holds up his hands, smiles.

            “I’m being serious.  She learned your language in a handful of weeks and could speak it fluently in a few months.”

            “Okay. Wow. That does sound pretty impressive.  How long did it take you?”

            “I don’t want to talk about it.”

            “Right.  So, how did she end up here if she’s so super? Another part of the corrupt elven government?”

            “Kind of.”  Viness takes a deep, contemplative breath, sips at hus water to extend the pause.  Finally, he says, “She did something big, and if she hasn’t told you, then it’s not my place.”

            “What did she do?”

            Viness shakes his head.

            “Oh, come on, you can’t do me like that! Build it up and then keep quiet.  That’s cruel, V-man.”

            “V-man?”

            “I’m trying it out.”  She sips her water.  “You like it?”

            He shrugs.

            “I’ll take that as a yes,” she says, “Now, come on.  Tell me!”

            “I’ll say only this, she did something that made her a legend, but not all legends are good.” He finishes his water and then stretches.  “Now, we’ve been resting long enough.  Time to get back to it.”

            “No.  No, no, please,” Geneva says, shuffling after him as he walks away.  “We can change the subject, talk about something else? How do you keep your hair so clean and soft?  And why are you so pretty?  Is it a spy technique?”

            He looks at her.  “Geneva.”

            She sighs, hangs her head and sets her glass aside.  “Right, right,” she says, pushing herself up to standing and following closely.  “And just when I was getting comfortable, too.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Shirley stands at the edge of the woods wearing a cloak with the hood up.  Her long, auburn hair is in a braid that hangs out the left side of her head, falling down in front of her chest.  She is smiling as he watches.

            The forest is large and dark but fringed with ice. Hoarfrost clings to the grass, makes it crack beneath her feet. Behind her, shadows gather, shadows with beastly form. Green eyes watch, blinking, staring. They fill the empty spaces between the wood, rattle the branches as they coalesce.

            Moving like oil, the shadows spread. They surge forward, sloshing formlessly between the enormous roots of the trees, climbing the bark and filling the grooves of it.  They pool at Shirley’s feet and spread slickly across her ankles and up her legs. Fluidly, they swallow her, climbing up her body and dragging her under.

            She screams, writhes, as the shadows pull her flat.  Then, they recede, pulling her with them. Shirley’s screams echo in the emptiness of the forest and fade into the distance, and soon, she is gone. Claude gives chase but cannot find her, cannot hear her.  Her voice echoes, faintly, but is caught by the wind and carried away.

            He falls to his knees, and he screams.

            He wakes up screaming, but now he is in his apartment, sleeping on their couch.  After work he had sat down to wait for Shirley and then fell asleep, and now he is awake and panting, a cold sweat pulling his uniform tight to him.

            He sits up and tugs it loose. “A dream,” he whispers to the empty apartment, and he slumps back against the couch. Staring at the ceiling, he tries to remember his dream but can only recall hazy details. There were shadows, and there was Shirley, and then there was nothing else.

            The front door opens, and Shirley enters. He sits up in time to catch her smiling.  “Well, hello, handsome. Looks like you just woke up,” she says. “That’s not my fault, is it?”

            He shakes his head.

            “Good.”  She sets her purse and keys down on the counter. “Any plans for supper tonight?”

            “We can,” he swallows the lump in his throat. Seeing her makes him anxious but he isn’t sure why.  “We can have anything you like.”

            She laughs. “You can never make it easy on me, can you?”

            He smirks half-heartedly. “I guess not.”

            Humming, she moves around the kitchenette and looks through their cupboards. Claude stands, follows her into the kitchenette. He watches her move and gets brief glimpses of liquid shadows surrounding her.

            “Shirley.”

            She turns to face him. “Yes?”

            “I love you.”

            She smiles at him and tucks her hair back. “I love you, too,” she says, and they kiss.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            “So, what’s your name again?”

            “Rhys,” he says, “Rhys Puck.”

            “Cool name.  Right?”  Beatrice smiles at Geneva from her place beside Rhys on the couch.  Outside the sun is setting, casting its last rays of light just before the dusk melts slowly into night.  Geneva sits across from them while their mother prepares supper in the other room.  Their father is out but should be home soon.

            “Sure is.”  Geneva doesn’t quite understand how names can be cool, but she plays along for her sister’s sake.

            “And you’re Geneva, right,” Rhys asks.  He sits stiffly and tries to play the part of the good boyfriend.  All in all, it doesn’t fit him well.

            “Yeah.  Sorry, I guess last time I met you I was in a bit of a hurry.”

            Beatrice sticks her tongue out through her smile.  “You were spending time with your little girlfriend.

            Geneva goes wide-eyed, gives a look around the room.  “Bea!”

            “I’m just kidding.  Where is Kit, anyway? I figured you two would be spending the entire weekend together.”

            Settling back into her seat and trying hard to hide her blush, Geneva says, “She’s with her folks.  They’re doing one of their dinner parties or something, so she has to dress up and play the princess.”

            “She looks the part.”

            Geneva considers it and nods her agreement.

            “Maybe she can stop by later?”

            Geneva shrugs.

            “Anyway, I’m glad you two are getting along again.  She’s a good kid.”

            “Thanks, mom.”

            “Hey, don’t get snippy with me, miss.”

            “Or what?  You’re going to send me to my room?”

            “I might just have half a mind to take you over my knee.”

            “Like you could.”

            “Oh, look at you.  Lose a few pounds and suddenly you’re Wonder Woman.”

            “That’s a bit of a dated reference, isn’t it? Lynda Carter hasn’t been a thing in how long?”

            “Lynda Carter may not be a thing, but Wonder Woman is eternal!”

            “Oh.  Right.  That’s why she has all those super popular movies.”

            “She has books.  But I suppose you wouldn’t know about those, what with being illiterate and everything.”

            “Because comics are high art,” Geneva says, “Wait, no. I got that backward.  They’re art if you’re high.”

            “Snob.”

            “Hippy.”

            Rhys looks between them.  “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

            Beatrice looks at him, pats his head.  “Oh, darling, aren’t you lucky that you’re so pretty to look at.”

            Their mother enters the room.  “Come on, girls.  Supper is ready.”

            Everyone stands to follow Mrs. Oaks into the kitchen.  As they gather around the table Geneva stops by her chair.  “Um, shouldn’t we wait for dad?”

            “He’ll be late again,” her mother says while settling in her seat and unfolding her napkin.

            “How late? I don’t mind waiting.”

            “Genie,” Beatrice says, and she points to one of the seats.  Geneva hesitates for a moment and then sits.  Beatrice takes a seat across from Rhys and smiles at him, and then at her mother.  “Supper looks great, mom.”

            “It’s not much,” Mrs. Oaks says bashfully, but she smiles.  “I just threw some stuff together.  I hope you don’t mind chicken, Rhys.”

            “No, ma’am, it’s fine by me.  Meat is meat, and that’s all that matters.”

            Their mother laughs.  “You sound like the girls’ father,” she says.  “Sometimes we eat kosher here, because we’re Jewish, and he always complains.”  She picks at her food.  “Do you know what kosher is, Rhys?”

            He shakes his head.

            “Oh, here we go,” Geneva says.

            “Oh, Geneva, don’t be rude.  Our cultural traditions are very important parts of our lives, you know.”

            “Around the holidays at least,” Beatrice says, and she looks across the table at Rhys.  “There are lots of rules, but mostly we just don’t eat meat and dairy together.  It’s a big religious no-no.  Something about not mixing the blood of the child with the milk of its mother.  It’s a Jew thing.”

            Mrs. Oaks sighs.  “Beatrice.”

            “Sorry, mom.  We steal your thunder?”

            Their mother shakes her head and looks warily at Rhys.  “Can you imagine living with these two?”

            “He thinks we’re funny,” Geneva says, looking at Rhys, “Probably.”

            “Yeah, hard to imagine, but sometimes, I like to think people like us,” Beatrice says.

            Their mother rolls her eyes.  “Anyway, Rhys, what type of religion does your family follow?”

            Rhys pauses, a thick bite of chicken halfway in his mouth.  Everyone around the table watches him.  He sets his fork down, wipes his mouth.  “Well.”

            “Mom, maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it,” Beatrice says.

            “And why not, honey? We’re open-minded here.”  Their mother smiles at Rhys.  “Whatever you are, we’re fine with it.  Even if you’re one of those science-tologists.”

            “It’s scientologist, mom, and if he’s one of those, I’m not okay with it at all.”

            “Honey, don’t be mean to your boyfriend.”

            “It’s not being mean.  I’m just saying, that’s kind of high-grade crazy, isn’t it?  Anyway, you’re an atheist, I think.  Right, Rhys?”

            “Yes,” Rhys says quickly.  “I’m an atheist.”

            “Oh.  So, you don’t believe in anything,” their mother asks tentatively before taking a bite.  She watches him while she chews.  For his part, Rhys looks around and hopes to find help.  Instead, he finds three sets of eyes in total on him.

            He fiddles with his napkin.  “Well.”

            “It’s fine that you are,” Beatrice says.  “I mean, we’re only kind of Jewish.”

            Their mother frowns.  “Now, Beatrice, that’s just not true.”

            “Full Jewish on the holidays,” Geneva adds.

            “Geneva!”

            “Chill, mom. A lot of people are more relaxed about their religions now a days,” Beatrice says.  “Genie, Kit’s, what, Catholic?”

            “Christian,” Geneva says.  “Baptist?  Methodist?  Something.  She doesn’t talk about it much.”

            Mrs. Oak sighs.  “Oh, you girls will be the death of me.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            After supper, the family parts ways.  Geneva stays downstairs, putting leftovers away and cleaning the kitchen after the meal.  It is growing late, and their father still isn’t home.  Periodically, Mrs. Oaks stops to check the clock before resuming her work.

            Beatrice retires to her room with Rhys.  She drags him along by the hand while he follows uncertainly after, with the clumsy gait of someone in way over their head. 

            Geneva hides out in her own room, doing homework until she can’t think and then reading the journal to pass the time.  She finishes one entry just as her cellphone goes off.  She answers it to hear Kit’s voice.  “Hey, sweetie, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

            “No, not really.”  Geneva flips her the journal closed and tosses it from the bed.  She rolls onto her back and stares up at the ceiling.  “How’re you?”

            “Good.  Just got back from the dinner.”

            “And how was that?”

            Kit sighs.  “A dinner,” Kit says, “My parents kept trying to hook me up with Blakely what’s-his-face from down the street, and I kept telling them no.  It was almost a big thing, but then Mrs. Cavernaugh fell into the pool.  Everyone laughed.”

            “Sounds, um, fun?”

            “No, not really, but that crazy old lady saved me.  Remind me I owe her one.”

            “I’ll make a memo.”

            “Good,” Kit says, “And how about you? How was your evening?  I didn’t get to ask earlier. Are things easier without Ms. Olivia around?”

            Geneva groans. “Easy as a fist to the face.  Vinnie, the guy who is taking over for her, decided we should work on hand-to-hand combat today.”

            “Oh.  How was that?”

            “I already told you.  I got punched.  A lot.  In the face.”

            “Ouch.  He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

            “No.  He’s smarter than that.  Wears gloves, so there’s no bruises, and this conversation must sound weird without context.”

            “It’s pretty weird even with context.”

            “I can imagine.  Anyway, after that, I came home and hung out with Bea and her new boyfriend.  We had supper.  It was nice.  I think my mom is regretting keeping us, though.  But, that’s what daughters are for, to be embarrassing, right?”

            “Actually, I think it’s supposed to be the other way around.”

            “Oh.”  Geneva crosses one of her legs, wags her foot.  “So, we’ve had that backward all of these years.  Huh.  Crazy.”

            Kit laughs.  “Man, it is good to hear your voice.”

            Geneva blushes.  “Uh, thanks?”

            “I’m serious.  I’ve had a long, rough evening, and it’s nice to hear someone who likes me and doesn’t want anything from me.  It’s nice to just talk to you.”

            “Ah, well, I’m glad.  And, I, uh, like talking to you, too.”

            “Good to know.”  Geneva can hear the smile in Kit’s voice.

            The conversation grows quiet while they sit on the line.  Geneva searches desperately for something to say, for something to steer the conversation back toward comfortable waters.  She remembers Kit saying “I love you” in the halls earlier and feels her heart ramming hard against her chest.

            She wonders if she should say it back.

            Then, through the thin walls of her house, Geneva hears a rhythmic thumping sound and a few theatrical yelps.  She sits up, stares at her wall, and shakes her head.  “Oh. My. God, Bea.”

            “What?”

            “Nothing, nothing,” Geneva says, settling back down and glaring at her wall.  More loudly, she says, “Beatrice just likes to exaggerate!”  She throws her pillow at her wall for emphasis.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Nina unpacks her things.  It is something she decided when she first moved to the Realm of Man.  Wherever she goes, however long she stays, she will unpack, and she will make it home.  It started as a means of acceptance during a time where the world she knew—the world she grew into—seemed to reject her.

            Plans are that she will be in the Realm of Light for nearly a week.  During this time, she will watch the trial and speak on behalf of the prosecution.  As before, the Council of Races will preside, and they will decide Erak’s future.  This time, he is being tried for treason against the realms and against the council itself.

            Nina is being given the use of a small hotel room just outside of the gate tree.  Furnished for dignitaries and travelers to other worlds, it is richly decorated, well-lit, and very clean.  She stares out the window and into the warm elven night and feels, not for the first time since her return, that she doesn’t belong.  Winter is ending in the Realm of Man, crawling slowly toward spring.  Here, in the Realm of Light, the seasons are limited, especially around the gate tree.

