The Knights of Sheba, Episode 4: "Everything Has Changed" B

 The Knights of Sheba 104 B…Start

 

            “Hey, you!  Ugly…demon…guy…thing…” Geneva pauses, holds her helmeted head.  As soon as she put the ring on, it spread like water across her body and formed into a flexible woven thread that covered her from head-to-toe. Over that, polished, angular white plates appeared, covering her forearms, biceps, shoulders, chest, thighs, and shins.  The helmet appeared last, with open eye sockets protected by a thin, clear glass-like substance.  She approaches from the forest and watches the demon regard her quizzically.  “Whatever you are, let the guy go.”

            The demon grunts, looks at the boy, and then releases him.  It steps away from the car while the boy crawls out the other side.  His arm is bruised, bleeding lightly, but he looks more frightened than hurt.  His girlfriend returns to his side.

            “There we go, that’s a good demon-Martian-thing.  You come over here to play with me, and they,” Geneva looks at them, “Leave!”

            The couple look at her, nod, and run off toward the park.

            Geneva sighs and back-peddles away from the approaching demon.  “Now that we have that taken care of, you,” she points at the demon, “Do I really have to fight you?”

            “What are you,” the demon asks, its tone harsh, its posture tight and predatory.  “Everything here, everyone here is soft, weak, fearful, but you.”  It growls.  “You wear armor.  You are a soldier.  Who do you serve, human?”

            Geneva listens in silent surprise and watches the thing stalk around her. “Honestly, not rightly sure who I serve.  Mostly, I’m just surprised to be talking to you.”  She says this exact thing, but she says it in a language that is composed of barks and growls.

            “You.  You are as much a fool as everyone else.”

            “Now that just isn’t nice.”

            “And you talk too much,” it says, and it stomps toward her.

            Geneva retreats, away from the forest now, toward the car, and puts her hands up.  “Okay, I might be accused of rambling a bit, especially when I’m nervous but…”

            The demon steps in and gives a high, overhead swing of its fist.  Geneva side-steps the punch, but can’t react in enough time to keep the demon from throwing its shoulder into her.  She falls back, onto the ground while the demon stumbles overtop of her.

            She rolls to her knees and holds her stomach.  The armor absorbed the blow, but the fall left her winded.  She sits up just in time to see the demon lunge at her and duck underneath.  She tries to crawl away, back toward the forest where she can find safety and hide, but it grabs her by the leg and drags her back.

            Seizing her by the neck, the demon lifts her from behind and squeezes.  Geneva kicks and flails, and she claws ineffectually at its hands.  Her head grows light, her vision dims.  She can feel the air leaving her.  Each breath is stunted, harder than the last.  She wheezes and, in a last-ditch effort, kicks backward.

            The blow catches the demon in the face.  It staggers back and drops her.  She lands, heavily, on her stomach and struggles for air.  “Come on,” she says between pants, “I put on the armor.  Shouldn’t I be winning?”

            “A weapon is only as good as the soldier who uses it,” the demon says, grabbing by her chest plate from behind.  “And I was wrong—you are no soldier.” It lifts her and throws her at the car.  She lands on the windshield, collapsing it beneath her.   As she sits up, the demon closes distance.

            She tries to slip away, but it leaps at her and lands on top, and it grabs her by the head and slams her against the car hood.  Her head throbs and her world spins.  Everything appears in fragmented moments running together.  She sees the demon lifting its fist as she feels the blow land on her shoulder.  Wounds open on its knuckles, and it roars and continues the assault.

            Something gives.  Her shoulder shifts, and she screams before the pain hits.  Without thinking, she kicks, aimlessly, struggles, and lands a blow on its ribs.  The demon howls again, and steps away from the car, holding its ribs and glaring at her.

            Geneva rolls from the hood.  Her left arm is limp at her side.  A burning ache creeps out from her shoulder and across her body.  She tries to run, but the demon is on her again, pulling her back, throwing her into the car once more.

            She falls, landing on her left arm and crying out in pain.  Rolling, she watches the demon straddle her and strike her helm repeatedly with its bloody knuckles.  Tired, afraid, and breathless, Geneva lays there while her head is throttled.

            The demon laughs from atop her and grabs her by the helm.  “Now, you die.” It squeezes and grins, baring its teeth, a threat.  Then, its chest erupts in three dark, red puffs of mist.  It goes rigid and falls backward into the dirt, and Geneva lies there, staring up at the sky, until Ms. Olivia appears over her.

            “Ms. Oaks?  Is that you?”

            “Yeah.”

            Ms. Olivia kneels.  “Are you?”

            “No.”

            Ms. Olivia pauses.  “What?”

            “I’m not okay, so don’t ask.”  Geneva tries to move, but she can feel the demon’s dead weight on her legs.  “Can you please get this thing off of me?”

