Mary looked around the cafeteria. The girls had done another bang up job of decorating. The place looked like it belonged somewhere in Florida. They’d even hung flat panel monitors on the walls with curtains to make them look like windows. The monitors played a continuous video of surf crashing into a beach. From those same windows an occasional cool breeze blew through the room.
“This looks stunning.”
Carol tried unsuccessfully to hide her pride, but it came through in her voice. “Thanks, Mary. We thought it might be a little over the top.”
“No, no. It’s fantastic!”
Carol smiled her response. After a few seconds of staring at the cheer squad’s handiwork, the smile subsided. Despite Mary’s recent distraction, something about Carol’s silence called out to her. She caught Carol’s eye, lifted an eyebrow.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Still Carol hesitated. Her mouth opened, closed. She half turned away, unwilling to meet Mary’s eyes. After a few moments, Mary’s patience eroded to the point where she couldn’t deal with her friend’s discomfort.
“Look, Carol. You want to talk about it, or you would have said ‘no’ already. I promise I won’t bite your head off, no matter what it is. I realize I’ve been a little sloppy lately, but things have been a little crazy. Personal stuff that I don’t really want to talk about.”
“Oh. Um. Well, okay then. I’ll just go shut things down so they’re ready to go on Friday night.”
“Wha? Oh, for the love of all that’s holy, why would you want to talk about my personal life? I didn’t think it was getting in the way of me doing what I need to that much.”
“Oh, no. No, no, no. Not that at all, Mary.”
“Then what?” At Carol’s return to squirming silence, Mary’s temper snapped. “Spit. It. Out. Now.”
Carol delivered her reply rapid fire, the words running together, “I know this isn’t something you want to talk about but have you slept with Mort yet because the rest of us are getting pressured by the rest of the Johnsons and we aren’t sure whether we ought to or not please don’t get pissed at me.” Out of breath, Carol dropped her gaze to the ground at Mary’s feet.
“The school has been attacked by some kind of freaky terrorists not once, not twice, but four times, and you’re all worried about my sex life?”
“Well…”
“Wait. Am I on camera? Are you guys posting this on social media? Seriously, if I find out this is some kind of prank I am going to be pissed.”
“No! Seriously, Mary. It’s like the dating thing, sorta. Not really, but… The guys are saying we ought to be putting out by now, since you’re doing all that weird stuff with Mort. I mean, they say you are, but most of us don’t believe it. OK, none of us really believe it, but,” Mary’s upraised hand halted Carol’s voice mid-sentence.
“First of all, Mr. Lefee and I have not had conjugal relations of any kind. We’ve kissed once or twice, that’s it.” Mary’s stomach clenched, vague nausea making her thoughts try to scatter. With an effort of will she pulled herself together. “Second, I most certainly have not done any ‘weird stuff’ with him, or anyone else for that matter.”
“But the guys said…” Carol trailed off, obviously fearing Mary’s reaction.
“Tell. Me.”
Carol’s next sentence came out in a squeak, “They said you pulled a train for all of them.”
“Pulled a…” Mary’s voice trailed off, surprise vaporizing and igniting into rage. She realized a moment later that her face wasn’t as controlled as she thought. Carol couldn’t help cringing from her, for God’s sake. She put one hand under Carol’s chin and lifted, forcing the other girl to meet her eyes. When she did, she saw something that appalled her. She wasn’t quite sure how she knew, but someone had been emotionally battering Carol. If Carol doubted herself, even just in this one area, the rest of the girls would be wrecks.
Deliberately, she throttled her rage and spoke softly, “Care, why didn’t any of you go to one of the counselors?”
“You know how it is, Mary. You never know who is really what they say they are, who is a hired gun stuffed into an office nobody thinks is important, and who is just paparazzi in disguise.”
Mary’s sigh was heartfelt. Put in that light, she did understand the other girl’s reticence. In this situation, she couldn’t condone it, couldn’t allow it to continue, but she did understand it. But forcing Carol or any of the girls to trust a stranger with secrets might be as damaging as what had happened already. She would go to the school administration herself.
Her gut twisted, rage and fear and something else pulling at her.
No.
She would talk to Mr. Mort Lefee himself. If he couldn’t put his dogs on a leash, she would take it to Ms. Williams personally.
***
Half of Gwen’s security telltales flickered amber, then settled back to green. A smile made of equal parts pride and affection flickered equally quickly across her face. The affection was that of a student for a favored teacher’s quirks. The pride came from her revamped security. It used as much magic as technology, but it was finally enough to stop the Leet Master from dropping her security whenever he wanted.
Moments later, surprising her not at all, a chat window popped up on screen. Months of practice let her translate his slang without thought.
“You’ve learned well. You’re can defend yourself now.”
“Thanks. I hope you’ll stick around to help me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you know these things need to die as well as I do. You’ll even enjoy doing it.”
“Meh. I won’t be pulling real triggers.”
“I had a thought on that, actually.”
The Master’s text somehow carried a hint of poorly disguised interest, “Oh?”
“Yeah. You’ve heard of Predator and Reaper drones?”
