Sapphic Voices Fantasy

Tales Of A Librarian

Conclusion

Chapter Nine


Grimoir-


As of this writing I am no longer an employee of the city’s public library network. I said good-bye to Jimmy, he’s sure I’ve lost my mind, running off with some strange woman. Meanwhile old Batterast the battle-axe begged me not to go, she told me I was throwing away my potential.

For my years of faithful service I received a 10,000 dollar severance. Hart snorted when I told her and said I was better off without them. Right now Hart is dozing next to me there is a bandage behind my neck that’s to stay until the tattoo heals. Imelda is the only one who knows what it is. I did hear her remark to Hart that my tattoo is a symbol, and is disappointingly Christian.

Chevelle is sitting in front of us and that awful O’Riordan is driving the hulking dark blue S.U.V. one of a dozen vehicles in the gang’s motorcade on it’s way to Mexico. Ducee’s limo is in front of us, Blue Dagger’s on motorcycles buzz in and out showing off.

The township we’re going to is called La Calavera, just beyond the border in the desert. The tournament will begin tonight, we are not sure if Hart will be fighting just yet. I am not prepared for her death, I am not prepared to see her take lives, but still I could not let her go to Mexico alone.

The air has gotten dryer as we leave the Gulf coast behind, the nights will be much cooler than the days Hart says, and that’s when the tournament battles will take place. I’ve tried to ask Hart about rules and regulations of the sport, but as I suspected there are none.

She is stirring next to me and Chevelle turns and smiles a bit at us. She does not seem like the rest of the Blue Daggers. She Hart were once friends, now for some reason they can barely stand each other-

. . . .

Hart started awake, she shivered and turned to Brynn who had her little book open scribbling.

“Hello, Gatita,” she grinned and kissed the side of her face.

“We just crossed the border,” Brynn informed her.

“Long live Mexico,” she said blandly.

“Whores and cocaine,” O’Riordan whooped.

“Hey this ain’t a vacation,” Chevelle told her, she turned to them, “We all have to keep ourselves sharp, no distractions.”

Hart narrowed her eyes sure she was talking about Brynn.

“No distractions,” she agreed.

“You ever been to Mexico, Dulcita?” Chevelle asked Brynn.

“No I haven’t” she answered.

“It’s lovely all times of the year,” Chevelle said.

“Except for the raging poverty,” Hart said.

Chevelle shrugged. “I see you inherited your mother’s white guilt.”

“I see you inherited your rich father’s apathy,” Hart replied, and turned to Brynn, “Mexico has always been a sad place for me, La Calavera is especially poor, the town is named after a family of rich witches.”

“Of course we’ll be staying in a hacienda a few miles out of town,” Chevelle said, “On my father’s ranch.”

“Are there horses?” Brynn sat up then shrank when she remembered Hart’s rich, witch comment.”

“Yeah unfortunately,” Chevelle said, “You ride Dulcita?”

Hart hissed sensing a sexual innuendo.

“I would every summer from elementary to high school,” Brynn said, “At camp.”

“I’m sure they’ll be plenty of time for you to mess around with stinking horses,” Chevelle chuckled, “If that’s what you’re into.”

Brynn turned to look at Hart who nodded.

Chevelle turned around in her seat to talk to O’Riordan.

“What is it with you two?” Brynn asked.

“Oh, she won’t rest until I kick her ass,” Hart told her, “How are you Gatita?”

“A little tired,” she said, “All this sitting and staring out the window, and I can’t nap, I’m too excited.”

They snuggled until, Chevelle announced their arrival.

The S.U.V. stopped and Brynn was the first out, stretching like a cat. Several Blue Daggers assisted Ducee out of her limo.

“Little Hill,” she leaned on her cane, wincing, “How lovely you look.”

“Thanks,” Brynn said glancing over her shoulder at Hart who was not being very friendly towards her old comrades.

Then sun shone clear giving the afternoon a morning cast, Brynn watched her elongated shadow next to Hart’s misshapen by their bags. The house was large and quite plain, white adobe and Spanish tile, the lawn had brown patches.

Chevelle passed them to greet several buxom, brown servants waiting on the front steps before two large chocolate colored doors. They chatted in Spanish then the maids greeted Hart and Brynn before gushing over Ducee.

“Welcome home,” Chevelle announced pushing open the doors.

The inside was all marble tile and glass around an open courtyard in the middle of the house, a winding staircase revealed the second floor, the hallways were balconies over looking the courtyard.

“Wow,” Brynn breathed.

Hart grumbled unintelligibly.

“Welcome to you, Dulcita,” Chevelle said to her leading the way up the stairs. “It’s lovely,” Brynn commented.

“All what Hart would call ill-gotten gains,” Chevelle gave a mock sigh.

Brynn looked over at her love not sure how to react to the taunting.

“No Blue Dagger has ever made an honest dollar,” Ducee puffed behind them, the maids on either arm. Below more of the gang was filing in with their luggage.

“We’ll take the first room,” Hart said abruptly.

Chevelle turned to dispute wanting to show off more of her ill gotten gains but changed her mind.

“Fine,” she said once they reached the first landing.

“This is my stop too,” Ducee growled walking around the stairs towards the opposite side, “Venga chicas.”

The women giggled at her Spanish and followed.

Hart pulled Brynn into the first room, dropping their bags and stumbling towards the bed, black iron and white bedclothes.

“I hate car trips,” she said, “If Ducee’s huge ass could fit on a plane seat we’d have been here.”

“Hart,” Brynn admonished.

“Seriously,” she said turning on her back, “Venga chica.”

Brynn joined her, Hart kissed her forehead, lightly touched the back of her neck and the bandage.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

Brynn kissed her lips. “Not at all anymore. I’m ready to see what it is.”

Hart leaned close to look into her eyes. “I already regret bringing you here.” “Why?” the librarian asked.

“You’re too innocent for this shit,” Hart said, “I can see Chevelle and Ducee just eager to corrupt someone else.”

Brynn laughed. “Who’s to say I’m corruptible?”

“That’s what the Blue Daggers do and they’re quite good,” Hart said, she sighed, “It’s going to be a long week, lots of ass to kick.”

She lifted her butt off the bed and removed a folded piece paper from her pocket, handed it to Brynn.

She opened it, curious, she saw two lists of names, one in blue ink with a dagger a lot like Hart’s tattoo above it, the other was in green with a picture of a pentagram. Hart’s name was the second on the blue list after Drexler’s.

Brynn asked about the colors.

“You have to see it in terms of magic,” Hart told her, “There’s warrior magic, Blue magic, and there is magic through knowledge, Red magic, the Calaveras practice Green magic, inherited powers.”

She laughed while Brynn pondered this generating knew questions, she pointed to her name on the list.

“I’m on for tomorrow night,” she said.

“Oh,” Brynn said, not sure what else to say.

“But chances are it’ll be tonight,” she said, “Drexler’s not that great of a fighter.”

“You mean she’ll be killed,” Brynn said.

Hart rolled over and mumbled: “Let’s not talk about it.”

She stood and went to their bags, one a cracked, work leather satchel Rayna had packed with what she called magical implements.

“I have to consecrate this room,” she said stooping, rummaging through the bag, “I’ll be calling on Itzcoatl early, Chevelle has agreed to look after you.”

She stood and turned to find herself in Brynn’s arms.

“I love you,” she said to Hart.

The Stranger leaned against her. “How can you love me? I’m a fucking jack, and a murderer.”

“I love you,” Brynn said.

Hart sighed and straightened, giving a crooked grin. “I loved you the first time I saw you. Amor a primera vista.”

Brynn held her tighter.

“Do me a favor?” Hart asked.

“What?” Brynn asked.

“Don’t listen to any of Chevelle’s shit.”



Chapter Ten


She rested with Hart and dressed again; sneakers, her favorite carpenter khakis, and a navy pea coat she purchased before they left for Mexico.

She met Chevelle in the courtyard and was shown around the place they then joined the rest of the Blue Daggers for dinner. They toured the stables.

It seemed night would never fall.

At around ten the caravan of cars and bikes started again. Hart and Drexler leading the way on bikes through the town of La Calavera a tiny village of adobe shacks some homes, a good many beer joints, one was a church painted pink, a stone Virgin Mary planted out front in the dirt with her arms outstretched.

They drove just outside of town to the dry desert, cleared by a circle high chain link fence threaded with strings of round white lights. There were lines of cars parked on one side the Blue Dagger’s assembled on the other side.

“There they are,” Chevelle pointed in the distance there was a circle of people, their raised hands joined.

“Weirdoes,” one of the Blue Daggers commented.

Brynn looked around for Hart, but could not find her.

“Don’t worry, Dulcita,” Chevelle said, “She’s around.”

Silver flasks began to go around the gang made witch jokes, and laughed nervously. Brynn saw Drexler and went cautiously to her.

“Good luck,” she told her.

“Don’t need it,” was her reply, she was preoccupied with fitting a pair of jewel studded gold knuckles on her hands. She bowed her head and kissed them, then looked up at Brynn.

“Thanks anyway Little Sis,” she grinned wryly, “You don’t mind kissin’ another broad’s knuckles…I know Hart is the jealous type.”

Brynn shrugged and laughed. “I suppose I don’t.”

Drexler offered them slowly, and she bent a little and kissed them.

“Whoa,” O’Riordan appeared clapping Drexler on the back, “You can die a happy woman.”

They gave each other brotherly hugs.

“Tear their goddamned throats out,” O’Riordan said.

“You know it,” Drexler said, she peeled out of her designer t-shirt, undid her jeans, stepped out of them, and walked to the fence.

Brynn watched, though she was naked Drexler did not look vulnerable at all she scaled the fence, swung over the other side, landing on her feet in a cloud of dust.

On the other side of the fenced ring, another group waited, men and women among lighted torches stuck into the ground.

Another fighter was climbing the fence, she landed and Brynn recognized her from Bloodsport as the horned woman with the razor blade mohawk. She landed her tail snaking behind her.

A man on horseback appeared he rode the perimeter of the ring, bellowing in Spanish. He wore a black embroidered bolero jacket, his hair in a braid down his back, the horse beneath him was a white dappled gray with a gray mane, and fidgeted tossing her head.

“Tonight,” the man shouted, “The house of Blue Dagger, Drexler, against the house of Calavera, their champion, Mace. Sunday, at dawn the last fighter standing will honor their house with victory.”

That said he fired a pistol and Drexler glowing charged to the middle of the ring where she was met by Mace.

“She was born with that tail,” Chevelle said to Brynn, “Had it pumped full of steroids, then had the horns and that sharp hairdo of hers added on surgically.”

“A street fighter,” Ducee said at the sidelines, “I do hope those witches don’t think they’ll beat us with street fighters.”

Brynn tore her eyes away from the fight and was offered a pair of binoculars from the fat woman.

“Look on the other side,” she said.

Brynn peered through the eye pieces for a closer look at the witches, there were men as well as women among them, fair skinned with dark hair with round faces, pointy chins and small eyes, they sat in wicker chairs in jeans and sweaters. They certainly did not look like part of a long line of witches, Brynn was surprised to see that a few of them wore glasses.

“They look like a JCrew spread,” she commented.

Ducee laughed. “I really like this librarian.”

“Let me see those,” Chevelle said and Brynn handed the binoculars over.

Ducee called for her chair, sat and sighed, then yelled at Drexler to finish Mace.

On the other side of the fence Drexler was hit in the chest by the spiked tail, she was knocked backwards and rolled to dodge any other blows.

Mace lowered her head thrashing her horns Drexler landed a punch between her eyes drawing blood. Mace whipped her head and backed off, turned whipping her tail.

Drexler ducked it and rushed Mace punching her back twice before dancing back.

The horned woman roared half blinded by her own blood.

“Come on, Drex,” O’Riordan went to the fence and crouched sticking her fingers through the links.

“She can get her,” Chevelle said under her breath, “That thing is an animal, no match for Drexler.”

Mace began to use her fists, swinging wildly Drexler ducked each one, lashing out with punches of her own. The horned woman braved them, she caught one of Drexler’s forearms and tossed her over her head, bowing her head, slicing the Blue Dagger with her razor blade mohawk.

Drexler rolled, her armor pierced.

“Shit,” Chevelle whispered.

Mace ran at the prone warrior, head down, rushing like a bull. Drexler collected herself in time to avoid being maimed but the horns followed her. They stood in a dead lock, each trying to read the other’s next move.

The horned woman charged Drexler stood her ground readying herself in an attempt to catch the horns. She wrapped her hand around one, but the other pierced her hand right through.

She screamed and Mace whipped her head to free the other horn, Drexler let go of it and it stabbed her through the chest.

“Drex,” O’Riordan shook the fence.

Mace pinned the Blue Dagger to the desert floor, throwing in a couple of punches as Drexler struggled. With a twist of her head the horned woman disengaged leaving Drexler dead, a pool of blood forming under her chest.

O’Riordan pushed away from the fence, turned and walked away, pushing through her comrades.

Brynn looked over at Ducee who only shook her head, a pistol shot got their attention, the man on the horse galloped around the ring.

“And now the house of Calavera’s Mace, against the Blue Daggers and Hart Gonzalez,” he fired again.