            “Of course.” Ms. Olivia tucks her gun away and, with some difficulty, lifts the demon up and tosses it to the side.  She returns to Geneva and helps her stand.  “If I may, what is wrong?  Are you injured?”

            “No, I’m holding my shoulder for fun.  Ow.”  Together, they make it to the car.  Geneva sits on the front bumper.  The pain in her shoulder has died into a dull ache that hurts more with every breath.

            “I see you’ve made your decision.”

            “Now is so not the time.  My arm feels like it’s trying to get up and walk off.” Geneva looks up at Ms. Olivia through the clear, glass sockets of her helm.  One of them has a droplet of blood on it.  “That’s not crazy, is it?”

            “No, it’s an injury.  You will be fine, given you take time to rest and go to see a medical professional.  In fact, we have soldiers who can attend to such injuries.  Let me call my superior and…”

            “Geneva?  Geneva!”

            “Crap! Kit.”

            Ms. Olivia looks up.  “Ms. Wright?”

            “Yeah, we were,” Geneva looks over at the demon.  “If she sees this…”

            Ms. Olivia nods.  “I understand.  Take off your armor and come with me.”  She pulls Geneva to standing again.  “She’s coming from the forest.  We need to meet her there before she reaches us.”

            “Geneva, where are you?”

            “Wait, wait,” Geneva says, yanking herself free from Ms. Olivia’s grip and nearly falling.

            “What?”

            “I don’t know how to,” Geneva runs her right hand along her bloody armor.  “I don’t even know how I got this thing on!”

            “You don’t—Right.”  Ms. Olivia leans forward and examines the armor closely.

            “What,” Geneva says, watching her, “Looking for an off switch?”

            “I’m trying, Ms. Oaks.”

            “You’re not doing anything but making me feel self-conscious about my pooching belly.”

            “Try and stay calm.  Think clearly.  How did you feel when you put on the armor?  Capture that and…Think the opposite?”

            “This is stupid.”

            “Geneva!”

            Ms. Olivia looks off toward the forest.  “She’s getting closer, Ms. Oaks.  We need to do something.”

            Geneva groans.  “Right, right.”  She closes her eyes.  “Take a deep breath and think.  Just, think.”

            “Geneva!”  Kit is closer.

            “Hurry,” Ms. Olivia says from her side.

            “Hey!  This isn’t helping me to be calm.”

            “Of course, yes.  Just, do try.”

            “I am, I am.  I just…”

            Geneva focuses on her breathing, in and out, in and out.  Gradually, the pain in her arm goes out.  She can hear voices but only barely.  More than anything, she can hear her breaths, loud, constant, regular.  She can feel the air inside of her, circulating, and she imagines herself looking in a mirror.  In the mirror, she sees a reflection of her, before the battle, before the demon, before the armor, a safe, normal, human girl.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            They meet Kit halfway up the hill, well out of sight of the demon.  Ms. Olivia is helping Geneva to stand.  Geneva’s left arm is swollen and looks poorly fitted for her body.  Her face is tired, sweaty, and pale.

            Kit looks at the two of them and then runs to them.  “Geneva!  Ms. Olivia?  What’s going on?”

            “I came across Ms. Oaks in the park.  She was being assaulted by a mugger.  My presence seems to have frightened him off, but not before he left her injured.”  Carefully, Ms. Olivia hands Geneva off into Kit’s care.  Geneva falls into Kit’s arms and, despite everything, blushes when she is embraced.  “You might want to take her to a hospital, Ms. Wright.  Her arm will need immediate medical attention.”

            “Right,” Kit says.  She adjusts her hold on Geneva, trying to find a way to cause the least amount of discomfort.  “What will you do?”

            “I will look for the mugger and contact the police.”

            Kit looks at Ms. Olivia, and then at Geneva.  “Uh, okay.  Right, thanks, Ms. Olivia.”

            “Yes.  Now, do hurry.”

            Together, Geneva and Kit make the long walk up the hill at a crawl.  On the way, Geneva gives a quick, thankful glance back at Ms. Olivia, who watches them for a moment longer before returning to the demon.

            The journey back is longer than her flight had been, and the pain in her shoulder returns in full.  Geneva feels tired, jarred.  Her head hurts, and she can still feel the creature’s strong fingers around her throat, holding, squeezing, forcing the life from her.

            She closes her eyes and pushes the thought out.  They reach the car together, and when Kit helps her into the passenger seat, Geneva sighs.  “Kit, I’ll be okay, I don’t need to…”

            “Yes, you do,” Kit says, rounding the car.  She climbs into the driver’s seat and puts the keys into the ignition.  “We’re not talking about this.”

            “Actually, I think we are.”  Kit pulls out and onto the road leading back into the city.  Geneva groans.  She feels heavy, tired.  Through the window she watches the landscape pass by.  Kit is driving faster than usual, she realizes.  “Seriously, I don’t want to trouble anyone.”