            High above she can see the rings, small bands of milky white, in the night sky, made pale by the starlight surrounding them.  When she was young, they were a comfort to her.  Now, they feel like a noose.  It takes a deep breath and a stretch to calm her, and she turns her back on the window and pops her fingers, one-by-one, out of nervous habit.

            There is a knock at the door, and Nina goes to answer it.  Like all elven buildings, the hotel is built organically into a tree.  Everything is made of wood and nothing has consistent form.  Nature surrounds the elves everywhere, a luxury that few races enjoy.  Nina pauses at the door, holds her breath, and opens it.  “Marilith?”
            Councilor Marilith enters wearing a red jacket and a pair matching red pants.  She has a dark undershirt and a red tie for accent.  Her lips and eyes are painted red, while her dark hair is pulled back.  She smiles at Nina.  “It’s been some time,” Marilith says, embracing her.  “You don’t come to visit as often as I thought you would.”

            “It’s a long trip.”

            Marilith nods, crosses the room and sits on the end of the bed.  “Close the door and take a seat.  We need to talk.”

            Nina nods, too, closes the door and finds a seat by the table in the room.

            Marilith crosses her legs.  “Are you alright?  You seem tired.”

            “I am fine, I am merely uncertain as to the protocols.  Are you coming here as a member of the Council or…”

            “Consider it a social call or don’t consider it at all.  It’s poor form for council members to show favor, but my leanings are clear.”

            Nina nods again.

            “The others are not so clear, however,” Marilith says.  “Tia is quiet, as she often is.  She wants to show support for the others races, I believe, but she’s unwilling to take an unpopular stance.”  Marilith laughs to herself.  “Her family doesn’t have the same clout they once did, unfortunately.”

            “I see.”  Nina glances out the window again.  She can see the gate tree shimmering from she sits.  “And the others?”

            “Garland is quiet, too, though for different reasons.  He favors Erak, and while he may not outright support Erak’s actions, he does support of the fool’s logic.  Lei Bann is stubborn, as always, and is keeping to himself.  He’s a surprising old cat, though.  His vote will be the swing, as usual.”

            “And Kray?”

            “Kray doesn’t like you. We’ve known that from the start.  But he also doesn’t like Erak or his family.  He never has.  So, it’s a choice between two sides he’d rather see fail either way.  It’ll be win-win, lose-lose, but I think he’s more likely to act against Erak for the sake of control.  We can’t have soldiers acting on their own to start wars.”

            “I see.”  Nina sighs, stares at the floor.

            “There’s more,” Marilith says, and she waits for Nina to meet her gaze.  She has her hands clasped on her lap now.  “I mean, I came to give you more.”

            “Yes?”

            Marilith leans forward, takes Nina’s hands into her own.  When she pulls back, Nina has a ring resting between her palms.  It is coral pink and highly reflective.  Nina holds her hands up, turns the ring around with her fingers until she finds a signet on the front. “Is this?”

            “Another signet? Yes.  While it hasn’t been made official yet, I have gotten this much from Tia and Lei Bann.  It’s surprising, but Erak’s little stunt actually served as a test of your girl’s mettle, and the results impressed them.  Even Kray was surprised.”

            “I see.”  Nina moves the ring around her palm.  It is smooth and faintly warm to the touch.  Pinching it between her fingers, she holds it against her lap, stares at the signet again.  “And so the knights will expand.”

            “For now, yes,” Marilith says, sitting back.  “The book says there were ten in total.  We have five in our possession.  Four were lost when the worlds burned.  And the last, well, you know the myths.”

            “I do.”

            “This could be a big step, a step toward a better world.” Marilith smiles.  “Anyhow, I wanted to give you that now, tell you in person so you can look unsurprised when we make the announcement tomorrow.”

            “And Erak?”

            “Whatever happens, the knights will continue.  That’s what’s important.”

            “Yes, but Marilith, what Erak did—He tried to break her, to make her into a weapon.”

            “Yes, he did,” Marilith says.   “But that is not what he is on trial for.  He is on trial for making decisions far above his station, for trying to pull the realms into another war with the demons without proper authorization, and for attacking our allies in doing so.  Remember that, for the trial.”

            “But, Mari.”

            “It may be hard for you to hear, but she is a soldier now.  A weapon.  In a way, Erak may have done you a favor.  May have forced her to make a difficult choice that you wouldn’t have forced.  Unfortunately, he simply found a fool way of doing it.”  Marilith sighs luxuriously.  “But that’s what you get from pampered types like him.”

            Marilith goes to the door and stands at it, her hand resting on the handle as she looks back.  “Just keep focused.  Choose your words carefully.  We can’t have a repeat of what happened before.”

            Nina’s expression hardens.  She balls her fist like a child.  “I know how to speak to the Council.”

            Marilith smirks.  “Yes.  I suppose you did well enough last time.  Still.”

            “I will mind my tongue.”

            “That is for the best.  Now, take care.  Rest.  And make sure not to speak of my visit.  They’ll know of it, but there’s no reason to make it a part of the discussion.”

            “Yes.”  Nina stands, salutes, and waits for Marilith to close the door.  Then, opening her hand, she stares at the ring.  “Another knight.”  The thought weighs heavily on her as she imagines another young woman tormented like Geneva.

            She sets the ring down on the desk and falls onto her bed.  It feels different to her than a human bed, but she isn’t sure how.  Outside, she can hear people, see the stars shimmering, the moon glowing warmly.  The air is so clean here and, to her, none of this feels like home any longer.

            She stares up at the ceiling, thinks how everything is changing so quickly, and she wonders how long she can keep up.

 

The Knights of Sheba 113…End

28: Episode Fourteen: "A Weapon" A

Episode Fourteen: A Weapon

            Nina wakes early in the morning, or rather, she doesn’t sleep well.  She stands and stretches, and she stops to stare out the window again.  Outside it is already busy.  Traffic around the gate tree has swelled again, people passing through, to and from, in rapid succession.  A thin fog has settled over the night, and the air smells wet, fresh, and humid.

            She showers and starts changing for the day.  She has her green military pants and a white undershirt on when a knock on her door interrupts her.  She opens it to find a female dark elf waiting.  The dark elf is lean and serious looking, though not unattractive.  Her dark skin is marked by deep scars across her face and body.  She wears the green military uniform of a council soldier but removes the hat as she enters.  Her dark hair is kept in a tight bun atop her head.

            “Nojah,” Nina says, mostly to herself, and then she salutes.  “I mean to say, Major Atschka.  To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

            “At ease,” Nojah says, passing into the room.  She leans against a nearby dresser, stares a hole through Nina.  “I came to speak with you before the trial.  To ask you, are the rumors true?”

            Nina relaxes, pushes the door closed.  She sees the coral signet resting on her end table, catching the light, and scoops it up casually.  “The rumors?”

            “The resurrection of the knights, the accusations against Erak as traitor.  Did he really try to kill a human girl?”

            “Yes, to all of it.”  Nina crosses the room, slips the ring into her luggage.  She locks the luggage before turning back to Nojah. “As you can imagine, Major Draco is very unhappy with the return of the knights.”

            “Most elves are,” Nojah says.  “And your knight.  She’s just a small, human girl?”

            “She is a human girl,” Nina says, looking back.  “She is quite capable, I think, and not as small as you might have heard.”

            “I should hope not.”

            “Humans are the only ones who can wear the rings.”

            “I know that, Lieutenant.  We all know that.” Nojah gives a crooked, hateful grin.  “The greatest failing of the people of light.”

            Nina nods.

            “And so that’s why Erak tried to kill her? Envy?”

            “No.  And not her, but someone close to her, to turn her angry.  To make her want to fight.”

            “Bold of him.”

            “Foolish of him.”

            Nojah shrugged noncommittally.  “The man wanted results, took steps to get them.”  She looks Nina in the eyes.  “I knew a woman who would have done the same thing.”

            Nina holds her gaze, and they stare across the room at each other. “Yes,” she says, “And I know one who would say he would come to regret the measures he took.”

            “I wonder, though, if people who are willing to go so far are able to truly regret their misdeeds.”

            “Don’t,” Nina says.  “They can, you can be sure of that.”

            Another humorless grin, “And yet you’re still taking orders, aren’t you?”

            “Aren’t we all?”

            “Only the right ones.”  Nojah stands from the dresser.  “I will be at the trial.”

            “I hope I don’t embarrass you on the stand.”

            “Good luck with that.”  Nojah turns and goes to the door.

            “Thank you,” Nina says, saluting.  “And thank you for the visit, Major.”

            Nojah nods and leaves, and Nina stares at the door when she is gone.  Then, sighing, she slouches back against her table, and she stares at the floor while taking measured breaths.  Seeing Nojah always brings back bad memories of mistakes made.

            Then, she takes a deep, steadying breath, and stands.  “If you can face her, then you can face him,” Nina says, and after dressing, she checks herself one last time in the mirror before leaving.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Geneva smears cream cheese across the surface of her bagel, holds it poised for her lips, and then hears Ms. Olivia’s voice echo in the back of her head.  Sighing, she scraps the cream cheese off onto her plate and then gives a sad look at the lonely bagel before nibbling it sullenly.  She is alone in the morning, awake before the rest of the house.

            Kit was there with her, late into the night.  It has become custom for her to stay to study, and often study gets forgotten in a tangle of arms and tongues.  Normally, Geneva would sleep in on the weekends, but she had to wake up to see Kit out before her parents caught them.  She vaguely remembers worrying that they wouldn’t wake up in time, but a sharp knee to the back had pulled her from a sound sleep.  Kit may be slender, but she is tall, and her body seems to be made up of needle-like joints.

            Geneva’s mother joins her in the kitchen and goes straight to the fridge.  She grabs orange juice and pours herself a glass, and she gives Geneva a lingering stare.

            Geneva stares back and swallows a particularly large bite of bagel meant to keep her out of conversation.  “Uh, morning.”

            “Morning, dear.”  Mrs. Oaks puts the juice away.  “I saw Kit’s car this morning.”

            Chew, chew, pause, choke.  “Uh.  Yeah?”

            “Yup.”  Mrs. Oaks sips her orange juice and lowers her eyebrows as she stares.  Her eyes are blue, like Geneva’s, but older, wiser.  Crow’s feet form around the edges as her face tightens.  Her lips purse.  It is the look of a concerned mother, so strong that even time slows for her.  “Don’t her parents worry about her spending so much time here?”

            “Uh.”  Geneva jams the rest of her bagel in her mouth, hoping it will give her some time to think.  It does, but not enough, and after swallowing she offers an uncertain, “What?”

            “Oh!  Don’t misunderstand.”  Her mother smiles; Geneva knows it’s a trick.  “Your father and I don’t mind.  She’s always welcome, but,” another pause, accompanied by more pursed lips and raised eyebrows.  “Geneva, is she having problems at home?”

            The tension leaves Geneva with a sigh of laughter.  Now, her mother looks uncertain.

            “Is something funny, dear?”

            “No.  No, no, just—No.  Mom, Kit’s fine. Her parents are loaded and barely there enough to beat her or anything.  She just wants to hang out.  I think she gets lonely, is all.  Her house is like five of ours, and that’s a lot of space to fill when you’re all by yourself.”

            Her mother nods.  “Children need their parents.”

            “Eh, sure.  Yeah.  That’s what I’m saying.”

            Mrs. Oaks smiles again.  “Well, you make sure to tell her that she is always welcome.”

            “I’m sure she’s sure, but I’ll make sure,” Geneva says, and she scoops some cream cheese from her plate and jams it into her mouth before dropping the plate into the sink.  To her, it feels like a little rebellion against the absent Ms. Olivia.

            On the way up the stairs she meets Beatrice, whose hair is in its usual morning mess.  She moves jerkily, holding tight to the rail to keep from falling forward, and she yawns on approach.

            They stop at the center of the stairs, Geneva leaned against the wall to grant Beatrice passage.  Beatrice stops to look her over with half-lidded eyes still fogged by sleep.  “Well, look at you,” she yawns again, “All awake in the morning and stuff.”

            “Early to rise, something about a worm.”

            Beatrice chuckles.  “Yeah, I think that’s how it goes.”  She looks Geneva over and plucks at her shirt.  “Wow, Genie, how much weight have you lost exactly?”

            “I don’t know.  Some?”  Geneva tugs at her pants.  “I think.  Why?”

            Beatrice shrugs.  “Looking good, is all.  And happier, too.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah.”  Beatrice grins and pokes Geneva’s side.  “It’s Kit, isn’t it?”

            Geneva retreats into the wall and shoves Beatrice’s hand away.  “Quiet, you.  Mom’s in the kitchen.”

            “She can’t hear us.”

            “She can.  Woman can meld into walls.”

            “I don’t think you have the science to back that up.”

            “I’ve got a lifetime of experience.”

            “Seventeen years isn’t much of a lifetime.”

            “Just keep it down, alright?”

            Beatrice shrugs.  “Fine.  Whatever.  I’m happy for you either way.”  She rubs the sleep from her eyes and gives Geneva a level stare.  “There was a while there where you sulking all the time and hiding out in your room.”  She falls forward, or maybe it was meant to be a lean, and pulls Geneva into a hug.  “I’m glad to have my sister back.”

            Geneva blushes and pats Beatrice’s back.  She stares at the wall, at the family photos that are staring back, and then stares at the ceiling.  “Uh.  Thanks?”