Brynn looked through the fence as Hart’s glowing ghost eagle placed her into the ring she wore brass knuckles, her short sword tied to her thigh.

Mace had her hands raised, a challenging gesture, blood covered her monstrous face, some her own, some Drexler’s.

Hart walked the ring, Mace watched her go to the body, lean over and close its eyes. She then stepped over the dead Blue Dagger and began her poised dance, her swagger, fists ready.

The horned woman laughed and bent her head, she charged Hart, stopping, drawing back to try and read her movement.

Hart backed up into the fence, climbed it backwards and jumped over Mace’s head as she charged. Her horns became caught in the links, she thrashed at the fence. Hart landed behind her, removed her knife and stabbed through her tail.

Mace roared whipping her tail, cutting the spiked end off, she whirled on Hart.

“She could have finished her right there,” Chevelle yelled, “Why the hell is she playing games?”

“She’s having fun,” Ducee said, “She’s just warming up.”

The horned woman was furious, her tail made useless, she rushed at Hart, punching her in the chest. The stranger stumbled back, Mace sensed her uneasy step and lowered her head, then turned quickly using her injured tail to trip Hart.

She fell and Mace was on her, Hart punched her twice to stun her away, but the horned woman was relentless.

“I’m going to tear your face off,” she spat and whipped her head forward, Hart slithered sideways in the same movement she brought her shoulder up. One of the horns stabbed into the ground, the other remained several inches of out the desert.

One of her razors sliced into Hart’s shoulders, she groaned at the pain and continued to wrestle with the horns.

Mace bore her weight forward her horn went deeper into the ground, the other stayed above. Hart grunted and leaned on the buried horn, she heard it crack and pushed more.

“No,” Mace roared, she realized she had to gouge Hart before she lost a horn, instead of backing off she went for it.

“This might hurt just a bit,” Hart said and pushed her sideways, the horn gave a dry snap.

Mace shrieked, rolling on her side, then on her back.

Hart beat at her exposed stomach then flew away for her short sword still embedded in the severed part of the tail.

She retrieved it, and was tackled from behind by Mace they rolled, crashed into the fence and stopped a tangle of limbs, and a limp tail.

Hart stood, removed herself and her blade from Mace replacing it in her scabbard. She fell to her knees and bowed her head readying herself for her next opponent.

The pistol shot, the man on the gray horse appeared, whatever he said Brynn did not pay attention, she was riveted by Hart’s prone body, covered in sweat, some of her hair loose from the knob she tied it in.

Behind Hart another fighter landed in the ring, a shirtless man with wide shoulders. She stood and turned, the man raised his fists, and they began their dance.

They boxed until dawn Brynn watched them fight until it seemed their features were nothing but bloody pulp. Hart would not remove her sword to kill the man each time he fell she would wait until he stood again, as he waited when she fell. Once when she was down he went for her sword raised above his head weakly. She woke, kicked him in the stomach, he let go of the blade she caught it and drove it through his stomach.



Chapter Eleven:


Brynn watched her sleep most of the day, all the morning she was still, Brynn paced their suite checking to see if she still breathed. That afternoon she jerked her arms and murmured as though she were fighting in her sleep.

“Gatita,” she whispered and opened her eyes.

“I’m here,” Brynn joined her in bed.

“I thought you’d leave me, after you saw me fight,” she said, “After I killed-”

“No,” Brynn said, “Never.”

“Brian Chambers,” Hart said.

“Who?” Brynn asked.

“The man was Brian Chambers, a Canadian,” Hart told her, “He was two hundred years old, one tough bastard.”

“Oh,” Brynn said, “How-”

“Don’t ask me how he came to live that long,” Hart grinned, then winced, it hurt to smile, it hurt to move. She sat up, groaning.

“Can’t lay here all day,” she said, “I gotta prepare.”

Brynn was about to protest, Hart’s knuckles were bruised, the skin broken in places, the healing was miraculous though, but she still looked as if she had fought two beings to the death.

“You need food, water,” Brynn climbed out of bed, not able to look at her.

“Yeah, room service,” Hart followed stretched, flexed her hands into fists gave the air a few half hearted punches.

Brynn left her and went downstairs, she met one of the maids on the way and managed to communicate that she needed comidas for Hart.

“Yes, the fighter,” the maid said and bustled off to the kitchen.

Brynn walked the courtyard, there was a fountain she sat next to it, peered up at the sky.

“S’Good to see you out and about,” Chevelle called from one of the balconies then came down.

“Buenos Tardes,” Brynn told her and the Blue Dagger grinned at her Spanish.

“You look tired,” she said.

Brynn shrugged. “I haven’t had much sleep watching over Hart.”

Chevelle laughed. “You should know if she isn’t killed outright in the ring she’ll survive, that’s Hart a survivor.”

“Does she have to fight again?” Brynn asked, “Can’t someone else go tonight…I’m just afraid she’ll be worn down, won’t be able to perform-”

“That’s the point of this tournament, Dulcita,” Chevelle said, “But if anyone can make it to Sunday, it’s Hart.”

Brynn looked away from her, watched the water.

“Don’t worry,” Chevelle said, “I’ve seen the way she looks at you she has an incentive to win. Before she left us she fought to be top, for the money then when she was a street fighter I’m sure it was for the thrill, now she’s fighting for you.”

. . . .

Grimoir-


Fighting for me…the prospect of the two of us having a life together. It’s a romantic notion like the stories of knights and their ladies, but weren’t those stories more romantic when they ended in tragedy? Hart could die, and if she survives what happens the next time one of these tourneys comes up will we travel off to some godforsaken place where she can continue battling her demons? It frightens me it really does, I saw her fight two people to the death last night, sure they were freakish, and one had already lived to millennium but still they were alive and now are dead by Hart’s hands.

In the ring she has this cool demeanor, back in the city I saw it, but here it’s different. I know she is here out of some debt she feels she owes the Blue Daggers, I still cannot wrap my mind around it. I pray that she is as good a fighter as everyone says or else I fear one of these nights she will be the one left lying in the dirt.

. . . .

As Chevelle parked the car, Brynn watched Hart climbing the high fence around the ring. She leapt inside and remained crouching, waiting for the match to begin.

Brynn knew what to expect, she was not sure who or what would enter that ring to fight Hart to the death. The body of Drexler, Mace, and Brian Chambers had been cleared away.

The Calavera family were already arranged in their casual attire, Brynn did not need the binoculars to see that.

Ducee was brought her chair and she sat her cane at her side. “Ready for more chills and thrills?”

Brynn did not answer her, only looked away at Hart fenced in, waiting. The man on the gray horse appeared speeding around the ring announcing the fighters in Spanish, then in English. He said Hart’s name first and Brynn began to tremble, her back teeth thrumming together. She stood away from the fence when she realized that the ground beneath them vibrated shook.

Out of the darkness appeared a giant’s silhouette. As it neared the light, Brynn saw a woman the size of a building, in a billowing house dress with cats printed all over.

“And for the house of Calavera the 100-foot woman Senora Robinson,” the gray horse stopped and reared out of fright, the pistol shot.

Mrs. Robinson stepped inside of the ring, she waved there was a huge wedding band on her hand she looked down at Hart as if she were a bug. She raised her foot and brought it down with a crash that knocked the spectators on their asses, Ducee was dumped out of her chair.

“What the fuck is that?” Chevelle asked scrambling to help Ducee up, Brynn helped but the wind of another footfall from the giantess sent them back to the ground.

In the ring Hart scurried out of the shadow of the groaning foot, she slashed at the heel with her short sword, the other foot sailed out of nowhere with the force of a Buick, sending her into the fence.

“Field goal,” the giant wife roared and cackled.

Hart clutched the fence, her sword was lost, her body in shock, her mind still burning. She let go of the fence and ran missing being scooped up by the giantess’s hand.

She leapt into the air, carried higher by Itzcoatl and his spirit animal, the eagle she looked over her shoulder and through the glow saw Mrs. Robinson swiping at her.

Brynn collected herself and ran to the fence, Chevelle called after her.

Inside the ring, Hart spotted her sword, she swooped and collected it from the dust she rolled to dodge another kick then took to the air again.

“Damn you,” the woman hissed.

Hart buzzed around her landed quickly between her eyebrows and cut then flew away missing the heel of the giant’s hand.

She found another spot at the nape of her neck and went for it, she stabbed, but did not move away quick enough to dodge the hand she slipped down the neck of the dress.

“Where did she go?” Brynn asked as Mrs. Robinson did the wild dance of a normal woman if a wasp had gone down her dress.

“I don’t see her,” Chevelle said.

“This is different,” Hart thought to her self as she slid down hot, fragrant skin, (for an instant she supposed it was hard to find underwear for such a large woman) she saw light and began to stop her fall. She grabbed the hem of the house dress and held on, unseen. She began to climb up the inside of the dress, the giantess trying to shake her loose from her hiding place.

Hart jumped to her inner thigh stabbed then let herself drop. The giantess slapped at her thigh screaming. Hart landed between her feet and ran flying, around the ring, then back around to the woman’s face and up her nose.

She scrambled backwards as Mrs. Robinson squeezed her nose trying to smash her. Hart reached into the pocket of her pants and removed a pen light with a click a line of light pierced the humid darkness behind her.

The nose opened again and a gush of air sent Hat scrambling, she clutched at bristly nose hairs, buried her sword into the slimy skin.

Mrs. Robinson gave her head a vigorous shake, and screamed, breathing through her mouth.

Hart relaxed, shined her light again traveling to the back end of the nose, she could go up into the sinuses and do some major damage, or she could go down and risk getting swallowed if she went down the wrong pipe.

Mrs. Robinson began to sniff again, sucking forceful air she opened and closed the back of her throat. Hart saw a bit of phlegm pass. The giantess was trying to hack her up.

“Down it is,” she said, a slid down head first, stopping when she came to the cross roads of her esophagus and her breathing passage, lodging herself and hacking away at the gummy flesh. The blood flowed heavily and Mrs. Robinson began to cough. Hart held on out of air herself.

She began to scale backwards using her knife as resisting the coughs, wanting to do as much damage as she could on her way out. Blood washed over her.

Mrs. Robinson fell to her knees, clutching her throat and coughing, Brynn watched the blood and saliva pool to the ground. She gasped for air, Hart was choking her. The scene was more violent than the others Brynn had witnessed, watching the twenty foot woman choke to death, her face turning red, then purple before she fell forward and curled on her side, her eyes wide with death.

“Fuck,” Hart scrambled in the darkness, not sure which way was up after the crash. She found her way back to the nasal cavity and took a breather. She could hear the murmur of the crowd outside.

“Suckers,” she said and rested in Mrs. Robinson’s dead head until dawn.

. . . .

While they waited for any signs of life from the dead woman, a short man with a bad haircut approached the Blue Daggers. A man twice his size, and half his age walked behind him dressed in an old fashioned sailor’s uniform.

Ducee stood. “Jacksonstein, you goddamned sneak.”

“Well if it isn’t the Don herself,” he grinned, “And the Crap Pack too, but someone’s missing…two some ones…”

He tossed his head at the ring.

“Fuck you Jacksonstein,” Chevelle said eyeing the taller man, “You here to get some more of your little creations trashed?”

The sailor turned his head stiffly.

Jacksonstein laughed. “Not this time, not with Braxton here.”

The young man gave a dopey grin, he looked down at Brynn, and it deepened.

“Machine and ghost, together at last,” he announced, “A cyborg run by a ghost channeled by yours truly.”

Ducee looked impressed. “Your robots will never take the place of real mediums.”

Brynn looked up into the young man’s eyes, they were shiny, glassed over she looked away, stepped back.

“He’s up next,” Jacksonstein said, “Ready to tear your little Hart to shribbons, if she isn’t dead, it’s nearly dawn.”

“Hart’s alive,” Brynn insisted but no one acknowledged the statement.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Chevelle said, “He…that thing doesn’t stand a chance against Hart.”

“Come on Honey,” Jacksonstein said, “Show ‘em what you got.”

Braxton’s grin deepened, other than that he stood perfectly still.

“Command,” Jacksonstein told him, “Alt, control, flex.”

Braxton continued to grin.

Chevelle laughed. “Oh shit, I hope that’s not all he’s good for.” She pointed down at the growing bulge in the sailor’s pants.

“Oh, damn,” Jacksonstein gave a sly smile, “You bad boy, come along, so we can work out a few bugs…” he cut his eyes back to Ducee, “Watch your back.”

Brynn turned back to the fence. “Hart, Hart, come on, you’re alive in there.”

The man on the horse returned, he galloped around the ring watching the gleam of sun over the mountains. He raised his pistol.

The Blue Daggers roared as Hart emerged from Mrs. Robinson’s nose, caked with drying blood and snot. She slipped a little bit and straightened raising her fists in the air, then giving her butt a little shake.

Brynn laughed through the tears streaming down her eyes, she sank to her knees and was immediately helped up by Chevelle.

“Like I said,” she told Brynn, “She’s a goddamned legend.”

. . . .

