28/ Camilla (I)

"Rich is here."

"Caster invited us to volunteer at a soup kitchen tomorrow evening."

"A soup kitchen?"

"The market? Right now?"

We're pretty bad at trading information.

"And dearie, can't believe you forgot the candle." She hands me the box I left with Estella, "What happened?"

"Nothing, just needed a bit of fresh air because. . . whatever, we got to find Rich." To convince Archer to fight Saber tonight.

Kids brush my knees, parents sliding by not bothering to apologize because they've already apologized to the five people before us. A half-drunk stumbling girl bumps into my shoulder, her drink sloshing then hitting the tar road. That makes me wince. There are hundreds of people here; how are we supposed to find Rich?

Lightbulb. The same glint appears in Mary's eye too.

"Live music!" She points to the patch of asphalt that's not even an excuse for a stage. Take away the amps and the mic-stands, may as well be a busking station.

"Kettle Corn!" I point to the dessert booths then remember they don't sell kettle corn, just the caramel-covered stuff. Eh, he could be making the same mistake.

We walk to one side, flip a coin, I call tails and lose.

Performing on the raised wooden stage is your typical small-town band with a female singer covering generic 2015 pop songs to about ten families animatedly swaying to the beat so their giggling toddlers will do the same. No Rich though. Found him looking for kettle corn at the dessert booths.

"Nadine! Mary! Great to see you two. We were just about to check out the band. Great if you could join us."

'Us' was a woman with Fillia's hair and red eyes in a space-nun outfit. Family uniform I guess. No sign of Archer, but Mary said he was in ghost form behind them.

"This is Leys."

The space-nun named Leys curtsies while walking through a crowd without bumping into anymore. Mary and Caster, I understand, but you'd think modern women would be beyond curtseying. It's strange though, no one's bumping into me anymore as we walk down the thoroughfare.

"She's Fillia's bodyguard."

"F. . . Ilya. . . yes."

When we reach the wooden stage again, our little party of four plus one ghost stands about two feet behind the other families. Seems the band has switched to one of their originals. No one is listening anymore. I see two cameras out. I'm sure they're more interested in promoting 'live music at Farmer's than whatever this indie band has come up with.

"Got any pointers for them, Rich?" Mary asks.

"Me? That was such a hearty effort that I couldn't. You can tell they're doing it for the music." With that refreshing smile, he shakes his head, "Anyway, no use asking me for performance tips. Couldn't play a note in tune to save my life." His short laugh is like a bird's trill that sends the morning dew plummeting onto the ground.

"What about magecraft. Can you give me some pointers?"

He laughs, "Don't ask questions with obvious answers."

"Yeah, thought so." No part of me was disappointed because my eyes saw that this man would never share that part of himself and risk dividing its value. "Where's Fillia? We had something we wanted to tell her."

Rich checks his phone, "She'll be here with the car in about ten minutes. She had me bring Leys since Archer would be in spirit form."

You say that, but why would you need to bring Archer to something like this. . . oh, of course, he must have been the one who wanted to come. Okay, so then why is Filia's bodyguard protecting you?

"Are there any messages you would like me to pass onto milady? After last night, I take you've reevaluated your position on our generous non-aggression pact?"

"Sorry to disappoint, dude. Just thought she should know Saber's Master lives in the Mission."

Rich starts muttering under his breath, "I knew it. Why else would Matou. . . then that boy was. . ." He takes a breath, "Where did you get this information?"

Shit. Can't say, oh the overseer told us because then Rich would be like, why doesn't the bowl-cut priest take care of it himself and why would he tell you to tell me. Oh crap, it's been too —

"Nadine was showing me the Mission today. I'm Irish. Irish Catholic. Wonderful place. But for some reason, there were bounded fields within the holy space. Nadine, the poor ganch, fell into one and Saber appeared."

"I sure underestimated you, Mary, if you got away from Saber."

