The Knights of Sheba Ep. 12: "Damsel" A

 Episode Twelve: Damsel

            The phone rings, and Nina bolts up and answers it.  “Hello.  Nina speaking.”

            “Is that how humans answer their phones,” Erak asks, speaking elven.

            Nina rubs sleep from her eyes, checks her alarm clock and then her window.  The sun isn’t out yet.  She sets the alarm down and rests against the headboard of her bed.  “I’m sorry,” she responds, also in elven.  “I didn’t—I only heard the phone ring and answered.”

            “In a human tongue.  It’s fine.  We’ll say you’re in deep cover, not that you’ve forgotten your people.”  He pauses.  “We can continue in English, if you prefer.  If it would make you more comfortable.”

            “No, sir.” Nina sits up.  “May I ask why you are calling so early?”

            “I wanted to speak with you. To get your opinion on a matter.”  She hears papers shuffling on his end.  “I understand that we’ve had our differences, but I like to think we’re both in this for the same reason.  We care about our people, about the elven people, and about the destiny that awaits us all.”

            “Of course, sir,” she says, and she leaves it there.

            “I worry about it, lieutenant.  About our destiny.  Even just a few months ago it seemed so clear, so clean, but the waters have grown muddy.  The return of the demons, and then the return of the knights.  The humans say history repeats itself, don’t they?”

            “I believe so, sir.”
            He sighs.  “I’m no scholar, lieutenant.  I’ve dedicated my life to this council, to its military, and to the protection of my people.  I am a soldier and damn proud of it, but if I know my history, then these signs are not good.  They’re not good at all.”

            “We’re strong, sir.  We’ll weather it.”

            “We’re the strongest,” Erak says.  “Again, I know we’ve had our disagreements, but I like to think at the end of the day our interests are the same.  That we share a common goal.  That despite our differences, we can work together.  So, what do you say?  Shall we set aside our differences and do what is best for our people?”

            Nina pauses and lets the words settle in the darkness.  She knows the question but not the intent, which is dubious considering his judgment.  Carefully, she says, “With all due respect for your rank and name, sir, while I do think we both mean well, I am not so certain our differences can be set aside.”

            He is quiet for a time.  Then, his rage showing through the harshness of his voice, “And why not, lieutenant?”

            “Because, sir, while I do believe in your good intentions, I do not believe that you’re doing what is best for our people.”

            “I see.  That is unfortunate, and I hope, for your sake, that you and yours are not swallowed up by this storm.”

            “Sir?”

            “It’s nothing,” he says, and in English he adds, “Go back to sleep.  Wouldn’t want to miss your day in training your little human pet, would you?”  Without waiting for a response, he hangs up and leaves Nina sitting in the dark, holding her phone, and contempling the future.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            “Very good,” Nina says later that day as they finish Geneva’s warm-up exercises.  Without gym class, Nina has taken to giving Geneva floor exercises to keep her in shape. Geneva is just finishing up her last lap around the gym and approaches Nina for a towel and a bottle of water.  She takes a long, liberal drink while Nina says, “Your endurance has improved greatly.”

            “Yeah,” Geneva says through heavy pants.  She wipes her face with the towel and then slings it over her shoulder before returning to the water.

            “And your melee skills have improved, as well.  In truth, I am quite impressed with the progress you’ve made.”

            Geneva rolls her eyes, clicks the lid shut.  She goes to her gym bag and starts digging through it.  “I can hardly touch you.  Still spend most of my time on the floor.  If that’s progress, then I’ve been making steady progress my entire life and never knew it.”

            “It is something, Ms. Oaks.  You don’t give yourself enough credit.  Remember, you’re not a soldier.”

            “Wasn’t a soldier.”  Geneva tosses the towel onto her bag and then looks at her ring.  “Don’t have time for not-a-soldier anymore.  Have to be ready for the next attack.”

            “Yes, well, the demons seem to have quieted some since the last battle.  Anyhow, it isn’t just your combat skills that have impressed me.  You do quite well with the wand-work and the flight, much better than I expected.  Which is surprising, considering our limited information on the subjects.”

            “Maybe that helps?  I mean, like, I don’t have to learn it anyone else’s way, so I just do what feels right.”  She shrugs and shakes her head.  “I sound like I’m nuts.”