            Beatrice mumbles.

            “You’re asleep again, aren’t you?”

            “Not anymore, not with all this talking.”  Beatrice stretches and gives another yawn.

            “I think you could use some coffee.”

            “Could.  Or an adrenaline shot.”  Beatrice turns away, messing Geneva’s hair, and starts down the stairs.  “Seriously, though, Nevie-weavie-butter-pecan.  Glad you’re back.”

            Geneva allows a smile as she watches Beatrice’s descent.  “Well, guess I’m glad to be back.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            “It’s good to have you back.”  Marisa says this over lunch.  She is sitting across the table from Claude, her apron worn with the straps off and knotted about her waist like a skirt.  The top buttons of her blouse are open, and she is fanning herself with one hand while clutching a glass of iced lemonade in the other.  Beads of water gather on her fingers.

            Claude picks at his salad across from her, soaked through to the bone.  Weeks of wandering the kitchen doing odd jobs have given him an appreciation of the clearly defined tasks associated with washing dishes.  It is dirty and filthy, still, but it is his job.  He rolls a piece of broccoli back and forth with his fork and gives an absent, “Thanks.”

            She adopts a sly grin.  “Though, I’ll miss the chats we had while you were everyone’s little helper.  Was nice to have someone to shoot with while I was working.”

            Claude snorts.  “Nice for you, maybe.  I was just in everyone’s way.”

            “Yeah, you were.”  She laughs when he frowns.  “Oh, come on.  I’m just playing.  Lighten up will you.”  She sips her lemonade, and he stabs at the broccoli in the silence.  “By the way, you never told me.  What happened to your hand?”

            “It was,” he pauses and pushes his plate away, “stupid, and I was in over my head.  That’s all I want to say on it.”

            “In over your head?  What, you running drugs or something?  Claude, if you need money, I can loan you some.”

            “No, I’m not.”  He pinches the bridge of his nose.  The cast is gone, but his fingers still feel stiff.  He grimaces.  “It was just an accident, okay?”

            “Okay, okay, chill.”  They go quiet, and she drinks deeply of her lemonade, draining the glass.  When she returns it to the table, the ice rattles around the bottom.  She checks the clock.  “Still got five.  Anything you want to get off your chest?  Anything with your girly?  How’re things going with her, by the way?”

            “They’re,” Claude pauses, “Things.”  He folds his hands on the table and watches as he weaves and unweaves his fingers.  The night at the school comes to his mind.  Shirley took it all in stride, like she takes everything in stride.  Sometimes, he feels like the weaker of the two.  “Actually, I do have something I want to talk about.  Not Shirley, but, I guess, I’m thinking of a story.”

            “You guess?”

            “I, uh, I’ve never written or anything like it, and I was just—I need some input.”

            “Okay.  I guess I can help, but I’m no writer.”

            “You read, though, I assume.”

            “More into movies.”

            “But, you’re a girl.  So...”

            “I’m a girl?  What does that,” Marisa shakes her head.  “Whatever.  Just ask.”

            Claude rubs the back of his neck.  Now that he has permission, his mouth feels dry.  He tries to think of a way to describe it without letting her know it is him, and then he says, “Well, thing is, in the story, there’s this guy. And he’s got a duty.  A destiny.  He’s the hero, and he’s in love with a—a princess, and she gets into trouble.”

            “Breaking new ground here.”  Claude stammers, and she shakes her head.  “Go on.”

            “Well, anyway, she gets in trouble and the hero, he has these other duties.  He has to save the world, and so he can’t save her.  So,” he pauses and fiddles with his fork again, spinning it in his fingers and watching the light catch against the metal.  “So, I was wondering, as a woman, is that bad?”

            “Is what bad? That the hero doesn’t save the princess?”

            Claude nods without looking up.

            “Well, of course.”  Marisa checks the clock again and scoops up her dishes as she stands.  “He’s the hero, and the hero should always save the princess.  That’s what makes him the hero, right?  Anyway, we should get back to it.”

            He nods again but keeps his eyes fixed on his fork.  “Yeah, you’re right, I’ll be there in a bit.”

            “Okay.  Hero.”  She laughs when he looks up at her and leaves him with his thoughts, which aren’t so kind to him.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The court is the same as Nina remembers, being large, domed, and filled with early morning light.  The circumstances, however, make the shadows seem darker.  Staying to the side for the prosecution to do their job is the worst part.  Nina wants to be there, before the court, speaking for herself.  She wants to look Erak in the eyes when he hears the verdict.

            She sits with her hands folded on her lap, wearing her military uniform to make sure they know who she is and where she stands.  Erak, too, is in uniform, his medals polished to a shine.  They are few but gleaming.  He looks assured, wearing a smile that make Nina feel angry and violent.

            Soldiers stand beside him, weapons ready.  He is cuffed to the podium for his defense, but Nina knows that has no bearing.  It is all formalities.  Elven everything is formalities.  Erak knows it, too, and that is why he smiles.  When he sees her, his smile broadens.

            “I hope you’re ready,” he says to her, not loudly, but to where she can hear.  People are entering now, but to her it feels like they’re alone.  “When this is finished everyone here will know.  They’ll see you for the treasonous bitch you are.”

            Nina looks away, stares ahead.  She watches the empty council seats and sorts her thoughts.  She knows the truth, but that will hardly be enough to convince anyone.  So, she rehearses her speech in her head, remembering the etiquette, the importance of language.

            “I’ll show them the weakness your kind has infected us with.  The disease that your bleeding heart really is!  The reality that the appeasement you offer to the lesser races is just the foundations laid for our own destruction.”

            “Please, Erak,” Nina says, looking at him again, no longer angry, but sad.  “Please stop now.  The Council will arrive soon.”

            He scoffs.  “Yes, and I suppose we should save the spectacle for the spectators.”

            The room is quiet again and very cold.  People gather rows of seats set above the court, looking down on them.  This is a case that has reached many ears, Nina imagines.  Affluent families will attend simply to say they were there when the verdict was cast.  Nina knows the importance of this moment, knows that all eyes are on them.

            The Council arrives and a hush settles over the room.  Marilith makes eye contact with Nina as she sits, gives a ghost of a smile.  It isn’t there long, but it is enough to give Nina the strength to meet the gaze of the other councilors.  She finds they look as anxious as she is, save for Garland, who simply looks frustrated.

            The soldiers at Erak’s side turn to take their seats.  Before they go, they salute Erak, who nods in return.  Then, Garland stands at his station and rests his hands on the polished wood of his desk.  His robe hangs from him, and it leaves Nina to realize how old he truly is.  He is an elf from a bygone era, an elf much like Erak himself.

            Garland clears his throat and addresses the congregation.  He speaks loudly and eloquently, and all of it is lost on Nina, who simply breaths quietly to herself.  The lights are blurry now.  She folds her hands, thinks how this is different from the last time, how important this is.

            This decides the future of the Realm of Light, and, truly, all of the worlds under its rule.

            Looking into the crowd, Nina finds Nojah there.  Nojah nods and crosses her legs.  She watches Garland, showing more courage than Nina has in the moment.  Nina stares back at the podium in front of her, where the prosecutor shuffles her paperwork.

            The trial starts and passes in a haze.  Nina hears parts of it.  She hears the prosecutions half-hearted attacks at Erak and realizes even they agree with his sentiment even if they know his actions were treason.  She watches Erak as the entire thing plays out, sees his cool confidence as he answers questions, as he speaks.

            Then, “Lieutenant.”

            Nina looks up, finds everyone watching her, finds the council watching her.  She stands, feeling light-headed.  “Yes, sir?”

            Garland is frowning.  It is hard to see him from where she is, with her anxiety fogging her vision.  “I said, we would like to ask you questions, considering you were there on the scene.”

            Nina nods, shakily.  “Yes, sir.”  She takes the podium, hears the prosecutor snicker as she passes.  Resting her hands on the wood, she finds it feels rough against her palms now.  She grips it tightly to keep the world from sliding from under her feet and reminds herself, again, of how important this is.

            “Finally,” Garland says, lifting some papers and looking them over.  “Now, it says you were there on the night of Major Draco’s alleged coup, that you were the one who captured him and stopped all operations with the help of a second lieutenant, Viness Crowenn.  Is that correct?”

            Nina’s mind moves slowly.  There is a pause in response as she tries to remember herself, tries to pick the words carefully.  When she realizes everyone is waiting, she clears her throat, nods.  “Um. Yes, sir.  Councilor.  That is true.  Correct, I mean.”

            “Will you tell us, in your own words, what happened?”

            Nina nods again.  “Yes, I would—Yes, I will.”  She looks at Erak, finds him grinning, looks back at the podium.  She takes a deep breath and, closing her eyes, pretends she is someone else.    She remembers Geneva, when Kit was in trouble at school, and tries to become her.

            Again and again, she tells herself how important this is.

            Opening her eyes, she meets Garland’s gaze readily.  “On that night Major Draco contacted me with the information that a demon had infiltrated the human realm and was somewhere within the city.  He fed me false reports of demon sightings and gave me orders to take Geneva Oaks, our knight, to hunt it down.

            “Later, I learned that during this time he had sent his own private forces to assault one Katherine Wright, a human girl romantically involved with our knight.  Records show, records that you have been given, that his plan was to eliminate the human girl, using her death as a catalyst to turn Geneva into a more effective weapon.”

            “Yes, we’ve read those reports,” Garland says.  “But at the time you knew only of the false reports that the Major had given you.”

            “No.  Ms. Oaks received a phone call from Claude Sylvain, a human ally who had been protecting Ms. Wright from elven attack.  After which, she informed me of the situation, and I took it upon myself to intervene.”

            Garland rubs his trimmed beard, nods.  “Yes.  And the major made mention of so many humans who were now aware of the border defense—an act that could be considered treason in itself.”

            “I do not think so,” Nina says.

            Garland frowns at her.  “We know,” he says.  “With that in consideration, however, do you think that the major’s actions were in defiance of the council? Or was he simply taking steps, perhaps extreme steps, to fulfill his duties?”

            Nina takes a deep breath. “I think.”  She glances at Erak again, and then at Nojah, and finally settles her view back on Garland, who watches her impatiently.  “I think that Major Draco is an elf, through and through, and perhaps a patriot at that.  I think he truly believes in the crimes that he has committed, because I believe that he is too naïve to understand the consequences of them.”

            Erak’s face sours quickly.  Nina can see it in her periphery, but she forges ahead, her eyes steady on Garland.

            “Here are the facts: the major took unsanctioned action, violent action, against humans who had shown both that they were capable of keeping secrets and also of helping us against the demon threat that has returned.  He did this not out of a desire to help the elves, but out of a desire to help himself.

            “Humanity knows.  That was a decision you made yourselves when you decided to reconstitute the knights, against his wishes, I might add.  His desires can forever be argued.  In the end, they are subject to whatever he must say to defend himself, and so I will not address them.  Instead, I will address the results of such actions.

            “Ms. Oaks is an ally, and she is a soldier.  In the last attack by demons, she defeated a demonic lord, who according to what lore we have and damage reports on the field, was a creature of incredible power.  One which even I would hesitate to battle, and she did so with no elven support.”

            Nina looks at Marilith now.  “Some of you would make her a weapon, and I understand that is the life of a soldier—fighting battles because you were ordered to, not because you want to.  But, if she is to be a weapon, then she is a tool, and that means she must be maintained, and she is of greater use to us willing than broken, of that I can assure you.

            “So, to answer your question, Councilor,” she meets Garland’s eyes again, “Do I think he intended to defy the council?  No.  Do I think that his short-sightedness and vanity could have cost us a valuable and powerful asset, one which would be sacrificed in the name of his career? Yes.”

            Nina pauses, lets the words settle.  The crowd is quiet, vacant.  She stares straight ahead at the council and sees Marilith grinning from ear-to-ear.

            “A demon noble,” Councilman Kray says, drawing the attention of the other councilors.  He is smiling a crooked, aged smile.  “Well, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed with that.”

            “But it is irrelevant,” Erak says, leaning into his podium, his face red, his brow furrowed.  “Didn’t you listen to her?  Demons invaded.  They’ve grown bold, and that pet she parades around isn’t a soldier.  She’s a defiant little girl, petulant, a child, untested by the fires of war.  What we need is a warrior, a weapon.  We—We need a soldier!”

            “Major,” Marilith says, quieting him.  As he settles back into his podium, she continues, “You say the girl is untested, but if I remember your career well, I do believe she has seen more combat than you have, hasn’t she?”

            Erak pauses, stammers.  “Under my supervision.”

            Marilith hums.  “Mm.  I suppose that is true.”

            “The elves, we deserve this.  We can’t have the other races encroaching upon our lands, and it is only right that the girl serves.”  Erak looks to Nina now.  “You want the humans to work alongside us? Fine!  But let them earn it, as the other races have to.  As the dark elves had to.  That is what I meant by untested.  I simply meant that she—she is still just a girl, you know.  Nearly a baby.”

            “Yes, Major, you’ve made your case.”  Garland glares now at Erak, who goes quiet and sinks into himself.  Turning his attention back to Nina, Garland says, “And you’ve said your piece, I imagine.  You may return to your seat, Lieutenant.”

            “Thank you, sir.”  Nina salutes and replaces the prosecutor, who is no longer snickering.

            Settling, Nina releases a great sigh.  Her body feels loose, now, empty, devoid of anxiety or even air.  She sits rigid, though, maintaining her presence, and she hopes that her words were enough to sway a council already against her.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Shirley opens the door and flips the light on.  She carries a few bags in and then steps aside so Claude can make it to the counter after her.  Groceries come tumbling from his arms as he staggers forward, barely able to contain everything he had.

