"I'm not a prophet." Alex Finder scowled at the Lady of the Lake. The not prophet had insisted we park in the single car garage below his apartment. Probably a good idea, since the cops were looking for us. His beat up looking Jeep was idling on the street. I assumed he didn't mean to hang out for long.

"You glimpse the future," Lady told him. "You see into the hearts of men." She was looking at the man with more respect than she'd ever shown the rest of us.

"Yeah," An annoyed Finder admitted. "Sometimes. But that doesn't mean I'm gonna part the red sea or anything." He started up the staircase leading to his place. "I'm not even religious. I just know shit."

"That's what prophets do," Lady assured him. "They know shit."

"I'm not a prophet." Finder fiddled with his keys and opened the door.

The Lady in Sweats smiled. "Then who are you listening too?"

"No one." The prophet shook his head. "Shut up." He led us into the single cleanest apartment I'd ever seen. The hardwood floor literally shined. The pristine, museum like quality of the place only emphasized how sparse it was. A pair of book shelves stood at one wall, with a small entertainment center between them. A black leather recliner faced it. The windows were covered by closed blinds devoid of dust. There were no other furnishings. No pictures. Just gleaming white walls and empty space.

"Jesus, Finder," Mike remarked. "You need a decorator or something."

"I don't usually have company," the man admitted. He pointed down a hallway. "There's a first aid kit in the bathroom." He pointed to a ladder that lead to a wooden platform above the living room. "Bed's up there. I don't have extra blankets, but there's camping gear in the closet." He gestured at another door down the hall. "Make yourselves at home. I'm late for work." He headed for the door.

Stephanie reached out and put a hand on his arm. "Thank you."

Alex slapped her hand away with a strangled cry. "Don't touch me!" Grief and horror filled his visage as he leapt backwards, away from the girl. Tears filled his eyes. He huddled in on himself, breathing heavily.

Stephanie stared at him in hurt shock. "I'm sorry..." She took a step toward him.

"Stay back!" he hissed. "Stay away from me." He turned to look at the wall next to him. His head tilted. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them, his back straightened. His face resumed it's serious and slightly annoyed expression. "Sorry. Stephanie, right?"

The girl nodded.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"It's not personal, Stephanie." Finder explained. "When someone touches me..." He glanced to the side again. Shook his head. Resumed. "When I'm touched I get a... impression. A flash of emotions, maybe a memory. Usually traumatic. It's..." His face twitched. "Just don't touch me, alright?"

"So that's why it pisses you off." Mike nodded to himself. "No wonder we got in a fight that time." His eyes widened. "Hey, does that mean your a-"

"Finish that sentence," Alex growled. "I fucking dare you."

"Sorry, sorry." Mike raised a hand in surrender.

"Thanks for letting us stay here," I cut in, hoping to retrieve some semblance of diplomacy before Mike could open his mouth again.

"Yeah," Finder waved a hand. "It's not much, but make yourselves at home." He walked out. "And don't drink all my booze." He closed the door behind him.

Mike immediately walked into the kitchen and started opening cabinets. He pulled a bottle of whisky out of one of them. "Jackpot."

"Should you be drinking?" I asked. "Didn't you just have surgery?"

"Probably not," Mike admitted. "But I've got a leaking bullet hole to deal with, and I'm not doing it sober."

"Do you want help?" Stephanie offered.

"I got it." He patted the recliner. "You should get some sleep. I figure Lady can have the bed."

"You should take it," I told him. "You're the one with the bullet wound."

"And risk bleeding all over Finder's immaculate sheets?" Mike opened his bottle. "I'm already drinking his booze. Besides, I'm a gentleman. The girls should have the nicer places to sleep."

"Thanks, Mike." Stephanie smiled at him. "But I'm the only one that's not hurt. I'll take the sleeping bag."

"Cool," I said. I set the sword I'd been holding against a bookshelf and plopped into the recliner. It was even more comfortable than it looked. I pulled a lever and popped up the footrest. Plush leather cradled my battered body. I sighed in pleasure. "This is nice."

"Really, Kevin?" Mike disapproved.

I shrugged. "I'm not a gentleman." A yawn took me.

"Kevin is right," Lady spoke up. "We should sleep while we can."

There was a little more conversation as people shuffled around, but I wasn't paying attention. My body still ached, but I wasn't paying attention to that, either. I drifted off, sleeping the sleep of the truly exhausted. I came awake some time later when Alex let himself back in. His overalls were grimy with oil and engine grease, but his hands were scrupulously clean. He removed his shoes and set them aside. I blinked at him and went back to sleep.

I woke up more seriously a minute later. I could hear the shower running, but I didn't think that's what did it. I peered blearily around. Stephanie was curled up in a ball in a sleeping bag on the floor. God, she was beautiful. I felt guilty thinking it after what happened to Justin, but it was still true. She was the cutest, prettiest, and warmest person I'd ever met.

I forced myself to stop staring creepily at my friend and finally noticed the green glow that had awakened me. It was the sword. Lady's blade gave off a steady green light. A brighter green light was pulsing from it at irregular intervals.

I regarded the annoying magic sword for a moment, seriously considering going back to sleep. In the end I sighed and lowered the foot rest of my new favorite chair. Whatever this was, ignoring it was probably not a good idea. The smart thing would have been to wake up Lady and ask her about it, but my dumb ass had just woke up, so I just reached out and poked the hilt with a finger.

"Japser. Jasper!" The voice was male, adult, and very British. "Pick-" I removed my finger. The voice stopped. I touched it again. The voice resumed.

"-damned sword you bloody ponce! I'm stranded in fucking America."