            “No, it makes sense.”  Nina grabs their coats and throws Geneva hers.  They gather their bags together and exit the gym.  The day is mild, for winter, being warmer than usual.  Periodically, the sun peaks out from behind the clouds, but it never lingers.  The forecast, Nina knows, calls for snow again.

            Nina pulls her coat tight.  “Have you spoken with Claude recently?”

            Geneva glares.  “Really?”

            “I am simply curious.”

            “You don’t get to ask about that.”  They reach the car together, and Geneva waits for Nina to unlock it before opening her door.  “Not for a long, long time.”

            “Of course.” Nina sighs and gets in.  Sometimes, conversing with Geneva is disturbingly similar to battle.  The only difference is that Nina can’t seem to find the danger zones until she is already caught by enemy fire.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Shirley wakes early Saturday morning and stretches.  She has the day off, and Claude will be out.  It is his first day back at work after his injury, and while his hand isn’t fully healed yet, his manager is kind enough to give him hours to help ease the financial strain.  As a reward for his efforts, Shirley plans to sneak out and buy him a bow and maybe a jacket for the cold weather.

            She smiles as she thinks of him and reaches out for him, her boyfriend.  It is a strange but comforting thought that after so many years things became what they are, that they became who they are.  From the start she knew he was special to her, and that she was meant for him.

            The bed is empty beside her.  She feels around the sheets and then opens her eyes, wincing in the dull light and finds Claude up, pacing the floor on his bare feet.  He looks deep in thought but is moving quietly so as not to wake her.

            She sits up.  “Good morning,” she yawns. Claude stops, smiles at her, and watches her stand.  They hug and kiss, and Shirley yawns again and goes to the kitchen to prepare coffee.  She has the pot filling in the sink while Claude resumes his pacing.  “You okay?”

            “I’m,” Claude rubs his neck, “I’m fine.”

            “Claude.”

            He sighs and joins her in the kitchen, leans against the wall.  “I had another dream.  I’ve had a few lately.”

            “Special dreams?”

            “I think so.  I keep seeing a dragon, and a girl, and a white building.  It’s tall, like a castle or a keep, and there’s a tree shining in the distance.  It’s like the dreams that led me here.”  Claude rubs his chin, stares at her but doesn’t see her.  “I think the keep is the school, the one that girl goes to.”

            “Geneva?”

            “Yeah.  And the tree is the tree.”  He tugs at his hair.  “There’s all this light, I don’t know.”

            “Maybe the girl is Geneva?”  She puts the water on the stove and turns to him, tilting her head.  “Are you dreaming about another woman, mister?”

            “No, I promise.”

            “I’m just playing.”  A warm smile breaks across her face, and she crosses the distance between them and hugs him.  “What do you think it means, though?”

            “I,” he slouches against her, “I have no idea, but it feels important.”

            “You’ll figure it out.”  She kisses his nose and returns to the stove, flicking it on.

            “You think so?”

            She looks at him over her shoulder, smiles with all the warmth and welcome of spring.  “Yup.  I believe in you.”

            “I guess someone has to.”

            She laughs.  “Trust me, I believe enough for the both of us.”  She crosses the room again and this time pokes his stomach.  “Now, go put some clothes on.  You have work today, remember?”

            “Don’t remind me.”  He sighs and shuffles out of the kitchenette to their dresser.

            “Oh, don’t you complain.”  She kicks his rear gently on his way out.  “You should be happy to be getting out of the apartment, and I deserve a little time to myself.”

            “So you keep saying.”  Claude pauses with his shirt halfway down his torso.  “Why is that?”

            “Had my eye on a local barista.  Been wanting to invite him up for a private chat.”  She flashes him a grin, and he returns it in kind.

            “Not funny.”  Claude returns to her, closes in, and she retreats, a squeal swelling inside of her.  He catches her and tickles her with his good hand while she breaks out into a fit of laughter, flailing.  They fall against the counter together, him now holding her in his arms.

            She is still laughing, though she is breathless.  “What? Are you the jealous type?”

            “Maybe a little.”

            “Well, don’t be.”  She turns in his arms, wraps her arms around his neck and smiles up at him.  Looking at him so close, as she has for the past few months, distorts his features.  Sometimes, she thinks how she never really knew him until she knew him.  Seeing him so close, so vulnerable, she gets a new perspective, and it helps her to realize how much she likes the shape of his nose and the cut of his jaw.  “I love you.”