            “Genny, you’re hurt.  So, shut up and let me take you to the doctor.”

            “But…”

            Kit glares.  “Not another word.”

            Geneva stops and leans back into the seat.  She watches the city’s approach, grey, steel, and stalwart, and she feels safe, like she is returning to her home, like she is drifting away from the madness that she has found herself in.

            But when she looks down at the smooth, white ring on her finger, she remembers Ms. Olivia’s words, and she knows that there is no escaped.  Not anymore.  She has made her decision, and everything has changed.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Kit speeds Geneva to the hospital and drags her from the parking lot and into the emergency ward.  There, she helps her to fill out a few forms and calls her parents before handing her off to a tall, sleepy-eyed nurse with big, dark curly hair and long legs, who leads her away.

            The nurse—Matilda, Tildy to her friends, few as they were—takes Geneva to a small room, where she places her on a small, green bed with wax paper stretched across it, and there, she prods.  While doing this, she asks Geneva to explain her pain on a number scale, one being a frown and ten being a sob-like scream.  Geneva feels like it might be a nine but says seven each time to keep from sounding dramatic.

            Then she is given painkillers and left to wait until her parents arrive.

            Time passes at a crawl.  Geneva lies back on the wax paper and stares, despondently, at the clock, watching the shortest hand tick off the seconds.  Each tick sounds like a gunshot to her and, every time she closes her eyes, she sees swirls of red mist floating in the light and a green face, distorted in anger and pain and, at the end, death.

            After thirty minutes her mother and father enter the room and swarm her.  Beatrice watches from the door, arms crossed and forcing a smile.  By this point, Geneva feels numb, inside and out.  She credits it to the drugs.

            “Geneva, oh, Geneva honey,” her mother says, smothering her with a hug.  “Honey, you look so awful.  What happened to you?”  Her mother sits her up and examines her arm closely.

            “I’m sure she’ll be fine. She’s probably just tired,” her father says.  “Come on, Genie-bear, time to get you home.  Beatrice, help your sister.”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Beatrice says.

            With the aid of her father and sister, Geneva manages to make it out of the bed and into the waiting room.  There, Beatrice props her up while their parents file more paperwork.  In this exact moment, Geneva realizes that she is almost as tall as her sister.

            “So,” Beatrice says, “heard you got mugged.”

            Geneva casts a conspiratorial glance around her and whispers, “Don’t tell anyone, but that’s not true.”

            “Oh?”

            “Yeah. It’s a lie.  To protect my secret.  My secret identity.”

            “Your secret identity, huh?”

            Geneva nods vigorously.  “Yup.  I’m a superhero, and I got hurt beating up a monster.  Well, I didn’t really beat it up.  It beat me up, but I fought back.  Or flailed back.  Then my teacher shot it.”

            “Yeah?”

            Geneva nods again, more dizzily, and leans into Beatrice.

            “I know it’s cliché, but I want whatever they gave you, Genie.”

            “Come along, girls,” their mother says, leading them out the front door.  Beatrice follows, guiding Geneva down a cement ramp and toward the parking lot.  By the time they reach the family minivan—faded blue with balding tires—the streetlamps have come on.

            “Hey, Bea, where’s Kit?  She brought me here.”

            “Yeah, we ran into her.  She told mom and dad about the mugger and everything.”  Beatrice leans Geneva against the van and pulls the door open.  “I mean, the monster.”  She helps Geneva inside.

            “Oh.”

            “She seems nice,” Beatrice says, buckling Geneva in.  “Cute.”

            Geneva looks around again, and then whispers, “I kissed her.”

            “Did you now?”

            “Yup.  Then she kissed me back.  And I ran.  And then the monster.”

            “Who beat you up,” Beatrice says.

            “I could’ve done better.  Maybe with a little training.”

            “Right,” Beatrice says, “Watch your legs.”  She closes the door and gets in on the other side.

            Their mother looks back.  “What is she talking about back there?”

            “Nonsense.  She’s just drunk on pain meds,” She looks at Geneva.  “All kinds of crazy coming out of her mouth right now.”

            “Oh, the poor dear.”

            “Please, she’s probably faking it for attention.”

            “Beatrice, don’t be mean.  Your sister went through something traumatic tonight.”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Beatrice says, and she leans over to Geneva.  “Whatever the case, Genie, you probably won’t be doing much training, not with your arm in the shape it’s in.”

            “Is it bad, Bea?”

            “Real bad.  Doctors said they might have to take it.”

            “Beatrice!”

            Beatrice glances at her mother in the front.  “Sorry,” she says, and then to Geneva, “It’s just a dislocated shoulder.  It’ll heal, but you’ll be out for at least six weeks.”

