The Knights of Sheba Ep. 11: "Wings" B

 The Knights of Sheba 111 B…Start

            Claude is just finishing his breakfast and setting his bowl to rinse when he hears a buzz at the door.  He peeks out the window and finds Geneva waiting.  She looks different as a civilian, younger, more a teenage girl than a knight, and it makes him that much more uncomfortable.

            He goes downstairs to let her in. On the walk back up they don’t speak.  This continues until they are inside of the apartment, and the first thing he does is offer to take her coat.  It doesn’t help at all to ease the tension.

            Geneva paces around the apartment, sizing it up.  After a few weeks, Claude is used to living sparsely, but this is the first time he has had a real visitor and not elves checking his arm, and he has nowhere for her to sit and nowhere to hide the mattress.  So, Geneva stands there, staring at the bed, while he forces a smile. “Sorry, we don’t have much space.”

            “No, it’s fine,” Geneva says, “You live on your own in a city like this.”

            “Well, not on my own.  I have a roommate.  My girlfriend, actually.”

            “Oh.  Cool, cool.”  Geneva goes to the window, peeks out of it.  “You’ve got a nice view of the street.”

            “Yeah,” he says, and he leaves it at that.  He goes around the counter and into the kitchen and asks, “You hungry?  I’m not much of a cook, but I can make something.”

            “No, I’m good.  Thanks.”

            “Okay.”  He turns to face her, leaning against the counter and watching her stare out the window.  When she turns to meet his gaze, they remain like still, silent, blank faces looking for a place to start.

            Geneva clears her throat, crosses her arms.  “So, how’s your arm?”

            “My arm?”  Claude lifts his cast, as if to show it off.  “Should be fine.  The, uh, elves have been taking care of it.”

            “Hmm.  Yeah, they’re pretty organized.”

            “You hurt?”

            “Nothing major.  Just some bruising, a bloody lip.  Had to hide it from my parents.”

            “Parents,” Claude says, “You live at home.  Makes sense.”

            “Right.  I’m only sixteen.  Er, seventeen.  I had a birthday recently, but in all the commotion...”

            “I understand.  Must be crazy, being so young and fighting battles.”

            She shrugs, and they go quiet again.

            Claude traces one finger on the counter, thinks of things to say.  He remembers Nina’s visit, Nina’s request, but feels entirely out of his element.  He isn’t a psychiatrist or therapist of any sort, and he keeps thinking that.  Then, he remembers Shirley’s words, that he is a hero, that he should help Geneva.

            He sighs.  “Okay, I’ll just come out and ask, you been feeling weird ever since the fight?”

            She looks up.  “What?”

            “Like, have you been feeling weird? Or something?”  He rubs his neck with his good hand.  “I don’t know.  I was told you needed someone to talk to about all of this.”

            “Told by who?”

            “Your boss, the blonde lady.  Tall, shortish hair.”

            Geneva’s eyes narrow.  “Oh, that bitch.  Excuse me a second.”

            “Uh.  Sure?”  Claude watches her go out into the hall and listens through the door.  He can hear her muttering to herself for a short time.

            “Yeah, Ms. Olivia?  This is Geneva.  So, figured I needed a little counseling, huh?  Well, session’s over.  I’m ready for my pick-up.”  She pauses, listens, and then says, “No, listen to me.  I don’t need help.  I don’t need your pity or your concern.  I just need you to train me so I don’t die.  That’s it, end of discussion.”  Another pause, then, “Good.  I’ll be waiting.”

            After that Geneva hangs up, Claude sneaks away from the door before she stomps back inside.  She marches into the room and looks around before turning back to face him.  “May I have my jacket?”

            “Yeah,” he says, taking her jacket from the counter and tossing it to her.  While she slips it on, he says, “I take it she didn’t tell you what this is about?”

            “Not at all.”  She stuffs her arm through the second sleeve.  “Sorry, I’m not mad at you. I just don’t like being lied to.”

            “I understand completely, and to be honest, I’m a bit uncomfortable with this entire thing.”

            “Yeah, well…”  She shrugs.  “Thanks, anyway, I guess.  It’s pretty cool of you to try.”

            “No problem.”  He reaches for the door and stops.  “Bu, you know what? You should wait up here instead of waiting outside.”