            He smiles.  “I love you, too,” he says, and he holds her and kisses her deeply.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The house is quiet, as it has been for the past few weeks.  Geneva figures it’s a way for her mother to worry without worrying.  Normally, Geneva would kill for quiet, but she is quickly finding that her mother without worry simply isn’t her mother.

            Her father, too, has been strange lately.  His normal vigor and laughter is lost.  His smiles lack warmth and his jokes lack punch.  He seems tired and quiet, and often he is out late, working side jobs to bring in a little more money.

            Money troubles are the only constant in her life.  Her parents have never made their income problems a secret, and Geneva would never ask them to.  Her mother works part-time as a substitute  teacher where she can, but lately her father has been the only one working, and her mother has been sparse on the details.

            Geneva picks at her pasta and looks up at everyone around the table.  It is the first time in weeks they have eaten together, and no one is talking.  In all her life, Geneva can’t recall a single moment similar to this, and she feels somehow responsible for it.

            Briefly, she considers coming clean.  They worry over her, as families do, and ever since the battle she has been more difficult than usual.  As much as she denies it, to them and to herself, she knows deep down that it’s true.  She also knows that, if they worry because she has been quiet lately, that they wouldn’t be able to handle the truth.

            Claude tells Shirley everything, and knowing that makes Geneva consider confiding in Kit, though she imagines it will be much like telling her mother.  Kit fusses every bit as much, only with slightly more aggression and a touch less guilt.

            While surveying the table, Geneva finds Beatrice looking back at her.  They are the only ones not staring at their plates.  Timid, Geneva smiles, and Beatrice raises a solitary eyebrow, as if asking Geneva if she is out of her funk.  Geneva is about to speak, to start some irreverent conversation that will hopefully bring her family back for at least one supper, when her pocket vibrates.

            She goes stiff, and Beatrice’s eyebrows knit now.  “Hey, Gene, you okay?”

            “Ah.  Yeah.”  Geneva presses the phone off through her pocket.  “I just have to, uh, bathroom.”

            “Oh.  A sudden one? Those are the worst.”

            “Beatrice!”  Their mother finally looks up from her plate.  “Don’t be crass.”

            “Right, right.  I forgot, no feces at the table.  Something of a family tradition, right?”

            Their mother’s face shifts, losing its cold, calculated apathy and adopting a familiar frown, and it is a surprisingly welcome sight.  “Now, don’t be getting smart, miss.  Geneva, you are excused, if you need to.”

            “Thanks.”  Geneva hops from her chair and rushes up the stairs.  She slips into the bathroom and locks the door, turning the facet on for good measure.  Then, she pulls out her cellphone and returns Ms. Olivia’s call.

            “Ms. Oaks?”

            “Yeah, sorry, I was eating supper with my family and,” Geneva kneels down in the tub and pulls the curtain.  She is sure that it won’t do much to hide their conversation, but it makes her feel more secure.  “Anyway, what do you need?”

            “Another demon has gotten through it seems, and we need you to mobilize.  I will be by your house in a moment to pick you up, and I need you out there waiting.”

            Geneva sinks down into the tub, leans back against the cold, hard plastic.  For a moment, she sees snow falling, pure white, and then it dissolving into red.  She sees chunks of green flesh lying, half-singed and still smoking, clinging tightly to the bone.  She feels the concussive force of an explosion rattling her rib cage and tensing her neck.

            “Ms. Oaks, did you hear me? We need you ready.”

            Geneva swallows hard, sits up.  “I heard you.  I’ll be ready.”

            “Good, I’ll be there soon.”

            “Right.”  Geneva hangs up and lingers, gripping the phone so tightly her fingers ache.  Slowly, she lifts her right hand and gazes at the signet ring, and she realizes she is shaking. Her breaths are slow and choked.  Someone knocks at the door.

            “Gene, you okay in there? We’re all worried that you’ve lost a few organs in the battle.  Well, mom doesn’t think that can happen, but she said she’s worried all the same.  She’s just that sort of person.”  Beatrice pauses, waits, and then says, “Seriously, though, are you okay?”