"S-She was in spirit form. We were close to the public museum section," I quickly say.

He half buys it in his eyes we're too dumb to lie. "Why are you telling me this? Why not go to the overseer; he's the one actively hunting Saber."

"Rider. . . can't beat Saber." Last night's holographic truth that was seared into my eyeballs. Rider can put up a good fight, but Saber's stronger than him in every aspect. That's a half-truth. Saber is clearly stronger than Rider, but Phahn has enough resources to revise Mary's history. Both Rich and I know this, so here comes the piece de resistance, "And Archer looked really excited last night when he was watching their fight."

"We shouldn't be doing the overseer's job for him," Rich says to empty space behind him. "Yes, we do have a bone to pick with the Matou." He turns back to us, "When's the market closing?"

My phone says a quarter to nine. "Twenty minutes. The food rescue volunteers are already collecting the excess veges. The place should be empty in like fifteen?"

"Cheers. Thanks for the heads up, Nadine." He clicks his tongue. "You're not a half-bad Master, forcing Arch— milady's hand like this."

Say that to me with your mage face.

"I get why you won't teach me magecraft, but can I at least get Fillia's number? Because you guys owe me, us."

"You kind of make me want to take that back now. You still have a long way to go if you think milady would lower herself to using something as degenerate as a cell phone. But I can give you mine." I slip my phone into his outstretched hand. "By the way, Nadine. What were you doing on campus yesterday? You're in high school, right?"

Weird question. "Mary wanted to check it out. Something about the chance to see scholastic opportunity provided to women in this enlightened era was too good to pass up?"

"No dearie, you didn't want to show your face at school." She puts a hand on my shoulder. "You wanted to hike up to the dorms because you can see the entire campus from up there, but your Command Spell started hurting."

That doesn't sound like me. I hate hiking because it's the only thing people in this town talk about with even a hint of nuance. I do remember my Command Spells hurting though.

"Only because when we toured the city, you were really excited about the campus. Anyway, what's it to you, Rich?"

"Amazed that you happened to walk into my guest lecture. Small world." Don't exaggerate. The world's huge; Tolosa's just small enough that you can run into a vampire's feeding ground after ditching a party. He hands me back my phone.

"Have a safe trip home. Great networking with you!"

I give him a thumbs up that's as fake as that line.

With that, I've set up the distraction. Now, how are we going to get in?

After leaving the Farmer's Market, Mary and I sneak into an empty parking structure a block away from the Mission. You can usually get an unobstructed view of the Mission's gardens and back entrance on the top floor. The only problem? I pull my jacket sleeves over my fists and hug my knees behind the cement barricade.

"A-Anything?"

Mary stands tall with a frown on her face. Her elbows rest on the metal railing, and her new, stylishly oversized knit Twin Towers brand jacket flaps in the bone-chilling night wind.

"No magical energy yet. Did you set that timer, dearie?"

"It's on vibrate. Five m-more minutes."

Mary said there's a bounded field, a magical barrier that won't allow anyone inside the Mission, that popped up when the sun went down. Mary's Class Skill, Presence Concealment should be enough to get her through the bounded field undetected, but because she's going to be carrying a candle and the listening device that's currently in my jacket pocket, she can't go in as a ghost. The way she explained it, Presence Concealment is similar to obfuscation magecraft. At really high ranks you can't see or recognize her even if she's standing right in front of you. I'm guessing a high rank would mean a butterfly, Mary's is a fat caterpillar, not even a chrysalis, so it's difficult to sense her presence but possible if the Servant or Master have strong magical energy-sensing abilities. Luckily, we'll have Archer starting an all-out assault on the Mission, giving Mary the perfect opportunity to jump down, make her way across the street, and sneak in. As for me, I'll be up here looking after her new Twin Towers jacket, trying not to catch a cold.