“I’ve read about them.”
“I think we need to set up something similar.”
“You want me to drive someone?”
“Not exactly. We set up a VR sim, set to a few seconds in advance, then have the best results feed back to the girls as directions.”
“That will require a huge user base, not to mention enormous processing power.”
Gwen frowned; she hoped he would offer to help her by this point. “Oh. I thought you had… That you could… Never mind.”
“Don’t try to play me, girl.”
“Sorry. Habit, I guess.”
The Master’s next word startled her enough that she had to take a moment to make sure she wasn’t hearing what she wanted to hear. “Ask.”
As carefully as she’d ever written a line of code, she typed her question. “Leet Master, would you do me the honor of joining me in battle in the way I have described?”
“Thought you’d never ask, girl. Let’s start mapping out our hardware requirements.”
***
Lane looked across the sand at Mr. Head.
“Gil,” she muttered to herself. For some reason, he’d told her his first name. She didn’t care why, she cherished that tiny intimacy. His name was like honey, sweet and just a touch intoxicating.
In the moment she relaxed into that intoxication, Gil moved. She saw him coming and tried to fend him off. Her frustration grew as she realized that even though she saw everything he did, she was always a step behind, a move late. After no more than a dozen breaths, he grabbed her wrist, twisted, and sharp pain drove her to the ground. She knelt there, panting, at his mercy.
He let her go with a snort of disgust. “For better or worse, I’ve got to teach you. Unfortunately for both of us, you seem incapable of taking the lead. If you’re reacting, you’ve already lost. You get that, right?”
“Yes, Gil.”
“But you keep reacting to me.”
Her blush returned. He said it straight faced. He didn’t mean what she hoped he did. He never did. She felt hot, tired, and sore. Those she could deal with. The ache was something else. She had no idea how to talk to him. She had no idea how to make him see. She couldn’t tell Mary or Gwen; they’d say he was too old for her. She didn’t care.
He glared at her, expecting a response. Feeling sheepish, she replied with part of what he’d been telling her, “Observe, Orient, Decide, Act. Orientation must be honed because it’s the weak spot. Get inside your opponent’s loop. Do something before she makes her decision, or better yet before she realizes you’re acting.”
“Yeah. For now, just try doing something rather than reacting.” He paused a moment, his glare never letting up. “You look tired.”
“Are we going to take a break?”
Gil’s smile was savage, with only a hint of amusement. “Oh, no. It’s time for endurance training. If you’re out of breath now, you sure as He… heck aren’t ready for real combat training.”
Lane levered herself to her feet, dusting sand off her butt as she did. At least this was something she wouldn’t screw up.
***
Mary shimmied into her dress, then stepped back to look at herself in the mirror. She’d spent so long in uniforms, in jeans and blouses, in skirts and tops, that it was a shock to see herself in an evening dress, even a simple one like the one she’d chosen for tonight. The blue-white material reached to mid-calf and changed color as she moved. One moment it was plain white, the next arctic blue. The dress clung to her lightly, flowing outward when she twirled, settling back to drape her long, tanned legs when she went still.
The dress reminded her of another white dress, that one over skin like black silk. She’d screwed that up, and all for an ass that even now might be encouraging his fellows to ever more corrupt behavior. She was going to meet him tonight and tell him off. If he claimed ignorance, stopped the harassment of her team, and apologized profusely she might not press charges.
She only wished she knew why her pulse raced and her stomach got so tight when she thought of him.
Banishing all thoughts of men from her mind, she reviewed the rest of her schedule for the week. Prom came early this year, held on the Friday in the middle of the two-week spring break. The following day was the pep rally, the MVB Cheer Squad was supposed to team up with the Johnson Cheer Squad, some kind of ‘coopetition’ thing, where each squad did a routine then they riffed off one another. Mary was fuzzy on the details; Gwen had handled all of it because Mary was too busy with Mort.
Mary slumped onto her bed, head falling forward until it hit her upraised hands. She dug her palms into her eyes, hoping to drive away the pain, hoping to keep herself from vomiting, hoping to find something in herself that could ignore his grin, resist his charm, melt the amber that trapped her. Her hands dropped, and her gaze slid toward the tiny amulet sitting atop her dresser. Wouldn’t Mort be surprised if the Queen’s Knight showed up to talk to him?
No.
Mary froze with her hand halfway to the amulet. She’d fallen so far, lost so much, all for that stupid ass Mort. He wasn’t worth half of Gwen or Lane, and Mary had thrown over her best friends for him. Now he repaid her by spreading stupid rumors about her spreading her… She started to reach for the amulet again.
No.
Her fist clenched. He deserved to be beaten, to be humiliated, to be whipped like the dog he was. She didn’t even need the sword to do it.
I don’t need armor to do it, either.
She stopped; horror at what she’d almost done making her gut churn. Clamping her jaw shut, she stripped out of the dress. The moment it lay safely on her bed, she lunged for the wastebasket. She made it, mostly. The bits and pieces she’d had for lunch lay there in the bottom of the basket, mocking her.