            Leaning back against the sink, he surveys the groceries with Shirley at his side.  “I think that will hold us for a while.”

            “Yeah,” Shirley says, regarding their haul.  “Feels weird having money.”  Claude nods and, together, they start putting things away.  “So, have you talked to Geneva yet?”

            “Shirley.”

            “Hey,” she says, stopping and tapping him on the nose, “You agreed to it, buster.”

            “I said I would think about it.”

            “You said you would do it.”

            Claude closes the cabinet and turns, finding her staring at him expectantly, tapping a finger on the countertop, watching him with eyebrows arched.  “I…”

            “Oh, come on, Claude.  Don’t back out now.”

            “It’s just weird,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “Her being so young and all.”

            “She’s not that much younger than us.”  Shirley takes out a box of pasta, stows it in the cabinet next to him.  “She’s, what? Eighteen?”

            “Sixteen, I think.”

            “Sixteen? Really? She’s that young?”

            “See!”

            “I mean, for her to be off,” Shirley waves both hands vaguely, “Doing whatever.  Still, not that much younger.”

            “Five years.”

            “You’re being ridiculous.”

            “I have adult friends we can have over.”

            “Yes, but do you have adult friends who do,” Shirley looks at him, waves her hands again, “Whatever?”

            “Shirley.”

            “I’m just saying, Claude.  You two might have to work together again.”

            “Doing whatever?”

            Shirley nods, picks up two more boxes. “Besides, you really did agree to it already.”

            He crosses his arms, frowns.  “I said I’d think about it.”

            After putting the boxes away, she turns to him, pouts professionally.  “Oh, please!  Claude, if you did it, you’d be my hero.”

            He goes quiet, looks at the floor.  Then, looking into her big, shining blue eyes, he sighs.  “Fine, fine, I’ll call her.”

            “Really?”

            “Yes.”

            Shirley goes to her purse, pulls out her cellphone.  She hands it off to Claude and then stares at him.

            He stares back.  “What?”

            “Then do it.”  She crosses her arms now.  “This time, I’m not giving you the chance to change your mind.”

            Claude’s face pinches, his eyes narrowed, his frown more pronounced.  “You can really be a chore sometimes.”

            She kisses him, rests her hand on his chest.  “Shut up and call.”

 

The Knights of Sheba 114 A…End

29: Episode Fourteen: "A Weapon" B

The Knights of Sheba 114 B…Start

            While the council deliberates, Nina walks the base of the gate tree.  She watches the elves coming and going, sees long awaited reunions and heartfelt farewells.  There are always people here, at the gate tree, appearing and disappearing as if through a hole in reality.  Due to the light interference caused by the tree, it is the only place in the whole world where the stars can’t be seen at night.

            Now, across the street, she looks up and sees the world’s ring and wonders when it became foreign to her.

            She grabs a private lunch and then returns to her hotel room to wait.  Near evening she returns.  The sun is setting, throwing golden light over the treetops.  Long shadows stretch over the city, but the light brands the sky and, still, she can see the ring faintly.

            When she returns to the court, she sits behind the prosecutor.  They don’t acknowledge each other.  No one acknowledges Nina here, save for Nojah, who gives a curt nod.  Nina returns it and stares ahead at the council chairs, waiting.  Not far from her Erak is returned to his podium and attended by guards.

            Light is fading as the council returns.  The electricity is turned on, generators humming in the back rooms.  Lights flicker and buzz to life in the corners.  The room is dim now and the shadows deep.  The councilors each take their seats, with Garland at the center. 

            Once everyone settles, Garland stands.  He clears his throat and looks out at the room.  Despite his age, or perhaps because of, his presence demands attention.  His voice booms, carrying across the curved walls.  “Welcome back, everyone.  As a reminder, we are here today to determine the alleged crime of treason in one our military officers, Major Erak Draco, head of the Border Defense.  Earlier, we heard testimony from both soldiers in the field and from the major himself and, having convened, we have now reached a verdict.”

            Garland clears his throat again, shuffles his paper for effect.  Nina watches his face, watches his body, sees how he sags and frowns, and she draws conclusions.  Then, she quickly pushes them out of her head just to keep herself from being disappointed.

            He looks up again, makes sure to cast a long stare out at the audience.  Then, he settles on Erak, who is still smug, still smiling.  “Considering the testimony and evidence gathered, and after much deliberation, we, the council, have no choice but to find the major guilty of treason and conspiracy against the elven people and sentence him to a lifetime of work in a labor camp in the Realm of Tranquility.”

            Erak’s smile sours with rage.  He goes wide-eyed, writhes and wrestles against his bindings while gripping the podium so tight his knuckles pale.  “What?  Garland! You bastard!  You told me!  You told me I would be fine, that they would understand!  You told me!”  He kicks at the soldiers approaching him.  “Get away from me!  I a damned hero, and you people,” he says, glaring at the crowd, “And you!  You’re all cowards and—and—and cowards!”

            “Please, can someone get him out of here,” Garland says, his frown deepening the creases of his aged face.

            More guards appear, surrounding Erak and pinning him to his podium.  They undo his cuffs and drag him away while he shouts.  “I will not stand for this!  Everything! Everything I’ve done has been for you people.  Mark me!  The humans will rise up!  They will rise up, and that little human bitch will be at the center of it!”

            Then, he is gone.  The room is quiet, save for a murmur from the crowd.  Garland sighs, now looking smaller, and settles into his chair.  Marilith, seated to his left, touches his shoulder.  They whisper between themselves, he nods, and she stands in his place.

            “And it has been decided that, for her exemplary service, both in the foundation and maintenance of the knights and also for her part in apprehending the major, Lieutenant Olivier shall be given command of the Border Defense and shall be granted a promotion to Major herself.  Should she accept.”  Marilith looks at Nina, straight in the eyes, a look that says it is no offer.  “Well, Lieutenant?”

            Nina stands, bows.  “It would be my honor, councilwoman.”  She looks out at the audience, and then at the council again.  “And I thank you, all of you, for the opportunity.”

            “Yes.  Good.”  Marilith rests her hand on Garland shoulder again and then looks out at the crowd.  “Then, court adjourned.  We will convene again tomorrow in the morning.  May you all rest well tonight.”

            As the elves and military personnel stand to leave the room, Nina notices Marilith wink before returning to the council and following them out.  Nina smiles faintly before leaving herself.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            There is a pause on the line after he asks.  Then, Geneva says, “You want us to what now?”

            Claude sighs.  “It’s my girlfriend’s idea.  She thinks—Anyway, do you want to have dinner at our place?  You and your,” Claude pauses, “girlfriend?”

            “I guess I can talk to Kit about it and get back to you.”

            “Thanks, that would be—Well, it would be something.  Well, have a good night.”

            “You, too, I guess.”  They hang up, and Geneva stares at her cell phone.  “Weird,” she says, and she shrugs and tosses it to the side.  The doorbell rings, and she leaps from her bed and hurries down the stairs, meeting Beatrice at the door.

            Beatrice grins.  “Oh?  You expecting company, little Genie-pie?”

            “Actually, I’m expecting that big box of shut up I ordered you.”  She shoves Beatrice into the living room and opens the door, finding Kit on the other side.  As always, Kit gleams like an angel when framed in the twilight.  She tucks her hair back and smiles at Geneva.

            After a brief silence, Kit says, “Hey, sorry to come over on such short notice.”

            “No, you’re fine.  So, uh, you wanted to talk?”

            Kit nods.  “If you have time.”

            “Yeah.”  Geneva nods, now, looks over her shoulder to find Beatrice watching.  She grabs her jacket from the coatrack and slips it on.  “Outside.”

            The air is crisp, bracing, despite the sun.  A cold front has moved in, a lingering touch of winter’s chill.  Geneva’s breaths produce curls of steam from her nostrils.  She watches it, smiling in childish glee in remembrance of her and Beatrice smoking imaginary cigarettes as children with the steam as their smoke. 

She stuffs her hands in her pocket and turns to face Kit, who is staring at the ground.  Kit’s jacket is thin, but she doesn’t seem to notice the cold.  In fact, her gaze is so far away that she hardly even seems to be there.

Kit digs her feet into the earth, left soft by melting snow.  She watches the indentation her shoe leaves fill with water.  “So.”

“So,” Geneva says, still watching Kit.  “Talking.”

“Yeah.”  Kit holds her hands behind her back, waves one leg in front of her while balancing on the other.

“And we’re outside.  To talk.”

“We are.”  She lifts her gaze, settles it on Geneva, and then shrugs.  There is a faint flush to her cheeks, and Geneva can’t decide if it is from the cold or not.  “I wanted to talk.  To you.  About what happened the other day, in the morning.”

“Oh!”  Now, Geneva blushes as she recalls the words.  She looks at the ground, shifts her weight.  “Oh.”

“Yeah.  So, I could tell that you were a little weirded out by it.”

“I wasn’t weirded out.”  She looks up, finds Kit staring, looks back down at the ground.  “Okay, I guess I was a little weirded out.  Sorry.”

“Don’t be. That’s what I’m here to say, is that there is nothing to be sorry about.”  Kit paces a small circle, takes a deep breath.  “What I mean is, I’m sorry.  We’ve been together for a few months but that’s still pretty fast, isn’t it?”

Geneva shrugs, thinks how she doesn’t have anything else to compare to.

“So, I just wanted to talk.  Make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m okay.”

“Well, of course you are, but what I mean is,” Kit closes distance, touches Geneva’s shoulder.  Their eye meet again. They stare.  “What I mean is, I don’t want you to feel any pressure to say it back, or to say anything at all.  It’s something I said to you, and that’s all that it is.”

Geneva watches Kit, digests the words.  “Really?”

“Really.”  Kit smiles.  “I know this is your first relationship, so I don’t want you to rush into anything.  So, take me at my word.  No pressure at all.”

“Oh.  Good.”  Geneva exhales, releasing some of the growing knot in her gut.  Then, she allows a smile.  “Thank Zeus for that,” she says, and Kit grins and lifts her eyebrows.  “I mean, not that you aren’t, like, loveable or anything.”  Now, Geneva blushes.  “What I mean is—What I’m trying to say—It’s my first relationship, like you said.”

“I know,” Kit says, her grin sticking and almost becoming insufferable.

“I just—I’ve never said that to someone before.  Except mom and dad.  And Beatrice, when they make me.”

Kit nods, shrugs.  “I understand that.  I hadn’t either.”

Geneva stops.  “What?  Really?”

Kit laughs.  “Really.”

“But, Kit, you’ve dated.  A lot.”

“Yeah, and what’s the longest relationship I’ve ever had?”

Now, Geneva shrugs.  “Honestly?  I just kind of tuned you out when you started talking about sex.”

“Exactly.  Most of my relationships to this point have been sex.  But, with you,” Kit smiles again, and this time her cheeks are red and it’s definitely not the cold.  “Well, let’s just say it’s different.”

“Oh.”

Kit shoves Geneva, gently.  “It’s a good thing.  It means I really like you.”

Geneva pauses, watches Kit watching her.  She realizes that she has never really seen Kit like this, so flushed, so vulnerable.  Kit has, to Geneva’s knowledge, always been confident, always comfortable with her emotions.  Suddenly, Geneva feels small.

            With that knot forming again, Geneva slows her breathing, swallows.  “I know it’s a good thing.”  She tries to smile.  “And I really like you, too.”

            Kit laughs.  “I would hope so.”

            “Yeah.”  Geneva laughs, too, by forcing it.  “I mean, like, a lot.  Really a lot.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah.  Like, love.”  The word leaves Geneva’s mouth before she can stop it, leaving a hot ball of iron in her stomach as it goes.  She can’t look away from Kit, not with the joy she sees, but she also can’t keep staring.  So, she blinks.

            “Geneva, I meant it when I said you didn’t have to.”

            “I know.  I—”  Geneva leans forward, kisses Kit and is kissed back.  They stand like this, together in her yard, under the spindly limbs of the only tree there.  As they part, Kit is beaming, and Geneva wears an ill-fitted smile.  She glances at her window, around her neighborhood, and hopes no one saw.

            “Wow.  So, this is what that feels like,” Kit says.  If her smile grows anymore it will swallow her face.  She stretches her arms over her head.  “Well, I am glad I came over to talk to you, then.”

            “Me, too.”

            They stand in silence.  The sun feels suddenly quite hot against Geneva’s back, while the air feels cold against her face.  A storm brews in the center.  She looks to a distraction, for anything else to talk about, and settles on, “Claude invited me—us—over for brunch.  Or something.  It sounded stupid.”

            “He did?”

            “Yeah.  I mean, no?  I think it was mostly his girlfriend.  Anyway, do you want to go?”

            “After everything that’s happened?  Hell yeah.”

            Geneva nearly chokes on her disappointment.  “Oh.  Okay, cool, well, I’ll call him then.”  She goes back to the door.  “Later.  Right now, I have some homework to do.”

            “Figures.  Well, I’ll see you.”  She blows Geneva a kiss, and Geneva catches it half-heartedly before retreating inside.  Alone, she leans against the door, catches her breath while staring ahead at nothing in particularly.

            She sighs.  “Every time,” she whispers to herself, and then she forces her way back up the stairs, replaying the entire conversation in her head and counting every little lie.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Nina stands by the gate tree at dawn, watching the sun rise over the tree line. Splinters of darkness extend into the forest’s depths.  The treetops are a shining green ocean now, undulating with the warm, morning breeze.  Above it, the world’s ring glitters.