            “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

            “Nah, I’m going to have to insist.  It’s cold out there, and I really don’t trust my neighborhood.  I mean, you’re seventeen, and…”

            She looks him hard in the eye, and the way her face tenses makes the bruises show.  She seems hardened but also vulnerable.  It makes Claude remember the night of the battle, when she removed her helmet, blood crusted across her lips and her nose.  She seemed so young, so fragile.

            “I can take care of myself.”

            “Okay, but I’d be worried.  So, please?”

            She lingers, her hand on the doorknob, and then shrugs.  “Fine, whatever,” she says, and she unzips her jacket and paces back into the room with her arms crossed.

            “Thanks.  Want anything to drink while you wait?”

            “Nope.”  She leans against the wall and fixes him with her gaze, and she scrutinizes him.  Now, Claude realizes, he is her enemy as well.

            He leans back against the sink and cradles his injured arm, and they remain like this, just watching each other.  Claude runs a few more things through his head, searches for the right answer.  His last attempt didn’t turn out so well, but he feels like the direct approach is still preferable to a lie.

            “Listen, I know it’s troublesome to have people fussing over you.  Hell, Shirley, my girlfriend, she fusses all the time.  When she first moved up here, she came in and started telling me all the ways I needed to run my life, all the ways I messed up, and it left me feeling like a child.”

            “Yeah,” Geneva says, impassively.

            “Yeah.  But, honestly, I can look back at it and say that, as annoying as all the fussing was—is—it’s coming from a good place.  And it always will, because she just wants to help me.”

            “And, what, Ms. Olivia is the same?”

            “No, I’m not saying that.”

            “Implying it, then.  Well, that’s good and all, but I don’t need her help.  And I don’t want it.”

            “And I get that, but it doesn’t mean she can’t offer it.  Especially if she’s worried.  Cause it just shows she cares.”

            “I don’t know why everyone is so worried about me.”

            “Because, you’re a seventeen-year-old girl.”  She gives him a glare, and he says, “Hey, I’m not saying you’re not brave or that you’re weak or defenseless.  What you did the other night was amazing.  Hell, you saved my life.”  He lifts his arm.  “But, you’re still a kid.  And we’re grownups.  And in my opinion, it should be us out there.  Not you.”

            Geneva gives him a long, cold stare.  “You can’t be that much older than me.  You’re what?  Twenty-five?”

            “Twenty-One.”  Claude scratches at his stubble.  “Do I look that old?”

            Geneva shrugs.

            “And anyway, I’ve trained my entire life.  I expected this, from day one.  The minute I realized my gift, I dedicated myself to protecting this world, to fighting monsters like that.  I knew it would happen.  From. Day. One.  Can you say the same about yourself?”

            She stares.

            “What I’m trying to say is, I expected the violence.  Was prepared for it.”

            “So, you’re okay with it,” she asks after some thought.

            “No.  I hate it, the blood, the killing, but I know it’s my duty, my destiny.  I know it keeps people safe, so it’s worth it.”

            “I guess.”  She sighs, hangs her head.

            “Also,” Claude pauses, considers his approach, “I used to keep a lot in.  Take it out on those around me, those who cared.”  He laughs.  “Shirley is fussy, but she has my back, and it helps.  I mean, she’s never out there fighting monsters, and I want to keep it that way.  But when I’m home, and I’m tired, and I can’t keep standing, she lifts me up.”  He finds Geneva staring at him now, looking small, looking young.  “Does that make sense?”

            “Yeah,” she says, “Sounds nice, actually.”

            “I’m not telling you what you should do.  Or what you need to do.  But I know, for me, it helped to let her in.”  He waves his good arm around the tiny apartment and says, “And it got me all of this.”

            Geneva smirks.  “Like a mansion up in here.”

            He laughs and strokes his chin.  “Guess it’s not the most impressive sight.”

            “No, it’s nice.”  Her phone buzzes then, and she finds a message from Ms. Olivia.  She tucks her phone back into her pants.  “She’s here.”

            “Cool.  And, hey, keep in touch.  Not for inspiring talks, but if you ever need help fighting monsters.”

            Geneva zips her jacket, pulls her hood up.  “What? You going to wave your arm at them?”

            “I could be bait,” he offers, and she chuckles.

            “Yeah, we could be a brand new superhero team.  Teenage Girl and Bait Boy.”  She shakes her head.  “Even I wouldn’t read that.”  Smiling, she adds, “But I will keep in touch.”  She opens the door, pauses, and looks back.  “And hey.  Thanks and stuff.”