            Geneva snorts and looks out the window.  “That’s funny.  Doesn’t hurt much at all.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Back in the park, Nina lays out the body and waits by the car.  The sunset dyes the sky pink and red with a golden trim.  Elves come and work around her, cleaning the blood and keeping humans away.  They do damage control, keep the populace ignorant and complacent.  Erak stands nearby, a cigarette smoldering in his mouth as he glares at her.

            Nina leans against the back of the car with one foot on the bumper, and she cleans her gun while she waits.  The elven medics collect the body by putting it into a dark bag and zipping it up tight.  The three wounds on its chest, perfectly spaced, have already stopped bleeding.

            They carry the body away, stowing it into the back of a black SUV.  Nina watches them from the corner of her eye and replays the events in her head.  She arrived to find a couple retreating.  They told her about the demon and about a strange girl in white armor, and she pretended to be a cop and went on ahead.

            She saw the better part of the battle, and it left a poor impression.  Geneva lacks skill and prowess, but she is brave, and Nina can work with that.  The armor impressed her more than anything.  The demon had Geneva outclassed, and she came out of it with only an injury when she should have died.

            Erak approaches, and Nina holsters her gun.  She stands straight and salutes; he returns it half-heartedly.  His uniform is gone.  For field work he wears human’s clothes, a plain tee-shirt and jeans.  They hang from him.  He draws on his cigarette.

            “Lieutenant.  Babysitting?”                                                                   

            “Supervising.”

            “Unnecessary.  I’m here.  You can go.”

            “Yes, but it was my kill.”

            “We’ll handle it, Lieutenant.  We’ve been taking care of things here for thousands of years before you came along.  The whole operation won’t fall now. You just need to focus on doing your job and stop trying to do ours.”

            “Sir, with all due respect, I came to offer support, as is my role, and my involvement ended the threat and kept it from going public.”

            “That’s why we’ve got a couple of round ears out there who saw everything but the kill.”  Erak takes a drag.  “Funny thing about that. When we questioned them, they mentioned talking to a police officer—you, I assume—and they also mentioned something else.  A girl, wearing white armor.  They asked if she was okay.  That wouldn’t be our knight, would it?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “What is she doing here, then?  Did you bring her along?  Did you disobey my orders to show me up?”

            “She happened along on her own, sir, and chose to get involved of her own free will.”

            “Did she now?” He snorts and shakes his head.  “Doesn’t sound like any human I know.”

            “And how many humans do you know, sir?”  He gives her a glare.  “I apologize, sir. That was out of line.”

            He stares, pointedly, a moment longer, and then turns his back on her.  “Go home, Lieutenant, you aren’t needed here.”

            “But, sir…”

            “That’s an order,” he says.  “You keep to your knights, and we’ll handle the real work.”

            Nina hesitates, and then salutes his back.  “Yes, sir,” she says, and she turns on heel and leaves.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            “Beatrice, you’re soft.”

            “Uh, thanks, Genie.  That sweet of you?”

            “And plump. Like a marshmallow.”

            “Okay, less sweet.”

            The two girls stumble through the doorway, and Geneva giggles.  She tries to shake hands with the coatrack and nearly sends it toppling.  Beatrice catches it, and then Geneva, and sighs.

            “What did they give you, girl? LSD?”

            “She’s probably just a little fried after everything that has happened today,” their father says, following them in through the front.  He takes his coat off.  “Do you need help getting her upstairs?”

            “No, I’ve got it,” Beatrice says while leading her sister to the stairway.

            Their mother enters the house, watching fretfully as the two stagger about.  “Are you sure, honey? We can help!”

            “Mom, love you, but you’re going to break her arm the rest of the way if you keep being so clingy.”

            “Beatrice!”

            Geneva laughs. “Silly Bea-Bea, acting all…silly.”  She stops at the base of the stairs and gives them a long, defiant look over.  “Don’t worry guys, I got this,” she says, and she takes one step and falls backward into Beatrice’s waiting arms.

            “Come on, crazy,” Beatrice says, half-leading, half-dragging Geneva up behind her.  “Tell me you’re a freaking superhero but you get taken out by a slight incline.”

            “I’m used to fighting monsters, Bea, not architecture,” Geneva insists.

            They clear the stairway together, and Beatrice leads them down the hall, to Geneva’s bedroom.  With effort they reach the bed just before Geneva collapses, laughing and holding her arm.  The phone rings.

            “Really guys,” Beatrice says on the second ring, and she answers it.  “Hello, Oak’s residence, Beatrice speaking.”

            “Beatrice, pants!”

            “Hello, is Geneva there?”

            “Geneva?”

            “Pants!”

            “Yeah, this is Kit.  Her friend from school.  I met you guys at the hospital, and I just wanted to check on her.”

            “Oh,” Beatrice says, and she watches her sister kick at her.  “Well, she made it home just fine, but she…”

            “Pants,” Geneva says again, with growing insistence.