They all sat around at Chevelle’s grand old tiled dining table listening to Hart recount countless fights, besides the infamous slaying of the giant wife. There was the Tokyo brawl, the Aurora Borealis massacre, the Phoenix Kinko’s ambush in which Hart had taken out some guy’s spine with a ball-point pen.

She kept her arm around Brynn as the Blue Dagger’s chatted around them, drinking appearing less like ultra-cool organized criminals and more like frat-boys. Hart behaved more like Ducee, calmer but with the same evil arrogance. She would kiss Brynn’s neck in front of everyone and give her a, “You’re my girl” look, then resume talking she even took to using the street lingo the librarian had trouble keeping up with.

“By then the bitch was flamed, you know rushing and raging like all those zooids get-“

“-But I was core with that even with all them awf stars that were there , they sure did fool me until I saw that they were all wrong-”

“-Back then we used to get all kind of flat from those kinds of grabs and we stomped all over the world going for ‘em”

Brynn was too tired to try to decipher much, she was depressed, she wanted her old Hart back, the bruised, loner who quoted Baudelaire and spoke softly but commanding, who was so damned sexy she chased away all of Brynn inhibitions and had her laid out on a table in the reference section, who took her to the Gulf in the winter time and quietly watched the sun sink over the western horizon.

They went to their room at nine they showered together silently and went to bed.

“Last night was a break,” Hart said when they were settled, “I’m sorry I worried you.”

“S’ok,” Brynn said as they snuggled close, “I knew you were alive.”

“Did you?” Hart asked amused.

Brynn murmured an affirmative.

“Hart, when this is over-” she began then paused unsure hopping she had drifted to sleep.

“What?” Hart asked keeping her eyes closed.

“Are you going to be a Blue Dagger again?” Brynn asked.

“I’ll always be a Blue Dagger,” Hart said.

“No, I mean will you be stomping all over the world looking for grabs and stars and all.”

Hart laughed until she turned red in the face.

“Are you ready to see that tatt?” Hart asked.

“I am,” Brynn kissed her.

They went to the bath room, Hart gingerly peeled back the bandage and with the help of a vanity mirror, and one in a handle of painted wood they were able to see the blue apple that was revealed.

“Am I your Eve then?” Brynn asked a puzzled Hart.

“That worries me,” she confessed, “Is it to represent forbidden knowledge or knowledge in general…” she mused, “Knowledge about what?”

Brynn took the mirror, tilting it to admire her tattoo. “Is the magic so exact?”

“It could mean nothing,” Hart worried, “Stay away from that cemetery to be on the safe side.”

Brynn’s shoulders sunk, that was to be her first chore if they returned to the Unfinished City intact.

“I mean it,” she said, “When this is over, it’s just you and me again we’re going to have to find us something to do though, you’re not going to be a librarian and I’m not going to be a street fighter.”

Brynn laughed, “I’ll always be a librarian,” she said to be cryptic.



Chapter Twelve


The next night Hart killed four times, she was too exhausted to join the Blue Daggers in their celebration. Brynn watched over her, she slept a bit herself, but at noon found that she was restless. She walked around the hacienda, out to the stables where she greeted the horses. There was an old man there and he assumed she knew what she was doing. He saddled up a horse for her, a piebald, brown and white paint, with a luxurious mane and tail, too beautiful to be real, like the horses in the novels she read as a small girl, a second grader’s wildest fantasy.

Brynn had not ridden since high school, her last year at summer camp, the gelding scared her a few times, tossing his head, but otherwise workable. She stuck to the road that led to town, enjoying the sun on her face, and the stillness of the day.

When she could see the town in the distance she heard hoof beats besides the paint’s, she turned expecting to see the man on the gray horse ready to fire his pistol, instead she saw a rider in a white hat and a pale blue silver fringed shirt.

Brynn sent the horse into a trot not wanting to be bothered by some freak in a hokey 1950’s cowboy outfit.

The rider caught up and trotted along side her the horse was white with a pink nose the saddle was dust free, trimmed in silver and turquoise.

Brynn looked up at the rider who was smiling the nodded.

“Afternoon,” the rider said, her eyes were as blue as the clear desert sky, her hair was blonde with lighter streaks, she offered a fringed white glove with rhinestones on the cuff.

They shook.

“Fairin Hall,” she said still smiling, “I’m glad you’re not a ghost, but I just had to be sure.”

“Brynn Dobhale,” she answered and smiled back, “No I’m not a ghost.”

“That is a pretty horse,” she said.

“Thanks,” Brynn said, “Your horse is nice too.”

“You from around these parts?” Fairin Hall asked.

“Is that your subtle way of asking if I’m with the tournament?” Brynn asked trying to do a decent Blue Dagger impersonation.

“I’m not asking for trouble,” Fairin said, “I’m with the other side, the Calavera’s, I figured you’re not a fighter- but what does it matter anyway? None of us are bitter enemies we can go for a ride together this afternoon.”

Brynn relaxed in her saddle, the other woman was a fighter, a handsome cowgirl at that.

“I’m not usually so abrupt with people,” she apologized.

“Well you’re on your guard, that’s smart,” Fairin said, “And even then you were still poised and composed, a true southern lady, certainly not a Blue Dagger.”

Brynn laughed a little. “I followed one here.”

“Well I never did like that company you keep rule,” Fairin said as they continued to ride towards town, “I guess I’m not the only one suffers these tourneys then.”

“May I ask,” Brynn began, “Why do you fight?”

Fairin shrugged. “I’ve been asking myself that for years now, when I was young and didn’t know any better fighting was a rush, I wanted to be cock of the walk you know.”

Brynn nodded.

“I came here for the money, we all did,” Fairin said, “If I’m the last fighter standing I can live my days where I want quite comfortably.”

“But what if you’re killed?” Brynn asked.

“Then I’m killed,” Fairin said, “And I’ll have died the way I lived.”

“That’s what all you fighters say,” Brynn said, “You aren’t scared of death at all.”

“I’m not,” Fairin agreed.

“You are,” Brynn said, “You guys are pretty amazing and know more than I do about death, but its still relatively a mystery, that’s what scares me and everyone else on the planet, I’m sure it scares you too.”

They were silent then, but rode on together to town.

“You drink don’t you?” Fairin asked.

“A bit,” Brynn said.

There was a cantina with a rotting pole for tying horses. Fairin secured them, and Brynn followed her inside. She bought a bottle of tequila and they sat in a far corner.

“Your Blue Dagger is in big trouble,” Fairin said pouring two shots and dressing them with limes, and salt.

“Why is that?” Brynn asked.

Fairin quickly doused the back of her throat with her shot and then licked some salt from her wrist.

“With you at her side she’s going to eventually try and jump ship,” she said, “Few have tried to leave the Blue Daggers, and none of them have survived.”

Brynn copied her, the tequila took her breath away and she coughed. She decided it was her first and last authentic Mexican tequila.

“Maybe she’s thought about it,” she confessed.

“Hell, I’ve only known you thirty minutes-” she stopped cold poured another tequila.

“You’re sweet,” Brynn said and did not know what else to say after that.

The cowgirl grinned, and that’s what she was, wandering the West on horse back, fighting moving on. Fairin was a medium, just like Hart. Until then Brynn did not think of the two of them fighting to the death.

Fairin’s spirit was an Indian general, an Arapahoe woman.

“Of course her story isn’t all female warrior glory,” she explained to Brynn, “She was despised by her people because she was a woman and in the end forsaken by her chief who sold her out for her possessions and for her wives.”

“What else is new?” Brynn commented.

“Yeah right,” Fairin agreed, “She saw the fighting between the whites and the tribes and the tribes fighting and the white man and their wars against each other she wanted to make peace, that proved to be a mistake, she was arrested and eventually died of one of the white man’s fever, but she was one of the best fighters around until she gave all that up .”

“Are there any books about her?” Brynn asked.

“I doubt it,” Fairin said, “A lot of this country’s history has gone undocumented, but there are texts around, shit that would scare you into wondering about everything.”

Another patron entered, the place was nearly totally dark save skinny strands of sunlight that leaked through the cracks of the patched wooden walls. Brynn noticed that the light was paling, as the door swung shut she saw the shadows outside lengthening.

“It’s getting late,” Fairin agreed.

They stood and walked outside.

“Would you come out with me tomorrow?” she asked, “My number’ll be up soon, that Hart Gonzalez will probably make me into a greasy stain in the dirt.”

“Don’t say that,” Brynn said.

“You know her right?” Fairin asked, “What’s she like? Probably eats sand and shits out glass.”

“I don’t know her,” Brynn shook her head slowly. “It would be hard to know someone like that.”

“You’re right about that,” the cowgirl grinned and took her hand. “Take care alright?”

They went their separate ways, Brynn to the Cantu hacienda and Hart.

. . . .

Grimoir-


I don’t know why I lied about Hart, perhaps because I know that Fairin does not stand a chance against her. She may be a killer but she does not have that same coldness about her. Coldness. Hart is a cold blooded killer, I’ve seen this with my own eyes, and still I lay next to her each night, I embrace her, watch over her while she is sleeping off the night before and my heart is filled with something I am sure is love, something purer than death that I am hoping will elevate us both above this blood.

The sun is rising on the fifth day we’ve been here in Mexico, tonight will be the fifth night of the tournament once again Hart has gone undefeated.

That strange man Jacksonstein sent in his sailor, his policeman, his construction worker, his cowboy and his Indian. Hart destroyed them all. At least they were not real.

“This is a fucking breeze,” she told me just an hour ago as Ducee stitched up a gash over her eye.

“Don’t forget about Alexa,” Ducee said.

Hart scowled and said nothing.

I asked who that was, Ducee told me that Alexa is an old flame, the woman Hart gave up killing for. Hart announced that the woman in question was no one, that she was as good as dead. I did not press her anymore, she was tired and getting more irritable by the second. I ask myself now as she sleeps beside me how many more women will surface from her past, and is she willing to kill them all like this Alexa person, I also ask myself am I willing to not question her about this woman because I am afraid of how volatile she will become or is it because I do not want to know?



Chapter Thirteen


She debated whether or not she would go meet Fairin, but she found herself restless again, so she crept through the house, out to the stables and the old man saddled up the paint and she was off.

Fairin was waiting for her in the same spot on her white horse, with her white hat on. She wore a gray shirt with criss-crossing red piping, red fringe, and red gloves.

Brynn smiled as they shook hands.

“So you always dress like this?” she asked.

“Like what?” Fairin asked.

“Nothing,” Brynn said, “It’s very cute.”

The cowgirl took off her hat and gave it a little wave. “I thought we’d go riding today.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Brynn said.

She relished the day as they rode she knew what the night would bring.

“What does it feel like to be in there fighting?” she asked Fairin.

“For me,” the cowgirl answered, “No move is certain, any offense could be what breaks it all for you any wound you get slows you down.”

“So how does Hart Gonzalez keep going then?” Brynn asked.

“My guess is,” Fairin said, “She’s not human.”

“Of course she is,” Brynn said, “She’s a medium like you.”

Fairin shrugged. “She’s got a long history, I’ve heard things-”

“Like what?” Brynn asked.

They came to an arroyo carved by a river years before, a hawk cried over head.

“She’s used to tear throats out with her teeth,” Fairin said quietly, “Rip hearts out…use her own skull to bash-”

“I haven’t seen her do anything like that,” Brynn said, “Not in these matches.”

“She hasn’t had a real opponent,” Fairin shook her head, “Has it occurred to any of the Blue Daggers that the Calavera’s are just wearing Hart down? She’s the most powerful of them, Las Sangrientas would rebuild if she were out of the way.”

“But she isn’t a Blue Dagger anymore, she wants out,” Brynn said.

“No one ever leaves an order like that,” Fairin shook her head, “That’s why I travel alone.”

The cowgirl looked beyond shielding her eyes with her hand as if she were saluting. Brynn watched her curious of this strange woman.

“There is a story they tell in the pueblito,” Fairin said, “There is probably one in every little town down here.”

Her blue gaze caught Brynn’s silvery brown one and she tried not to reveal how much they sparkled at being told a story. The cowgirl grinned.

“Go on,” Brynn said.

“Two lovers a peasant and a young novice from a convent on the run,” Fairin said, “It’s believed to be a complete sacrilege and a mob has organized and is chasing them through the freezing desert at night, men with guns, and dogs, and horses, while the lovers are barefoot she in her robes still tripping through the rough, thorny brush.”

Brynn let her lids lower, she could see them torn and bleeding, their skin numb from the desert chill, fatigue from running has weakened their legs, since they are holding hands when one falls the other goes down.

“Finally she can go on no longer and he has no strength to carry her,” Fairin said, “The mob is getting closer, the dogs have only his scent in their nose and will tear him apart on sight. They take shelter behind a formation of rocks. The lovers pray, they say their good-byes and make love for the first and last time. As the mob closes in they dress but instead of dressing in her robes she dons his shirt and runs out as fast as her legs can carry her, so fast he cannot catch her.”

“Oh,” Brynn said, “That’s tragic.”

“All fairy tales are,” Fairin said, “She was torn to pieces and the men left behind could do nothing but morn, by the time the sun came up there was nothing left of her, where the remains of her body lay lush red roses had sprung up, right there in the desert.”

Brynn smiled. “How did you know that is my favorite type of story?”