            Claude nods and waves.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Nina waits outside of Claude’s apartment watching the door.  She thinks to leave, to drive circles around the neighborhood or around the city, just to keep herself occupied.  However she hopes this might help, deep down she has doubts, and without anything to keep her busy, they are bubbling to the surface.

            So, she waits in silence, gripping the steering wheel until her hands hurt and then resting them on her lap.  She stares at the dash and then at her pink, pulsing fingertips, and she tries to think of something, anything else.  Without school work and papers there are too few distractions in her life.

            She decides she needs a hobby.

            A knock on her window pulls her into reality.  She reaches, first, for her glove box and then stops upon seeing Kit standing among the cars outside.  After a breath, she rolls her window down.  “Ms. Wright?”

            “Ms. Olivia.”  Kit’s jacket is too thin for the weather, but she doesn’t seem to notice.  Her stance is tight, and her face twisted into a scowl.  She reminds Nina of enemy soldiers seen on the battlefield, so hardened by rage that it keeps the elements at bay.

            “Can I help you?”

            “Maybe,” Kit says, and she crosses her arms.  Despite her thin frame, she looks formidable.  Nina, having the background she does, isn’t afraid, but she knows most people would pause.  “What’re you doing here?”

            Nina glances ahead, at the apartment building that Geneva just entered.  Kit knows Geneva and knows something is wrong.  She must have followed them there.  Nina looks back to Kit.  “I know someone who lives here and was just coming in for a visit.  It’s so cold out, I was looking for my gloves but couldn’t find them.”

            Kit’s jaw tightens, and her scowl deepens.  “Don’t lie,” she says, and her tone indicates that it’s not a request.  “What is Geneva doing here?”

            Nina pauses, takes a deep breath.  She fixes her hands around the steering wheel again.  “Ms. Wright...”

            “Is this what you do when you tutor her?”  Kit is yelling now, flailing and pacing in place.  She has tears in her eyes, borne of frustration and rage.  Her face is red, and she is shaking, but she still isn’t cold.  “Who is in that building? Huh? Who is that guy who met her at the door?” She stops and plants her feet, and her fists are white around the knuckle.  “What the hell are you making her do in there?”

            “Ms. Wright, I understand your concern, and I understand how this might look, but I assure you, I can explain.”

            “Then explain.  And do it fast before I call the cops.”

            Nina opens her mouth, thinks, closes her mouth.  She sees a shiver move through Kit and wonders just how much restraint the young woman is showing in that moment.  On instinct, Nina runs through all the way she can neutralize Kit, all the weaknesses she can exploit.  Kit is a strong girl, and she carries herself well, but she isn’t trained.  She could be dead in an instant.

            “Ms. Wright, would you like to come into the car.  It’s quite cold out there.”

            Kit stares her in the eyes.  “No.”

            Nina sighs.  “Really, it is a lot to explain, and I would feel better if you...”

            “No.  Now, start talking.”

            Nina meets Kit’s gaze again, and she can see everything in her eyes.  She can see all of the hate, all of the hurt, she can see everything Kit thinks of her, and she knows that lies will only make it worse.  Now, she plays it all out from Kit’s perspective, a new teacher calling on Geneva at all hours, pulling her away at a moment’s notice and taking her to strange places and to strange people. 

Nina releases the steering wheel. “Well, let’s start with this.  How long have you been following us?”

            Kit purses her lips and narrows her eyes.

            “I ask only so that I might know where to start.”

            “Just today, just now.”

            “I see, then that will make this more difficult, but I will do my best.”  Nina pauses to regard Kit again and finds her rooted in place.  A wind passes through, shifting the snow, and Nina shivers.  Kit doesn’t.  “As you might have figured out, this is not tutoring, and I do not tutor Ms. Oaks.”

            “Duh.”

            “But I do teach her, in a sense.  I instruct her in the ways of combat, as unbelievable as that may be.  You see, Ms. Oaks is a knight, the first in approximately two thousand years, sworn to protect humanity from a monster-threat equally ancient and forgotten.”

            Kit listens and stares.  Her expression doesn’t change, and she doesn’t move at all, save for the soft shifting of her torso and nostrils as he breaths through her anger.