            She checks her pocket watch and surveys the surrounding area.  It is busy, as it always is.  Families wait for the return of their loved ones, of soldiers and politicians and laborers away from home.  A diplomat Nina met years earlier is parting ways with his wife and son, and he has to wipe his eyes to keep from crying.

            “Ready to go?”

            Nina turns and finds Nojah.  As always, Nojah is in military dress.  Nina salutes quickly and Nojah returns it.  Then, she leans against a nearby tree with her arms crossed, and she stares at Nina.

            “I’m sure you could stay.  Marilith would like to have breakfast with you, at the very least.”

            “I can’t.  My papers allow for only a short stay, and I have things to get back to.  Erak left me quite the mess.”

            “I can imagine.”

            Nina nods, turns to watch the tree.  She is set to leave soon.  Though the Gate Tree requires no power on the part of the elves to operate, they do organize travel simply to keep records of those who come and go.  These regulations help them to keep order.

            “Do you think it will all be worth it?”

            Nina turns again.  “How do you mean?”

            “I mean, this isn’t her end game.  It’s just another step.  Do you think that the knights can be everything Marilith needs them to be?”

            “I don’t know,” Nina says, thinking of the coral signet inside of her luggage.  “It is a lot to expect of a person.”

            “Because they’re human?”

            “Because they’re mortals, with lives finite as ours.  I hardly think we have a chance of playing our parts, any of us.  But,” Nina smiles now, “If I have to go off of character, then, yes.  I believe she is everything we need and more.  I believe she can do it.”

            “That girl of yours? That’s a lot of faith you’re putting in her.”

            “It is.”

            Nojah stands straight, away from the tree.  “Then I would like to meet her someday.”

            “I’m sure you will.”

            They wait together now, in silence, as the sun rises, as time gathers.  Marilith arrives, finds them like this, and clears her throat.  She laughs when they salute and then looks at Nojah.  “Wasn’t expecting to find you here, Commander.”

            “We were just catching up.”

            “Oh? Then carry on.”

            “We’re done.” Nojah turns, salutes Nina, and then salutes once more to Marilith before leaving.

            “We’ll talk later, over lunch,” Marilith says, waving at Nojah’s back.  To Nina, she says, “So stiff. Anyway, returning to the Realm of Man.  And you have everything?”

            “Yes.”

            “Good.  We’re counting on you.”

            “I know, and I promise I won’t let you down.”

            Marilith hugs Nina, and Nina returns it hesitantly.  “Of course, you won’t.  I would never allow it.  Now, take care of yourself, when you can.”

            Nina nods, dips to grab her luggage.  She starts toward the Gate Tree and stops to look back.  “I’ll see you soon.”

            “Not nearly soon enough.” Marilith waves, and Nina watches her as she backs away.  Then, there is a flash and a pinch, and Nina closes her eyes and passes between worlds.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Shirley smells it first and follows it down the hallway to her apartment.  Grabbing her keys, she is just about to unlock the door when it opens for her, revealing Claude waiting inside.  He is wearing an apron and a smile, and she returns his smile with a smile in kind before kissing him on the cheek and following him inside.

            “It that delicious smell our apartment?  Tell me it’s our apartment.”

            “It is,” Claude says.  “Or it’s what’s cooking in our apartment.”

            “Same thing.”  She sniffs the air.  “You know, a man who looks as good as you doesn’t have to cook, not that I am complaining.”  She sets her purse on the counter and unbuttons her jacket.  “Is it pasta? It smells a bit like pasta.”

            “Making chicken alfredo.”

            Her eyes go wide. “My favorite!”  Slipping her jacket off, she folds it and sets it over her purse.  “Okay, mister, what’re you buttering me up for?”

            “Nothing,” he says. “Just wanted to do something nice for you, since you’ve been working so hard.”

            “I. Am. Dating. The. Perfect. Man.”  She pulls him into a hug and kisses him again, this time on the lips.  Then, they part, and she goes to the stove, where a pot simmers.  Lifting the lid, she smells the alfredo more closely and stirs it with a nearby spoon.

            Claude watches her, rubbing his neck.  “I’m not that great.”

            Looking over her shoulder, she winks.  “And he’s modest, too.”

            “Hey, stop teasing me.”

            She blows a raspberry through her teeth and then takes his hand.  “I mean it, hon,” she squeezes his hand, “Thank you. This is a wonderful surprise.”

            Now, he smiles.  “Well, it’s not the only surprise.”

            “And there’s more?”  She fans herself.  “Oh, my!”

            “I took the time to get us a movie.  And that ice cream you like.”

            “A movie? And ice cream?”  She puts her hands on her hips, knits her brow.  “Seriously, what did you do?”

            “Nothing.  I promise.”

            “Really?”  Shirley smiles again.  “So, this, all of this, is just you being awesome?”

            “Yup.”  Claude looks at the floor, shifts his weight.  “And, it’s just—Listen, I’m sorry.  For everything that happened that night.”  When he looks up to meet her eyes, he finds that it is too hard to hold her gaze and looks away again.  His hands find refuge in his pockets.  “For putting you in danger.”

            “Claude, don’t be sorry.”  Shirley steps in, wraps her soft arms around his torso.  She holds him close and stares up into his face until he stares back.  Her smile lingers, gentle and sincere.  “You saved me.  You’re a hero.”

            He holds his breath and, slowly, hesitantly, returns the embrace.  “I guess so.”

            “No, no guessing.”  Shirley releases him, slaps him gently in the chest.  “You’re the big hero, remember?  So, no moping.  Unless moping means you cook me dinner more.  Then, you can mope all you want.”

            Claude laughs.  “Now you’re just taking advantage.”

            “Girl’s got to do what she can go get by in the world.”  Shirley steps away from him, goes to the cupboard and grabs two bowls.  “Now, come on, I’ve got alfredo and ice cream.”  Pinching his cheek, she adds, “And a movie!”

            He pulls away, rubs his cheek.  “Make me a bowl.  I’ll get the laptop.”

            “How gentlemanly of you.”

            Shirley takes the spoon and fills their bowls.  She fills Claude’s with extra, knowing that he won’t finish it and knowing that she will.  Normally, she would watch what she eats more closely, but normally she doesn’t have alfredo.

            Claude pauses around the counter and watches her.  “Shirley,” he says, and when she looks at him, he falters again.  Even staring down a demon, he has never felt so small. “I just want you to know, I’ll always be there for you.”

            Her brow knits again, this time in confusion.  She has the spoon in her mouth, licking it clean.  “What?”

            “I mean,” he sighs, rubs his neck again.  “No matter what happens, no matter what sort of danger you’re in, I’ll come for you.  I promise.”

            She stares at him, her smile wilting only slightly in her confusion.  Then, giggling around the spoon, she says, “I know, Claude.  What’s gotten into you?”

            “Nothing, I just wanted to say it.  I just want you to know.”

            “And I do.  Now, get the movie ready.”  She stabs two forks into their meals and lifts the bowls.  “And make sure not to skip the previews.  They’re the best parts.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Yima enters Seere’s chambers and finds him reading, as she often does.  A goblet of water sits beside him, untouched.  She stops in his doorway and leans against the frame.  Her cloak hangs from her body, torn and dirtied from constant travel.

            Seere licks his finger, turns a page and, without looking up, says, “Yes?”

            “I have a report.”

            “And I am listening.”  Seere folds the book over his finger and looks at her.  “Though, I suppose you’ll want my full attention.”

            “It’d be nice.”  Yima enters the room, takes his goblet up and drinks deeply of it.

            “And now you have it.”

            She returns the goblet.  “I’ve seen the human realm, the elves, and the knights,” she says, “And the elves are in charge now.  The gods, it seems, are little more than myths to the humans, and the elves are little more than shadows, though their presence looms larger in other realms.  From what I can tell, the fair folk have developed an empire that rivals that which we felled.”

            Seere sits back, rests his book on his lap.  “Interesting.  They wield so much power, and yet you call them shadows to the humans?”

            Yima scoffs.  “They fear them, for whatever reason.”

            “Maybe for a good reason.”

            She shrugs.  “From what I’ve seen, the elves have the better technology and greater resources.  Their numbers are superior, as are their tactics.  If they wanted, they could destroy the humans.”

            “Conventionally, perhaps, but the humans were quite tenacious, from what the texts say.  And besides, the Deities held all the power in the war with us, and they fell just the same.”

            “Yes, but we had…”

            “Maybe the humans have their own secrets.”

            “But their flesh is soft and their meat is thin, and it tastes sour.”

            Seere laughs.  “Yes, well, what of the knights?  They killed our stalwart Andromalius, didn’t they?”

            “He was an idiot,” Yima says.  “And you never expected him to win.”

            Seere shrugs.

            “You and your games,” Yima says.  She crosses the room, pours herself some more water.  Holding her own goblet, she swirls the water around while watching her reflection in its surface warp and shift.  “They have only one knight, a human girl not yet an adult even by their standards.  She’s softer than the average human, too, more fat than anything else.”

            “And yet she killed a lord.”

            “That was the armor.  It makes them stronger, harder, and the reports say she had help from another human, a male with strange gifts.”

            Seere hums.  “Imagine what they could do if they were properly trained.”

            “That won’t be a problem.  From what I’ve seen and heard, she isn’t a killer.”

            “And yet she killed.  Humans adapt, as do we all.”

            Yima grunts, swallows her water.  “Regardless, the elves have the power, and with it they hold the Yggdrasil and all the realms.”

            “No, not all of them,” Seere says.  He folds the page of his book and sets it to the side.  Going to his shelf, he withdraws rolls of parchment, carefully bound, and sets them gently upon his table, one after another.  “We have old maps, with old roads long forgotten.”

            “We’ll be caught eventually.”

            “Every matter as it comes, dear.  Is there anything else I should know?”

            Yima shakes her head, and Seere returns to his book.  He opens it and smooths the page while she leans against the wall, arms crossed, and watches him.

            “Yes?”

            “What’s next? And what is your plan?”

            “Dantalion is next.”

            “I thought he was an ally.”

            “There are no allies in war, only alliances built on conveniences.”

            “And he’s inconvenient?”

            “Increasingly so,” he meets her eyes, smiles.  “What do you say to another test?”

            Yima smirks, snorts with laughter.  “Same old tricks.”

            “Why change what works?”

            “But Dantalion, while foolish, is cautious.  He won’t go to the human realm on his own.”

            “Then we bring them here.  Take a message to Dantalion, an offer.  Tell him the stories of the knights, remind him of their great and terrible power.  Make the girl fearsome in his mind.  Tell him of Andromalius’ death. Exaggerate if you must, but make her a hero.  Then, give him whatever he needs to bring her here.”

            Yima moves from the wall.  “I’ll do my best.”  She stops in the doorway.  “And what if this fails?  What if the girl isn’t the slayer you mean to use her as?”

            “Then she dies, and we’re one less threat for it,” Seere says, returning to his book.

            “Games.”

            “Now, Yima, dear, if it were all just games to me, then you wouldn’t follow, would you?”

            Yima goes to the table and scoops up the maps.

            “I trust you can take care of this.”

            “Yes, sire, and I know exactly how to do it.”

 

The Knights of Sheba 114...End

30: Episode Fifteen: "Unfaithful" B

The Knights of Sheba 115B…Start

 

Claude and Kit stay seated at the table facing each other.  They maintain a brief eye contact before finding other things to look at.  Claude stares at the far wall just behind Kit, while Kit looks around the room, absorbs it in all of its brevity.  Despite its size, it is quaint and has a warm atmosphere.

They make eye contact again, and Kit smiles.  Claude smiles back stiffly and sips his tea.  “You, uh, need anything else?”

“No.  No, I’m fine,” she says.  “Fine.” She looks at the table, at her hands, fingers fanned out across the table’s surface, nails painted pink.  “So, Claude, you got family?”

“Family?” Claude sits up in his chair, nods.  “Yeah.  I have parents and a brother.  Why do you ask?”

“Oh, well, I’m an only child.  I’m always curious about stuff like that.”

“Oh, well, like I said one brother.”

“Older or younger?”

“Older.  Clark Abel Jr.,” Claude says.  “He’s named after my dad.”

“That’s cool.”

Claude shrugs.  “I guess.”

“Sounds like you two don’t get along.”

“We get along,” Claude says, his tone half-interested.  He turns his glass around in his hands.  “He’s just a pain.”

“A pain? What, did they play favorites with him or something?”

Claude snorts, grins.  “Ah, no.  Not at all.  It was kind of the opposite.  He’s always been kind of jealous because everyone in the family is so proud of me, of the things I can do.  When I left home, it was with him saying how I would come back crying.”  Claude frowns into his water.  “Guess I showed him.”

“Oh.  So, he can’t do any of that stuff you can do?”

Claude shakes his head.  “Nope.  It’s not hereditary, if that’s what you were thinking.  You’re either born special or you aren’t, and there’s no way you can learn it, either.”  Claude shrugs.  “He just wasn’t special.”

“I see.”

“Sorry.”  Claude leans back in his chair and takes a deep breath.  When he releases it his body compresses, shrinks down as he settles into a slouch across the table.  “I probably sound bitter, and maybe I am.  He was just always giving me grief my entire life because he resented me, what I was and what I am.  I was born special, you know, and I knew from day one that I was meant for something big.  I had this destiny weighing heavily on me, and it swallowed every part of my life.”  Claude traces her fingers along the condensation collecting on the glass.  “He’s a construction worker.  Carries heavy things.  Screws one heavy thing into another.  Grunts, I guess.  Nothing complex.  Nothing that matters.” Claude sighs.  “Sometimes, I think he’s the lucky one.”