Fairin shrugged squinting at the distance, they rode on down through the narrow canyon, the cowgirl leading the way.

“It’s morbid I know,” Brynn chattered.

Fairin stopped suddenly and waved one gloved hand behind her.

“What is it?” Brynn whispered.

The cowgirl dismounted, and she did the same, she crouched and peeked over the lip of the canyon. Brynn did the same.

“Chevelle Cantu,” she whispered and looked to Brynn for confirmation.

The Blue Dagger was there talking solemnly with another woman who was not a Blue Dagger.

“Who is that she’s with?” Brynn asked Fairin turned to her eyes cold.

“That’s Anna Calavera,” she said, “She’s what this whole mess is about, like Troy all over again.”

“Do you think Chevelle has kidnapped her?” Brynn asked.

“Everyone has been expecting something like this,” Fairin said, “The family has been keeping her under lock and key.”

In the distance Chevelle let go of Anna Calavera’s arm, turned her back. Fairin moved in trotting low across the expanse as Anna went to Chevelle, lovingly returned her touch while speaking urgently.

Chevelle turned and they kissed.

Brynn gasped and called out to Chevelle who turned, stepping in front of Anna removing switchblade from her back pocket.

Fairin had a curved blade on the end of a pole and the two ran at each other stopping to circle, each measuring the other.

Brynn ran from her hiding spot calling to Fairin.

“What the hell’s going on here?” Chevelle asked Brynn, “What are you doing out here?”

“I was out riding,” Brynn told her, “I met Fairin-”

“Yeah real cozy like,” Chevelle said.

“It’s not like that,” Fairin said.

“It’s like that for us,” Anna said to the cowgirl, “When I was in Texas I fell in love with Chevelle.”

She was young fair skinned with the generous face of her family, her brown hair fell at her shoulders in well-kept curls she wore stylish silver framed glasses. She had a fresh look about her, sexy and vibrant. She had a medium accent as if she could slip easily between English and Spanish.

“My family doesn’t know,” she said, “It’s a secret.”

“I should say so,” Fairin put her blade away and offered her hand to Chevelle who took it grudgingly.

“So we’re all fraternizing with the enemy,” Chevelle said, “Some friend you made, Brynn.”

Anna stepped towards her. “It’s ok, I’ve heard about you and especially your brave fighter Hart Gonzalez.”

Brynn’s eyes shifted to Fairin who looked away from her.

“We should all go our separate ways then,” Chevelle said, “Go back to where we’re supposed to be.”

“Right,” Fairin said.

“I know we can trust the both of you with our secret,” Anna said.

Fairin and Brynn both agreed then went for their horses.

“I’m sorry,” she told the cowgirl, “I didn’t tell you the truth.”

“It only makes what I have to say easier,” Fairin said taking her hand.

“What?” Brynn asked softly, refusing to meet her gaze.

“I want you to come with me,” she said, “If Hart doesn’t make it and I do…I was ready to kill any Blue Dagger who might be your lover and Hart too, but now I can kill two birds so to speak.”

Brynn shook her head numbly. “I don’t understand you people…how easy you can kill to get what you want.”

“Because we can,” Fairin said, “Most people would, but we can, we have an arena for it. I’m promising you that after Saturday I will fight no more forever.”

“Hart promised me the same thing,” Brynn said, “She has also promised someone else that, but now she’s willing to kill that person…I don’t believe you and I don’t believe her.”

She quickly mounted the horse and galloped away. Fairin did not try to follow.

When she reached the stables Chevelle was waiting for her.

“Some of us still use cars,” she said, she noticed the tears on her face, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Brynn said the old man was nowhere to be found so she took the saddle off the horse while the Blue Dagger watched.

“Look,” she said, “My family has been feuding with the Calavera’s for years, its stupid, now all my family is gone-”

“You’re selfish and you’re a coward,” Brynn said, “You endangered Anna by convincing Ducee that she needs her little card tricks, then you got Hart dragged into this tournament because you knew she could win, you can’t even go out and fight for the woman you supposedly love.”

Chevelle grabbed Brynn’s arm. “You don’t have anything figured out.”

“Oh yeah she does,” Hart said, in the fading sunlight she looked more gaunt, her brow stitched.

Chevelle let go of Brynn. “You don’t understand-”

“I understand fine,” Hart said reaching her hand for Brynn, “Come on Gatita.”

She took it and followed her to the door.

Hart stopped and tossed her head over her shoulder. “When Ducee’s out and you’re top, as long as you’re top, I don’t owe you shit, if you call on me I swear I’ll rage and kill you and Anna Calavera.”

Back in their suite Hart let out of string of obscenities in Spanish then turned to Brynn.

“You and your curiosity,” she gave a little smile, “Useful if not dangerous.”

Brynn remembered that smile from the library and welcomed her embrace.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Two more nights,” Hart said kissing her, “And we’re out of here.”

“So you’re not telling Ducee she was duped?” Brynn asked.

“Ducee is a moron,” Hart kissed her ear then her neck, “She’s at the end of her time, all she cares about is sport and wine, and food and babes, when Chevelle is in charge I won’t have to worry about anything that has to do with the Blue Daggers.”

Brynn sighed it was one of relief, one of growing passion.

“I know,” Hart groaned letting her go, she sighed too, “But I have to get ready.”

“Do you have time for a shower?” Brynn asked.

Hart laughed. “Whatever you like, Gatita.”

. . . .

Clouds of dust rose from the ground into the Blue Dagger’s side. Brynn wiped the rough grit from her face and tried to see into the ring. Juliette Winters A.K.A the Lady Dragon writhed her scaly gold and scarlet tail end in the dirt, Hart let go of her arms which she had pinned behind her after taking a short ride on her snaking hips.

Juliette was pissed, her expensive hair extensions a mess, her silk blouse torn revealing the top of a mahogany breast. She scrambled upright on her clawed feet, her tail flipping and curling.

Hart certainly was not going to miss chicks with tails once she was done with fighting for good. She felt like shit tonight, she did not tell Brynn how tired she was getting. Her mind kept straying to thoughts of her Little Hill. One more night.

On the other side of the fence on the Blue Dagger’s side, Brynn wandered to Ducee’s chair, the fat woman was riveted to the battle.

“Who is Alexa?” Brynn asked Ducee.

The fat woman’s eyes wavered from the fight.

“She was Hart’s lover right?” Brynn asked.

“Yeah,” Ducee replied, “But she was Chevelle’s too. She was one of the Bloody Ones, a spy. She played them off the other as a diversion.”

In the ring Hart got the Dragon Lady in another hold, and was choking the life from her.

“What happened next?” Brynn asked.

“We found Alexa out and someone had to get rid of her,” Ducee said, “Hart refused said she was done taking lives, walked out, so it was all left on Chevelle…she fought Alexa and the two of them nearly killed each other.”

“So she’s very powerful,” Brynn said.

“Yeah, but Hart can take her on,” Ducee said, “And she’s over that whole love triangle shit, ready to get even once and for all.”

Brynn shivered, and shifted her gaze back to the ring, the Dragon Lady was dead, Hart picking her way back to her corner, crouching and waiting.

“Tomorrow is the big night,” Ducee said.

Hart’s stitching had come loose blood poured into her eyes, the next fighter entered the ring as she wiped furiously at her face.

“This is my last tournament,” Ducee sighed, “I’ve had a good run, a war, brought up Chevelle and she’s got a hell of a mind, diabolical, and Hart who is some good brawn, and after this we’ll have a witch, someone with real powers.”

In the ring Hart roared knocking her opponent to the ground.

“Yeah,” Ducee sighed, “A good run.”



Chapter Fourteen


Brynn did not go to the stables. She decided to stay with Hart that day, she could not face Fairin knowing that when by dawn she would be dead by Hart’s hand or she would be responsible for Hart’s death.

She wandered down a few hours after the noon sun had risen high over the courtyard to sit by the fountain and scribble in her journal.

Chevelle appeared, sat next to her.

“Are you going riding today?” she asked.

“No,” Brynn said.

“What about your friend?” she asked.

“What about her?” Brynn stood, closing her writing book.

“She looked awful disappointed when Anna linked you and Hart,” Chevelle said, “Hart’s been betrayed before-”

“Yeah by you,” Brynn said.

“The kitten shows her claws,” Chevelle commented, “Listen, Anna wants to meet with you I told her I would arrange that.”

Brynn was silent, reluctant to agree to go anywhere with her.

“Hey, I’m not mad at you for uncovering my so-called scheme,” Chevelle said, “I saw a chance to get Anna, and no one can do that but Hart.”

“What does she want with me?” Brynn asked.

“To read your fortune,” Chevelle said, “My love can get quite detailed on the aspects of one’s future.”

“Give me five minutes,” Brynn said and returned to the suite where Hart was sleeping. She primped in the bathroom and grabbed her jacket heading for the door.

“Gatita,” Hart called from bed, “Where you going?”

“Out with Chevelle,” she said going to her side, kneeling to kiss her face, Hart wrapped an arm around her.

“Oh yeah?” she asked.

“Anna wants to read my fortune,” Brynn told her.

Hart chuckled lowly she had not bothered to open her eyes. “Have a good time then.”

Brynn rolled her eyes. “I’ll try.”

Hart sat up in bed fully away. “You mean you don’t believe?”

“Not really,” Brynn said, “We’ll see.”

She stood still bending and kissed Hart’s face. “I’ll see you tonight, rest up.”

. . . .

Chevelle took her to town, the cantina where she drank shots with Fairin Hall. Anna was waiting she looked out of place in the stale, drab semi darkness. She had a deck of cards stacked before her, stood and smiled at they entered, she looked like coed with her low cut sweater, her hair pulled back in an auburn pony-tail.

Brynn got a warm handshake, while Chevelle got a sweet kiss at the corner of her mouth, and a hug.

“I’ll leave you two,” she said and went to the bar.

“Sit,” the witch said to librarian cordially, she took a seat at a lopsided table, taking the cards in her hands. Brynn did so watching her hold the deck she had lovely hands, ringed in gold with manicured nails.

“You’re not in love with the cowgirl,” Anna said, “Just the idea of her, it would be different if you had seen her fight and kill, she is a medium, and she has killed.”

Brynn sighed. “I wasn’t sure for a minute, it frightened me.”

“You and Hart are tied. Connected,” Anna told her placing the deck in the middle of the table.

“As in forever?” Brynn asked.

“No one is connected forever,” Anna said, “As we move through our lifetimes certain souls drift in and out of our grasps. Connections break and reform. For now you and Hart connected.”

“I’m afraid we’re breaking,” Brynn said.

“Perhaps you are,” Anna said waving a hand over the deck, closing her eyes, then opening them, “Let’s see.”

She asked Brynn to split the deck in two, then place one of the halves, any one she pleased on top at an angle to the bottom half.

Brynn did so, the witch took the top half and put it aside, she looked up at the librarian with a small almost secretive smile her glasses had slid down her nose her eyes looked over them, hazel even in the dim light of the cantina.

“I’m going to do a Star draw,” she said, “I made this tarota myself you know.”

“I’ve heard it’s in a big demand,” Brynn said.

Anna’s little smile faded, she picked up the deal, like a magician peeling off one card at a time until she had six, five around one.

She turned over the middle card it was nine blue swans arranged the way numbers were on ordinary playing cards.

“Beauty,” Anna said, “Lot’s of it.”

She turned over two of the outside cards at the same time, there was a picture of a feathered quill, the other were two fish swimming parallel in opposite directions.

“That’s you,” she said, “An observer of life, you are very good at recording all you see, learning, but very rarely do you do more than that. The other card are dos peces, you are like the water, hot water boils, turns to vapor, cold water freezes, ice melts, vapor falls as rain…but then you can be shallow, narrow in your ways of thinking, or very deep, still or untamable.”

Brynn was beginning to flush, because she was a little bit pissed. Where did this girl get off with her silly card game? It seemed like something high school kids would make up to get their kicks. And she had been pulled into it so quickly, she wanted to kick her own ass.

The witch flipped over the top card, an axe. “This is Hart, she is a weapon, but she can also be a tool, she can protect you but also care for you.” She flipped over the bottom cards there were eight crowns on one, six hearts on the other, “Beware of the Gemini.”

Anna sat back and let out a deep breath, quite pleased with her self.

“That’s it?” Brynn asked.

Anna nodded.

Brynn sat back too. “This is what Hart could die for? What she’s killed for?”

“You don’t believe?” she asked astonished, “After what you’ve seen?”

“I told you,” Chevelle said behind them, “Once a stiff always a stiff.”

Brynn stood and whirled around. “Don’t give me that shit.”

Behind her Anna was gathering up her cards, clearly insulted. “You have the information, do what you will.”

The door to the cantina was pushed open and Fairin stepped in, she took off her white hat when she saw Brynn, stepped forward shyly.

“I had to see you again,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” Brynn told her, “But I have to go.”

“Will you just talk to me?” the cowgirl said urgently, “Please.”

Brynn looked up at Chevelle and Anna the Blue Dagger had her arm around the girl.

“Ok,” she said, Fairin took her hand and led her out a back door to the patch of dirt behind the bar.