We took ten minutes to get from Farmers to the top of the parking structure. I called the bowl-cut priest, letting him know what was happening tonight and to have the app or program he was going to use to listen ready. Then came the waiting. There's a lot Mary and I could have talked about that five minutes like what do you mean Caster invited us to volunteer at a soup kitchen tomorrow, what's so bad about infiltrating a church when the priest who rightfully owns the place tells you it's okay, or Estella asking me to help her kill Caster. But there are butterflies in my stomach that might really be Mary's. I want to say something Masterly like, 'I'll use a Command Spell if things get bad' or maybe even 'that's a nice jacket.' Still, what sort of pathetic Master am I to say, 'Good luck!' as she tries to infiltrate another Master's headquarters while I'm freezing my ass as a glorified coat hanger?

Without warning, Mary pushes herself from the railing to face the vista of empty parking lot spaces.

"Ma—"

"Get up, girl." She swallows. "They're coming."

I clamber up, my hands in my pockets. My invisible Command Spell hurts. That means. . .

Click, click, click.

The footsteps don't come from the staircase behind the locked door on the left corner of the room, but the incline the cars use to access rooftop parking. Step by step, a woman I've never seen before forges into our reinforced concrete wasteland of faded white lines and half-functioning parking lot lights.

Strawberry blonde, pointed face with slight bags under her gentle eyes, she might have her hands up but honestly, I don't know if she's surrendering or threatening us, because on the back of her right hand is a Command Spell, the three strokes creating an angelic bird with a sword as a beak facing the light-polluted sky.

"Mary, if I jump off the roof can you handle the landing?"

"First time for everything, dearie. . ."

Okay, I don't want to go splat so that's going to be our last option.

"Nadine. Can I call you Nadine? I don't want to fight." Too calm, too controlled, her voice effortlessly warms the chilly night air between us without betraying any emotion. "I'm Amelia. My mom named me after one of her heroes. I represent the U.S. Government in this Holy Grail War. I know you're not a magus, just a normal high school student who got caught up in this. I know your Servant isn't controlling or coercing you. I know that the overseer being a Master in this war makes it difficult to resign. But I need to let you know that if you keep fighting, not only you but the people you care about are going to be in danger. I can help you. I have been helping you. We have people who can protect you and your family until this all blows over and you go back to school, take those SATs, and get into a good four-year college. How does that sound?"

Stop being a Master?

I can help you, I've been helping you. . .

Mary sprawled in a puddle of her own blood while I was frozen, a claw kneading my skull, tightening until I felt like it was pulling at my insides. My chest clamps itself at the memory because switching on my magic circuits isn't what saved me. It was a white-gloved hand crushing the vampire's deathly pale wrist.

"She's. . . Berserker's Master." Words croak out from my dry throat. Come on, say it louder, with more force, otherwise, "She's Berserker's Master. The doctor she was talking about at the party."

Mary grows pale.

"Look, Nadine," Berserker's Master is about five meters away from us now. "You're not the first civilian to accidentally enter a Holy Grail War. There was a nice freelancer who came back home to visit his parents. Found some ancient documents in the shed with instructions on how to summon a demon. Thought it would be a laugh. Summoned a Servant who forced him to kidnap children. Another Master put a bullet in him, right here." She taps the middle of her sizable forehead. "An ethics teacher came across a wounded Servant who had just lost her Master. Nice guy. Took her in and made a contract with her so she could stay in this world. Practice what you teach, right? Found out she was draining the neighbors' life force because he couldn't supply her with energy. Stabbed right in the heart. As luck would have it, that teacher had a student who became a Master as well. Orphaned by a previous Grail War, he probably fought because he felt like he needed to make sure bad things didn't happen in his town again. But against magi? Servants? He didn't stand a chance. And. . ." She hesitates but pushes through. "There was a girl. She was only ten but the Holy Grail gave her Command Spells. She still haunts me." Why did she suddenly look to her left for a moment? "A-anyway, it's not just Masters. My own sister was a cop, a lieutenant. Her squad was trying to protect the citizens of Snowfield from being collateral in a Holy Grail War. To this day, I don't know what really happened to her. Nadine, please, I don't know what the other Masters and overseer have told you but this is not a game."