He calls me fat, I start dieting. He calls me frumpy, I start dressing up. He calls me frigid, I vomit at the thought of letting him touch me. Ever. Again.
Slowly, carefully, purposefully, Mary stood up in the middle of her room. Without looking, she reached for a tissue and wiped her mouth. Her gaze focused on her own eyes in the mirror. Deep within her own arctic stare she sought out where she’d gone wrong, what she’d done wrong, how she’d wound up here. After a moment, she nodded.
“Mort Lefee is an arrogant, misogynistic pig. He should be expelled, possibly convicted. I am going to confront him and press charges of slander if nothing else.
“He is not a threat to the fabric of the universe. He is not an evil being who has come to wreak havoc on the place I am sworn to protect. He does not deserve to be banished from this plane, nor is he worth the tarnish on my honor that would cause.”
Mary stared at her own reflection for a few more seconds.
“I am going to find my friends, apologize, and ask them to take me back.”
She nodded, satisfied. Now to make it all happen.
***
Gwen stopped typing, saved her work, and reloaded the application. The VR simulation from the Cheer Squad’s goggles came up in front of her. A simple set of icons in the lower left; controls for the notional cheerleader. In the upper right, a simple map of the local area. Red icons showed enemies, green icons showed allies. For a few minutes, she ran it through its paces. The animation was smooth. The game play wasn’t stellar, but it was clean.
Mind on another problem, she tossed a quick message to the Master. Within seconds, he replied; he must have been working on the virtual server farm for the game. She didn’t even see the code he sent; she edited and translated at a level below conscious thought.
“Almost ready to run the tests, chica. What do you need?”
“Done the game interface. Need a test.”
“You tested it?”
Gwen folded up the skirt and blouse she’d scrounged up. She needed a moment before replying to rein in her temper. “Don’t be snide. Need compatibility testing.”
“Virtual testing?”
“Yeah, as far as I can tell from here it will work. I need something else.”
“What now?”
“Can you set up the forums? You’ve got more contacts, and I’ve got some errands to run at this end.”
“Can’t wait?”
“Related.”
“Ok.”
With that, Gwen shut down the chat. Her hands wrote a note to go with the clothes on automatic, her mind already focused on her next task. Getting into the vault would be easy. Getting the rifle would be tough; it was stored on a high shelf, and heavy. Getting into the vault, getting the rifle, getting back out, and leaving no forensic evidence would be hard.
Gwen accessed the lock and started cracking.
***
Lane ran. Gil rode. At first, he’d run beside her, but then he started having trouble yelling and running at the same time. When that happened, he ran her back past the parking lot and jumped on his motorcycle. Now he rode and yelled, keeping her moving. He was careful to stay ahead, behind, or beside depending on the wind, so she wasn’t breathing exhaust. Still, she ran.
At first, she’d just run, assuming he would be impressed. After a few miles, she realized she wasn’t getting winded. It surprised her. While she ran, she thought about it. At the beginning of the year, one fight with a couple bear-dogs winded her. Around Thanksgiving, she was sore the day after fighting for a minute or two. At Christmas…
Somehow things changed at Christmas. She still didn’t like thinking about that morning. The memory of the pain of her injuries faded, but still brought a twinge of fear. The memory of being dragged through the gate was the worst part. Pain blasted through her, pain so strong it knocked her unconscious. When she woke, there was nothing left of her injuries but the memory of pain.
Since that day the same thing had happened more than once. Workouts were awful; within minutes after she was done, a spike of soreness would lay her out. When it passed, she wasn’t even fatigued. She didn’t look forward to the end of this run.
No looking forward. No looking back. Just the endless pounding rhythm of her feet on the pavement, the cool breeze through her hair, and the sight of Gil beside her. A smile crept across her face at that. She tried to keep it small, but Gil’s reacted immediately.
“Are you woolgathering now? Is this fun for you? Let’s pick it up the pace a bit, if this is such a walk in the park.” The scorn in his voice was clear and brutal. As unable to keep the tears from her eyes as she had been to keep the grin from her face, she turned and bolted off the road, still running. In seconds she made it across the verge and into the woods. She ran flat out, jumping over rocks, ducking under branches, balancing along the edges of roots.
Behind her Gil’s swearing and his bike’s engine receded. After a few moments, his swearing stopped, and the engine changed pitch. It grew louder, and she put on a burst of speed, trying to lose him in the trees. If he saw her crying, she would be nothing but a silly, stupid girl. Legs burning as brightly as her cheeks, she fled through the forest. Moment by moment, the sound of Gil’s engine grew louder and softer.
She heard him to one side of her and swerved. Suddenly she ran out of woods. Pipes, chains, and lengths of sheet metal confronted her. Garish colors, faded by time and sun, confused her. A length of pipe, low to the ground, found her ankle. She tripped, sprawled face first into the dirt. Before she could recover and scramble back to her feet, pain lanced through her legs. They were on fire. A steel spike was being driven through her ankle.
The pain stopped. An involuntary gasp escaped her, and he was there, standing over her, face thunderous. “What do you think you were doing? You could have broken your fool neck!”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
She couldn’t help it. A single sob escaped. Gil’s face softened immediately.