“This is too much,” Brynn told her, “I came here sure I was in love with Hart, but now, I’m not so sure.”

“And that’s ok,” Fairin said touching her face.

Brynn drew away. “That doesn’t mean I want you, Fairin.”

“I understand,” she said, “All I’m asking for is a chance-”

“If Hart doesn’t live,” Brynn said, “It just seems cold to me.”

Fairin stepped close to her took one of her hands in her own two, bent and kissed it gingerly. When she looked up at Brynn a tear rolled down her face.

“What the fuck is this?”

They both turned to see Hart standing there.

“Brynn?” she asked if she was not sure of what she was seeing.

“Hart,” Brynn let go of Fairin and walked towards her.

“Why are you out here with her?” she asked backing away, “I’m fighting for our lives every night and you’re here with her.”

“It’s nothing,” Brynn said, her own voice betrayed her.

“You’re dead, Hall,” Hart said ignoring Brynn, she turned on Fairin, “You’re number is up right now.”

She shut her eyes and roared.

Brynn grabbed her shoulder. “No Hart.”

The eagle swooped from the sky and perched one talon on each of her shoulders, its light burning Brynn’s eyes.

“Move out of the way,” Fairin told her, a shrill scream lashed from the sky followed by another spirit bird, a hawk that landed on the cowgirl’s shoulders, she was lifted off the ground she soared into Hart planting her booted feet in her chest.

Hart flew backwards, she had come without her sword, not looking for a fight only Brynn.

She tried to call to as she grappled with the cowgirl in mid air, soaring, and punching. Fairin grabbed Hart’s hair bent her and kneed her twice in the face. Hart flew backwards stopped.

On the ground Chevelle grabbed Brynn, tried to pull her away.

“I got to get Anna out of here,” she said, “When Hart is done with her, who knows who she’ll come after-”

“What do you mean?” Brynn asked.

“She’s gone into a rage,” Chevelle said “I can’t fucking believe it…”

“I won’t leave either of them,” Brynn said.

They landed with a thud, Hart on top of Fairin she bashed her own skull into the cowgirl’s head and roared when blood flowed. Brynn took a step but Chevelle would not let of her arm.

Fairin clawed at Hart’s face, her hawk screaming high above, talon to talon with the eagle, their hooked beaks snapping at each other.

Hart crashed their heads together again and Fairin went limp, she raised her fist high above her head and dropped it, brought it down on the cowgirl’s chest. Instead of landing a solid punch her hand vanished inside of Fairin. She removed her hand and brought with it a red mass beating vigorously, spraying a mist of blood. The dying cowgirl convulsed beneath her and was still.

Brynn watched, her eyes wide, she gave a whimper then screamed.

Hart inspected Fairin’s heart in the sun then closed her hand around it, crumpling it, stifling its pulse. She replaced it just as seamlessly as she had retrieved it then pressed her palm over Fairin’s face, eyes open in a dead stare she removed her hand admiring the bloody print left behind as she stood. She looked up and saw her lover Chevelle gripping her by the elbow.

“What the fuck?” Chevelle asked nervously, “Ok the cowgirl is dead. Hart. Hart you got to snap out of this.”

She stopped in her tracks for a second as if from somewhere in the rage she was listening, then stepped forward once again.

“Oh shit,” Chevelle said dragging Brynn away turning away as Hart landed in front of them.

“You’re trying to take her from me,” she said, “All of you, Blue Daggers, Bloody Ones, she said she loved me.”

Behind them the hawk landed in the dirt next to the dead cowgirl, then vanished.

“No,” Chevelle said, “Goddamnit Hart you get out of here or you’ll end up killing her.”

Hart snatched Brynn from her inspected her with a shred more love than she had the dying heart. The librarian trembled her eyes swam in tears of terror.

She gave a wicked grin and embraced the shorter woman, pressing their lips together, parting Brynn’s lips trying to kiss her. Brynn turned her head away and whimpered.

Hart held her at arms length and roared at her.

The librarian began to sob so hard she shook.

Hart pushed her to the ground she punched Chevelle in the chest knocking her into the back wall of the cantina. She looked up and saw Anna watching.

She moved towards her then stopped.

“You’ve caused enough harm here,” the witch told her, “Finish your killing tonight, the one who betrayed you in the first place, Alexa.”

Hart narrowed her eyes the eagle landed on her shoulders, and they took to the sky.

Brynn sat up, still crying she looked to Fairin wasted in the dirt, then to the lovers Chevelle and Anna clinging to each other.

“Take me away from here,” she said to Chevelle, “I want to go…back to the Unfinished City.”

. . . .

The next time Chevelle saw Hart she was walking out of the desert, out of the darkness towards the Blue Dagger side of the fenced in ring.

“Where the hell have you been?” she asked.

“Where’s Brynn?” Hart asked scanning the crowd, her eyes were wild her skin pale for someone who had spent all day in the desert, her hair was a tangled mane.

“She went back home,” Chevelle said, “Didn’t waste any time, she’s long gone, Hart.”

“Shit,” she cried mournfully and fell to her knees, the Blue Daggers gathered around Ducee yelling for them to give her room. She dropped her ivory cane and fell on one knee breathing heavily.

“You pissed a lot of folks off,” Ducee said, “Could have cost us the tournament.”

“She’s gone,” Hart muttered, looking down at her hands, one still caked with the dried blood of the cowgirl.

Ducee grabbed her shoulders and gave her a shake. “You got to get right, girl,” she said, “Alexa’s in there waiting.”

She looked up at Chevelle. “I thought she was in a rage.”

“I guess it wore off in the desert,” she said, “Goddamnit.”

Hart looked at them and slurred: “What?”

Ducee extended her arms it took five women besides Chevelle to help her to her feet.

“It’s time to fight now,” she said, “You can always go find your librarian later.”

Hart looked to Chevelle who agreed, she had the short sword, wrapped in its usual silk bag.

“You’re no good to her dead.”

Hart stood slowly, took the sword. “I was never any good to her.”

She turned to the fence where Alexa was waiting the delay had not made her anxious. Her beauty was still intense despite that according to rumors she had been raised from the dead.

Alexa was Russian by birth taller than Hart, and raven haired with eyes as clear and cold as ice. She had approached the Blue Daggers as a liaison to European crime family, specializing in the drug ecstasy but her alluring sophistication stole the heart of one of Ducee’s right hand back then, Hart Gonzalez.

She was a different person back then, obsessed with power, not speaking with her family because of the whole fiasco with her little brother Vulcan. Alexa seemed to share that greed. Hart eventually grew to love her. Meanwhile Alexa actually a spy for Las Sangrientas, the Bloody Ones was having an affair with the next Blue Dagger in the chain of command, Hart’s best friend Chevelle. She turned each against the other in the end damaging their relationship so that even when she was discovered and captured the two fought over her punishment. Chevelle and the rest of the Blue Daggers called for Alexa’s death, Hart would not concede so she vowed never to take another life.

“I wish it hadn’t come to this,” Alexa said as Hart entered the ring.

“Neither do I,” she answered, “I don’t like to break promises.”

The familiar burst of light appeared and Itzcoatl was with her, the eagle at her back, over the rage, at full power, too bad her body was exhausted.

“You killed earlier,” Alexa said, “There are rumors about why.”

“None of your goddamned business,” Hart said slowly beginning to circle, sword clutched in her hand.

“I heard that you killed for the love of a librarian,” Alexa said, “A simple librarian.”

Hart was sure she was being taunted she pointed her sword like a finger.

“Shut up Alexa,” she said, “Shut up and fight.”

The Russian stepped sideways a few steps. “So it’s true.”

Hart ran at her, Alexa shut her eyes and vanished, no she dissolved into black smoke, spread like a cloud. She ran through her and turned to see her solidifying a few feet away.

Hart ran and slashed at her, she dissolved again.

“Nice new trick,” she said.

“I learned it on the Other Side.” Alexa said in her ear, before Hart could turn to stab her, she ducked punching her in the side, knocking her off her feet.

“The Other Side,” Hart said getting to her feet, “I can’t say that I’ve actually been there.”

“Of course you’re invincible,” Alexa stated.

“And you are?” Hart asked, “My guess is that you can’t keep this up for long or the witches would have put you against me sooner.”

“I owed these witches I agreed to go last because like you I have sworn never to kill again, for sport at least,” Alexa said.

Hart had shifted to attack but changed her mind. Alexa could always get her attention.

“Something is coming for us all,” she said, “A great evil to destroy the world I’m back from the dead to save the world.

“Since when did you decided to give a damned about anything?” Hart asked.

“It’s Mago,” Alexa said, “She’s returned from the dead too, she has returned with a mission-”

“What does it take to kill you broads,” Hart lunged, Alexa turned to black smoke, but this time she seeped into Hart, through her powers, up her nostrils, into her lungs, down her throat.

The pain brought her to her knees she sat on her heels and howled at the sky, the black smoke that was Alexa crawled over her eyes. Hart felt as if she was on fire, burning from the inside out.

Suddenly she was released and Alexa was there before her, whole.

The eagle appeared and lifted her on unsteady legs.

“Listen to me,” Alexa said, “Mago wants you to protect the Unfinished City.”

“Sorry,” Hart soared at her kicking her in the chest, flying after her to the ground she dissolved again before they could land.

“I’m a Blue Dagger,” she said, “I can never be anything else.”

“That’s not true,” Alexa said, her voice a whisper until she formed, “There is a path would make your librarian proud to stand by your side.”

“You are pissing me off,” Hart stood on her on feet, circling the Russian again.

“You want to kill me?” Alexa asked, “I’m not afraid of death, that’s the gift Mago has given me.”

“Are you saying you’ll be back?” Hart asked.

“It’s a long grueling process, but I’d do it for you,” Alexa said, “When you refused to kill me I saw real love in your eyes, and I regretted all I’d done.”

Hart slumped a bit and sighed. “I loved you, Alexa, key word loved; once you betrayed me it was all broken.”

“So allow me to help you turn your life around,” she said, “I know you want something more, your librarian is proof.”

Hart shook her head and attacked again, but Alexa was gone again, she entered her body again, the pain laid her out on the ground screaming, tears staining the dry earth.

Alexa released her, Hart stood. “I’m a coward,” she shouted, her body steaming, “I master death by killing, I knew the truth and it made me sick to look at my own reflection, I couldn’t kill someone I was close to.”

“And now?” Alexa asked.

“I have a deal with Chevelle, technically I won’t be a Blue Dagger,” Hart said, “I’ll have some peace.”

“But how long will it last?” Alexa asked.

Hart roared with a flick of her wrist she threw her sword, it buried into Alexa’s thigh, she stumbled back and groaned. Hart flew after locking her arms around her ex’s neck, quickly twisting until the vertebra snapped.

The beautiful woman fell to the dust a trickle of blood escaping from her nostrils.

“Talk, talk, talk,” Hart said, she turned to the witches who did not seemed too pleased to see their secret weapon dead in the dirt.

“What’s next?” she asked, “Come on...that’s all you got for me?”

II.
The Jump


Chapter Fifteen


Brynn drove all day, and all night, her mind a blur of images from the past week, Hart with blood on her face, Fairin dead in the dirt, Anna and her cards. She was willing to get on her knees and beg Batterast for her old job back she was desperate for her old life.

As she neared the Unfinished City the skies ahead gray, there was a cold rain falling when she arrived home, in the middle afternoon the sky was blackened by clouds, occasionally lit up by lightning streaking the sky.

Brynn waited in traffic rerouting itself around a construction site where the freeway that looped around the city was being widened. She had borrowed one of obscenely huge blue SUV’s it was well equipped there were seat warmers, and an in dash CD player. Brynn felt fairly decent, she slipped in Golgi Apparatus the last Lucinda Harris recording, digitally remastered.

Her thoughts turned to Hart in the torch lit ring back in Mexico leaning forward against the fencing, her fingers through the links, staring out brooding. The image quickly flashed to a darker scene, night in the city, shaded by trees, a question breaking a half smirk on Hart’s face, her head cocked puzzled, then the flash of a gun.

Brynn felt hot tears coursing down her face, she did not fight them, her vision of the Stranger faded and she was bent over the steering wheel sobbing in traffic.

A mini van swerved past her the horn bleating angrily, Brynn quickly sniffed back her tears, her exit was up. She turned onto Fuqua the main street that ran through Avalon Wood, passing the library on her way home. She thought of Lucinda’s hidden place and wondered when she could gather enough curiosity, enough courage to go visit.

The rain eased up a bit, and she pulled her suitcases from the back of the truck and dragged them inside. She wandered her little house, clicking lights on, booting up her computer.

In the kitchen she fixed herself a cup of coffee then popped some frozen egg rolls into the microwave, when they were done she inhaled them, then prepared some more.

In the bathroom, her jar of blue beads that melted in water waited along with her scented soaps. She ran a bath, she didn’t bother to add anything to it she wanted the water clear, steaming.

Brynn watched her tub fill, then stripped and stepped in, her muscles instantly unknotted she began to wash, but stopped, bowed her head and began to sob in her hands.

Hart was gone from her, she might have been killed in Mexico, perhaps she had fought her last fight, and she would come looking for Brynn to reconcile. How would they repair what happened? Should she even bother?