Snowfield, Nevada. Right after a bunch of politicians died from heart attacks there were some freak storms and a pandemic there. The entire city went into lockdown. I was a kid but I remember my mom panic buying toilet paper in case it ever spread. That was all related to a Holy Grail War?

But, like, you don't need to speak to me like I'm a kid.

The Holy Grail War is dangerous. I know.

This isn't a game. I know.

People die. I know just as well as you do.

You don't need to unload your entire sob story onto me.

"I — We're going to clear Mary's name!"

Nadine Craig yells back because she wants to be someone else. On the roof of this vacant parking lot, I'm confronting you as a Master, not some pathetic girl no one understands because they're too blind to see the world in all its mystery. I can't let that go. I won't let that go. And there's no way in hell I'm going to let you take that away from me!

So, I'll reject everything you are to accept everything I want to be.

Annoyed, she mumbles, "What? No, of course, I'm not going to. . ." Is she talking to Berserker? "We're willing to work with you. That's not a problem, at all. Let me take you and your Servant in and we'll figure out what Mary wants to be investigated and all our agency's resources will be at her disposal. You have my word as a doctor. First, do no harm. I'm trying to make sure as few people die as possible."

Mary steps forward; she's almost a sickly shade of pale green.

"Mary?"

Unbridled pale fury.

"You don't get to spake that line, Doctor. No, not again. How many times do you think you so-called 'medical professionals' have promised the EXACT FUCKING THING! Take the tests, Mary. Humiliate yourself and take the tests then we can help you. Help you, we're only trying to help you. We're keeping you here because of you; we're trying to help you. And you can help us help you. Because that's all we're thinking about, your best interest. You want to be helped, don't you, Mary? You need to be helped because you're an uneducated, Irish COW! Not this time!" Breathing ragged, she's burned most of her fury off. "Nadine, we're getting out of here. . . Jump."

Berserker's Master, the Doctor, Amelia, whatever, her arms slump to her side as she realizes, "You're. . ."

"Nadine. Jump," Mary says without looking back at me.

"No Mary, you're going to attack her." Hands trembling in my pocket, I say so as calmly as possible.

"Nadi—"

"Mary, listen to me." I cut her off because "The alarm just went off."

The world heaves and convulses as two shockwaves of divine magical energy collide a street away. The after-effects produce enough illusory air pressure that the Doctor and I both reflexively shield our faces. Yes, both the Doctor and I.

Her charge might not be as tempestuous as Archer's or as fiery as Saber's, but she's still a Servant. My Servant.

The twenty feet separating us are chopped and diced in less than a second.

That's the time difference for those who the tsunami of magical energy caught unawares and those who expected it, using it to their advantage.

The silver meat cleaver is drawn and raised in a single practiced motion. She's not a killer, she says, so let your fury drive that knife. Cut her legs, her arms, any part of her that attempts to compel us into accepting that we aren't fit for this moonlit world.

— Crunch.

The sound of steel carving into meat.

— Cling.

Metal yields to flesh and shatters.

"Mary —!"

A flurry of white fists and then a finishing crimson kick send my Servant flying into the metal railing. The impact cracks the supporting concrete and bends the railing, but it doesn't snap so Mary doesn't plummet into the street below. She howls at her impossibly broken limbs.

Berserker materialized and defeated Mary in less than the moment it took for Mary to close the gap.

Inverted nerves grind against each other as Mary starts pulling something vital from inside of me. My insides are on fire, molten butterscotch again, no, liquid steel, and I can see my death quickly approaching. Ram's horns erupt from my head, the leathery wings on my back snap open, skin melts off to reveal scales. The [ruby=pot]body[/ruby] boils over in a walk-in freezer. A contradictory illusion isn't a fantasy if the feeling is real.