            Beatrice sighs.  “Give me a second.”  She sets the handset down and drags Geneva, by her legs, to the edge of the bed.  “I’m only doing this because you’re higher than a kite right now, and I want you to know, if you wet yourself, I’m not changing you.”

            Geneva laughs.  “Hey, who’s on the phone?”

            “Your friend, Kit,” Beatrice says, unbuttoning Geneva’s pants and yanking them down.  Using the legs, Beatrice pulls Geneva back onto the bed and drapes a comforter over her.  “She’s calling to check on you.  I’ll tell her everything is—What are you doing?”

            Geneva pulls the handset to her ear and nearly rolls on-top of it.  “Kit? Kit!  Hey, Kit.  Hey.”

            “Genny?  Is that you? Are you okay?”

            “Beatrice says I’m high, and my mom is worried, but she’s always worried, and my dad says I’ll be okay,” she says, “They gave me drugs, Kit.  Good drugs.”

            “I see.  And what about your arm?”

            “Dislocated,” she says.  “My shoulder.”  She yawns.  “But, I’m okay.”

            “Good.  Well, I just wanted to check on you, but I’ll let you rest.  Sounds like you could use it.”

            “Kay,” Geneva whispers, her eyes closing.  “Hey, Kit.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Good night.”

            Kit pauses.  “Good night, Genny.”

            Geneva eyes close, and then she drops the phone.

 

The Knights of Sheba 104…End

The Knights of Sheba, Episode 4: "Everything Has Changed" A

 Episode Four: Everything Has Changed

           

            Geneva’s weekend study-date with Kit comes and goes smoothly.  She isn’t sure if much studying gets done, but she does enjoy the company.  With Kit stuck in ISS their time together is limited, and however Geneva looks at it, she doesn’t have many friends, and friends distract her from martian-demons and ancient knighthoods and elven teachers.

            Sunday night Geneva lies in bed.  She should be studying, but instead she holds the polished white ring up toward the ceiling and stares at it.  Ms. Olivia said that once it goes on, it can’t come off.  Even after everything, it all sounds so crazy, maybe even impossible.

            She thinks of a tiny green man in tattered clothes and the fear she felt when he stood over her.  Two bullets, the noise of them bleeding into each other, and it died right in front of her.  Geneva closes her fist around the ring and takes a deep breath.

            She pushes it all away, and she hides the ring back in her desk drawer.

            That night she sleeps heavily, and Monday morning starts slow and late.  Sunlight washes over her street like warm molasses.  The heat trails after, not quite there but promising to hit in full by noon.  For now, the light dries the dew on the grass and outside of Geneva’s modest house the school bus pulls to a stop.

            The beleaguered driver, having memorized the routine, leans on the horn.  Like with an alarm clock, Geneva does what any good, respectable teen would do and ignores it until the last minute.  Then, with a bitter grunt, she rolls from the bed and starts her day.

            From the bed she is a staggering, zombie-liked blur.  Her books are scattered about her room, from mixed negligence and frustration.  She gathers them and shoves them unceremoniously into her bag before running a comb through her hair and stopping to consider brushing her teeth and deciding she doesn’t have the time.

            She dresses in what she hopes are clean clothes and berates herself for being more like her older sister than she is comfortable with.  Finally, she gathers a few stray papers and shoves them, crumpled, into her backpack.  On the way out she stops at the door and looks back at her desk.

            The horn wails.  Geneva looks out into the hall, and then to her desk again.  She wonders what could happen, and she imagines the monsters, and Ms. Olivia, gun barrel level, eyes cold, and she returns for the ring.

            She comes sprinting from the house and reaches the bus just in time.  As she climbs the steps, panting and hanging from the handrail, the driver gives her a dead stare.  “I was just about to leave you.”

            Geneva laughs.  “Oh, you say that all the time.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The sky is a dull grey above Seere’s viscounty.  The air is thick, oppressive, and warm.  The busy streets are thick with mud and demons.  While adults work, children play, splashing in the mud while their parents watch carefully from the side.  The viscounty is safe, relatively speaking, but never so safe to let children wander.

            Three demons move through the streets and approach the viscount’s keep.  They are stopped by a stout guard at the front.  They speak, quietly, and are granted entrance.  Another guard, tall and brutish with pale green skin, leads them down the long, empty hallways.  He keeps a sharpened, polished halberd balanced on his shoulder.

            They stop in the audience chamber, where Viscount Salamand Seere waits for them.  He is wearing a vibrant robe and a bronze crown, and he greets them with a smile.  Ruka, as always, stands vigilant at his side.

            The three demons approach cautiously and bow.

            Seere laughs.  “No need for such formalities, I am the one who called on you.”

            The demons stand.  They trade glances, and then the one in the center takes a tentative step forward.  All three wear cloaks, their hoods up.  He pulls his down.  “Y-Yes, my lord.  We’re simply trying to show proper respect for your position.”