Brynn finished bathing quickly, dried, and dressed in fresh clothes, jeans, boots, and her favorite blue hooded shirt she felt an inner chill that could not be warmed, not until she saw Hart again, no matter what she decided to do about their relationship.

Brynn stood in front of the bathroom mirror and tied her hair down with a bandanna she tried to ignore the puffiness under her eyes, the haunted look they expressed.

She let out a startled gasp, and a scream realizing that there were two of her in the mirror, the other pair of eyes more haunted than her own.

Brynn turned backed into the sink, as she stared at her misplaced reflection she began to see that the other being was not her mirror image. The other Brynn was dressed differently in a large pink coat with a fur lined hood, and fur cuffs, her hair was curled in loose spirals, was streaked with gold, and she was about twenty pounds lighter.

“Why do you cry?” she asked.

“Who are you?” Brynn asked.

“Virginia,” she answered and stepped closer, showing a little awe at their resemblance, “You’re the librarian, you’re Brynn.”

“Yeah,” she agreed touching her throat, their voices were exactly the same, except Virginia’s had a little northern influence.

“You and I,” she said, “We’re sisters.”

“I don’t have any sisters,” Brynn said though her eyes were telling her different.

Virginia extended her hand, and she could not help but reach out her own, just to make sure she was not hallucinating. She found her twin very much there, her touch warm. They both laughed nervously.

“You were misinformed I’m afraid,” she said, “There’s me and Viola, Patty, Cornelia, and of course Olivia.”

She put a hand over her mouth and flushed. “Of course she’s the black sheep, Olivia.”

Brynn shook her head. “Wait. Cornelia? Patty?”

“Yes, our sisters,” Virginia nodded.

“My parents,” Brynn said, “How could they have so many daughters-”

“They weren’t your parents,” Virginia explained, she backed out of the bathroom and Brynn followed not sure if she would find the rest of her sisters lounging in the living room.

She was grateful it was empty.

“I shouldn’t have come here actually,” Virginia said flustered suddenly, “Helen would be furious if she knew I were here…but I couldn’t wait to meet you, she kept saying, soon, soon, I loose track after so many soons.”

Brynn took a seat on the sofa, Virginia followed sitting next to her.

“Who is Helen?” Brynn asked.

“She created us,” Virginia said.

“Our mother?” Brynn asked.

“No, not out mother, our creator, our guide, our protector,” Virginia said then sorrow shaded her face, “Olivia took you from her.”

Brynn thought of her parents, the grief of their passing, then being alone.

“So they adopted me,” she said.

“Olivia fixed it so they would have thought you were their own,” Virginia said, “She is very troublesome about things.”

Brynn frowned. “Why would Olivia hide me?”

She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Why does Olivia do anything?” she then sighed, “She’s very rebellious, she was one of the first of us you know.”

Virginia fingered a star shaped diamond pendant around her neck. “Oh no, you don’t know. Well there was Olivia, then Cornelia and Viola later on, then Patty, me, and you, we are the babies. We were once a whole race or we could have been, but the stiffs got suspicious.”

“You said Olivia was one of the first,” Brynn said, “What about the rest?”

“A lot of us were lost,” she said sadly, “There were too many for Helen to protect.”

Virginia stood suddenly. “I must go before I am missed,” she said giving Brynn a grim smile, “I’ll tell the others how lovely you are.”

She opened her arms and Brynn stood for the hug, felt a tug at her heart.

“Would Helen be mad if I came along?” she asked, wanting answers, wanting escape from her loneliness.

Virginia’s smile widened, brightened as she pondered. “Furious, but only for a second…”

“Then I’ll come with you,” Brynn said decisively.

“And the medium?” she asked.

“You’ve been watching me,” Brynn said leading the way to the door, “How?”

“Helen has been watching you,” Virginia said, “She wanted to make sure Olivia was not watching, but then she realized she has quite forgotten about you.”

“Don’t worry about Hart,” Brynn told her as they stepped outside, there was an idling white Jaguar on the street.

“That’s her name?” she asked, “How romantic.”

They both laughed, Brynn felt instantly connected, lighter. The two chatted as they drove to the downtown ward, a neighborhood that was being refinished, the old row houses dismantled to make way for grand town homes. Virginia stopped the car a block and one busy street across from a government housing complex. A black iron gate in a red brick wall slid open to a short bricked drive that led to a partially covered port. The house itself was a red brick fortress that loomed over the wall.

Brynn saw herself walking across the lawn wearing khakis and a brown suede jacket, the other peered into the car, then gave a little shriek.

Virginia barely stopped the car before she popped the door open.

“Look who I found.”

“You’re insane,” the other said running the rest of the way to inspect Brynn.

“She’s beautiful,” she said softly, then hugged her, “I’m Patty.”

Her hair was shorter than Brynn would have dared in a neat little fro she was also about forty pounds heavier.

“I couldn’t wait to talk with you about books,” Patty said her arm around Brynn’s shoulders.

“Where’s Helen?” Virginia asked.

“In her study,” Patty said, “We don’t have to tell her yet do we?”

They went into the house where they quickly smuggled Brynn up the stairs, they met another on the way, she was dressed in a bathrobe and the other two quickly pulled her along, to a nearby bedroom.

“You’re in so much trouble,” she said.

Virginia played it off very cool she sauntered across the large bedroom. “I live for trouble.”

“What if Olivia followed her?” she asked, “What if that medium followed her?”

“Cornelia, you worry too much,” Virginia reached into her coat and removed a cigarette.

Cornelia peered at her then left the room, and returned with another, Viola. They all spoke in hushed excited whispers, touching Brynn’s hair, her face her hands. They all said she was beautiful and she believed them. She was still aching with questions but they did not seem to matter for the time being.

The door opened and a tall, broad, woman in a man’s denim work shirt opened the door, her brown hair was cut short, she wore large round glasses.

“I smell dinner,” she announced, “But I don’t see any of my ladies to enjoy it with.”

They froze of course, silent until Viola said:

“Oh, I nearly forgot.”

“Well let’s get going, I’m starved,” she said and closed the door.

They erupted in laughter they immediately tried to suppress.

The door opened again and Helen walked in, quickly surveying the room, the others bowed their heads like children caught at mischief. She walked to Brynn, her bottom lip trembling, the hand she extended trembling, and touched her cheek.

Their eyes met.

“I won’t ask who is responsible for this,” she said, then her voice choked with emotion, “You could have put us all in danger, even Brynn…” she sighed, “My how lovely you are.”

She whispered the last words then found her voice. “Welcome little one, I hope this hasn’t been too overwhelming for you.”

Brynn shook her head then thought better of her answer.

Helen grinned, “You’re probably starving then, we’ll have dinner then we’ll have to talk.”

. . . .

“Are you going to go after her?” Ducee asked they were sitting in the back of her limo, Mexico further and further behind them.

“I don’t know,” Hart said, “Maybe I should give her time.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Ducee leaned forward on her cane, “Anyways I could use some company for awhile, good company seeing Chevelle is preoccupied.”

Hart raised her eyebrows. “So you knew about that.”

“Her and Anna, of course,” she lay her cane aside and went for a can of honey roasted peanuts, “Soon Chevelle will lead the Blue Daggers…” she said and added suggestively, “…Unless.”

“Forget it Ducee,” Hart said, “I believe I’m through being a Blue Dagger, I think I want to be through-”

“You’re talking crazy,” she said around a mouthful of peanuts, “No one has ever jumped.”

“I’m not just no one,” Hart said then gave a little grin, “It’s something I have to prove. To myself.”

Ducee scoffed. “To Brynn.”

She nodded in agreement. “Also for myself.”

“You’re going to force a fat old woman to exert herself aiding in your…” she sighed, “Beat down.”

Hart looked out the window and Ducee smirked at the famous brood.

“It’s all I have left,” she said, “Standing between who I am now and being a real fucking human being, with a lovely wife, a house, a shitty job, taxes…maybe even a baby.”

“Oh shit,” Ducee gave up on her peanuts, “If you’re killed, you won’t have any of that.”

“I have to try,” Hart said, “You’ll arrange it all? I couldn’t….Just tell me when and where, I’ll be there.”

“And what should I tell Chevelle?” Ducee asked.

“Everything I’ve said to you,” Hart said.

“You’re a crazy bitch,” Ducee said, “You’ve been like a daughter to me, it’s been a fucking wild ride watching you come up, but even now, I’m proud.”

She offered a doughy red hand, Hart her scabbed one.

“Shit Ducee,” she said, “I didn’t know you cared.”

When they reached town Hart asked to be dropped off on Fuqua Street walked through the rain with her duffel bag to get to Brynn’s house. The round sewer covers in the streets had become fountains as brown water gushed through the holes in globular bursts.

One of Ducee’s black trucks was parked in the driveway as was the Rabbit Hart went to the door and gave it a hearty knock. When she got no answer she waited, listening for footsteps on the other side. Nothing.

She walked around the house, peeking in the windows where she could, she saw no movement inside, and wondered where Brynn could be. Perhaps she had gone off somewhere with Mr. Frenchie, the librarian.

“Ok, no problem,” Hart said to her self, “I can wait.”

She situated herself on the porch, sitting on her duffel bag, her short sword beneath a layer of clothes. There were about a couple of sparrows made the porch their refuge, not bothered by Hart’s presence.

“Cold as hell,” she said blowing her hands, trying to make conversation.

. . . .

The house was bigger than it looked, the décor was simple, antiques blended in with new furniture, there were paintings all done by one of the sisters past and present.

“Some of us have quite an artistic streak,” Patty told her as they toured after dinner.

“It gets lost though,” Cornelia said, “We move a lot.”

“But not anymore,” Patty said, “The Unfinished City will be our home from now on, Helen’s promised.”

They met her and the remaining sisters in the library, among stacks of books that reached the ceiling, and an impressive collection of Colt pistols. Viola had built a fire, and they gathered around Helen, nestled in over stuffed chairs, or perched on their arms, or cross legged on the rug. Brynn as seated next to her and when the chatter stopped, Helen spoke.

“My story,” she began then paused, looked around at her daughters and smiled, “Our story begins in 1799, my family name is Van Bram, and I was born in Amsterdam in 1757, my family came to America, except this land had no name when I was a teenager, we started out in the colonies.”

Brynn looked to her sisters in disbelief and they nodded, smiled at her awe.

“That makes me over three hundred years old,” Helen rolled her eyes, they were the color of topaz, with golden flecks, “I stopped doing the math long ago. My family dealt in slaves, my family made a meager living, when my poppa died it all passed to me, it was a strange thing back then a woman running her own enterprise, but it was a new world, new rules.” She shrugged and the others laughed at the gesture.

“I was born with some kind of genius, science was a new thing, an eccentric hobby of my father and I caught on quick but I was also born with some innate knowledge of the hidden world and immediately wanted to blend the two, I took trips back to the continent and acquired a bit of knowledge, it was my passion, I wanted immortality so I could pursue it, I wanted wealth so I could chase it, I discovered all those secrets; elixirs, I mastered alchemy, I made lead into gold.”

Helen paused resting her chin on the backs of her hands, “Still, there is no magic elixir to cure loneliness. I returned home and found that my estate had gained a very unusual slave girl. She was sold by a tribe who had fought hers and won, now you can see how I look right now because this is the result of my fountain of youth discovery, but my dear Rosamund, to know how she looked all you have to do is go look in a mirror.”

Brynn looked around to the others, their faces as they listened solemnly, a couple of them smiling.

“She was the most amazing woman,” Helen said, “She could levitate herself, inanimate things, she could will a breeze from a still day, a spot of rain during a dry season…she was truly a magical being, what I had been searching for all of my life was delivered to my doorstep.”

She looked over at Brynn, touched her hand. “When she died, when she was murdered, it was the worst day of my life,” Helen said, “We’d lived several decades in a bliss, then she was gone from me, the world of men encroached us, our magic, our science, our love, all deemed unnatural by society, spurred by greed for land our home was pillaged and burned to the ground, we were both shot trying to escape, Rosamund’s wound was mortal where mine was not.”

She let go of Brynn hand. “I never did find out where she had come from, the trauma of being captured, and being away from her land drove her memories away, she lost her name, so we chose a new one for her. She was able to tell me that she came from an island…I wanted to return her so I kept her body,” she paused, “Preserved, frozen. By then we were in a new century, the land around me was changing, the New World was morphing into the United States. I returned to the old country determined to find a way to reanimate Rose, there were ways, but she would not be the same, her soul was gone.”

Helen shook her head, an amber drink was pressed into her hand and she sipped it. “I did hear of an old African myth, of a warrior slain, that his mother was able to remake him from a lock of hair and a drop of blood, not the same man, a baby that looked like him as he did as a baby and as the child grew was just like the son in every way. There was a science behind it, I was sure of that, mothers and fathers pass traits to children, even sicknesses.”

“You invented cloning?” Brynn asked.