            “I’m fine,” she calls through the door, but she feels shaky, sick.  Her voice is steady though.  Even if she can’t lie to herself, she can still manage lie to others.  “Just washing my hands.  Made a bit of a mess.”

            “Okay, first, ew.  Second, I don’t want to know.  Third, we’re getting dessert ready.  Mom bought that pie you like.”

            “Cool.  I’ll be there soon.”

            “Okay. In that case, I won’t eat your piece.”

            “Thanks.”  Geneva accompanies her words with a half-hearted laugh and then waits a few seconds before pulling the curtain back.

            She climbs unsteadily from the tub and balances herself against the sink, and she stares at herself, pale and wide-eyed and unready, in the mirror.  “You can do this.” She splashes cold water across her face, trying to wash away the fear, but it clings to her in her chest.  “You can’t do this, but you don’t have a choice. You’ve got to.”

            She sighs.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Claude’s return is without ceremony.  After weeks without a scheduled shift and a phone call to his boss begging for hours, he is put back on the roster in something of a support role.  His arm is still busted and though it is healing well under elven care, it is not fully functional.  With this understood, he is to help in whatever limited capacity he can.  This means that he mostly gathers dirty dishes and brings them back to be washed.

            His coworkers are happy to see him, though they ask more about the details of his life with Shirley than about his arm.  Normally, this would cause him considerable discomfort, but his mind is elsewhere.  So, he answers their questions brusquely and keeps to himself as much as possible.  Luckily, the day is busy.

            While working he tries to puzzle out the meaning behind his dreams.  As always, they’re hazy, filled with symbols and icons.  They stick after waking but exist without context.  That is the difficulty of his gifts, of his destiny—there is always meaning but not always a way to divine it.

            This one gives him a dragon with feathered wings, men made of light, a princess, and nothing more.  The harder he ponders the more confused he gets, and with confusion comes frustration.  It feels like he has hit a wall and, rather than looking for a door he just keeps trying to walk through it.

            It isn’t until lunch that his intuition sets in.  After hours, even days, of racking his brain it all lines up.  This, too, is normal.  He can never quite remember the catalyst for these thoughts but once it happened, all of the pieces fall into place.  Then, he knows: Geneva is the dragon and someone important to her is in danger.

            He goes straight to the front desks and asks to use the phone.  Joan stares at him from behind her thick lenses in confusion.  “You okay, Claude?”

            “I need the phone,” he says, his tone growing more urgent.  Catching himself, he adds, “I, uh, lifted something too heavy, and I think I might have hurt my hand.  You think Tom will understand?”

            “Darling, of course he will.  He likes you.  We all do, and we’ll give you as much time as you need to get better,” she says, and she reaches for the phone and hands it to him.

            Taking the phone into his good hand, he pinches it between his head and shoulder and censures himself for the hours he will miss before dialing Shirley’s cell.  She answers immediately.

            “Hello, Shirley Seville speaking.”

            “Shirley, it’s Claude.”

            “Oh.  Hey, what’s up?”

            “Ah.  Well.”  He glances at Joan, who is watching him patiently.  “I need a ride.”

            “A ride.”  She goes quiet for a moment.  “Is this about the dream?”

            “Yes.  And I need you to hurry.”

            “They let you off?”

            “Yup.  Told them already that I hurt my hand and they’re very understanding.”  He nods at Joan, who is smiling at him.

            “Okay.  I’ll be right there.”

            “Thanks.”  He hangs up and returns the phone.  “Thanks, Joan.  And you’re sure Tom won’t mind?”

            “I’m sure.  I’ve been here a long time, hon, and he sees his crew as a part of his family.  Besides, we don’t want you hurting yourself worse or, God forbid, doing something and getting someone else hurt.  I’m just more worried about the money you’re missing out on.”

            “Yeah, thanks,” Claude says, staring out the window.  Outside cars rush by on the highway, and he watches them, waiting for Shirley to pull in.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Claude leaves without so much as a goodbye and is soon in the passenger seat of Shirley’s car.  He wrestles with the seatbelt while instructing her on where to go.  She pulls out onto the busy highway and starts toward Ash Valley. “Why Ash Valley?”

            “Because that’s where Geneva’s friend lives.”  He catches her glancing at him and says, “It’s hard to explain, but there was a princess in the dream, and it represents her friend.  This girl.”