            “Of course, of course, but such things do grow tired, don’t they?”  Seere looks at Ruka.  “Really, would you stop with all that scowling?  You’re frightening the poor things.” 

            Ruka responds with cold stare.

            Seere purses his lips.  “Yes, well, I suppose there is nothing we can do about that.”  He returns his attention to the three in waiting.  “Regardless, you are welcome here.  I assure you.”

            “Yes, my lord,” the one in the center says, and he gives glances back at his companions.  They stand behind him and eye Ruka carefully.

            “In truth, I actually called to request your services.”  Seere smiles again, expansively, theatrically.  “I hear tale that you three are the best scavengers in the viscounty. Is there truth in this statement?”

            Center glances back again.  Then he shrugs.  “We get by, lord.”

            “More than get by, if my sources are to be believed, and they had better be.  Fear not, I have no interest in reprimanding you.  In fact, I am in need of someone with your particular skill sets: subterfuge, appraisal, and the like.”

            “You mean to say that you have work for us, lord?”

            “Exactly, work, and with compensation the likes of which you have never seen, assuming you do right by me.”

            Center smiles.  “And we would, lord!”

            “I am sure.  Still, I would like to outline your task before I have you agree to it.  Wouldn’t want to lead you into danger without knowing.”

            “Yes, lord, though I assure you we are accustomed to danger,” center says, but his friend on the right doesn’t seem so convinced.

            “Yes.  Now then, I expect the job to be fairly straight-forward, though time consuming and, perhaps, if you aren’t careful, a touch fatal.  You see, among my father’s records I found maps, ancient maps, showing the roadways between worlds.  You may or may not be aware, but the gate tree between realms has opened once again, which means these maps are of great importance to us.  Your task is to traverse the way between worlds following this,” Seere lifts a rolled parchment from his lap, “and find an old, lost world, and return to me some of the old, lost things found there.”

            “I see,” center says.  “And what will we find there?”

            “That is the question, isn’t it?”

            Center furrows his brow and digests the information.  He looks back at his companions.  Left nods eagerly.  Right continues to hesitate. “And the compensation you mentioned?”

            “Why, you would live like nobles yourselves,” Seere says.  “At the very least, you will never go hungry again.”

            “And you just want us to bring back whatever we find?”

            “Whatever you think is of value,” Seere says.  “If you bring me back something of particular interest, well.”  Seere smiles.  “Considering your reputation, I am sure there will be no troubles.”

            Center turns again.  He consults the other two, speaks to them in hushed tones.  All three agree, and he turns back to Seere.  “And this gate, where is it?”

            “In the forests of Andromalius’ Duchy, though we’ve charted a safe route through there, as well.”

            “I see,” center says.  “The reward is well worth the risk, I think.”  He gets one last agreement from his companions and then all three bow low.  “My lord, it would be our highest pleasure to serve you in this capacity.”  Rising, he gives a rotten smile.

            “That is good to hear,” Seere says.  Seere hands two scrolls, the one from earlier which is tied with yarn and new one fresh from his robe and tied with a red ribbon, to Ruka.  “The red one will lead you to the gate.  The other will take you to the realm you seek.  Be careful along the way.  It has been some time since demons traversed the realms between, and we don’t know how the worlds have changed.”

            Ruka approaches the three.  Center stands his ground, though seems quite uncomfortable in the large demon’s presence.  He takes the scrolls and mutters a thanks while shying away from Ruka’s gaze.

            “And leave at night,” Seere says while Ruka returns to his side, “So as to avoid Andromalius’ notice.”

            “Yes, lord, of course,” center says.  “We will prepare now.”

            “Do,” Seere says.  He waits for the scavengers to leave before giving Ruka a smile.  “And you had worried they might be difficult.”

            “And should they cross us?”

            “A matter we will consider only should it come to pass,” Seere says.  “Now then, I could go for a meal.  Call on the cook if you would.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Later that day, Geneva sits in silence, staring out the passenger window and watching the landscape roll by.  She finds the liquid blur of her surroundings so hypnotic that she doesn’t think to ask where they are going or when they will get there.  It isn’t until they come to a stop that she voices her curiosity, and Kit responds only with a smile.

            Kit takes them outside of the city proper and through worn down, dusty roads well off the map.  The trees here are thick and covered in leaves so brilliantly green that Geneva has trouble believing they are real. Where they stop overlooks the entire city, which stretches out as a series of glass spires catching the light.

            Geneva stares out the windshield, wide-eyed, awed.  “Seriously, where are we?”

            “Just a place outside of town,” Kit says.  “I thought it would be nice if we took a small detour on the way home, give you something different.”  Kit unfastens her seatbelt and pushes her door open.

            “But you are taking me home, right,” Geneva asks while undoing her own seatbelt.  “This isn’t a ‘bury-me-in-a-shallow-grave’ sort of different, is it?”  Kit responds by silently climbing from the car, and Geneva sighs.  “You’re not inspiring hope in me.”