I gasp, "Mary, get up."

Everything inside of me gets pushed out.

"GET. UP."

I eject my life into the magic circuit rejecting my body until I can taste blood in my mouth. Mary starts snapping. The excess magical energy I'm sending struggles to set her broken bones.

Slowly, she pushes herself off the ground. She can move again, but only that, move.

Amelia's silent, looking off to her left, again. Berserker hasn't moved, waiting for her Master's command. She won't wait much longer; she's confirmed Mary's an enemy that needs to be exterminated, no, sterilized.

There's no escape. Even if I were to jump off the roof and Mary correctly handled the landing, we couldn't outrun that crimson health nut.

"Nadine. . . " A desperate weak voice.

Our connection tells me it's nothing fatal. My clairvoyance shows me Berserker has a skill, Anatomy Understanding. From the description, she instinctively targets a human's vital points and cripples them with surgeon-like precision. Fighting Berserker, you can't expect anything less than what Mary's experienced. But at the same time, there's nothing more to a Berserker.

"Tsu— Nadine. If you keep this up. Your Servant, Mary, is going to die."

Because she's not strong enough.

Not enough.

There wasn't enough magical energy. Archer and Saber's clash easily overshadowed the amount both Berserker and Mary spent. But everyone's stopped, except me.

"I'll supply you with more magical energy. You're fighting."

This rooftop that was so cold five minutes ago is hot to the point that I'm sweating uncontrollably. Instead of my ski-jacket, I peel the covering off my Command Spell without laying eyes on the numerous eyes mocking my uselessness against another Master with that constant prickling pain.

"Nadine?" Something looks up at me, almost begging.

Berserker or me. Who is she really scared of?

That doesn't matter. Concentrate on the feeling. You're not special, no one is. But you don't need to be like that girl waiting for tamales. You don't need a boyfriend to make you interesting. You don't need a best friend to tell you you're worth something. You don't need to be divided. The difference is in the [ruby=knowing]rejection[/ruby]. For these are eyes that see into the world. I must be mystery: isolated, self-complete, unreachable. . . for everything is paper. So you don't need to search for the Truth like everyone else because it's Right here.

Right?

Right.

The soundless roar of my magic circuits makes everything go red. My face is numb, my knees are numb, even my fist in my jacket pocket, desperately clenched, is numb. I won't let myself fall because that means yielding to a cruel, fake world where the script is more important than the reality I see in front of me.

"AAAAHHHHHHH —!" Mary gets up shouting to rid herself of fear, fury, feeling so that she can commit to a feeble rush.

Half, no, a third of the speed as before gives Berserker entire seconds to respond.

Paring knife — bent out of shape.

Boning knife — blade sent flying.

Chef's knife — shattered.

Mary — tossed aside like biological waste.

Berserker walks away from her Master, stepping towards Mary's spent body. With the waning once-blue Tolosa moon glistening behind her, Berserker looks down, not at Mary's face but just below her ribcage.

"Why aren't you sick?" An innocent question.

"Because I'm strong."

"You are misinformed. Muscle hypertrophy has no effect on immune response."

A wad of spit squarely hits Berserker's face. Steel-faced, Berserker simply reaches into her chest pocket for a disinfectant wipe. Without taking an eye off Mary, Berserker wipes her left cheek, then crumples the soiled wet wipe in her fist before dropping it onto Mary's equally crumpled body. A lady never litters, so Berserker materializes a grenade they might have used in one of the World Wars to dispose of the trash.

Utter travesty. I'd be laughing if I could move my face. Servant. Master. Equally useless. But this is what it means to be a Master. This is what it means to be a mage. My eyes tell me this is right. This is where you belong. On top of a concrete wasteland, body on the brink of breaking, magic circuits spent, holding your clenched hand up high just a moment before Berserker pulls the pin, you announce what has been in your hand this entire time. That everything happening on this rooftop is being recorded and transmitted.