            “And how did you learn where she lives from your dream?”

            “I just did.”

            “That’s convenient.”

            “Not really,” Claude says, jerking the belt across his chest and finally clipping it.   “It’s just a part of it.  You should know how it works by now.  It’s just instincts.”

            “Okay, what does she look like?”

            “Blond hair,” he says.

            “That’s it?”

            “It’s what I’m working with for now.  I know she lives near the school, probably in Ash Valley, and I trust my intuition to lead me there.”

            “Anything else you know?”

            Claude shakes his head and watches the cars sway aroundthem.  They pass one on the left.  “Someone or something is going to attack this girl, and I know this girl is somehow related to Geneva.”

            Shirley looks sideways at him.  “Maybe she’s the princess to Geneva’s knight?”

            Claude shrugs.  “Maybe.  Doesn’t matter.  We just need to make it in time to make sure that nothing happens.”

            They speed through traffic and through town, arriving in Ash Valley fifteen minutes later.  It is an area for the rich and affluent of the city.  The houses are widely spaced apart and absurdly large, looking more like mansions or even castles to Claude’s perspective.  Each has level, green lawns, perfectly manicured and used more for show pieces than for play.  Even the sunlight fades perfectly over the tree line for these houses, giving an orange brush stroke that leaves the clouds perfectly framing their angular spires.

            They slow and drift quietly through the cold evening until Claude asks to stop just outside of one house.  Like the others, it is large, white, angular, with enormous windows and an equally enormous driveway.  Just ahead of them is a lone, black SUV.  The sight of it makes Claude’s neck prickle, and he knows.

            He wrestles out of his seatbelt.  “It’s here.”

            “How do you know?”

            “I just do.”  He cracks the door.  “I’ll be right back.  You wait here and keep an eye out.  I know she needs help, but I don’t know why, and I don’t want you getting hurt.”

            “I can take care of myself, Claude.”  She looks at his hand.  “Are you sure you can do this?”

            Claude looks, too, at his hand, and then looks her in the eyes. “I have to.  It’s my job.  My destiny.”

            “Right.”  Shirley smiles a small, uncertain smile.  “You’ll be fine, and when you get back, I’ll have the car running.”

            He smiles, too, looking more certain, and pushes the door open gently with his foot.  “Atta girl,” he says, and he sprints from the car.

            He runs across the lawn to the front door.  Like the house, it is large, expensive, and after knocking gently and trying the knob, he finds it is also open.  He peeks inside and finds the foyer empty.  Deeper within the house he hears grunts and screams.  He leaves the door open and sprints toward the back, coming to a stop in the dining room.

            Kit is on her back, shirt ripped at the shoulder and a thin gash left across her collar bone.  Two men, both lithe and dressed in black clothes and black masks, pin her by her wrists.  Another holds her by the legs while a fourth steps over her.  The fourth is brandishing a knife with the tip pointed down at her.  The blade of it is jagged and has a thin line of blood across it.

            Claude closes his eyes and pulls, from his pocket, a wadded ball of paper.  He imagines, in his mind, the flow of the universe, the flow of light and the atoms that compose it, and tosses the paper into the air.  It disappears in an explosion of light.

            All four men are jarred by the sudden intrusion, turn to face him as he grabs a nearby chair with his good hand and brings it around in a full-bodied motion.  The chair, he finds, is surprisingly solid.  It holds, while the man is knocked back into a nearby wall.

            Kit takes the chance, too, to wrestle free from the men attacking her. She pulls her arms free first and then kicks the man at her feet across the face, knocking him to the ground.  Sitting up, she rubs her eyes.  “What the hell is going on?”

            “I’m here to help you,” Claude says, approaching her with the chair still held firmly in his hand.  He hears a click and turns to find one of the men brandishing a pistol, with it trained on them.  The man presses two thin fingers to his ear and begins speaking in a strange language, sounding to Claude like clipped English.

            Claude reaches down, produces another piece of paper.  This time he imagines a wall of energy between them and, when the gunshot rings a bullet is flattened inches from his face, hovering in the air.

            The gunman mutters what sounds like a curse and retreats out the front with his two allies trailing.  One remains on the floor, unconscious, with a bloody nose soiling his mask.  Claude turns to Kit, who is still blinking with constricted pupils.