Helen laughed. “You could say, I had none of the technology, only magic, I went to the source of all being for it, invoked whatever gods had to be invoked. My first were Olivia and Sarah, then Cornelia and Viola and there was Josephine, Georgia, Wilhelmina, Pamela,” she looked around at them sadly, “I’m afraid I became too carried away. Olivia was restless, she ran away…”

She stopped unable to go on, Viola continued anger tingling her voice. “Helen had taken us all back to the Continent, we lived out of the way, safe, Olivia came back, brought the world of man to our doorstep, a lot of us were taken, sold away as slaves in the Americas.”

“It was like losing Rose a dozen more times,” Helen whispered tears escaping her eyes, “Worse because of Olivia’s betrayal. I swore I’d never make another one of you.”

“Of course she didn’t stop,” Virginia grinned.

“No technology improved,” Helen laughed, “The world was asking for a Virginia, and my beloved Patty and you Brynn,” she turned to her, “Olivia stole you away from me, switched you with some other child to hide you. I found you fifteen years ago and I’ve kept an eye on you since.”

“And the real Dobhale child?” Brynn asked.

“I can’t tell you what happened with that baby,” Helen said, “Olivia believes her cause righteous, she believes I am wrong to continue remaking Rosamund that it is unethical…and in a way she is right.”

“I disagree,” Viola said, “I rather enjoy my life, and having my sisters around me.”

“And we’ll be like this forever,” Cornelia said, “Eventually there will be a city full of us.”

Helen laughed. “As you can see they have big plans.”

“You have to join us here,” Patty said to Brynn, “We have tons of room.”

She laughed nervously in reply. “I don’t know I’ve always been sort of a loner.”

“That’s because we weren’t there,” Virginia said.

“You must understand,” Helen said to the others, “Brynn has experienced the world differently, you must give her time.”

This was not taken well they pouted and sighed like overgrown girls. They were sheltered, neither of them ever had to work a day in their lives, they were from old money. Over the years there had been various Van Bram enterprises, at the end of the 1900s there was Van Bram Industrial Steel, then Van Bram Electric and Van Bram Plastics, and eventually VB Biotechnic.

Other than their likeness, Brynn did not relate to them. Viola seemed to be the one who took care of everyone. Cornelia was relatively calm. It was their years Brynn supposed, but the last three were high spirited, Virginia revealed herself as impulsive having blown Helen’s previous plans of contacting Brynn.

She listened to them talk about poetry and music, their vacations. Then Virginia asked about Hart, if she was dashing and handsome, if Brynn had spoiled herself with her. This interested all of them and they leaned in.

She laughed. “You could say I was spoiled long before Hart.”

“With Natalie?” Patty asked, “I didn’t think she was the sort.”

Virginia laughed. “I knew it. I knew it.”

Helen had watched them chatter not contributing much Brynn could tell that they were her joy.

“We were all sad when we heard she had passed on,” Patty said her face flushed.

“Yes,” Cornelia agreed, “How awful.”

“It’s too dangerous for us to have love affairs,” Viola explained, “We’ve lived vicariously through you.”

“I had a lover before,” Cornelia said.

“Darling please,” Helen said, “Not the Italian stable boy story.”

“Its one of my best memories,” she said snidely then laughed.

Brynn’s thoughts turned to Hart, and she announced that she had to leave, this disappointed her sisters but she kissed them all good-bye and told them she would visit soon. Helen drove her home revealing that she knew Jacksonstein and knew about the tournament.

“I asked for news of you in Mexico,” she said, “Jacksonstein told me that you were riveted to Hart’s performance.”

Brynn nodded. “That sounds like me.”

“Do you really approve of such things?” Helen asked.

“No,” Brynn said, “I only cared that Hart lived.”

“I hear she is very dangerous,” Helen said.

“She’s not a threat,” Brynn told her, “She would never hurt me or anyone I love.”

“So the cowgirl was trying to harm you?” Helen asked.

Brynn shook her head, did not answer. The car stopped in front of her house, she had forgotten to turn on the porch light.

“I’d like to have a talk with her,” Helen said, “Since she entered your life I have been worried-”

“You don’t understand,” Brynn said, “She no longer wants to be a part of that.”

“I believe what you say,” Helen sighed, “I have lost you once, I won’t lose you again.”

Brynn got out of the car and walked towards her house, she had forgotten to turn on her porch light so she did not see Hart in the dark until she neared the porch, she could hear Helen’s car up the street.

“Hey,” she called out, and Brynn could tell she had been brooding.

“Hey,” she said, “I was wondering when you’d get here.”

“Left after the last fight,” Hart said letting Brynn by so she could unlock the door, she followed her inside.

“You won’t believe what happened,” Brynn said, “I have sisters, identical sisters, but we’re not twins we were created by a three hundred year old scientist.”

Hart frowned.

“Helen Van Bram,” Brynn said.

Hart scoffed. “Van Bram Biotechnic, she’s a friend of Jacksonstein, if it’s newfangled and creepy they’re behind it.”

It was Brynn’s turn to frown. “Are you saying she’s a bad guy?”

“We’re all bad guys,” Hart sighed, “Anyone who’s into this underground Unfinished City, if you’re the Blue Daggers or if you’re fucking Helen Van Bram.”

“Or Hart Gonzalez,” Brynn said.

“Or Hart Gonzalez,” Hart agreed, “Look, I’m sorry about the cowgirl, I was calling on Itzcoatl too much last week, when that happens they become harder to control, I went into a rage.”

Brynn turned and walked to her bedroom, truly weary this night, she unzipped her sweatshirt then removed the t-shirt underneath.

“Aren’t you even gonna hear me out?” Hart asked not appreciative of being ignored.

“I don’t want to do this tonight,” Brynn said, “It’s been a pretty decent day considering what happened in Mexico.”

“Yeah, your new family,” Hart said, “Tell me about that then.”

“So you can pass your judgment?” Brynn asked.

Hart ignored the edge in her voice, remained patient. “No judgment. I promise.”

Brynn scoffed, changed her shirt, climbed into bed and told her all about it.

“Sounds like a soap opera,” the Stranger said when she was finished.

“Is that all you have to say?” she asked.

“I don’t know what else to say,” Hart said, “I don’t trust Van Bram, but then again I don’t trust anybody.”

Brynn nodded and yawned, her eyelids heavy. “Today has been so strange, and so thrilling, like I’ve gone from being a bystander to an actually player.”

Hart softened then, that was what bothered her, she certainly did not trust Van Bram then again what would she do to keep Brynn in her life? She had already proved that she was willing to kill.

. . . .

She wasn’t a total slob, she had acquired a few social graces, had rubbed elbows with some high class folks who liked Bloodsport for their entertainment, made deals over cocktails halfway across the world for certain knowledge.

Hart had never come across anyone like Helen Van Bram before, she had always though the woman had come from a long line of enterprising scientists when in truth she had been the one all these years, she had discovered immortality.

Hart buttoned up a pristine white shirt with white embroidery at the cuffs. She wore one simple silver chain with a matching dagger charm with a diamond on the pummel, it the exact replica of her tattoo, just to prove that she was real thing.

Brynn arrived to pick her up right on time they had barely spoken in two days, Hart waiting patiently while she connected with her new family. Tonight they would go together to Van Bram manor and meet the folks so to speak.

Hart had fantasies of rolling in there like the bogeyman but that probably wouldn’t go well with Brynn.

“You look nice,” her love said bestowing a kiss just below her ear, instead of moving away though she stayed. Hart reached up and embraced her.

“You’re cute yourself, Gatita,” she said, Brynn was dressed in her librarian clothes a long gray skirt, black boots, a cute little black sweater with sparkling beads. Hart grinned because she knew they looked stunning together, but it faded quickly because she was sure Brynn was slowly breaking away, and thinking perhaps she should let her go just to make things go smoother.

“Well, let’s go,” Brynn said and Hart followed her as if she were going to her doom.

The Van Bram place looked innocuous enough, Hart thought, near the old cemetery where she and Brynn had made out before, it was a brick fortress smack dab in the middle the redevelopment of midtown. The gate swung open as they approached and as they pulled into the drive towards the house there was Brynn dressed in jeans and a sweater waiting on the lawn.

“Darling,” she said hugging Brynn as she got out of the car, then they both looked at Hart and giggled.

“This is Patty,” Brynn said, “Isn’t she beautiful?”

Hart nodded because she certainly was though her hair was shorter also she was a little heavier.

Patty invited them inside, and there they all were waiting on the stairs; Hart was sure she had died and gone to heaven, Brynn introduced them as Cornelia, Viola, and Virginia. The first two shook her hand but the last just had to hug her.

“Welcome,” she said her face flushing.

“Helen wants us in the library,” Viola said and led the way with Brynn at her side, Hart followed listening to the last three chattering behind her.

The first thing she noticed upon entering the library was the collection of Colts hanging on the walls on velvet mountings they glittered in the dancing light of the huge fireplace. It was an impressive collection.

Then she noticed Helen Van Bram a ripe old dyke just as innocuous as her fortress house.

“Ms. Van Bram,” Hart extended her hand, “It’s nice to meet you.”

The old woman smiled. “As it is to meet you Hart, please sit.”

They did. There were some giggles from the Brynn’s and the real one stepped forward to receive a fatherly hug from Van Bram. The rest of them perched around the library watching silently whispering occasionally while Viola and Brynn prepared drinks for every one.

“How fucking cozy,” Hart thought her glance straying to Brynn, she looked marvelous in the firelight close to her sister clones.

“I’m impressed Hart,” Helen said, “I never imagined you would come have dinner with my family.”

“What the hell does she mean by that?” Hart thought and said: “Where ever Brynn wants me I’m there.”

“Of course,” Helen replied, “She’s a special girl.”

Brynn smiled but Hart could tell she was nervous.

“And it only takes a few days to figure that out too,” Hart said, “That is what makes her so special.” She looked away from her love quickly when she was sure she had picked up on the snide accent of her remark.

“Dinner’s ready,” Viola perked up her voice shattered the settling silence, she drew on Helen’s arm pulling her out of her chair, “This way Hart to the dining room.”
Brynn walked next to Hart whispering one word at her as the party moved to the next event: “Please.”

Hart shrank in on herself suffered through the meal, the insufferable nattering, Helen grinning like she was at a fucking buffet of almond skinned beauties. Then Van Bram suggested they go back to the library, Cornelia dragged Brynn off in a different direction.

Settled back in the library, Hart was not sure what to say to Helen, she was sure she was supposed to play nice. She could do that.

“What do you think of my little family?” Helen asked.

“They’re beautiful,” Hart told her, “It’s almost Other worldly.”

The old woman nodded thoughtfully. “Only such as you and I could truly appreciate them Hart. Over the years I know more about them, they are of a fragile disposition I make it my life’s work to keep them safe and happy.”

“You’re talking like they’re a breed of cat,” Hart said, she did not like the old woman’s tone.

“No need to get defensive,” Helen frowned, “I’ll get the feeling you don’t agree with the way I’ve acquired my family; it’s why few people know our secret, people don’t understand.”

She sighed and Hart spoke up. “No, Helen I understand perfectly.”

The old woman looked doubtful sensing some venom. “What happened with Brynn was unfortunate,” she said, “I wanted to make contact with her when I knew it was safe, other wise she would have never known any pain, any kind of degradation, I would have protected her from any monsters.”

“Yeah so it was real unfortunate that she met me,” Hart said, “I get it.”

Helen stood. “So let’s get to the core issue instead of skating around it. I don’t believe you are the best thing for Brynn.”

“How about letting her decide?” Hart asked.

“I know about the atrocities in Mexico, how you fought dozens of people to the death in six nights,” Helen said, “How you killed a woman for kissing Brynn’s hands.”

Hart stood. “You don’t know shit Van Bram I did what I had to do in Mexico that life is over for me.”

“You’re a notorious Blue Dagger as far as I’m concerned you’ll be one until the end of your miserable life,” Helen spat the words at her.

Hart stood silent finding herself wanting to call on Itzcoatl and prove to Ms. Van Bram that a miserable life could do a whole bunch of damage to her face and there was no elixir she could brew up to fix it.

“Lady you have no idea you just care about your little menagerie,” Hart shook her head, “As far as I’m concerned you’re just as much of a fuck up that I am, you just won’t realize until your little brick castle falls.”

She turned on her heel and left the library Brynn followed trying to stop her, she managed to stop in the middle of the lawn.

“Goddamnit Hart,” she cried.

“You knew this would happen,” she shouted at her, “You knew we wouldn’t get along…you want me driven out of your life.”

“Hart that’s not true,” Brynn told her, “I don’t belong here, I belong with you.”

She stepped backwards as if she did not believe her, crying in the dark.

“Well you won’t talk to me,” Hart said, “Things just aren’t the same between us as they were before Mexico and I’m so fucking sorry for that.”

Brynn stepped forward until she caught her, hugged her. “I’m sorry too, but I don’t want to give up on us.”

“You should,” Hart whispered, “I’m a murderer. Didn’t you hear?”

“It’s your past,” Brynn said, “Mexico was the price you had to pay to shrug all that off. Fairin’s death was my fault anyway.”

Hart pulled away from her so they could be face to face. “No Gatita, you’re not a killer, that was all me.”

Brynn hung her head as if she did not believe her words. “Take me home Hart.”