            “And she is here because I am worried about her.  You see, not long ago, on the night of the party that I called her away from, she went off to fight one of those monsters, a terribly powerful one, and she came back hurt, perhaps even broken, in ways that I am untrained to mend.  She met that man in there,” she nods toward the apartment, “during that battle, and I am hoping that he might help her in a manner which I cannot.”

            They go quiet, with only the sound of the city to fill the silence between them.  Nina stares calmly into Kit’s eyes and is stared at hatefully in return.  The tension between them keeps the world at bay, to the point where even Nina can hardly feel the cold.  She is just about to speak when Kit finally says, “Knights? Monsters? You really expect me to believe that.”

            “Not at all, but I would rather tell the truth that you won’t believe than a lie that you won’t believe.”

            “This is stupid.  I’m calling the cops.”

            “Ms. Wright, please, calm down and listen to me.  Consider, if you would, Ms. Oak’s tumble outside of the school and her mention of green men?  Or her injury at the park and the mugger which I saved her from?  Her disappearance from the party on the night of the damages down town?  Whether you believe my story or not, these facts at least corroborate my story to some extent, don’t you think?”

            Kit has her phone out already, but she stops with her fingers hovering over the keys.  She slips it back into her pocket and breaths into her hands before crossing her arms again.  The scowl remains, though it has softened some.  “Okay, let’s assume I believe you—which I don’t, because it’s nuts—why would Geneva be doing this?  Why is she the knight?”

            Another hard question, another hard answer, but Nina can see Kit’s wheels turning.  The cops won’t be the problem.  If called, Erak will have the entire situation handle, and he will have Kit handled, too, if for nothing else to get back at Geneva.  He is already looking for collateral to settle their issues, so Nina opts to try the truth again for the sake of brevity.

            “Because from the moment that I have met Ms. Oaks she has risked herself to protect everyone in her path,” Nina says.  “She fought for you, albeit non-literally, saved a teacher at the school, saved two young people at the park on the day in which she was injured.  If I am to find a protector, I think it best to look for one who comes by it naturally.”

            “Wait, you’re saying she got hurt protecting people from the mugger, or the monster, or whatever?”

            Nina nods, and Kit turns a small circle.  She paces around, chewing her lip and staring at the ground.  Then she stops and shakes her head.  “No.  No, no, this is too weird.”  She meets Nina’s eyes.  “I mean.  How?  How could anything you’re saying be real?”

            “I imagine it must be difficult for you to believe.”

            Kit frowns again.  “If it is real, why wouldn’t she just tell me?”

            “Because, she is protecting you.”

            “From monsters?”

            “No.  From the people I work for.”

            “The school?”

            Nina laughs gently until she remembers herself, and then she shakes her head.  “No. Different people, very different people, and far worse, and they want this—the knights, the demons, themselves—to all be a secret.  They want it so badly that they would hurt you if you ever found out, and I would be hard pressed to stop them.”

            “I’m not afraid.”

            “Perhaps you should be.”

            “Then why are you telling me?”

            Nina looks up.  “Because it is preferable to hurting you myself.”  Another silence follows, interrupted by the sound of Nina’s phone.  She pulls it from her pocket and checks it.  “It is from Ms. Oaks,” she says, and she looks to Kit, who nods, and then answers it.  “Hello?  Already?  But, I had thought you would want to—Ah.  Yes.  Fine.  I’ll be back soon.”  Nina hangs up and stares at her phone.  “That did not go as I had hoped.”

            “What? He refuse to pay?”

            Nina frowns.  “Ms. Wright.”

            “What? This all still sounds crazy to me.”

            Nina sighs and stuffs her phone away.  She exits the car and steps in front of Kit, being about the same height as her.  “Fine then.  She is just inside, and I am sure we can ask her directly, though I’m sure you already have, and she evaded the question entirely.”

            Kit hugs her arm and chews her bottom lip again.  For the first time, she doesn’t meet Nina’s gaze.

            “I’ll be succinct, Ms. Wright.  She is no whore, as you seem to believe.  She is simply a young woman on a dangerous path.  Worse than that, she is a young woman unwilling to share her burden with anyone around her who might be able to help, and I know that is what matters most to you.  Helping her, and I can respect that.  So, if you still don’t believe me, then I will wait and let you call the cops on me, but when they arrive, they will find no drugs and no coercion.  Just a young woman who knows that you have been looking into her life after, I imagine, she explicitly asked you not to.”

            Finally, Kit softens and recoils, and Nina feels for the first time like she can walk away from this without anyone getting hurt.

