Swordbearer

By Vega

Standard Disclaimers Apply

Chapter 16: "There Can Be Only One"

October 24th, 2006

An early cold snap hit southern Ontario like a fist in the gut.

It forced all of us, mortals and Immortals alike, to bury our noses in our scarves, sniffle like sickies, and jam our hands into our pockets.

It was the kind of weather that Immortals loved and hated with an equal passion.

Loved, because it meant a sort of seasonal reprieve from The Game. Challengers were discouraged in the face of biting winds – no one wanted to get hot and sweaty in combat, their jackets flapping open, knowing the cold was waiting to knife into you the moment you stopped.

Hated, 'cause it was damned freezing.

The bus ride up to the school left me shivering and chattering the next afternoon, and I was glad that the busses dropped us directly at the doors into the school. I headed straight for the coffee line, and gawkers be damned.

I'd begun to learn that resting a hand on my hilt and glaring stonily tended to make stare-ers realize that they suddenly had something better to do. It also shortened the line for Tim Horton's considerably, I realized.

Half of the students took one glance at me, went ghost white, and vanished.

Sweet as.

Smiling for the first time in days, I patiently waited my turn, whistling a Queen song about living forever. I sure as hell do, I thought. Yup – living forever sounded pretty darn good. It meant none of that messy decapitation stuff, which was large on the unpleasant.

And speaking of unpleasant...

What's-her-face from Phooey walked up and simpered at me, just over my shoulder. Melinda? Melerna? Marika? Marcie, Macie, Mandy, Mackie, Mina... bugger...

I turned to look at her. "What's your name again?"

She beamed, just because I was talking directly to her. Disgusting. "Miranda."

"Right, Miranda. What can I do you for, Miranda?" What can I do for you so you will go away and leave me alone and never speak to me ever again your pervy little weirdo?

She twisted her hands and sort of stepped on her own toes over and over again, clearly a sign of either nerves or insanity. I wasn't sure where my money would go down.

"Anytime now," I prompted, but softened my tone. I didn't need a reputation as a total bitch.

"Well, we sorta, I mean, the local chapter of FOI and me, we sorta wanted to say... sorry. You were right, it was a little ... invasive."

I nodded. "Great. Okay. Thanks. Have a good day." I turned away from her and paid attention to the line again. I was two people away from the cashier and watching the last chocolate covered donut carefully.

It would be mine.

"Um," she said, and I rolled my eyes.

I knew it had been too easy.

"Yes?" I turned to look at her again, arched an eyebrow, and slid one hand down to rest lightly on the pommel of my hilt, a subtle, silent warning. Not like I'd really un-sheathe on her ass, but it made my annoyance clear.

Or it would have if she hadn't been staring into my face like a harlequin heroine, thus missing the powerful gesture completely. Everyone else around us saw and took an abrupt step or five back.

"Um," she began again. "We... some guy came to talk to us."

I snorted. "Some guy? You'll have to be more specific. I know lots of 'some guys'."

"Small."

I frowned. Goddammit Garret. "And?"

Miranda ceased fidgeting and tried to meet my hot gaze steadily. It raised her about half a notch in my mind. For a full notch, she'd have to spit it out already.

"Well, he said that, um, we were supposed to tell you that they changed his living accommodations. He'd had to report the fight between the two of you, so they made him move and get a new phone and stuff."

"They?" the second eyebrow rose to match the first. "As in, the Peeping Toms Sickos?"

"The Watchers," Miranda corrected, clearly appalled by my nick-name for them. The rebuke was on her tongue, I saw it, but she swallowed it quickly. Clearly a case of hero-worship mixed with fear of me. I liked the latter well enough, but I couldn't quite figure her reasoning for the former. "And he told us to tell you that if you wanted to talk to him you can find me and do it that way."

I frowned at her, the dark annoyance, the fiery anger that had been present for the last three days flaring up. Yesterday evening's time with Adam and his desk had soothed the hurts into mildly glowing embers. Garret's name was like a bellows.

"And what," I hissed between clenched teeth, "makes him think that I want to speak to him?"

I jerked my gaze around the crowd, half expecting to see him in large dark sunglasses, blending in with the early-afternoon crowd. The anger made me hotter and I jerked at the scarf around my neck, the wool suddenly too warm and itchy. He wasn't there.

Miranda frowned and her spine straightened. I returned my attention to her, surprised that she could screw up her courage this much.

"You are an unbelievable bitch," she said. "I don't know why I ever thought you were cool."

With a dramatic flick of her hair, she stomped off down the hall in her ridiculously short skirt.

Cool? Ha.

I sighed loud and long, trying to expel my frustration with the sound. The woman behind the counter was staring at me with wide eyes, waiting silently for my order.

I was really really annoyed now, and there was only one thing that could make that annoyance go away. A coffee and a chocolate donut. Before I could open my mouth, I felt a buzzing headache and a tall thin body cut in front of mine.

"Too slow," Adam scolded teasingly. The mere sight of his manic smile was enough to erase the grey cloud that had settled over me with the arrival of Miranda the brain-cell reject. "I refuse to stand here and wait for you to make up your mind – one chocolate donut, please."

The lady behind the counter turned and took away my precious treat.

"No way!" I said, punching him in the arm. He winced, but I hadn't hit him that hard. "That was so mine! You saw me eyeing it!"