            Kit smiles back at Geneva through the windshield.  The wind tosses her hair.  She goes to a guard rail and leans over it, and she says, “Come on, Geneva, get out here.”

            Geneva peeks her head out the door.  “I’m not getting anywhere until you promise me there will be no shallow graves.”

            Laughing, Kit turns around and says, “I promise.  If I kill you, I’ll make sure to leave you six feet under.”

            “So not helping,” Geneva mumbles as she gets out of the car.  She joins Kit at the guard rail and stares out at the city.  From where they stand everything is small.  It feels strange for Geneva, who has only ever known city streets.  It makes her entire world seem small, like a snow globe.  She can see her tiny, green house in the distance, lost amidst a tiny, bleak neighborhood.  “So, why are we here again?”

            Kit shrugs.  “I don’t know, I just wanted to share this with you.”

            “This being make-out point?”

            “It’s not make-out point,” Kit says.  She gestures vaguely with her hands and says, “It’s—It’s my place.  I come here, when I want to think or be alone.”  She stuffs her hands into the pockets of her skinny jeans.  “And I wanted you to see it.”

            “Oh.”  Geneva fixes her gaze firmly on the ground.  “Why,” she asks without looking up.

            “Because we’re friends.”

            “You have other friends.”  Geneva looks up and meets Kit’s eyes.  Her cheeks feel hot.  “Why not them?”

            Kit shrugs and looks out at the city.  “I can see my house from here.”

            “Yeah?  Me, too.”  Geneva leans against the rail again.  “Everything’s so distant here.  I don’t think I’ve ever been this far from home.”

            “Really?”

            “Well, I mean, I’ve visited aunts and uncles and stuff.  But, no, I’ve never been, like, outside of the city.”  She looks around.  “Everything is so green.”

            Kit snorts.  “Genny, it’s not that green.”

            “Hey, now, some of us don’t get to go on big, fancy world tours.  Some of us aren’t movie stars.”

            “I know,” Kit says soberly.  “Sorry.  Maybe we could road trip one of these days, just you and me.”

            “Nah.  My feet start to stink after a few days.”

            “That’s what wet-naps are for.”

            “Gross,” Geneva says, and she kicks the dirt idly.  “So, how many people have you brought up here?”

            “You.”

            Geneva pauses, swallow the lump forming in her throat.  She tries not to look nervous.  “No one else?  Not even one of your dates?”

            “Not even,” Kit says.  “Saving it for someone special, I guess.”

            Geneva stares at Kit and swears she sees a faint blush across her friend’s freckled nose.  “Hardly,” Geneva says, fanning herself.  “Hey, let’s get into the shade.”

            “Good idea,” Kit says.

            They walk back to Kit’s car together and, upon Kit’s insistence, climb onto the hood.  There they rest, side-by-side, and stare into the canopy of leaves above them.  To keep her mind busy, Geneva counts the sunspots that peek through.

            One, two…

            “The air is so fresh up here,” Kit says.

            “Yeah,” Geneva says.  A light breeze washes over them, and Geneva finds herself relaxing.  One of Kit’s arms rests against hers, warm and soft, alive.  It is the closest she has ever been to another person, and she finds it comforting.  “Hey, Kit?”

            Kit looks at her.  “Yeah?”

            “Thanks,” Geneva says, and she turns her head, too.  She smiles, briefly, and she stares at Kit’s freckles.  Like the sunspots, she starts counting them.

            Three, four…

            “You’re welcome.  I’m glad you like it.”

            “I do,” Geneva says, moving closer, attracted by an unknown force.  Their shoulders touch, and Geneva rolls.  Soon, their chests connect.  Geneva is leaning over Kit, their mouths inches apart, eyes locked, and Geneva is still counting the freckles.

            Five, six…

            She closes the distance.  Their lips meet, first contact.  It is simple, lacking depth.  Kit is momentarily surprised and lies flat against the hood.  Then, she is gripping Geneva tightly, pulling at her with urgency, and Geneva returns it.

            They part, and Geneva nearly tumbles from the hood.  The fresh air leaves her sober, and she catches herself at the last minute.  Her lips are tingling and moist, and her breath gone, stolen.  She stares at Kit in bemused horror.

            Kit sits up and, breathlessly, asks, “What’s wrong?”

            “I—I’m…” Dizzy, Geneva fails to form words, while her thoughts move too quickly, stumble over themselves as they struggle to process.  This isn’t her, this isn’t what she meant.  Everything blurs like the landscape in the car window, and she stutters and then yells, “I’m sorry!”

            She leaps from the car to seek refuge in the woods.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Nina stretches.  She has just finished grading her last test and is ready to go home.  Earlier this month she taught a section over general health, including how to properly do certain exercises, and wanted to make sure they had the knowledge down before moving on.  She is surprised and dismayed by how little these students truly know about their own bodies.