            “It all must be confusing. It was for her, too, and if it helps, I think it is good what you are trying to do, and I know that Ms. Oaks needs the help.  Were I in the position to allow it, I would have told you everything from the start to make it easier on both of you.  As it is, however, this must remain a secret.”

            Kit looks at her again and tries to glare, but she is feeling the cold now, and all she can do is sigh.  She rubs her nose and her eyes and then smooths her hair back, looking for the first time like a woman her age and not like someone far older and more serious.  “This all still sound crazy, but I’ve got a pretty solid bullcrap meter,” she says, and she meets Nina’s gaze again and gives yet another sigh.  “She really fights monsters?”

            “She really fights monsters.”

            “God,” Kit says, hugging herself for warmth and for comfort.  She laughs quietly and without humor.  “I really don’t know if I like that anymore than the alternative.  Will she be okay?”

            “So far she has survived,” Nina says.  “And, if she’s ever in over her head, I promise you, I will be there to help her along.”

            “Good.  I mean, I don’t really believe it.  Not all of it, anyway, but I don’t think she’s doing anything against her will or anything,” she trails off.  “Point is, I don’t know what is going on, but if I decide to change my mind, yours is the first name I’m giving to the cops.”

            “That will suit me just fine.  And thank you for your discretion.”

            Kit rolls her eyes. “You’re ice cold, you know that?  And a little scary.”  She rubs warmth into her cheeks.  “Whatever, I’m going now.  And, don’t worry, I won’t say anything to Geneva.”

            “Yes.”  Nina checks her phone.  “And I should be getting to her anyway.”

            Kit lingers and watches Nina cross the street, but by the time Nina reaches the door, Kit is already leaving for her car.  Nina waits at the doorway to watch Kit drive off and then sends Geneva a message to let her know that her ride has arrived.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

           

            The candles flicker and make the shadows in the room dance.  Geneva watches them absently, her mind elsewhere.  She shakes out the match used to light them and rests it in the ash tray nearby.  Meanwhile, her sister is busy setting out place mats and plates for their meal.

            Their mother checks the roast and then closes the oven.  Next, she checks her watch.  “God knows where your father is,” she says, wiping sweat from her brow.

            “He’ll be home soon,” Beatrice says.  Now she is setting the silverware.

            “He has been late every night this week.”  Their mother stirs some mashed potatoes on the stove.  “I’m not letting our food go cold again waiting for him.”

            True to her word, their mother pulls the roast a few minutes later and they settle in for a quiet supper.  Geneva keeps her eyes fixed on the plate during the meal while her mother watches the door.  Their father still isn’t home by the time they finish eating, and they start cleaning up.  Beatrice offers to do it herself, and Geneva takes the chance to return to her room.

            She does her exercises before going for a shower.  After that, she prepares for bed.  While dressing, she hears the door downstairs open and then hears her parents arguing in hushed tones. Their voices are quiet but the intensity of their conversation carries through the walls.  She ignores it and curls up into bed, folding a pillow over her head to shut out the noise.

            The argument is short-lived, but the night is not, she finds.  She feels restless and hasn’t had proper training in days. She climbs from bed and tries to play a video game to pass the time, but it can’t hold her attention.  The conversation with Claude keeps replaying, as does the long, tense car ride home that followed.

            She keeps looking out her window.  Snow is falling again in a lazy flurry.  Outside, the light from the streetlamps bounce off the collected snow and reflect on the low hanging clouds.  It makes the sky burn purple and yellow.  She wonders idly if Claude does the same thing at night when he is alone, but she knows that it is different.

            Even though he is injured, and even though he may not have anything with him at times, he is never at alone.  He has someone who will always support him, who will pick him up and carry him when he is too tired to carry himself.  She feels the bruises on her face, the scab on her lip, and she feels alone.

            She stares at herself and finds that months of training have brought on subtle changes.  She is slimmer now and shows muscle when she flexes.  Long days of hard work no longer leave her aching, and any time off has her pacing her room at night, anxious and sleepless.  Even bruises don’t hurt in the same way they used to.

            She thinks about the people in her life, about her mother, about her father, about Beatrice and Kit, and she thinks about Claude and Shirley.  It is different for her.  Claude told her that he always knew how special he was, but Geneva never knew.  Even now, she isn’t even sure that she is special.  She is just a teenage girl telling lies to the people she should trust most with the truth.