            He touches her shoulders and catches a surprisingly solid punch to the chest.  Falling heavily, he gasps.  “Stop!  I’m trying to help!  I’m here to help you!”

            She backpedals into the wall, blinks some more, and then squints at him.  “Who are you? Who the hell are you?”

            “A friend of Geneva’s.”

            Kit settles.  “Geneva?  What’s going on?”

            “Those men, they attacked you because of Geneva.  I don’t know why, but I did figure out that you were in danger, and I wanted to help you.”

            Slowly, Kit’s vision returns, and she stares at him for a moment and then her eyes go wide.  “You’re the guy from the apartment!”

            “Wait, you’ve been to my apartment?”

            “I sort of followed Geneva there.” Kit looks at the man behind Claude.  “Is this—does this have to do with the knight thing?”

            Claude sighs.  “So, you know.  That’ll make this easier.”  He, too, looks at the man behind him.  “And probably, though I’m not really sure.  I just had a vision and…”  He stops as he returns his gaze on her and finds her staring blankly.  “Ah, never mind.  I’m just here to help.”

            “Okay,” she says.  “What about those other guys.  Why did they leave?”

            “I’m not sure, but…”  He pauses, thoughtfully, and then goes tense.  “Shirley!”

            Claude sprints for the front and finds the car empty outside.  The driver’s side has been opened by force with footprints in the snow leading toward the where the SUV had been.  They keys are still inside and the car idling quietly.

            Swallowing a scream, Claude rests against the hood.  Then, his eyes narrow, and he jerks the keys out and marches back toward the house.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The elf wakes to a cold splash of water across his face.  His head throbs while the cold bites at him.  His mask is off, and he is tied to a very sturdy chair out in the snow.  Flakes drift slowly around him while a blade of light stabs him in the eyes. His vision returns slowly, and when it does, he finds two people, Claude and Kit, standing before him.  Kit is holding a flashlight.  Claude is holding a deck of cards.

            “He’s awake.  Now what?”

            “Now, we get information.”  Claude steps forward, one card ready while dropping the others into his pocket.  He holds it in front of the elf.  “I recognize you.  You’ve been by my place, escorting the doctors who have been working on my arm.  I imagine that you’ve been watching me, that you know what I can do, and I hope for your sake that you can speak English.”

            The elf mutters something in his own language and grins at Claude.  The blood from his nose has run down into his teeth and stained them red.

            Claude nods.  “I figured that was the response I would get.”  He stands, looks back at Kit.  “How loud do you think we can get before your neighbors call the cops?”

            “Pretty loud?  I don’t know.  They live far away but…”

            Claude presses the card against the elf’s upper left thigh and leaves it there.  The card burns, slowly at first and then explodes with a small pop.  An open red gash appears with a small tendril of dark smoke where the fabric of his pants has burned away against the elf’s leg. 

            The elf screams.

            Claude hits him across the face with his good hand.  “Shh.  We don’t want the neighbors to come calling, do we?  Don’t want people to see these pointed ears of yours or then the secret is out.” Claude holds a card to his ear now.  “Then again, we can take care of that for you.”

            “No, no,” the elf gasps, still tense, still hurting.  “Please!”

            “So, you can speak English.”

            “Listen, Claude,” Kit says, but she goes quiet when he glares back at her.

            “Don’t show them pity.  They weren’t going to show you any.  They were trying to kill you.”  He turns his glare on the elf now, rubs the card across his face, across his neck.  The card hardens in his grasp as he imagines it as something else.  He leaves a shallow gash on the elf’s skin and watches him shiver.  “Why was that?”

            “Please,” the elf says, panting in fear or in pain, Claude doesn’t know, and at that moment he doesn’t care.

            Claude drops the card on the elf’s other leg, close to his crotch, and the man screams.  “Don’t worry,” he says, “That one won’t go.”  The elf sighs, and Claude tosses a second card on top of the first.  “That one might, though.  I can’t remember.”

            “We were ordered to kill her!”

            Claude takes the card up and tosses it to the side.  It explodes in the air, and the elf stares at the bright flash before looking, hesitantly, back at Claude.  “Good.  Why?”