We're all thrown off-balance, but this time it's not because our magic circuits are rattling from a tidal wave of divine magical energy. The very concrete underneath our feet starts trembling. All my expended magical energy has been a beacon to make this one moment happen.

"Your reinforcement has ARRIVED —!" A jolly shout from. . . below.

The ground underneath Berserker's feet cracks and then ruptures as a greatshield breaches, spraying chunks of concrete, grey asteroids with no orbit to follow, all over the vacant lot. As cement dust begins to settle, I can't help wondering how many floors of the parking structure he broke through.

"Ri. . . der?" In one swift motion the Doctor unholsters her handgun.

He pays her no attention. He only has eyes for Berserker. "Good evening, deserter."

The insult doesn't register. Berserker has unfinished business. She pulls the pin like it's the tab of one of my mom's diet sodas, and pitches the grenade at Mary's powerless body.

— Clang.

With one sweep of his shield, Rider parries the explosive on a stick, sending it high in the sky where it detonates, filling the lot with the acrid smell of gunpowder and burned shrapnel.

"Berserker, please stop." The Doctor is still pointing her peashooter at Rider. He just deflected Berserker's grenade. There's no way that smaller grenade you pulled out of your pocket will do anything. "Nadine. Did you ally with the overseer?"

"The treaty was drawn and signed earlier this evening." Rider answers before any instance of the truth can come from my mouth.

"What happened to Church neutrality? Phahn said it himself last night, 'we will neither harm nor aid any of you.' How can you call yourselves the faithful?" The Doctor says in a dead voice.

"I have been notified of the contract between this union of states' governing body and the Church. Milord remains neutral. If you recall, healer, the overseer impartially gives shelter to all Masters who seek it."

"She still has everything to do with me." The Doctor says through gritted teeth to no one in particular, before turning to me. "Nadine, you forfeited?"

I try to answer but my throat seizes up. What was red starts to flicker.

"Both Servant and Master renounced the Holy Grail but showed interest in helping bring Saber and her Master to justice. The Church's neutrality remains unblemished. We understand your confusion. As this was a recent development, we had little time to send a missive. Nadine Craig and her Servant are hereupon commissioned by the Church to aid in overseeing the Grail War under the supervision of Father Sancraid Phahn. On the other hand, Amelia Levitt, invited representative of this union's governing body, was your Servant not aiding Saber last night? If you continue to ally with the traitor, the Church will have no choice but to. . ."

He stops because Amelia lowered her gun, pocketed the egg-shaped grenade, and is running at me.

I've fallen to my knees, blood uncontrollably spilling from my mouth. It gurgles out, clogging my throat, saturating my lungs.

Something inside me must have ripped. Who am I kidding, everything probably ripped.

I've lost so much control that my chest seizes up and my thighs are wet. Without oxygen circulating through my body, my knees quickly lose strength and I'm on my back.

Someone yells my name, but I'm not interested.

When that superhuman force ran rampant through my body, I finally felt something that I hadn't in a long time. It welled up and filled every cell in my body just long to make itself known, and even if a flood of pain quickly drowned it out, the sensation's phantom lingered just enough for me to savor what could have persisted. In that maelstrom of mystery, these eyes found a [ruby=scar]experience[/ruby] everyone who's ever walked this path shares.

Black oblivion begins filling the edge of my vision.

With all my remaining strength I reach out into the empty, blue-grey light pollution for the stars no one else can see. . .

What a glistening, accepting [ruby=truth]dream[/ruby].

. . . I don't want to die.

Ba-dump.

An external will forcibly injects life into my heart. The only difference between a defibrillator and this? My dad's heart never restarted, mine does.

I gasp and splash.