Kit nods.

“But,” Claude says, adopting a smile, “If it weren’t for me and my destiny, then you and Shirley wouldn’t be here to listen to me complain, so I guess he’s not the only lucky one.”

“Yeah,” Kit says, “I guess we wouldn’t have.  Thanks.”

He stretches, smiles broadening and more sincere.  “You,” he says, “are very welcome.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

“Closed,” Geneva says for the eighth time as they pull up to her house.  “Closed!”

“Yeah, I think we’ve covered that,” Kit says, and she leans over to kiss Geneva on the cheek.  Geneva smiles back at her.  “We’ll get you ice cream later, okay?”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to do it.” Kit gives her a smile, a smile that Geneva is quickly coming to recognize is saved specifically for her.  This realization makes her heart race.

“Okay.  I’ll keep in touch, call you when I see a hole in my schedule.”

“Then I’ll keep my phone close.”  She winks at Geneva.  “See you later.”

“Uh.  Yeah.”  Geneva hops from the car and waves as Kit drives away.

The house greets her with an unsettling quiet.  She hangs her jacket by the door and walks through the halls, first to the kitchen and then into the living room.  Both rooms are empty, devoid of even sound, perhaps even of life.  It makes her hairs stand on end.  She takes in the empty rooms before climbing the stairs.

She goes straight to Beatrice’s room and knocks, and she is welcomed inside.  Geneva pushes the door open and watches her sister mark her book before looking up.  She is hunched over the book on her bed, legs folded, hair in a messy ponytail, and chewing bubblegum.  “Oh, hey.  You’re home.  So, how was brunch?”

“Not as awkward as I had assumed it would be.”  Geneva joins Beatrice on the bed, stepping carefully over the mess that is her sister’s floor on the way.  “Hey, I saw mom and dad’s cars outside but they’re nowhere to be found.  Where are they?”

“Oh.  That.”  Beatrice sets her book aside, stretches her legs.  She taps her foot onto the floor.  “Dad came on a while ago.  Mom and I were watching T.V. and he just sort of dragged her into their room.”

Geneva grimaces.  “Okay, way too much information, Bea.”

“Not like that,” Beatrice says.  “It’s more serious than that.”

“Oh.  So, they’re having one of their fights.”

“Honestly, Gene.  I think this one is a bit different.”

“Oh, yeah, Sherlock? Want to tell me how you deduced that?”

Beatrice frowns.  “Some of us have this thing called empathy.”

“Never heard of it.”

“You’re being a turd today.”

“Hey, language.”  She looks over to find Beatrice still glaring and holds her hands up.  “Okay, chill.  I was just playing. Sorry.”

“It’s whatever,” Beatrice says haughtily, grabbing her book.

“If it makes you feel better, they’re always kind of weird around each other.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“But they always sort it out.  They’ve been married for, like, ever, Bea.  And they’ve got kids.”  Geneva points at Beatrice and then at herself.  “Us.”

“Yes, I know who their kids are.”

“So, they’ll sort it out.  Don’t fret.”  Geneva watches Beatrice, sees how she slouches, how she frowns, and feels strange.  Her entire life Beatrice has been, well, Beatrice, a name that became almost an adjective.  She was more than strength, more than anything.  She was her older sister, and that always meant something.

Geneva hugs her.  “Seriously.  It’ll be fine.”

Beatrice takes a deep breath, messes Geneva’s hair.  “Yeah.  Let’s talk about something else.”  She looks at Geneva, and there are tears in her eyes.  “What’re you up to?”

“I was thinking about going to my room to study for a bit.”

“Look at you, all industrious.”

“Have to be if I want to maintain my C average.”  Geneva sighs, rests her head on Beatrice’s shoulder.  “School sucks.”

“College is worse.”

“Really?”

“Nope.  Honestly, I find it kind of boring, but then, I got all of the brains in the family.”

“Don’t remind me.”  Geneva stands and skips her way across bare patches of floor to the doorway.  “See you at supper.”

“Yup,” Beatrice says, and before Geneva can close the door, she says, “And, hey.  Gene.  Thanks.”

Geneva pauses, stares.  She grins uncomfortable.  “Yeah, well,” she pauses.  “Yeah.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

Geneva opens her eyes to a loud knocking at her door.  Outside, her father says, “Geneva, hon, you in there?”  She rubs her eyes, rolls over onto her back.  A pool of drool wets her pillow and one of the pages of her book, which sticks to her face as she sits up.  She marks her place and shoves it to the side.

“Yeah, dad, I’m here.  Just napping, what’s up?”

“Could you come downstairs?  We need to—We need to talk.”

Geneva yawns.  “Yeah, sure.  I’ll be down in a bit.”

“Okay.  No rush.”

“Mmhmm.”  She climbs from the bed and slips some socks on.  When she opens the door, her father is already gone.  Beatrice passes in the hall, and Geneva meets her eyes.  “Hey, any idea what’s going on?”

“Some,” Beatrice says.  “It’s not good.”

Geneva balances against her door while adjusting her socks.  She looks up at her sister.  “What makes you say that?”

“Intuition.  Come on, Genie.”

They walk together down the stairs and find their parents waiting in the living room.  The air is charged.  Their father stands in the corner of the room, beside the couch where their mother sits, crying into her hands.  They both look up at the girls as they enter.

Beatrice rushes to her mother’s side and holds her while she cries.  Geneva can hear her whispering as she rubs her mother’s back, “I know, I know, I understand.”  Her mother’s words are hushed sobs.

Their father stands to the side, shifting stiffly, rubbing his dark beard.  He looks more tired than Geneva has ever seen him, and his face is gaunt with worry.  She can see wrinkles creasing his skin, a deep-set frown that she has always known was there, that he has always kept behind a smile.

Geneva waits at the doorway, watching the scene unfold with a growing unease.  Her family watches her, expecting something, but she isn’t sure what.  She clings to the doorframe and meets them with a stare.  “Okay, one of you has got to tell me what in the world is going on.”

“Hon,” her father says, and he rubs his beard and shifts his weight again.  “Genie.” He sighs.  “Why don’t you have a seat?”

“I’m good standing.  Why is mom crying?”

Her mother looks up, wipes her eyes and sucks in a deep breath.  “Geneva, honey, you really should sit down.”

“No.”

“Guys, just let her stand,” Beatrice says, and she hugs her mother tight, lets her return to sobbing.  “Dad, just tell her already.”

He meets Beatrice’s expectant gaze and pauses all movement.  “You know?”

“It’s not that hard to figure out.”

He takes another deep breath, pushes his hands deep into his pockets.  Then, he looks up and meets Geneva’s eyes, looking more like a lost child than her father.  He keeps his shoulders up, like they will protect him, like he is in trouble.  “Listen, Genie, thing is—I don’t know how to say this, but—just know that whatever happens, I love you.  We love you.  Your mother and I both love you.”

“Yeah,” Geneva says, her stomach twisting hot.  She hugs the wall more tightly, so hard that it hurts.  “I know you do.  What’s this about?”

Her father sighs, and her mother meets his gaze.  He sways.  “Your mother and I.  We’re…”

“Oh, God.  You two aren’t.”  He looks guilty again, and now her world spins.  Vertigo leaves her happy to be holding the door frame.  She slides down it slowly, settling on the floor.  “Maybe I should sit.”

“We have chairs,” her father offers.

“I’m good here.”  She holds the carpet in her hands and stares across the room.  “You two are getting a divorce?”  Tears form as she speaks, and sadness steals her voice.  Her body is responding before her mind can even understand it.  It all sounds like fiction until he nods, and then the room goes cold.

“Sorry to spring it on you.”

“Yeah.  Cause, you know, it would have been better if you had just spread it out for a few years.  You know, start off small, maybe sleep in separate rooms.  Then separate houses, separate lives.  That way we can all see it all coming.”

“Geneva, don’t be rude,” her mother says, struggling to maintain composure, struggling to be a mother, her mother, even as she wipes her eyes.  Beatrice is still holding her through the sobs.

“Don’t be rude?  Don’t be rude?”  Geneva pulls herself up.  “Where do you get off?  Know what’s rude?  Rude is getting divorced.  Rude is not caring enough about your family to keep it together!”

“We care.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

Her mother opens her mouth, closes it.  She looks at her father and, despondently, says, “Tell her.”

He sighs, shifts his weight again.  “Honey, I know this might be hard to understand.  Believe me, it took me long enough, but I’m—I am…”

“Dad’s gay, Geneva,” Beatrice says, and everyone looks at her.  “Sorry, just had to get it out.”

Their father nods.  He scratches his beard.  “Well, yeah.  I am.  My friend, Steve, we’ve been…”

“You’ve been cheating?  On mom?”

“I’ve been—it’s complicated, Genie.  A lot more complicated than that.”

“Cheating is cheating,” Geneva says.  “So, have you been unfaithful or not, dad?”

“I,” he looks at the ground.  “I didn’t mean to.  I was so young when Beatrice was born, and I thought maybe I could make it work.  I thought I could…”  He sighs, shakes his head, and he meets her eyes.  She can see that he is trying not to cry.  “I’m sorry, so sorry to put you all through this.”

“Dad, don’t be,” Beatrice says.  “You were just doing what you thought was right, and you’re not doing anything wrong now.”

“Thank you, hon,” he says, and he takes her hand and squeezes it gently while she holds their mother.  They look then, together, at Geneva, expectant but patient.  “Geneva, I love you.  We love you, and we’ll still be a family, but I can’t do this anymore.  To myself or to your mother.  It’s not fair to either of us.”

Geneva stares, fists clenched and jaw tight.  She braces against the wall as the room spins again.  Her breaths are short, labored, and her stomach knotted like a noose.  Nothing helps, so she shakes, and she glares.  Her voice cracks.  “So, what? You’re saying you can’t be my father anymore?”

“Honey, no.  I’m not saying that at all.”

“I’m sorry!  I’m sorry we were born, that we caused you so much discomfort, dad!  I’m sorry I’m making it hard for you to tear our family apart!  Let me go upstairs and come back down, give you some time to rehearse and find a better way to destroy my entire life!”

She turns, ignoring their pleas, and storms up the stairs.  The sounds of her footfalls drowns out their calls and soon she is in her room, door locked firmly, and she is clutching her jacket tightly and digging through the pockets.  She has her window open before she dials, and she climbs through the window and hops down from the roof, landing hard on the ground.

Her shins ache, and she catches herself with one hand and curses.  The grass is wet and the sky cloudy.  She stands, wipes her hands and pulls her jacket on.  Kit is already on the line.

“Genny?  You there?”

“Yeah, I’m—I…” Her voice cracks again, and she has to breathe deep to get through it.  “I need you right now.”

“What’s wrong?”

Geneva leans against her house for support, and she sobs.  “I just need you.”

“Right.  I’ll be right there.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

Kit finds Geneva waiting in the rain.  She is partway down the street, hugging her knees on the curb, hair dripping and clothes soaked through.  Kit welcomes her inside of the car and turns the heater on.  They sit in silence for a few seconds until Geneva asks to borrow her phone.  Kit let’s her, and she listens as Geneva calls her parents and tells them that where she is.  The call is short and composed of whispers.

Kit drives home and takes Geneva to her bedroom.  She fetches a towel and strips her girlfriend’s jacket and blouse, leaving her sitting in a wet bra and wet jeans and soaking into the bed.  Normally, Kit would fuss over such things.  Today, she doesn’t.

She goes to her dresser and pulls it open, looking through her clothes for something for Geneva to wear.  She looks back at Geneva, who has the towel around her shoulders, watching despondently.  “I don’t think we’re the same size.”

Geneva gives a half-smile.  “No, probably not.”  She stares at the floor, droplets blooming into a puddle beneath her feet.  She looks tired and pale.

Kit pulls out a night-shirt and turns her back so Geneva can change.  Then, she takes the wet clothes down and throws them into the dryer.  When she returns, she finds Geneva sitting again, this time curled up on the bed.  Kit joins her.

“So,” Kit says, sidling up to share her warmth.  Geneva doesn’t shy away.  “Why were you out in the rain like that?”

Geneva keeps quiet but trembles.  She pulls the towel across her hair, rubbing vigorously, frantically, and then stops.  Slouching, she covers her face, and she cries again.  Kit hugs her, holds her, and lets her break.

“Hey.  Hey now, what’s going on?”

Geneva collapses into Kit, hugs her tight, so tight it hurts, and she continues sobbing.  “My parents, Kit.  It’s over, they’re over, and I don’t know what to do.  There’s nothing I can do.  It’s too much.  It’s my life, and it’s too much for me to do it.  I can’t.  I can’t be the person everyone expects me to be.  I’m not strong enough.  I’m just a kid.”

“Oh, Genny.”  Kit holds her arms locked in place around Geneva.  She kisses her forehead and sways with her.  “You’ll be fine.  You’ll be in shock, and you’ll be hurt, but you will make it, because you’re plenty strong and, ultimately, you’re not alone.”  She pulls back Geneva’s towel and stares into her blood-shot, blue eyes.  “And if you ever feel like it’s too much, and you’re stuck out in the rain, you can always call me again.  I’ll always come running.”