“Oh, hell. God, I keep forgetting you’re a girl.”
“Wha?”
Gil covered his eyes with his hand, massaging his temples with thumb and forefinger. “Shit, how do I explain this? I don’t train girls. Haven’t. The methods are different. It’s about group dynamics and… Ah, Hell. I’m sorry, Lane.”
Deep inside Lane, she felt something begin to smolder. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it brought an edge to her voice. “So you’re saying you should go easy on me ‘cause I’m a girl?”
Gil was still oblivious, lost in his own regret. “No, no, that’s not it. It’s a question of tone. Of buy-in. Above all, it’s a question of doing things entirely different when you’re training someone of the opposite sex.”
The smolder got worse. Deep within, something began to burn. “So you think I’m a boy? Is that it?”
Gil’s still had his hand over his eyes, and he seemed completely ignorant of the tone in her voice. “No, Damn it. No matter how much I wish you were.”
“You’re gay, then?”
A bark of self-mocking laughter forced it way out of Gil’s clamped lips. “No. That would be easier. If you were a guy, if I were gay. Hell, if I could just not be so damn attracted to you.” His hand dropped. His eyes met Lane’s, and whatever had been smoldering inside her burst into an entirely different kind of flame. Before he could move, before he could speak, before he could react in any way, she moved.
Lane found out that it is indeed possible to trip a man and beat him to the ground.
***
Mary stood in the center of the dance floor. Her dress, icy blue and frozen white, mirrored the chill that raced down her back, echoed the ice gripping her heart. Music played softly in the background. The other girls clustered around the buffet table, forming a wedge at her back. Over the sound of the music, the school’s main doors crashed open. A small motion of her hand, and two of the girls headed for the chaperones, distraction their goal.
The doors to the hall crashed open, and a gust of hot wind blew through the room. For a moment, Mary thought she would sweat, but her skin remained strangely as dry as her mouth. Framed in the darkness of the night outside, backed by his band of brothers, Mort strode arrogantly through the door to her hall. Her stomach tried to clench, but she forced it to freeze instead. Her gorge tried to rise, but she locked her jaw. Emotions and reactions firmly locked down, she strode forward.
Mort’s gaze locked on hers. Amber flowed around her, trying to trap her. It froze, cracked, shattered in the cold from the ice in her depths. Peripherally, she saw him make a gesture not unlike her own, and his boys fanned out around him, spreading through the room as he advanced to meet her.
Midway through the room they met. He reached up as if to caress her face, but she caught his hand halfway. A frown creased his perfect face, and his mouth opened to speak. Her other hand shot up, fingers covering his lips.
“No. We need to talk.”
“So talk, chicklet.”
“Not here. We need some privacy.”
A smile replaced his frown, swiftly replaced by a knowing leer, “At last.”
“No. Talk. About that, but… not that.”
His frown returned, “so be it. Lead on, mistress.”
She led him back out the doors, turned sharply to the right, and led him down the long hall toward the gymnasium. He tried to pull his hand away, but she gripped it firmly. She really didn’t care whether he held her hand or not, but she had no intention of letting him take any action without her express consent.
She hit the fire door next to the gymnasium and dragged him into the lowering dusk. She glanced about; the lights were just coming on. The ones lower to the ground were already lit, making it safe to walk well out onto the rolling grounds. She didn’t even slow as they reached the first practice field. As she stalked onto it, pulling Mort along behind, she heard a sound of mixed amusement and surprise.
“What?”
“I would think with those heels you would be less eager to leave the pavement.”
“If you can’t walk on your toes, don’t wear heels.”
Mort laughed, an uncharacteristic sound of pure amusement. “I’ll try to remember that.”
Finally, after another minute of brisk walking, they reached the far practice field. In the semidarkness, Mary turned and faced Mort squarely. For a moment, she lost herself to amber. With an effort of will, she released his hand and forced herself to look at something, anything else. In the distance behind him, the school was a dark hill. To her left, the garage was a barely seen lump. To her right, the announcer’s booth and lights of the stadium rose above its sheltering valley. They stood at least quarter mile from the main building. The rolling hills might provide cover for someone crawling, but there was no reason for the chaperones to crawl.
Fortified by the dispassion of tactical analysis, she turned once more to face Mort. Amber eyes reached for her, but balked at the ice flowing at her core. Drawing a deep breath, she spoke.
“Your young men have been pressuring my young ladies.”
“I would hardly call them ladies.”
Mary’s eyes went wide. Sudden fury washed over her, and her hand twitched, aching for the feel of her hilt. “That was entirely uncalled for. Apologize. Now.”
“You really think you can give me orders. How precious.”
“Understand me, Lefee. I brought you out here to confront you without witnesses, so you wouldn’t be tarred with an untrue accusation. If I even thought it might be true, you’d be talking to security, not to me.”
“I’m quaking. See?” Mort held up one hand, steady as a rock. The other remained in his pocket. His posture remained relaxed, amused. His smile mocked her more than ever.