            She sorts her papers and puts them into a folder, which she files away in her desk.  Then, she stands and grabs her bag and keys.  She checks her phone and finds a missed call from Erak.  She returns it immediately.

            “Yes?”

            “You called, sir?”

            “I did.”

            “What’s wrong?”

            “Demon spotted near the school, moved away.  We’re in pursuit.  Nothing you should worry about.”

            “Where? Outside of town?”  Nina has stopped at her office door, her hand resting on the handle.  “I can be there.”

            “It’s a small park overlooking the city.  You stay out of it.  Focus on assimilating, since that’s what you’re so worried about.  Leave the real work to my people.”

            “Sir…”  The line goes silent.  Nina looks at her phone and then flicks it off.  She checks her bag for her pistol and then heads for the parking lot.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Geneva runs until her legs go weak and she has to stop and rest against a tree.  Her lungs ache, her heart races, and kneeling down she coughs through deep breaths while gathering herself.  Thoughts of Kit keep her primed, though, as do hazy memories of sunspots and freckles.

            Her cheeks burn, and she shakes her head to clear it before pushing herself up. “Maybe mom’s right,” she says to herself, “Maybe I do need more cardio.”  She steps away from the tree, pacing ahead, putting more distance between her and the hill.  Leaves crunch beneath her feet.

            She looks up, notices the a few dead leaves, deep brown gashes or vivid red blemishes among perfect green.  “Fall’s coming.”  She sees the light seeping through and chews her bottom lip.  “God, what was I thinking, kissing her like that!”

            With no response, she continues walking, and she replays the events in her head.  At the time it was all so fast, so sudden.  Now, it is slow motion, blurred only by her own emotions.  She feels her lips and finds they no longer tingle.  In fact, they feel very much the same as they always had, but she knows there is something different.

            She wasn’t the one being kissed.  She did the kissing.

            “I kissed someone,” she says, and she stops to hang her head.  “I kissed Kit!  And then I ran off.  Like a crazy person.”  She looks back up the hill, sighs.  “Beatrice is going to love this.”  She turns, looks ahead.  “Well, if I’m going to walk home, I guess I should start now.”

            As she walks the ground grows steep and the trees thin.  Beyond them she can see a fresh grass with a walking trail weaving through.  She stops and remembers her house as a tiny green dot in the distance, thinks of Kit waiting and worrying at her car.  Another sigh, and she rests against a tree for support, because her legs are quickly becoming jelly.  “Okay, okay,” she says to herself and to her conscious, and she turns to make the hike back up the hill.

            That is when she hears the scream.  Off to her left, a woman is calling for a help, and a man is shouting alongside her.  First, Geneva stops to listen, and then she runs toward the voices.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Nina pulls up to the park outside of town.  Before leaving the car, she grabs her pistol and checks the clip one last time.  Then, she straps it to her lower back and pulls her jacket over it.  Once out of the SUV, she locks the door behind her and sprints off toward the woods.

            She sees other elven vehicles through her periphery, all black, parked discreetly out of notice.  Her people are watching, and a few ground agents are scouting, looking for the demon.  They will have orders to shoot on sight, to kill.

            Moving among the crowd, the families and children, she sees groups of wispy, fair-skinned men and women in dark clothes, trying to blend.  The people are too absorbed in themselves to notice, but Nina is aware.  She doesn’t see Erak moving among them.

            At the edge of the forest she stops and waits.  She listens for trouble and hears a scream nearby.  Someone is isolated, alone, and in danger.  She draws her pistol and holds it down with the safety off, and she runs toward the screams.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Geneva follows the screams to a parked car, located in a clearing, with no one around.  A couple is inside, a boy in his underwear, a woman wearing a shirt and little else.  Standing in front of the car is a hulking, green brute of a demon.  Scarred skin is stretched tightly over enormous muscles. Geneva recognizes it instantly from first day of school.

            It punches a hole in the windshield and growls at the couple, who try hard to retreat farther into the back seat, and it starts rounding the car to get at them.

            Geneva watches from behind a tree.  She turns back and takes a deep breath, shifting her weight to keep balance. The last time she dealt with a demon it ended with a few bruises, possibly a light concussion, and a dead body.

            This demon is larger, and Ms. Olivia isn’t around to save her.

            She hears more screams and peeks around again.  The demon is now by the back of the car and has its arm reaching in through the broken rear window.  The girl has her door open and is trying to slip out half naked.  The boy attempts to follow, but the demon has him by the arm and is holding him in place.  His screams make Geneva’s skin crawl.

            She sighs.  “Fine,” she says, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the signet ring.  She remembers Ms. Olivia’s warning and regards the danger in front of her.

            Then, she puts the ring on.

 

The Knights of Sheba 104 A…End