Geneva lifts herself, swallows.  Their faces are close, nearly touching, and Kit is so warm and shining so bright in this new darkness.  She is a beacon in the night, a guiding light, or perhaps an illusion to distract her from the storm.  It doesn’t matter, she is there, and she is port.

Their lips meet and they fall together.  The towel is discarded and, soon, so is everything else.

 

The Knights of Sheba 115...End

31: Episode Sixteen: "Oh, Crap" A

Episode Sixteen: Oh, Crap

A maiden stands alone in a city of steel.  High above, the twilight catches on gleaming spires sharpened to points.  She is in shadows, her gown flowing, chasing her as she moves.  Winding paths lead her to an empty alley, her footfalls stirring the dust.  Time stands still here, frozen speckles of dust catching in the air and glittering in the light.

Claude watches her quietly.  It is a dream.  He knows this, but he does not know its meaning.  The maiden is familiar to him.  Her eyes are a shining blue, her hair deep, burning auburn, and when she smiles it is springtime, but she doesn’t smile.  She stares at him, watches him, judges him.

Dark hands grab her, around the neck and around the mouth.  They drag her into shadows.  She screams through their fingers but is swallowed all the same.  Claude hears it on the wind, in the reverberation of the spires. 

He reaches for her, but she is gone.  Approaching where she stood, he finds a trinket left.  It is a locket, forced open, dented and scratched.   Inside is a photo of him, covered only by fractured glass.

He wakes with one arm draped over his eyes and the other against his stomach.  Sleep has left him foggy-headed, and his dream has left him almost altogether.  He remembers only the locket, only the spires, only the broken glass. 

Shirley moves about the kitchen.  She sets the dishes to dry and pulls the drain on the sink.  The dirty, soapy water disappears in a liquid spiral and gurgles down the pipes.  She rinses her hands and dries them.

Weeks have passed since their brunch date with Geneva and Kit, and she has been in a pleasant mood since. Today they are both off, and they had just finished lunch when Claude fell asleep.  Now he sits up, rubs his eyes, and she smiles at him over the counter.  Through the window they can see the twilight, which is a thin, pink scar across the sky.

“Well, look at you finally waking up.”  She winks.  “You looked so cozy that I almost joined you.”

“Yeah?”  Staring at her he remembers something, a maiden, a smile like springtime.  It is hazy but real, as his dreams often are.

“Yeah.”  She goes to the sink again and reaches under, grabbing the trash can and pulling the bag from it.  “You were talking in your sleep.  Having a good dream?”

He stands and goes to the counter, watches her knot the bag and set it to the side while getting a new one out.  “Having a dream.”

She pauses with the bag open, hanging halfway inside of the can, and she looks at him.  “A dream.  Like, a dream?”  He nods, and she slips the bag inside, pushing the bottom in and folding the edges over the trashcan.  She ties them into place and puts the can away under the sink.  “Anything we should worry about?”

Claude sighs sleepily.  “You know how these things work.”

“Not really,” she says, leaning over against the counter.  “I don’t get dreams.  Just dreams.  Not everyone is special like you.”

“Don’t feel special,” he says.  “Just tired.”

“Price of being the hero.”  She pinches his cheek and then pulls him into a kiss.  It brings a smile to his face.  “I’m taking the trash down.  Need me to get anything while I’m out?”

Claude shakes his head.  “Nah.  You want me to take that?”

“I can handle this,” she says, lifting the bag.  “You’ve got other things to worry about.”  She kisses him again and goes to the door.  “And I know you just woke up, but start thinking about supper, okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, and she goes out the door.  Claude goes to the bathroom to rinse his face in cold water.  He stares into the darkened mirror.  The daylight is fading fast, draining the color from the apartment.  He stands in darkness.

Dark hands reaching from the shadows.  They grab the maiden and take her away.  She is gone, like memories, like dreams upon waking, and he is left alone with only a trinket to remember her by.  He clutches it in his hands, still warm, a dented, fractured memento, a broken memory.

He leaves the bathroom and stares out the window.  From where stands in the room he cannot see the street just below, but he can see the skyline.  Downtown towers over their apartment, enormous towers of stone and steel.  Their windows catch the remaining light and burn like lighthouses.

Glittering spires stretched out around him, a maiden standing between them in a field of dust.  She stared at him, her eyes blue, and he stared back, comforted.  He knew her, knows her, and she smiles.  It is more than springtime, it is childhood, it is memory, it is everything, and he remembers.

“Shirley!”

He grabs his keys and hurries to the door.  The hall is a mad sprint, a rush of threadbare carpet and peeling paint.  He nearly tumbles down the stairs, nearly sends other tenants tumbling after him, and when he makes it to the front door he hesitates.  

In the first week in the city, Claude found one of the demons and killed it.  Afterward, he returned to his hotel room, and he cried for hours.  He had the water on, for the noise, for the privacy, and it eventually turned cold.  He kept crying, even as the blood ran down his body and swirled down the drain.

It was red like his.  He didn’t expect that.

At the time, he refused to leave the room.  He was afraid they would know, that everyone to know, and he hid until his mind became quiet, until he remembered who he was.  He felt sick, but he knew the truth.  He was a hero, the hero, and it was his destiny.

Now, he stands with his hand inches from the doorknob, unwilling to turn it, unwilling to see the truth.  He knows what he will find and what he won’t, and the thought leaves him rooted.  It was hard to see Shirley after time apart.  It will be harder to go on without her.

Outside he finds blood, a few drops of it, red, possibly human.  It is near the trash bin and leaves a beaded trail around the corner into a darkened alley.  A fence is at the end, bent at the bottom.  He finds more blood there, the rake-like ends of the chain link wet with it.  On the other side, he sees Shirley’s cellphone lying face down on the pavement.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

Nina takes the call and arrives shortly after with soldiers following.  She finds Claude outside, sitting on the stoop and clutching the phone tightly in his hand.  He leads her inside where they talk privately while the other elves walk the streets searching for clues.

Claude paces in a small circle, and Nina watches him from the counter.  His knuckles are white, he is holding the phone so tightly.  “I’m sorry,” he says after a few tense minutes, and he keeps pacing.  “I didn’t know who else to call or what else to do.  I,” he shakes his head.  “It’s not working the way it should.”

“It’s fine,” Nina says.  She takes a notebook from out from between the fold of her armpit and opens it up.  Producing a pen from her breast pocket, she begins writing.  “If you’re right, then this is definitely under my jurisdiction.  If I may, and I am not doubting you when I ask this, but what makes you think the demons took her?”

He stops, scratches the back of his head, and he stares at the floor.  Looking at him now, Nina realizes that he is not the man she met on that first day.  He looks haunted, sleepless, and frail.  His recovery has only just finished, and without weapon or recent combat to call on, he is soft and sunken, and he holds that phone like it is a life.

“I’m not normal.”

“We know,” Nina says.  “Old reports, few as they are, make mention of humans displaying strange gifts.”

“I’m like that, then,” he says.  “I’m special.  Always have been.  And one of my gifts, as you call them, are—They’re visions or prophecies.  They’re not always clear.  I have to decode them a lot of the times, sift through the images.”  He looks at her.  “I saw monsters reaching from the shadows and grabbing a girl, a maiden.  It was the demons taking Shirley, I know it.”

“And how can you be so sure?”

“Because, when I know something, I know.”

Nina scribbles some notes and then taps her pen on the page.  She meets his gaze.  “But can you be certain?  You said yourself that your gifts aren’t as they should be.”

“That’s not what I—I meant that I should know where she is.  I should be able to find her, to follow.”  Claude resumes pacing, and he frowns at the floor.  “Maybe I’m too close?  Too involved?  Or maybe they left already?”

Nina watches him, the frantic shuffle of his feet, the anxious movement of his eyes.  He is tense, coiled, but he is also convicted.  “If it makes you feel better, it matches reports.  Something came through just before her abduction.  They left one of my soldiers unconscious.  We thought perhaps it was a demon returning from the initial wave, but this tells a different story.”

“And?”

“And,” Nina says, standing from the counter.  She closes her notebook and tucks it under arm again.  “If they’ve returned, then we haven’t seen it.  So, we can safely assume they are still here, unless they somehow managed to sneak through.”

“And if they have slipped through?”

Nina’s phone rings, and she signals for silence.  “Yes?”

“Sir, we’ve made contact, found a group passing through the gate.  Our men saw them carrying a human girl.”

Nina finds Claude watching her and turns her back on him.  “I see.  And did we pursue?”

“We did, and we lost them.”

“Damn.”

“But there was one lagging behind on our side that we were able to capture.”

“Good.  Then hold it at the compound.  I will be there soon.”

“Sir.”

Nina hangs up and turns to Claude, and she tells him everything she knows.  He sinks onto the bed and stares at the wall.  His eyes are wide and body tense, and he looks nearly in tears.  Nina crosses the room and kneels to look him in the eyes.  “We will get her back.”

“How?”

“The one we’ve captured, we can interrogate it.”

He looks at her.  “But you don’t speak it’s language?”

“Don’t worry.  We have our ways.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

Geneva pulls her blouse on and stares at herself in the mirror.  Then, she makes a half-hearted attempt at smoothing her hair.

Kit stretches behind her.  She is still naked, in bed, with a blanket tactically covering her most private parts.  She watches Geneva with a smile, and Geneva manages to smile back while pulling her underwear on. 

Leaving for the bathroom, Geneva takes the time to rinse her face and wet her hair.  Before returning, she stares into the bathroom mirror and wonders who she is.  Months of training have made her thinner and stronger.  Her cheekbones are more prominent, her eyes bigger than she remembers.

She sees someone different in the mirror, a woman, a knight, and she doesn’t know how to feel about it.

By the time she has returned, Kit is partway dressed, sitting in bed in her underwear, and she is still smiling.  Geneva turns on the light and pulls her desk chair out, and she starts organizing her schoolbooks on the edge of her desk.  Kit remains half-naked while adjusting her own hair.  She looks like a goddess, even in the morning.

She catches Geneva glancing and leans forward, exposing more of herself as she settles.  “So, want to catch a movie?”

“No thanks,” Geneva says, separating the books now by who gave them to her.  She makes a stack to the side just for Ms. Olivia’s ‘homework,’ most of which she has read.  “No money.”

“Come on.  It’ll be my treat.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Geneva pauses, books clutched tightly in her hands.  She stares at the desk, and then she sets the books down.  She starts organizing the scattered papers now.  “I just—I can’t.”

Kit sits up, watches Geneva move the stacked books from the desk to the floor, watches her shuffle the papers together and toss most of them into her waste basket.  “School work?”

“Well.”  Geneva finally turns to look at her.  She stares at Kit’s long torso, at her full bosom, at her slender, toned arms, at her pretty, movie-star face.  “Yeah,” she says.  “I’ve got schoolwork.”

Kit nods, and scoots forward on the bed.  She begins dressing, starting with her socks.  “Think you’ll have time later today?”

“Probably not.”

“I see,” Kit says, pulling one sock hard and stretching it over her toes.  She hops from the bed and grabs her pants, stabbing one leg inside.  “Should I just keep my phone on me, in case you want some company later?  Maybe next time I won’t even get dressed.  I’ll just wear a trench coat so we can get it over with quick.”

Geneva stops.  She is bent over her open desk drawer, holding a stack of books halfway inside.  She sets them down gently and pushes the drawer closed.  Then, she turns to watch Kit buttoning her pants and glaring straight.  “You mad at me or something?”

“Mad at you or something?”  Kit pulls a long-sleeve shirt over her chest and then starts fixing her hair into a messy but stylish ponytail.  “Of course not.  Why would I be mad at you, Genny?  You treat me with the love and care of the common hooker.  Except you don’t pay me.”

“Well, I like to imagine the sex is so good that it pays for itself.”  Geneva tries to smile, but it is stopped by Kit’s narrowed eyes and crossed arms, so she sighs instead.  “Okay, not the time for jokes.  So, go ahead.  What’s on your mind?”

“Us.  We’re on my mind, and I’ve have plenty of time to think about it with you being so busy all the time.”

Geneva looks at her messy bed, at the covers piled into the center like a ridgeline.  “We just spent the night together.”

“No, we had sex,” Kit says, her voice going quiet.  “You called me in the middle of the night, snuck me up to your room, and then you fell asleep immediately after.  I was upset, but I figured you were tired.  Now, after a full night’s rest, you wake up and kick me out without so much as a word.  That is not spending the night together, and so help me God, if you tell me how it technically is, I will scream until your whole family comes knocking.”

“Fine, fine, it’s not.”  Geneva stares at her hands on her knees, bumps her knees together.  “So, what do you want me to say?”

“I’m sorry would be a nice start, but mostly, I want to know what the hell is wrong with you.  I thought we had all of this behind us.  I thought we went through something special, that we shared something special.”

“We did, and we do.”

Kit kneels down, puts her hands on Geneva’s.  “Then talk to me.  Tell me what’s going on with you, why you’ve been so quiet lately.”

A million thoughts come to Geneva, thoughts of schoolwork and the knights, thoughts of divorce and her father on the couch.  She shrugs.

Kit sighs, heavily, deeply, angrily, and she rises to standing.  “There we go.  Classic Geneva.”

“Look, Kit, I’m sorry.  Really, I am, but what do you want from me?  You’re in I.S.S. until the end of the year, so we can’t talk during school, and we can’t talk after because, oh yeah, I’m apparently a freaking soldier.  And then there’s the homework.”

“You’re a soldier for a war that isn’t even going on.  Your last fight was with your own leader.”  Kit hugs herself, squeezes her arms tightly, and she frowns.  “Besides, that didn’t stop you before.”