            “Because.”  The elf looks to Kit for help but finds nothing but a blank stare.  He returns to Claude.  “Because, the girl, the human girl, the knight, she isn’t listening anymore.  We needed to give her a reason to hate the demons, to make her want to fight.  To turn all of her rage and aggression on them instead of us.”

            Claude frowns.  “So, you kill her friend?”

            “Girlfriend,” Kit says, Claude looks at her.  “Sorry.”

            “How would you killing her turn Geneva onto the demons?”

            “We were going to blame the demons.  Right now, she’s out hunting a demon that isn’t there.  When she found the girl gutted, we thought…”  He looks at Kit, who has gone pale in the cold.  She looks sick now.  “I’m sorry,” the man cries, tears mingling with his blood.  “I was just following orders.  Erak, he said that if we did this, if we led the charge, we’d all get promotions.”

            “Lead the charge?”  Claude leans on the man’s injured leg with his foot and holds a card to his face, pinned with a thumb to his forehead.  “What are you talking about?”

            “He wanted to use her to invade the demon realm!  Thought if we could start a war, if we could win it, we could get out of this world.”  The elf sobs.  “Please, you have to understand.  There’s nothing here for us.  We didn’t want to, but we saw our only opportunity…”

            Claude grits his teeth.  “And where did they take Shirley?”

            “Shirley?”

            Claude pins the elf’s head back with his hand, digging the card into his forehead.  “Shirley!  Your friends took her when they ran!  Where would they run?”

            “To the school!  To the gate tree!  They’ll hold her there until they figure out what to do next!”

            “Bastards!”  Claude kicks the elf, hard, in the chest, and lets him fall back, coughing, in the snow.  He turns to Kit, who watches impassively, tears lingering in her eyes.  He takes a deep breath.  “You okay?”

            “No,” she says, and she looks at him.  “They were going to kill me!”

            “They’ll still try.”  Claude paces in the snow, the cold far away to him.  “We need to find somewhere to keep you safe until we can contact Geneva or Nina.  Until we can sort this out.  How long until your parents get back?”

            “They’re at some party.”  She wipes her eyes.  “Won’t be until late, but we can’t keep him here.  And what about your girlfriend?”

            “Shirley?”  Claude shakes his head.  “I don’t know, and I can’t worry about her now.  If they get to you—This is a defining moment.  That’s why I’m here.  To save you.  I can’t turn my back on that.”

            “But she’s in danger.  They might kill her!”

            “They’re after you.”

            “To get to Geneva.  You said it yourself, and if they can’t get me.  They might kill her, too, to get to Geneva, and you’ll just let them get away with it.”

            “That wouldn’t work.  Geneva doesn’t even know her.”

            “And you clearly don’t know Geneva,” Kit says.  “Anyone dies for her, it’ll hurt.”

            “But their plan won’t work.  There wouldn’t be a war.”

            “I don’t care,” Kit says.  “I won’t let them hurt Geneva!  This has gone on long enough.”  She turns toward the house, stomps through the snow.

            “Wait! Where are you going?”

            “To stop this! Geneva is my girlfriend, one of my best friends, and lately, she’s been a huge pain in my ass.  I have a lot of anger to let out, and I know a couple of assholes with knives who seem like a perfect target.”

            “And what do you think you’ll be able to do to them?”

            “I don’t know.  Save your girlfriend.  I’ll figure it out later.  Right now, I’m just mad.”  She turns back to him at the door and glares.  “That guy tried to hold me down while they stabbed me!  You want me to just let that go?”

            “No, but this is just what they want.  I can’t let you die.”

            “Then come with me.  That way, you can help me, but I won’t be a damsel, and I won’t let someone hurt Geneva or let someone else get hurt in my place.”

            Claude rubs his neck, vigorously.  “This is insane.”

            Kit grabs her keys and returns to the backyard.  “It is,” she says.  “I’m just rolling with the punches.”

            He sighs.

            “Listen, I’m going with or without you.”

            “Fine.  Then we’ll take Shirley’s car.”  Claude looks at the elf in the snow, still panting and now shaking from the cold.  “I don’t want to get blood in yours.”

            “We’re bringing him with us?”

            “Yeah,” Claude says. “I’d feel better with a hostage.”

The Knights of Sheba 112 A…End