“If I knew the accusation was true, you would be… No, ‘talking’ would be incorrect. My father or his men would be dealing with this.”
“Lucky for him you’re so naïve then.”
“That’s it. I have a dance to return to. I recommend you spend tonight travelling as far as possible. Use cash, credit cards can be…”
Mort’s grip on her wrist was like steel. She spun, reaching for her sword, but his hand was there, grabbing her, pulling her up against him. “Let me tell you how this is going to go, little girl.” Amber eyes clutched at her as he shifted his grip, one hand grasping both of her wrists. His other hand ducked into his pocket, came out clutching at an amulet of some kind. He rubbed a thumb across the amulet’s glittering black gem, and Mary’s limbs went numb and pain shot through her gut.
She fought with every ounce of her being, but her body stayed limp. He pulled her in close, hands lifted above them. Whispered words slid into her ear as sudden thunder rolled. “Your security guards are now deaf. Or dead if they had their ear buds in. Two dozen of my young men, as you call them, are on their way here. When they arrive, you will do exactly as I say. When the rest of your frigid little Bitch Corp sees the recording of your twelve-horse hitch, I’m certain they’ll follow your lead.”
Mary felt so stupid. Months of pangs every time he arrived, and she thought she had a thing for him. It had been the magic all along.
“Oh, no, poppet. That was probably you remembering me from Yule. I had to take you over to change you that day, and you looked so tasty lying there, I couldn’t resist. I’ve been wanting another go at you since then.”
Mary felt herself fading and held to the scraps of her mind with a will of shattered iron. Her eyes wouldn’t close, her head wouldn’t turn, so she focused on anything but him. There was precious little lightning for all the distant thunder rolling. Between peals, Mary heard the sound of a bug zapper killing mosquitoes out for a last-minute snack. Zip-pop. Zip-pop. Zip-pop-boom. Once more she tried to speak, but not even her mouth was her own. She hung there, weeping softly, as thunder rolled and darkness fell.
***
Lane slowed her rhythm. Beneath her, Gil responded, bringing his knees up so she could lean back. Instead, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on his broad, muscular chest. She stared into his eyes, felt his breath laboring just a touch, felt him flag as she stopped moving. She couldn’t help it. She felt a silly grin plaster itself on her face.
“Tired of me already?”
Gil’s voice was husky, “Woman, I’m just plain tired. Give me a day to sleep and I’ll prove it to you.”
“Gil,” Lane savored the taste of his name on her lips, much like she was savoring the look of pleasantly satiated exhaustion in his eyes. Satiation in mind, she considered that for a moment. She was satisfied, but not satiated. She wasn’t even tired. She felt energized.
Gil’s husky bass interrupted her musing, “Yes, beautiful?”
Lane felt a blush rising and, amazingly, didn’t care. “Are you tired?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“I’m a little thirsty. Do you have any water?”
“Non sequitur much?” He slapped his end table, “in the mini fridge here.”
She leaned over, rummaged in the fridge, pulled out a bottle of water. She tilted her head back and drank it down. Halfway through, she felt his hands slide up her body until they cupped her breasts. He seemed as fascinated by them as she was with him. Finished with the water, she dropped the bottle and looked down on at him, “Ready again? What happened to a day to rest?”
Gil’s chuckle sent a thrill through her. “I still need a day, gorgeous, but a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”
“So you’d rather sleep?”
“Don’t take it the wrong way, but yeah.”
“So I’ve tired you out twice in one day?”
“Why do I think I just walked into something?”
“When you get up, I want to start training.”
“Not more of this?”
“Ok, after more of this.”
Gil’s only answer was a wicked grin. He reached up, placed a finger across her lips, and pulled a cell phone off the top of his mini fridge. After a few moments, he spoke. “Hey Dave. Long time no see. You busy? Yeah, I didn’t think so. I need a hand. No, nothing like that; I need you to help me train someone. You can? Great. How soon can you be here? OK, I’ll have her ready. Yeah, her. You have a problem? Good, I’ll see you then.”
The moment he hung up, he lifted his finger from her lips. “Who was that?”
“Friend of mine. He’ll be here in a couple hours. Did you want to get something to eat first?”
Lane cocked her head, considering. She wasn’t hungry, which surprised her. Normally she ate every few hours or she got voracious. Right now, the only appetite she had was for Gil. It must have shown in her face. His hands crept up again, guiding her into motion. His voice dropped to a husky growl, “I’m already destined for a very special Hell when Bel catches up to me.”
“Regrets?”
“Not a damn one.”
***
Combat signs were terrible for swearing. Bel knew that, but every time he faced a situation like this, he wished someone had included at least one expletive.
Communication down. Sniper roof, valley building.
Roberts’ reply confirmed he saw the sniper atop the announcer’s shack.
Confirm both. Electronics down. Civilians on outermost field.
Whoever the sniper was, he had been trained better in stealth than marksmanship. Six rounds so far, and none of them had come closer than twenty feet from any target he could see. The only way he knew the sniper’s location was backtracking the rounds; not easy to do when all he had was momentary turf disturbances to go on. Moving as slowly as he could, in case his opponent hadn’t spotted him, he drew a bead on the roof of the building. A burst wasn’t elegant, but it would keep the sniper’s head down.