“Alright,” she said looking over at the house as she walked Brynn to the Rabbit and seeing four familiar silhouettes watching.

. . . .

The dinner had been a fiasco, but Brynn had seen how hurt Hart was. Brynn had not meant to ignore her or disregard anything that had happened between them. Back at her place she kissed Hart not one of those pathetic sadness tinged things they had been sharing the past few days but a real kiss like their first.

She found that she could not stop kissing Hart that she wanted her deeply. She took her to her bedroom and stripped out of her clothes.

Hart watched numbly sitting on the bed Brynn went to her, took her hands and put them on her naked hips. Hart seemed reluctant to touch her.

“What is it?” Brynn whispered.

“I don’t know,” Hart whispered even lower, “I don’t know if we can go on and I can end up not hurting you.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Brynn said leaning down into her arms, laying them on the bed.


She watched Brynn doze away then sleep deeply murmuring a few times.

Hart her self began to nod until the doorbell chimed. Brynn stirred awake in her arms.

“Who is that?” she asked.

Hart leapt out of bed, went for her bag with her sword inside, retrieved it, Brynn called her name lightly in the dark, she followed as far as the hall.

“Stay down,” she told her, “If anything happens you run out that back door and keep running-”

Brynn whimpered in fright a sound that cut Hart deep. The Blue Daggers had come to collect her, Hart was sure, the dirty bitches, they’d confront her right in front of Brynn, torture her worse by involving the woman she loved. She stepped towards the door calling out to whoever was on the other side, calling for them to identify themselves.

No answer came.

Hart stepped to the door and split the slats of the blinds at the glass, peered through them.

O’Riordan was on the other side, she glared right at her, threw her head back dumping the remains of a silver flask down her throat.

Hart opened the door, holding the sword behind her back.

“What?” she asked.

“Knew you’d be here,” O’Riordan slurred, “Came to invite you to your party.”

“Oh yeah,” Hart said, “So soon?”

“Why beat around the bush?” O’Riordan asked then winked, “No one likes a tease.”

“Calvary?” Hart asked ignoring the ribald comment.

“Of course,” O’Riordan said, she leaned to the side peering past her to speak to Brynn, “Hey, beautiful, just coming to invite Hart to a party in her honor.”

Brynn had tiptoed behind her, she took the sword and placed it on some side table, then said hello to O’Riordan.

“I’ll be there,” Hart told her, “Tell them that.”

“The festivities have already begun,” the Irish woman said urgently.

“Fuck the festivities,” Hart said, “I’ll be there.”

She shut the door, locked it behind her, Brynn touched her back and Hart turned.

“Do you have to go?” she asked.

“I won’t be gone long,” she said softly, touching her hair, “I’ll be back before dawn.”

“You said once we got back you wouldn’t deal with them anymore,” Brynn said turning away, “I’m afraid they’ll use your victory to pull you back in.”

Damn she was too clever. Hart walked around to face her. “This is nothing Ducee is still top I haven’t made any deal with her. It would be an insult not to go.”

“Just leave then,” she said coldly.

“Gatita,” Hart said grabbing her arm, Brynn turned and she saw that it was not Ok to seize her anymore they were not back in the library minutes before closing. Things had changed.

Hart sniffed, “I’m sorry, ‘bout everything.”

“That’s not enough,” Brynn shook her head, “Since that day all I’ve been able to see is Fairin, laying in the dirt-”

“I don’t understand why you were out there with her in the first place,” Hart hissed, “Did you have feelings for her?”

Brynn turned away. “I don’t know…you never gave me a chance.”

“I guess I was wrong about us then,” Hart said, she grabbed her jacket and left.



Chapter Sixteen


Brynn

“You whom I love, even though that love should be a snare for my undoing, even though loving I am lost for all eternity”

Tonight I must undo a mistake I made years ago when I joined the Blue Daggers. No matter what kind of deal I make, as long as I wear the tattoo, and keep Itzcoatl locked inside of me I am no good for you. A friend told me not too long ago that I am a coward that I have to master death because I am frightened of it. Though I don’t agree with her words they trouble me. Tonight is my jump. Brynn, if I don’t return to you by dawn then I am no longer living, please let my family know what happened. If I do return, if I don’t always know that I love you, that I went through with this to redeem myself in my own eyes, in your eyes, in honor of all those I have slain.

                                                                                 Hart

. . . .

There was no Bloodsport tonight, the old warehouse district was clear. The Blue Daggers moved in slowly, their drunken caravan lurched through the streets deep down town one of the warehouses was lit for their occasion.

Hart led the way inside, she was not sure how many tequila shots she’d in the last few hours, sitting alone at the Blue Dagger club off Calvary watching the rest of them solemnly getting drunk.

“You ready?” Chevelle asked from the bar, her arm around Anna.

“I was born ready,” Hart lurched to her feet and they had gone.

The Blue Daggers were forty eight strong, including Ducee, minus Hart. She had not seen all of them gathered in a long time, there were old faces and new ones.

They had formed a ring around her and parted for Ducee who stepped with the aid of her cane she had a buckskin bag in her hand. She stopped in front of Hart and offered the bag.

She reached inside and pulled out a small wooden statue carved in the shape of an eagle. Hart closed her hand around it, brought it to her lips and whispered into her fist.

“Itzcoatl you have served me well my friend, the time has come that you are no longer mine.”

She opened her hand, the statue glowed with the power of Itzcoatl’s spirit Hart placed it into the bag. Ducee closed the bag, pocketed it.

“Hart,” she said, then lowered her eyes.

“Don’t worry about me Ducee,” she said.

The large woman took a deep breath with a swipe of her cane swept Hart’s legs from under her then jammed the handle into her face across the bridge of her nose.

Blood flowed in a short burst down her shirt.

Hart stood slowly as Ducee walked back out of the ring of Blue Daggers, and the ring began to close in on her. Hart instantly readied her fists, began her swagger –dance, swayed quickly to the side dodging O’Riordan’s fist, taking several punches to the side of her face from. She saw Chevelle’s face in the crowd, somewhere amongst the fists. They pummeled her to her feet, but she did not fall, she could not.

The assault was silent no swearing, no talking, only grunts, heavy breathing and the blows, the smack of skin and bone against skin and bone.

She bloodied a couple of noses, someone got her a good one in the stomach, Hart doubled over, stumbled, someone grabbed her shoulders, pinned her arms behind her. They took turns after that splitting their knuckles on her face, her blood ran with theirs. She was dropped to the cement floor, the Blue Daggers drew back to mark her progress, Hart was on her hands and knees, not able to get a clear breath through her nostrils any more, the blood tainted air choked her.

Hart tried to get to her feet, her legs trembling as if palsy stricken, and she fell back on to her knees. She received a boot to the face, another cracked her lower ribs she felt them give, a wet snap inside her then their pressing against her stomach.

She fought the urge to vomit, it would only disgust them to see her groveling, and throwing up tequila soaked partially digested pork rinds and cocktail onions. If she was going to go out it would be top, and they would talk about her for years to come, the only Blue Dagger who had jumped, maybe it would give some of them hope, maybe they would tell the story to scare new recruits.

The kicks kept coming, more ribs cracked, pressed against her lungs, she could feel them welling with blood, someone kicked her in the head and she felt one of the hinges of bone that made up her skull give.

She roared at them then, to drown out her sorrows, it stopped them, and though her eyes were swollen shut she could see them staring in wonder as she roared out Brynn’s name. Satisfied she fell on her belly and let darkness claim her.

. . . .

Brynn raced down Calvary on the heels of dawn, she was losing the race, the two of them had set out on twenty minutes ago when she had opened her eyes to find that Hart was not there beside her, saw and read the note stuck in her mail slot, picked up the short sword left behind.

She turned off Calvary her breaks squealing in front of the Blue Dagger club, she went to the front door, it was locked. She pounded on the door, she shouted at it as the dawn began to light the day.

“You bitches,” she called. “You snakes. Murderers.”

“That’s enough Dulcita.”

She turned Chevelle was there in her slick ass blue-black sports car. Brynn hissed at her, she clutched the sword in her hand, she barely remembered throwing it on the passenger seat of the Rabbit before she left home. It was now unsheathed there in her hand.

“Put that down,” Chevelle said sternly.

“Tell me she lived,” Brynn said.

“I can’t,” Chevelle said, “Cause she’s dead.”

“Where is she?” Brynn asked.

Chevelle walked closer looking around for bystanders or cops. “You can’t go waving swords around in the daylight, Dulcita.”

“Tell me where Hart is,” Brynn said.

“We finished her off, there is nothing,” Chevelle said reaching her hand out for the sword, “Hand over that blade.”

Brynn made a mad slash at her and the Blue Dagger stepped back.

“You’ll always have friends with us,” Chevelle told her, “We can take care of you-”

“Why’d you let her go through with it?” she asked, “She was your friend.”

“She was hard headed,” the Blue Dagger shook her head, “What was I supposed to do?”

Brynn turned away, walked numbly back to the Rabbit and drove away. The short sword lay across her lap as she sat before the front gate of the Van Bram house. There was a call box, she pressed the button and one of her sister’s voices came clear after a crackle of static.

“Brynn is that you?” she called and the gate swung open, they all piled out of the house as she rolled up the drive. They waited after the car stopped and idled in the drive, she did not look at them, only straight ahead the sword on her lap. Her sisters called to her, their cheery squeaks becoming agitated with concern, until Brynn heard someone call for Helen.

Viola tried the door, found it unlocked, she opened it, and peeked her head in, she saw the tears on Brynn’s face, touched them gingerly.

“What’s wrong darling?” she asked.

Brynn did not answer. Viola noticed the sword and gasped, she gave it over to her big sister.

“Hart’s dead,” she told her, “Hart’s dead.”

Viola turned. “She says Hart’s dead.”

The other sisters gasped and called out to Helen desperately as she arrived on the scene.

“Come on now everything will be fine,” Helen said softly leaning into the car then, lifting her out of the seat, scooping Brynn in her arms.

“I’m lost,” she told her creator, “Lost.”

“Not anymore, darling,” Helen told her, “I swear you’ll never be lost again.”

. . . .

Two hours before dawn Hart lifted her head, groaned, then sat up on the cement floor of the old warehouse. She laughed out loud, the Blue Daggers had given up on her, hadn’t been able to kill her, those lazy twats. They had cut the sleeve off her shirt and performed a little surgery, excised the Blue Dagger tattoo.

“Fuckers,” she said and spat out two of her teeth, there was still one back there loose. She rubbed her jaw and that’s when she noticed Mago.

“You,” she said simply, “What you want?”

“To talk to you,” Mago said, she was a short Mexicana, shorter than Brynn, with auburn streaked black and large gray eyes she had a heavy accent and spoke it in deep throaty voice. She had always kept up with the latest fashions, she wore black stiletto heeled boots, slinky black pants, and a long black coat.

“I don’t have time,” Hart stood, “My girl will be waiting for me.”

“The negritita,” Mago remarked, “Don’t count on seeing her too soon.”

“Leave me alone,” Hart began to limp away.

“Listen burra,” Mago told her, “You’re mine now.”

Hart continued limping trying to quicken her gait, get to Brynn’s before day light.

“Turn around,” Mago ordered with a sigh.

Hart instantly did an about face.

“Come here,” Mago told her.

Hart began to limp towards her, she did not have the will to stop or even to speak any more, she only moaned like a ghost.

“You’re up and about cause you’re too damned heavy for me to carry, other than that you’d probably bleed to death,” Mago told her, then shook her head, “Look at you girl, like they tried to turn you inside out.”

“Alexa told you what plans I have for you. Something is coming for this city, and we go to stop it.”

Hart wanted her to tell her to go fuck herself, but she was powerless.

“You’re going to take a short trip to the Other Side, you listen to what you’re told and you’ll come back as good as new and you’ll see your little girl again, fuck it up and stay dead.”

Mago walked towards the back of the warehouse, Hart followed her, they walked down a loading dock, across a parking lot, to a grassy lot littered with paper that ended in a bayou one of the major ones that snaked through the city, this one, Sisina wound slowly from downtown, along side the big park to midtown.

“Don’t give me that look,” she said as they both stare over the edge, “If you didn’t prove to be so damned honorable-” she looked up suddenly, cocked her head as if listening for something, the night was beginning to lighten around the edges,” I wouldn’t even bother with you.”

The rains had swollen the bayou the black water coursed slowly like a river strewn with trash up to its steep banks. Mago began to walk away, Hart turned, was not called to follow.

“I have to hurry, Plague Girl will be coming for me,” Mago said turning her coat pulled to the side, “The fucker.”

Hart could see the gleam of a gun but she did not believe that was what she was seeing. Guns were for stiffs, for their drugs wars, their skirmishes over land and oil.

Mago removed it from her waist band, raised it.

“This is gonna hurt, but not for long,” she told her with a clinical tone.

Hart did not hear the report, only saw the flash and it stayed with her when everything went dead black before her eyes when she was falling over the side of the bayou. The water rippled beneath her as if in anticipation then swallowed her without a splash.

If you have enjoyed Cornwel's "Tales Of A Librarian", then please be certain to e-mail her at  cornwel[at]hotmail.com  and thank her for posting this Story.

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