            Even if she wanted to share, though, she never will.  Relations with the elves, with Erak, are tense enough.  Involving Beatrice or Kit in any of it would only complicate matters.  At best, it will earn her a lecture, and at worst, it will get them hurt.  She trusts Ms. Olivia to do right by her, as much as she can trust the woman who deemed it necessary to make her, Geneva, a soldier, but she isn’t willing to give Erak an inch.

            She goes to the window and watches the snow again.  It is gathering quickly, casting the landscape in a pristine, white blanket.  It all looks polished and seems to glow in the night, casting its light up into her room.  Geneva presses her fingers to the glass of her window and can feel the chill outside trying its best to bleed its into her room.

            She is alone, in an empty room and an empty life, without anyone to catch her when she falls.

            She opens her window and climbs out onto the roof in her bare feet and pajamas.  The air is cold and silent, and there is no breeze.  She breathes in and feels the chill in her lungs and then her entire body, and it is bracing.  Before climbing higher, she makes sure to close her window to keep the warmth inside of the house, and then she makes a clumsy path up the slanted roof of her home.

            At the top of the house she comes to a stop, and she stands there, staring down at her back yard.  Her toes are numb, and a breeze stirs, catching her hair and sending goose pimples across her skin.  She shivers and climbs carefully over to the edge.  It is a two story drop with only light powder to catch her.

            She holds up her right hand and stares at her signet ring.  Over the past few months her life has changed so much.  She has changed so much, and she had to.  She had to learn and grow so quickly just to stay alive, and still she feels like she is behind.  War certainly doesn’t seem to be calling, and the thought of her as a soldier still makes her want to laugh.

            She closes her hand and closes her eyes, and she breaths in the cold again.  Regardless of how she feels about it and of how far behind she is, she is a knight now, however poorly suited she may be.  It is like Ms. Olivia says—it was her decision, and she refuses to fail.  She will protect people no matter the cost.

            The signet warms and spreads across her body, stealing the cold from the night.  She looks over the edge of her house again and nearly tumbles forward.  She is alone there, balancing at the edge of the roof, with no one to catch her if she falls, but she realizes something that she didn’t understand before.  She doesn’t need anyone to catch her.  She has wings.

            She walks back to the center of the roof and takes a deep breath.  “I’m a knight,” she says, to herself and to the night, and she fixes her gaze on the roof’s edge.  “I’m a knight, and I can do this.  I can fly.”

            Another deep breath.  “I can fly,” she says, barely a whisper in the darkness, and she sprints along the roof, her feet running a thin line across its angles and ridges.  At the edge, she leaps, and her armor augments her strength enough to throw her farther than she intended.  She sails high into the air, making it a few feet before reaching acme, and then plummets.

            “I can do this!”

            She feels momentarily weightless but the ground is coming up at her fast.  She braces for impact, her heart hammering so hard against her chest that it hurts, and she keeps repeating it to herself.  She is a knight.  She can do this.  She can fly.  No one will catch her when she falls, so she will catch herself.

            Briefly, in the back of her head, she sees a dragon with bird-like wings and feathers as white as snow.  Then, she slows, and there is no impact.  She opens her eyes to see the snowy earth drifting by inches beneath her.  Two wings, each twice the length of her arms and white as the fresh snow surrounding her have grown from her armor and now carry her on the wind.

            She goes a few feet before losing altitude.  Her descent is light and the landing painless as she rolls a few times and slides to a stop at the fence at the far end of her backyard.  When she sits up, she feels the back plate of her armor and finds the wings missing, but she is smiling at the distance she went.  She falls back and laughs and makes a snow angel around her as she shouts into the darkness.  “Ha!  Haha!  I knew it!  I can fly!  I can really fly!”

            The light comes on over the back door and Geneva’s parents step out into the darkness.  Her mother is in a robe and her father is wearing only his underwear and carrying a baseball bat.  They stare out into the darkness, and her father squints.

            “Geneva?”

            She approaches them timidly with snow gathering in her hair.  Her pajamas are damp as she hops and skips through the snow, trying to avoid the deepest areas.  She comes to a stop in front of them with wet ankles and wet hair.  “Uh, hey, guys.”

            Her father lowers his bat.  “What in the world are you doing out here, honey?”

            “Ah.  Heh.”  Geneva looks back at the fence, at the signs of her landing which are slowly being covered by snow.  She looks at them again and shrugs.  “Going for a walk?”