The red, viscous liquid around me doesn't let me struggle and honestly, I'm too tired to do anything but float so the current takes me along the pristine maze. No matter how the water (?) laps at the tightly packed white marble walls they don't stain. Pity, it'd look better in checkerboard. At least the sky is the right color. Because the color of the sky is supposed to be a reflection of the water. Relieved, I close my eyes and let the buoyant forces wrap around me, a little boat floating down a river one summer morning a lifetime ago.

This pillow is crushing my ear so I turn my face and no-oww, this pillow is crushing my forehead. Not a pillow, the back of a chest plate. That's when the gamey, earthy smell underneath me hits my nostrils. Not the gentle rocking of my dad's old boat, it's a horse and my arms are draped around the rust bucket Rider calls armor.

Where's my phone?

This fabric isn't denim. How did I get in tights and God this isn't my underwear.

Shit, grab onto horse's butt or you're going to fall.

"Hey girl, comeon, comeon." Rider rubs the horse's neck. "What in the Blessed Lord's name are you doing back there, little lady."

"Got it."

My phone was stuffed between the waistband of second-hand underwear and tights like the women in my mom's gym cult who can't afford the tights with pockets stitched into them. The display says one in the morning, So I've been out for three, maybe four hours. No messages, that's strange. You'd think my mom would be —

"Rider. . . where's Mary?"

She's alive. I can still faintly feel her through our Master-Servant link, but the looming presence that's so enraptured with an undeserving world isn't beside me anymore.

"Unnecessary worry, little lady. Milord constructed a holy circle for her to rest within. She'll be combat-ready come dawn."

Right, Mary and I were supposed to infiltrate the Mission but a fight broke out with Berserker on the parking structure's roof. Man, that was cringe, wasn't it, losing control of your bladder because you overused your magic circuits. I'm just glad. . .

"What happened after I fainted."

[s]No, you fucking almost died.[/s]

"Berserker deployed her Noble Phantasm to heal you. Quite honorable adversaries." Noble Phantasm. That was the thing I didn't need Archer to explain. "Milord soon arrived with support. He took the servant and yourself back to the Church. Don't worry, he had female Executors proficient in healing look after you."

A sigh of relief, it wasn't the bowl-cut priest though I suspect he's the one who picked out these galaxy print tights from the clothes donation. "Milord called your mother who insisted he take you back home rather than allow you to stay in the church overnight, but considering the repairs necessary, here I am, at your service."

At my service? Rider, you're trotting down suburban Tolosa on a fully armored horse.

But I won't bust his balls about that because I feel good. Like for once, I want to get home as fast as possible so I can go to bed and see what tomorrow brings. Do people usually feel this good after collapsing from exhaustion?

"Thank you, Rider," I say to his metallic back. "For coming to help us."

"My pleasure, little lady. Though it was wholly out of duty. No pleasure was taken." He forcibly chuckles at what he thinks is a little joke.

I laugh a little because it's terrible.

"I must confess, little lady; this moment calls in the tides of nostalgia."

Are knights this dramatic because they're chivalrous or chivalrous because they're dramatic? If it snowed in California this would be a scene from the annual Netflix Christmas romantic comedy. Should have left me on the rooftop, renaissance faire.

"After an unceremonious weekend hunt, my boys would ride back home with me like you're doing so now. Like any other good father, I would tell them fairy stories. Their favorite concerned a king's bastard, son of a favored concubine. After the king died, his evil stepmother imprisoned the boy so she could rule as regent. Naturally, as these stories go, the boy broke out of prison and using his preordained princely nature, stirred a rebellion, overthrowing the evil stepmother. Thus, the kingdom lived happily ever after."

Suppress the yawn. I think we're just about five streets away?

"They really loved that one. Really did." He coughs out a laugh. "But when you love something, you interrogate it, doubly so for children. They would ask all sorts of questions like if the prince had a magic sword, how did he break out of the prison, or what did the evil stepmother do to the citizens. Naturally, I would answer, humoring them, trying to instill a sense of wonder, or perhaps reveling in fatherhood. Peculiar, how after all this time I still remember. As I made up answers or reused material from other stories I knew I would wonder about the characters I was embellishing. The stepmother was only evil and the boy only became king because the story called for it."