A crackle of static in his ear made him pause. MacAdams’ voice, even broken by static and frequency shifting, was a balm, but then meaning hit.
“Please don’t shoot me, boss man.”
He muted his reply to remain stealthy, but he put all the repressed fury he could into his voice. “You’ve got ten seconds to give me a reason why not.”
“Twelve-man infiltration team. Advanced camo, restraints, drugs on hand. Our inside team disabled by invaders. six…” the distinctive sound of a silenced supersonic round made Bel wince, but not nearly as much as the body crumpling to a heap atop him. “Five hostiles remaining. Hostiles aware of your position. One hostile with hostage on far field. Please advance and recover.”
Bel half-turned to Roberts, hostage on outermost field. Sniper friendly. Move!
***
Lane leaned on her crowbar. Her abs stung fiercely for a moment, taking her breath away. In that moment, the hook at the end of Dave’s staff snaked out and yanked at her ankle. She went down in an ungainly pile, and he rapped her sharply on top of her head.
“Once the battle starts, never stop moving. If you stop moving, you’re dead.”
“Your stick is wood. Mine is heavier. I can’t move it that fast.”
Dave reached down to help her up, his curls bouncing as he shook his head. “You’re the one with the metal stick. Stop trying to be faster than someone with an edge in speed. Be stronger than fast opponents, faster than strong opponents.”
With his help, Lane levered herself back up. Dave had turned out to be much smaller than she had imagined a trainer would be. He looked vaguely Mediterranean, with dark, curly hair and yellowy brown skin. A moment later, he dispelled all consideration of his origins with a single word.
“Begin!”
This time she didn’t even try to block. She spun the bar the way he’d shown her, turning six feet of steel into a whirling disc. The moment she had it up to speed, she leapt at him, raining blow after glancing blow at him. A few ripostes stung her hands, her legs, but the former weren’t enough to break her grip, the latter not enough to make her stumble. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, her bar landed squarely across his staff. It saved his skull, it cracked, the splinters flying into his face.
“Enough! I yield.”
“Took you long enough,” the warmth in Gil’s voice took the sting out of his words. Lane looked over at where he’d stood while watching. She was startled to see a young tough standing there, hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket. Dark eyes stared at her from an olive face contorted permanently into a frown by body building.
“Lane, this is Killer. Killer, Lane. Shake hands and play nice, Killer.”
Shrugging, the punk ran one hand over his bare skull, reaching out to take her extended hand with the other. The moment their hands clasped, he bore down, trying to crush her fingers. It was an old game, one Lane had long since grown tired of, but never lost her knack for. She returned his squeeze strength for strength. He had leverage, she had raw power. After a few moments, Killer let out a surprised grunt and lunged at her.
Without thinking, she brought up her other hand, intending to give him a pop in the nose for his troubles. She’d forgotten the crowbar in that hand. Her fist connected with a crunch, and Killer staggered backward, blood pouring from his nose. Lane dropped back into one of the fighting stances David had just taught her.
Sudden laughter, coarse and masculine, filled the room. “Damn me, but you’re right. She is good for something other than making babies.” He turned to her, a feral grin transforming his face into something out of nightmare. “Ready to learn the Way of the Pelican?”
“Bring it on.”
***
Mary hung silently. Her tears had given way to a rage that surprised her with its intensity. Her free will was gone. She accepted that. She would be violated before she died. She accepted that, as terrifying as it was. But she was furious that her violation and subjugation would be used as justification for the violation of her friends. Furious and impotent, she stared balefully at Mort.
His answering smile never wavered. Now and again, as thunder rolled and mosquitoes zipped past to their doom, he twisted her this way or that. He ran his hand down her side, raising involuntary goose bumps as she felt his smooth, soft hands through the thin fabric of her dress. After a particularly loud peal of thunder culminated in a flash of lightning, his eyes flickered past her for a moment.
“It looks like my friends are here. You’ll learn now, you frigid little bitch. We’ll use you so hard you’ll never be able to walk right again. Don’t worry. By the end, you won’t even notice, or likely care. It’s what you’re waiting for. Tell me it’s not.” Mort laughed at her as she dangled in his grip, helpless to deny his charge.
He was cut off in mid-laugh by a quiet, softly accented voice that still somehow cut through the thunder when it rolled. “There are three critical components to corrective instruction.”
Mort’s face was a study in confusion, the non-sequitur temporarily driving all thoughts of rape from his mind. “What the hell are you talking about?”
A spotlight, blindingly brilliant in the darkness, cut through the night. Its beam stabbed past Mary’s side, catching Mort square in the face. He blinked, swore, and swung her into the path of the beam, but it was too late. She saw his blindness in the way he stared unseeing into the darkness. Mr. Stewart, unfazed by Mort’s outburst, kept speaking, his voice calm and steady. “The first is to be sure you have your student’s undivided attention.”