            “In the middle of winter,” her mother snaps, “And with no shoes?’  She grabs Geneva by the arm and yanks her inside.  While her mother fusses over her, Geneva’s father follows them inside.  “What in the world were you thinking,” her mother says, dusting the snow from Geneva’s shoulders.  “You could have gotten frostbite!”

            “I was only in the back yard, mom.”  Geneva ducks out of her mother’s grip and looks them both in the eye.  “I’m sorry.  Really.  I just couldn’t sleep and needed some fresh air.”

            Her father sets the bat aside.  “Think you can sleep now?”

            Geneva wiggles her toes, which feel both wet and numb.  “Yeah, think I’m ready for a nice warm blanket.”

            “Good.  Then get up to bed and I’ll bring you some cocoa,” her mother says, and she is in the kitchen before an argument can be made.  The light comes on, and Geneva hears pots being moved around.

            She looks at her father with water still dripping from her hair.  “I don’t really need cocoa.”

            He smirks and scratches his mustache.  “Yeah, but you’re getting some anyway.  So, get up to your room, dry off, and change out of those clothes, okay?”

            “But...”

            He ruffles her hair.  “Let her take care of you once in a while.  Tonight, at least.  She’s had a long night, too.”

            Geneva sighs.  “Okay.”  She starts down the hall and up the stairs, and she stops partway to look at him over the bannister.  “Could you tell her to add some marsh-mellows?”

            Her father smiles.  “I got you.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

           

            The next morning Nina arrives early to pick Geneva up.  Geneva joins her in the SUV and before they can pull away, Geneva’s mother joins them, too.  She stands at the door while Nina rolls the window down and gives a glowing smile. 

“So, you must be Ms. Olivia.”

            “I am,” Nina says.  Geneva buckles her seatbelt in silence.  Nina extends her hand, and Mrs. Oaks shakes it.  “And you are Ms. Oak’s mother.”

            “Mrs. Oaks,” she says.  “I just wanted to come out and tell you how much we appreciate all of the extra effort you’ve put into our little Geneva.  She’s such a smart girl.  She just doesn’t apply herself.”

            “Yes.  Well.”  Nina glances at Geneva, who stares ahead blankly.  Then, she looks back at Mrs. Oaks’ tired face. “I believe in her,” she says with a small smile.

            “That is so good to hear.  You know, I work in education, too.  I’m a part-timer, and so many times—too many times—I see teachers who have burned out.  Who’ve given up on their students.”  She smiles and smooths Geneva’s hair.  “Thank you for not giving up on her.”

            “I would never.”

            “We should really get going, mom,” Geneva says, trying and failing to avoid her mother’s hands.

            Mrs. Oaks nods.  “Oh, of course.  Don’t want to hear your poor, old mother carrying on.”  She looks passed Geneva.  “Do you have any children…”

            “Nina, ma’am.  And no, I don’t.”

            “Too young,” Mrs. Oaks says.

            “I’m older than you might think.”

            “Well, either way, they grow up too fast.  Anyhow, you two have work to do.  I just wanted to thank you.” She waves and mutters a quick goodbye before they pull out.  Nina watches her disappear through her rearview mirror and then turns a street.

            Geneva slouches down in her seat, puts her feet up.  She has her jacket partway undone and stares out the window.  “So, that was my mother.”

            “I see.”

            Geneva shifts in her seat.  “Sometimes, I think they’re too gullible, believing all of this tutor stuff.”

            “Oh?”  Nina gives a sidelong glance.

            “Tutors don’t normally come pick you up from your house.  Or leave bruises.”

            “Sometimes, parents simply don’t want to believe harsh truths.”

            “Yeah, and I guess it’s for the best.  I wouldn’t want them thinking you beat me or something.”  Geneva smirks.  “Or for them to know the truth.”

            “No.  I think that might be much worse.”

            They arrive at the school shortly and head straight for the gymnasium.  Once inside, Geneva strips her jacket and calls her armor.  Nina praises her skill and asks to see the wand.  They train, briefly.  Even in the armor, Geneva hesitates and fumbles, and she spends much of her time on the ground or unarmed.

            After that, they train with the air currents.  This time, they are careful not to damage the lights.  Geneva shows surprising finesse with her wand.  While clumsy with more complex movements or gestures, she takes to it much more easily than combat.