Characters aren't people, though. They're vehicles you make do something to drive home some moral. Words on paper, they can never truly come alive, no matter what the Holy Grail does. That's you, renaissance faire.

"You're a Heroic Spirit. How about when you go back to the Throne, you ask the hero of that story about what he thinks of what you told your kids? Anyway, your kids, they really loved those stories didn't they?"

He removes his helmet, turns and raises his eyebrows.

"Aye, they truly loved those stories."

I want to vomit because I can't stand looking at someone who's like my brother, positively glowing. Turn back around already.

"What's your point, Rider?"

"Heroic Spirits are traditions that lend ourselves to future generations, inspiring them, warning them. "

"What profound knowledge did you want to bestow upon me, Sir Rider?"

"After each battle, I would walk through the fields of the dead reminding myself to be faithful, for my cause was true. You're bright for a girl, little lady, and glory does lie in the battlefield. But you almost burned out tonight. Next time, your enemy is not going to heal you."

I'm doing fine on my own thank you very much. Did you see how great I was out there tonight? And you, when you strip away the mystery, you're just the same as everyone else, mansplaining your life away to a supposedly rapt audience who can only parrot what you say because they'd rather look at you.

"A warning then."

"If that's what you heard. Best of luck tomorrow, little lady."

He stops in front of my house and I thank him for the ride, but not the chat as I dismount. By the time I get to the front door he and the armored horse are already gone. Ghost form I presume.

The house is dark so I use my phone as a flashlight. Turns out there was no need because my mom scuttles out of her room as soon as she hears the door creak open. Half-dressed she looks at me from the stairs.

"Turn that thing off."

I shimmy my wrist so the spotlight dances on her for a moment. She's beside herself.

"How on God's good earth did you get drunk off communion wine?"

First, God's good earth, that's new.

Second, what the fuck you bowl-cut priest.

"I thought it was errr, normal wine?"

"Did you think about me, at all? How embarrassing to have my own flesh and blood. . . shit. I can't even say it. You have to make it up to that nice priest. I don't know how you're going to do it, but you. . ."

"No problem, mom. I actually really like working there."

Check.

"Give me your phone."

"What n—"

"Nadine Francine Craig, give me your phone."

I hand it to her and she shines the light at my face. Fuck, it's blinding.

"Say that again."

"Mom!"

"Say it again."

"I really like working there. Even going to volunteer at the local soup kitchen tomorrow with them, geez."

She switches the light off. All I can see are rainbow rings and translucent floaters.

But Mate.

"Thankfully, Sancraid said he would keep it all under wraps. I have enough to worry about tomorrow night."

"What's tomorrow night?"

"To think how proud of you I was before Sancraid called. Turning this whole teen angst thing you have going for you into something positive for once. But no, you don't deserve to know, Nadine. Not anymore."

Wait. Hmph, so that's how you pronounce his name, huh. Disturbing. And what does she mean to deserve to know?

"People don't deserve anything, mom." I start walking up the stairs. I have to infiltrate a magical fortress masquerading as a church tomorrow. Whatever interior my mom's helping design is not even a tertiary concern anymore. "Night, hope that movie was good."

There was a half-finished bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.

"That was Krista and your brother. She waited for you, you know, wanted to clear the air. But someone was so drunk they spilled communion wine all over themselves."

Oh.

"Hear her out, Nadine, she's always been good to you and for you."

Oh?

And I've always said —

"And I've always said, it was just a matter of time before she fell for your brother."

There we go. You've never actually said that though. You just think every girl will inevitably fall for my brother because who wouldn't. He's so perfect.

Normally, I'd get mad and storm off to my room because I know that perfection is all everyone sees in him with their imperfect vision.

Tonight, I smile. No, not to humor her.

Just. What a useless, mundane perfection.