Mort pulled Mary toward him, draping her body over his as a living shield. His voice returned to its normal mocking tone. “Do you really think you can take her away from me, old man? I killed more men than you’ve had breakfasts before I was half your age. Another step closer and you’ll have one less student.”
Mr. Stewart’s footsteps, which had been a subtle undercurrent to his voice, stopped. Inside, Mary screamed at him to do something to the bastard sorcerer before Mort managed to bespell him. Instead, Mr. Stewart’s voice sounded from behind her once more. “Second, make sure your student knows what they have done wrong.” The distinctive sound of a shotgun slide being worked sounded through the night. “Never threaten my girls again, by word or action.”
Mort’s bark of laughter rang in Mary’s ear. His voice dripped derision, “What, you’re going to use a riot gun when I’ve got a hostage? Try again, cretin. I’m tempted to do her right here in front of you if that’s the best you’ve got. Now put that thing down before you hurt someone.”
“Third, punishment needs to be firm, unavoidable, and immediate.”
Before Mary consciously registered Mr. Stewart’s last word, something flung her clear of Mort. By chance, she landed facing him, in time to see Mr. Roberts land the last of a series of short, sharp punches to Mort’s gut. After the last punch landed, Mr. Roberts spun Mort around, levered him over a hip, and slammed him to the ground. The distinctive sound of a zip tie tightening was the only noise other than the impact of Mort’s body on the ground.
She still couldn’t move. Her gut still twisted on itself. She would be paralyzed until Mort removed the spell or died. Trapped within her paralyzed body, panicked, her breath coming faster and faster. Then Mr. Stewart was there, leaning over her, quickly and professionally examining her. “Ms. Drake, are you injured? Ms. Drake? You’re safe now, we…” As quickly as he had started, Mr. Stewart cut off, his eyes taking on a faraway look.
Terror raced across Mr. Stewart’s face. His eyes widened, his jaw went slack, and he took a single sharp breath. Then she was upside down, staring at his back, bouncing as he sprinted, that single breath exploding from him in a shouted command. “Dead man switch! Bio-Chem! Drop him and run!”
Mary heard footsteps going past her just before Mr. Roberts’ voice raced past them. “You don’t have to tell me twice. Locking down Main when I get to the Garage.”
Mary heard a quick series of mosquitoes… She slapped herself on the side of the head as, in a flash, she recognized the sound of a silenced sniper rifle. Shocked at the realization of what had just happened, she spoke, “Mr. Stewart, I think I can keep up if you put me down.”
“Be ready to land on three then. One… Two… Three!”
Mary thanked her years of ballet as she described a beautiful ballistic arc away from Mr. Stewart’s sprinting form. She tucked into a ball, twisted, and landed like a cat. Midway through her tumble, a hunting hawk screamed, and a cloud of fire erupted from where she had stood with Mort. Then she sprinted for the Garage, entirely focused on the doorway Mr. Roberts had opened.
Inside, she stumbled and fell into Lane’s jeep. Slick faux leather with soft padding underneath covered the seats. She curled around herself, reaction making her shake. Her hands kept opening and closing convulsively, as if she were trying to reassure herself that she wasn’t paralyzed. To reassure herself that the nightmare was over, ended by lead and fire.
But it wasn’t over. Somehow, she was sure of that. It had only just begun.
***
Lane crouched; body turned sideways to provide less of a target. Beyond the flat, sharpened tip of her crowbar, Killer hid behind his shield, next to none of his body exposed. Next to nothing wasn’t the same as nothing. Lane focused on everything and nothing about the warrior opposite her. The tip of his spear. The slight bobbing of his shield as his feet shifted. The flicker of his eyes as he observed her in turn.
Something changed. She had no conscious idea what. Feinting, she stabbed at his eyes. He reacted, bringing his shield up in defense, his spear flickering out at her open side. It stabbed air; she was no longer there. Her lunge had twisted into a set and spin. The hook end of her crowbar latched onto the bottom of his broad, round shield, flipped it up and away from him, and pulled him off balance. Her bar blurred as she kept it spinning. It impacted his calf with a solid crack.
He pulled his leg up, an involuntary reaction to the pain. He stayed on his feet and even began another lunge. This time, however, he had nothing but his arm behind it, and the hook of her bar caught his other ankle as she ducked under his abortive attack. He landed heavily, air whooshing out of him. Before he could inhale, Lane landed atop his shield.
“Yield?”
Killer’s open palm slapped against the floor. Lane rolled off him, collecting her crowbar as she pushed herself to her feet. He slapped her on the ass hard enough to sting, but by now she realized he wasn’t attacking. His next words confirmed her assessment.
“Fantastic woman you’ve found! What babies she’ll make! I’d even consider sleeping with this one for other reasons. Well, if you weren’t around.”
“I don’t swing that way and you know it, Killer. Is she ready?”
“As ready as I can make her.”
“Thanks.”
“When will we meet again?”
“Not sure. Maybe soon, maybe never.”
“Ah, that’s the way of it. So be it. I’ll see you when I see you, then. I’ll let myself out.”