            “Okay,” Nina says after watching a bottle sail across the gym floor, “Now, I think it is time to try the wings again, if you’re feeling up to it.”

            Nina can’t see it, but Geneva is smiling inside of her helm, and she sheaths her wand into place on her hip.  “Oh, I’m ready, but this place is a little cramped.  What do you say we go outside?”

            “Ms. Oaks, all due respect, we’re likely to be seen if we’re out in the parking lot.  The gym is much safer.”

            “Yeah, but I wasn’t talking about the parking lot.” Geneva points up.  “I was talking about the roof.  Can you get us up there?”

            “Well, yes, but I don’t think that is safe.  You haven’t even conjured your wings yet, and…”

            “Just get me to the roof.  I’ll take care of the rest.”

            “Ms. Oaks, are you sure?”

            “Trust me,” Geneva says.  “I know I can do this, Ms. Olivia.  I can fly.”

            Nina fingers her keys while hesitating.  She thinks on the ramifications of Geneva’s death, on the suffering of those nearest to her, on her promise to Kit to keep Geneva safe, and then she stares into Geneva’s visor and imagines a young woman staring resolutely back.  She nods.  “Fine, if you’re certain.”

            They gather their things, and Nina leads Geneva through the empty halls. She takes her to the top of the school, out onto the roof.  Snow has gathered on the flat surface and melted into the wet pebbles.  They step over ventilation shafts, Geneva now leading, as they cross toward the edge of the roof facing the sports’ fields.

            Geneva looks over.  The school is set on a steep hill, which leads down toward the fields.  From here, they can see the track field, the baseball diamond, the soccer field, and the fence that blocks off the wooded area where the gate tree is.

            Nina watches Geneva stand there, arms out, as if testing the wind.  The armor protects her from the cold, but Nina can feel the bite of it in her limbs.  “Ms. Oaks, are you certain this is safe?”

            “Absolutely.”  She turns to Nina and puts her arms down.  “Last night, I was thinking.  I couldn’t fly because I was too afraid to let go, too afraid because even if I did,” she shakes her head.  “I was too scared to jump, because I knew that no one could catch me.  But, if you don’t jump, then you can’t fly, because…”

            “Because, why, Ms. Oaks?”

            “Because you can’t fly if you’re afraid of falling,” Geneva says, a smile in her face, and she steps off of the school.

            Nina screams, rushes forward and nearly falls from the school herself.  When she looks over the edge, however, Geneva is missing.  In the distance, she sees something dart up into the pale sky.  It twirls in the air and then dives back down in a white blur.  When Nina’s eyes catch up, she can see the figure in detail, white armor wrapped around a seventeen-year-old body, suspended in the air by two long, white wings stretching from her back, the feathers bristling in the wind.

            Geneva spirals on her dissent and floats just above the surface of the ground.  She flies small circles around the field until she finally plummets, landing hard on the baseball diamond and coming to a stop at its center.

            Nina grabs their things and sprints down.  They meet on the diamond, with Geneva sitting in the snow, her helmet off, smiling and laughing as Nina approaches.  Her wings are gone, and she is steaming slightly in the cold.  When Nina arrives, Geneva recalls her armor and takes her jacket.

            “Ms. Oaks, that was outstanding!”

            “I told you could I fly.”  Geneva zips her jacket up triumphantly.

            “Yes, you did, but how did you know?”

            “Well, I did it last night.  Used my roof.”  Geneva looks at the school.  “Bigger drop but same principle.”

            “Yes, quite impressive, but how did you figure it out last night, I mean.”

            Geneva shrugs.  “I didn’t.  I just jumped.”

            “You just—You could have died.”

            “I didn’t.”  Geneva stuffs her hands in her pockets.  “Like I said, you can’t fly if you’re afraid to fall.  I’m a knight, now. I can’t keep being afraid.”

            Nina stares at her for a moment, worries that this bravado is a front, and then decides that it is progress.  Geneva isn’t fixed, and may never be, but she is better.  There is light in her eyes, and perhaps a youthful flush and excitement to her cheeks.  “You did well.  Come, we’ve studied enough for the day.”

            “What? We’re done already?”

            Nina nods and makes Geneva turn toward the parking lot.  “Yes, you’ve made plenty of progress, and I think you should rest, because from here on, things will only become more difficult.”

            Geneva sighs and hangs her head.  “Of course, they will.”

The Knights of Sheba 111...End