He stuck out his tongue at me and dropped the dollar into the woman's hand. I tried to grab it from his hands, and he took a skipping step backwards. I dashed out of line after him, determined to wrest my prize from him.

He went on his tiptoes and took a bite of the donut. I whined. "Gimmie."

He grinned and bent his head to steal a kiss. His lips tasted like chocolate icing. He took another skipping step backwards and had a second large bite.

"You bloody tease!" I pursued him, and he stepped back again.

"Mmuph," he said, doughy chocolate crumbs falling from the corner of his mouth.

We were in the middle of the hallway, now, students starting to crowd around us in a circle, interested in the game he was playing with me. With a sly grin, the last morsel of the chocolaty treat vanished into his mouth and he gave me a wide, closed-mouth grin as he chewed.

"That's it buster!" I cried with forced passion and drew my sword. His eyes grew wide and for a split second, I could see his real belief that I was about to Challenge him. Around us, the mortals shifted uneasily, murmurs sweeping the crowd. "There Can Be Only One ... chocolate donut eater!"

He puffed out a laugh, accompanied by a liberal spray of crumbs.

"Gah! Donut-waster!" I wailed. "Your head is mine, you heathen!"

I lunged, but I did it as such a ridiculously slow speed that I knew he'd have enough time to unsheathe his own sword and block. To the crowd around us, it may have seemed fast, but I was broadcasting my moves so clearly that Adam would have to be blind and dumb to miss defending himself.

He brought his Ivanhoe down lazily, creating a deliberate clanging sound with the flat of his blade. I let myself be pushed to the side, did a little twirl, and lunged for his gut. He skipped backwards again, laughing harder. I lunged, he jumped, I lunched, he jumped.

We were herding each other, and the crowd, down the wide hall and towards the double glass doors that led to the courtyard behind the gym. When we got there, he parried, spun on his heel, pushed open the door with his palm, and bowed to me, all chivalry.

I snorted and lunged, taking the wide opening though the door, and he sidestepped, letting the door go, only to twist and come back around at me in a move like a rapier flick. "Mixing styles?" I said, and he chuckled.

"As if you're not – I caught that bit of Kendo."

That earned him a swing at the head, which he skilfully ducked. Using the momentum of the motion, he swung out a leg and brought me neatly to my arse.

"Oof!" I said, landing on my seat on the cold paving stones. Neither of us were winded from the fight in the least, but Adam was still bent double, gasping for air, high on his cheeks rosy with exertion.

He bastard was laughing.

"You know, that one sort of hurt," I complained, if only to suppress my own chuckles.

He pressed the flat of his blade against my shoulder lightly. It was close enough to my neck to make his teasing meaning clear, but not near enough to be threatening. "I could get rid of the pain."

"Bet you could," I agreed and leaned over for another chocolaty kiss.

Wolf whistles and cheers erupted from the by-standers, and instead of letting me pull away, Adam pulled me closer, deciding to give them a show.

Wow.

When we came up for air, I tapped his nose lightly with a finger tip and said, "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say there was no way an eighty year old man could kiss like that."

"Oh?"

"Takes at least a century to be that good."

He smiled. "You've been practicing with centennials, then? Cradle-robber."

That earned another snort, and he helped me to my feet. I made a shooing motion to the crowd, sheathing my sword, and Adam followed suit. The message was clear enough – show's over.

After a universal reluctant pause, people began to disperse in all directions, and the enclosed area was a flurry of movement.

In three separate areas of the courtyard, the utter stillness of three separate people caught my attention.

By the glass double doors stood a man in his mid-thirties, dressed in a sombre yet natty grey suit. He was watching us both with narrowed eyes and an expressionless face. As I met his gaze, he turned on his heel and went back inside.

Behind the doors stood Garret, once more in jeans and a blazer. He didn't wear any spy-like dark sunglasses. His face was easier to read – in fact, it was loud and clear.

Hurt. Anger. And just in the corner of his eye – resignation.

Something sharp and hot twisted in my chest, and I forced myself to look away and at the third person. He was no longer still, a huge grin splitting his face and the camera swinging free around his neck.

Dammit.

Dart was coming towards us, pulling from his pocket a pen and a scrap of paper that looked like it had once been a paper air-plane made out of a course syllabus.

"Totally cool," he said. "Wanna finish that interview?"

"Not particularly," I said.

Adam elbowed me in the gut. "I was going to demand kinky sexual favours in return for not taking your head," he said, "But I want you to talk to Dart instead. Civilly," he added when he saw the stubborn pout I'd begun.

"Fine," I said.

Adam grabbed my shoulders and turned me to face him. "You're a very nice person, Abby," he said softly. "I really do enjoy the time we spend together. It's just this whole VWL is making you cranky. Talk to Dart, take a few deep breaths, and for goodness sake, stop turning into a pouting child every time you see Garret. He's your Watcher – he's not going anywhere anytime soon."

Before I could protest or snark back, Adam kissed me softly on the lips. Well, he certainly had learned how to shut me up. I felt his hand slip into my front pocket. I pulled away and frowned at him. He winked and walked away, sliding his sword into the sheath strapped across his back.

I reached into my pocket.

It was a Hershey's kiss.

Damn.

I was starting to think that Adam was going to be a keeper.