With that, Killer turned and strode for the small door inset into the main warehouse doors. One corner of the decrepit storage building was given over to living space. The rest was open area and old boxes. They made for some tricky footing at times, but so far her trainers said that was for the best.
Lane was amazed at how much she’d learned in so short a time. Since Gil had given in, they hadn’t left the warehouse. She hadn’t slept. She’d stopped a few times, but only long enough to chug down a sports drink or bottle of water. Now, with Killer leaving, she grabbed up another water and downed it. For the space of a dozen heartbeats, her world narrowed to her thirst and frosty cold water.
When she lowered the drink, Gil spoke with yet another visitor. The new guy’s hair was black, straight, and short. His skin was the pale amber of new motor oil. His face was just slightly saturnine, dominated by the piercing stare of his almond shaped eyes. Lane walked toward him; hand outstretched.
“You must be next!”
Gil shook his head, but there was a fondness apparent in his grin. He bowed slightly in the new guy’s direction and introduced them. “Lane, this is Jun-Fan. Jun-Fan, this is Lane. He’ll be instructing you in unarmed combat.”
Jun-Fan’s voice was clipped, disapproving. For all that, it was rich and powerful, sliding through tones in a way that made Lane think of singing. “This is a mistake. You should have brought her to me first.”
“We discussed this, Jun. We have exactly no time to waste. You got here third, you get her third.”
“She has been contaminated by the others.”
“She’s not going to be fighting unarmed much. At all, if I can help it.”
“Is anyone else coming?”
“Gus, if I can get him.”
“For what? He is a thug. Like that one who just left. He can teach her nothing of note.”
“You think Gus is nothing but a thug?”
“The man is enlightened, true, but his fighting is crude. Were he not the size of a bear, he would have died on his first battlefield.”
“He knows strategy and tactics.”
“Strategy? Certainly. Tactics?” An elegant shrug was Jun’s only comment.
“Are you going to do this? Or do I need to call a ride for you?”
Jun sighed and shrugged out of his jacket. Underneath, he wore no shirt. His torso was lean, hairless, and corded with muscle. “Do not fear, sword bearer. I was born to instruct. I cannot seem to stop myself to save my own life.” Jun turned to Lane and walked up to her, motioning for her to be seated. “First, you will learn to breathe.”
***
Mr. Stewart’s hand touching Mary’s bare shoulder came as a shock. His touch was warm, soft, grandfatherly, but for a moment she couldn’t remember where she was; she was paralyzed again, hanging from Mort’s grip.
With a herculean effort, she took herself to task. She had almost been raped. She had almost been killed. She had been helpless in the grip of a madman. It could happen again at any time.
Again, she pulled her thoughts back to the present, back to the patiently waiting face of Mr. Stewart. She had almost been raped. Almost was the operative word. Her assailant was dead. She remained alive and physically unharmed. She was the Queen’s Knight, and she would act like it.
Whatever Mr. Stewart saw in her eyes, he approved. He nodded, and his soft South African accent flowed across her like a honeyed balm. “You’re back. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s probably bullshit, but if that’s how you want to play it.”
“No. No, I’m going to be fine. I wasn’t hurt. There are women everywhere who have lived through worse and keep functioning. I am not going to blubber like a baby for hours because of what almost happened. Thank you, and thank Mr. Roberts, by the way.”
“You can thank him yourself at the pep rally.”
“The hell? The rally isn’t cancelled?”
“I spoke with Ms. Williams. ‘Closing down the rally will send the wrong message’.”
“Message? Should I really be hearing this?”
“Probably not, but if I’m going to be forced to make a traumatized girl to go on display in public, she’s going to know why.”
“You’re really pissed about this, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Roberts brought your cheer costume from the gym. He found an old set of jeans and blouse, too. They’re a little foxed, but…”
“They provide a lot more coverage. Thanks. I’m not sure I’ll be at the rally.”
“I understand. Your stuff is on the bench there. You’ve got about two hours to decide if you’re going to the rally or not.”
Mary sat up abruptly. The side of her face came away from the faux-leather seat of the refurbished Willy’s with a wet suction noise. She looked around the garage. Mr. Roberts was gone, and the place had been tidied up, but nothing had changed since she lay down. “WHAT?!”
“Yeah. I knew I wanted Lazar doing this.”
The non-sequitur interrupted Mary’s outraged confusion. “Why isn’t she?”
“The only staff who aren’t in the infirmary are me, Mr. Roberts, and Ms. Williams. The rest were taken down by some kind of taser-effect through their ear buds. Gwen managed to catch it before it hit Mr. Roberts and me. Ms. Williams confessed she takes hers out on Prom night.”
“You’re not happy with her, are you?”
“Not an issue you need to worry about. You’ve been out of it for the past eighteen hours. At least twelve of that was sleeping, from the snores. There is a shower in the back of Mr. Joseph’s office. I’m heading over to the field to play greeter along with Mr. Roberts. Come if you can, but don’t push yourself.”
“Okay. Mr. Stewart?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks.”
“Any time.”
With that he was gone, leaving her with her thoughts.