The Knights of Sheba Episode 2: "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

The Knights of Sheba Episode 1: "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