Geneva stands.  She finds her pants and pulls them on, and she stares at the ground.  “It’s different now, with my parents and with everything.”

“Don’t.”

Geneva stops, looks Kit in the eyes again.  “Don’t what?  Talk about my parents?”

Kit sighs.  “It’s not fair.  This isn’t about them, it’s about us.”

“Kit, their divorce is absolutely about me.  It’s—It’s,” Geneva goes quiet, and Kit sighs.

“Listen, it’s not that I don’t sympathize.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“But you were acting weird before.  You’ve been weird for months now, and it’s like December all over again.  And, Geneva, I can’t nearly lose my life every time you get in a mood.”

“But what if it is my parents?  What if the fact that my dad, my secretly gay dad, is leaving my mom, better yet, has been cheating on her all long, is making me feel weird about all of this?”

“All of what?”

“Us!  This whole dating a girl thing.”

“Then that’s stupid,” Kit says.  “Whoever your dad is, whatever your dad is, it doesn’t affect who you are.  And it shouldn’t change who you love.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Don’t say what?”

“That you love me,” Geneva says, and she puts her hands into her pockets.   She can feel it inside of her, stirring up, seeking release.  It comes as tears in her eyes.  “Not during an argument.  Don’t make me say it right now.”

“I wasn’t.  I’m not,” Kit goes quiet.  She stares at Geneva and tilts her head to one side.  “Is that what this is over?”

Geneva rolls her eyes and then wipes them.  “What are you talking about now?”

“Is this all about me saying I love you?”

“No,” Geneva says, and she goes to her desk and resumes cleaning.  “It’s not about that.  It’s not about anything.  It’s nothing and you’re…”

Kit grabs Geneva, gently.  “Geneva, please, talk to me.”

“No.”

“Geneva.”

“No!”  Geneva pulls away.  “This is who I am, Kit.  This is me.  I hold back, and I’m distant, and I’ve got so much on my shoulders.  I can’t do this, all of this.  I’m not a hero.  I’m not a knight.  I’m a sixteen-year-old girl with a broken family who is failing her classes, and I’m being asked to save the world.”

“Then quit.  Let someone else save the world.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?  It’s clear that you hate it, that you want nothing to do with it.”

“Exactly,” Geneva says, staring at the floor.  For a brief moment she can see Andromalius scattered in the snow.  She can smell his blood, taste the smoke in the back of her throat.  She meets Kit’s eyes, and she is in another battle, one that is very different.  She swallows her tears.  “I hate this, and that’s exactly why I can’t quit.  I can’t ask someone to do it because it’s too hard.  I can’t force this on anyone else.  It wouldn’t be right.”  She sniffs and flashes her signet ring, and she laughs bleakly.  “Besides, I’m wearing it now, and I can’t take it off.  Thing is like herpes.  Once I get it, I can’t un-get it.”

“Then, what does that mean for us?”

“Nothing?”  Geneva catches sight of the hurt in Kit’s eyes, and she shakes her head and paces a small circle around her room.  “It means that, I can’t be what you want, and I don’t think I ever could.  I don’t want you to pry or worry, and I can’t have you crying every time I don’t want to be around you.  I’ll talk to you when I want to.”

“And until you want to I, what?  Just wait for you with bated breath.”

“Kit.”

“I’m not one of your video games, Geneva.  You can’t just take me off the shelf and play with me whenever you have a little free time.”

Geneva hardens, and she stares at Kit and tries her best not to blink.  “Well, it’s all I’ve got, and if that’s a problem, then maybe we shouldn’t be together.”

Silence settles, and they stare at each other.  Geneva is hugging herself again, while Kit, looking more angry than sad, fights back tears.  Geneva stays close to the door for her own safety.

Calmly and carefully, with her voice steady, Kit asks, “Did you just?”

Geneva hesitates, nods.

Kit takes a deep breath.  “And you’re sure?  I’m not begging.  I won’t beg, but this is a big decision.”

“I,” Geneva’s phone rings, and they go quiet.  It buzzes on her desk, the ringtone sounding like a dirge.  Geneva grabs it.  “It’s Ms. O.”  She looks at Kit.  “I have to take this.”

Kit chews her fingernail, nods in response.

Geneva turns her back to Kit.  “Yes, hello?  Yeah.  Right.  She is?  Okay, I’ll be waiting.”  She turns her phone off, jams it into her pocket.  “I have to go.”

“But…”

“Just tell my parents that I’m late for tutoring and that you left something up here.  You can stay however long you like.  However long it takes.”

“Geneva.”  She breathes the name.

“I’m sorry, Kit, really, I am.”  She turns to Kit.  “I didn’t want it to end like this, but I think maybe it’s for the best.”

Kit swallows.  “Yeah, maybe it is.”

Geneva turns to the door, pulls it open, and Kit hugs her from behind.  “Kit?”

“I know that you’re running off to do something dangerous,” Kit says.  “And I want you to be careful.”

Geneva touches Kit’s hands, squeezes them gently, and she nods.  “I will.  I’ll come back safe and sound.”

“You better.”

They part, and Geneva leaves Kit crying in her room and hurries down the stairs.  She grabs her jacket and slips through the front door, into the crisp, foggy morning light.  Viness pulls up then in a black SUV and pushes the door open for her, and she gets inside.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

Vinnes drives Geneva to the compound.  The ride there is quiet, save for the occasional sniffle.  Geneva stares out the window, letting it all work through her.  She cries quietly to herself, and Vinness either doesn’t notice or doesn’t ask.

As they pull in, Geneva wipes her eyes, and she takes a deep breath, and she leaves it behind her.  A fog sits heavy and wet upon the grass.  It darkens the windows and the wood.  Geneva can feel the damp through her clothes and in her hair as she crosses the yard.

Nina is waiting in the basement with Claude, who looks pale and tired.  Tied to a chair in front of them, and handcuffed for good measure, is the demon.  It a small, thin male with rotting yellow teeth and large, watery eyes.  Its ears are pointed.  Warts grow across its skin, mingling with a web-work of scars.  It regards the room with a mix of fear and rage.

Geneva stops, wipes residual tears from her eyes.  She takes another deep breath and tries to smile.  “Look at this, you two got me a gift.  And it’s the one I’ve always wanted.”

“Welcome, Ms. Oaks,” Nina says, clipboard held firmly in hand, pen poised.  “Now, if you would.”

“Right.”  Geneva strips her jacket and hands it off to Viness, who sets it aside.  She steps in front of the demon and stares into its face.  It stares back at her, expressive, almost humanly so.  It is tense, wide-eyed with fright, aggressive only out of anxiety.  Like an animal, it is more afraid of her than she is of it.  “So, uh, what should I say?”

“Ask it where Shirley is,” Claude says.  Everyone looks at him, and then Nina nods.

“Right, one set of damsel-directions coming up.”  Geneva leans forward, bracing against her bent knees, and stares levelly into its eyes.  It is still watching her, its eyes fixed on hers, its breathing increased.  She can see light bruising across its face.  “Uh, hey there,” she says, her voice a bark and growl, “Sorry to interrupt your visit, but I was wondering if you could answer a few questions for me about that girl you took.  For instance, could you tell me where you took her to exactly?”

The demon squints at her, stares harder.  It looks at her like she is on display, like she is something beyond belief.  Then, carefully, in a raspy whine, it growls back, “It’s true.  You can really speak our tongue.”

“Yup,” Geneva says, standing and pointing at her signet ring.  “And it’s not even my best party trick.  This ring here, it’s a weapon, and it was used a long time ago to hunt your people, to win the war that you waged.  And, unless you want to learn a lesson about history repeating itself, I’d start talking.”

The demon gazes at her ring, which gleams in the light.  Breathlessly, in awed reverence, it says, “The signet. It’s real.”

“One-hundred percent,” Geneva says, trying to sound confident while feeling anything but.  “So, talk.”

“We didn’t believe them, you know.  We thought it was just more noble games. A lord’s madness, prompted by a lord’s lie, but you’re here.  You’re real.”  It stares, blankly, at the floor mats and repeats it.  “You’re real.”

“What is it saying,” Claude asks, stalking just out of sight.

Geneva glances back.  “Give me a second.  To the demon, she says, “Okay, what now?”

The demon meets her eyes again, and it laughs deeply, with false humor.  Viness puts his hand on his gun, and Nina watches closely from behind the chair.  She looks at Geneva, who looks back again and shrugs.  

“Okay, what’s so funny?”

“You are the one, the soft, human child who slayed Andromalius.”  It grins at her, yellowed, rotten, and vicious.  “And you will kill another, I am sure.  They took the girl to our lands, to the Duchy of Duke Dantalion.  There, we will hold her for you to come and get.”

“Why?”

“It was a threat or a test.  In the games of nobles, it is hard to know what you are or what you are doing, and it is not our place to question.  Neither is it yours.  Your people, your elves, took my things.  I had two maps—one showing the way to our realm, and one showing the way to the duchy from the tree.  Use them.”

“What is he saying,” Claude repeats, now approaching.  He pulls Geneva back, and they make eye contact.  He looks frantic, more frantic than the demon ever did, more driven and aggressive, too.

Geneva looks passed him at Nina, and then meets his eyes again.  “They took her to the lands of some guy called Duke Dantalion, in the demon home—world? Dimension?  What’re we talking about here?  Anyway, the guy has maps that show us the way.  He just told me.”

Nina and Viness share a look between them.  “And why would he tell you that?”

“Don’t know,” Geneva says, and she looks at the demon.  “What gives? Why’re you telling me all of this?”

“Because, that is my duty,” the demon says.  “He wants you to seek her, to save her.  That’s why we took her in the first place—to get to you.”

“To get to me?”

“She is yours, isn’t she?”

Geneva pauses, considers his words.  Then, in English, she says, “Oh.  Oh, crap.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

“It’s a trap,” Viness says.  After the interrogation, he followed Nina to her office in the compound.  It is a large, rectangular room with dark wooden floorboards and a heavy layer of dust.  Since Erak’s removal, the office has seen little use.  Nina does much of her work at her home among the humans and travels here only to grab paperwork or leave that which is finished.

Now, she is standing over a box of books and scrolls, sifting through what little information they have.  She has two scrolls, tightly bound with wet yarn, sitting on the desk beside her.  True to the demon’s word, they were among his things.  Nina, however, doesn’t trust the information entirely.

In truth, the elves have little information on the demon realm.  In fact, they have little information of the war at all.  The demons had invaded far into their lands and razed everything on the way.  Pushing the invading force past the gate tree had been luck borne of sacrifice and ferocity.  Pushing them back to their own realm had been a combined effort across three acting races.

The demonic realms are largely uncharted. What information the elves have is outdated and tightly guarded, and even then, it is limited.  The Council of Races, when established, burned any information that painted the elves as anything else than what was publicly approved.

Nina huffs and pushes the box to the side.  She stares at the scrolls, tied neatly and resting together in a V on her desk, and she frowns.  “It most certainly is a trap.”

“This is what Erak would have wanted,” Viness says, pacing a small, dusty circle beside a bookshelf.  He has his arms crossed, and he watches Nina’s back.

“Yes, it is.”

Viness stops.  “She’ll die.”

“No,” Nina says, standing.  She unrolls the scrolls again, gives them both long look overs.  They are ancient.  The parchments are stained and stiffened by time.  The text is blocky and smudged, but Geneva had translated much of it earlier.  Dantalion’s home is in the mountains to the north, overlooking the sea.  “She won’t be alone,” Nina says.  “Claude will go with her.  I don’t think we could even stop him were we to try.”

“Two people can’t fight an army.”

“I don’t expect them to fight,” Nina says.  She binds the scroll tightly and undoes the other.  It is a map of the Yggdrasil, showing ways that have been long forgotten.  There are worlds there, countless worlds in languages long lost.  This map is localized between the Realm of Man and Realm of Beasts.  It won’t give them any information save for what is vital, but that is enough.

Nina binds that scroll and takes a deep breath.  Looking over the information again does nothing to calm her.  She grabs both scrolls and turns to Viness.  “They will use stealth.  Sneak in, rescue her, and return, just as the demons did when they took her,” Nina says.  “Something must be done.  If our men had been more vigilant this wouldn’t have happened.”

Viness takes a deep breath, nods.  Then, he stares her in the eyes.  “This is dangerous.  We could lose Geneva and lose the signet with her.  We could lose them both and incite a war with the demons.”

“Which is why it will be just the two of them,” Nina says.  “This doesn’t get back to the Council.  And should it, then we call it a rogue action.”

“You would throw them under like that?”

“No,” Nina says.  “I’m not throwing them under.  I am simply not stopping them, and I am not sure I could even if I tried.  This is the very reason I offered her the signet in the first place.”  Nina stares into Viness’ eyes, watches him as he watches her.  “Will you turn me in?”

He sighs and shifts his weight.  His long braid sways with his movements.  Then, he smiles.  “Nah.  I mean, I should, but I’ll be damned if you don’t make me proud when you break the rules.”

Nina smiles back at him.  It is small but lingering.

“And, off the record, I agree with what you’re doing.”  He straightens and salutes.  “I was just making sure, as your second-in-command, that you had a full handle on the situation.”

“And I do.”  She salutes back.  “Thank you ever so much, Lieutenant.”

He winks.  “Us trouble-makers have to watch each other’s backs.  Now, come on.  I think there’s some rules to be broken.”

 

The Knights of Sheba 116 A…End

32: Episode Sixteen: "Oh, Crap" B