My Familiar Stranger (13 page)

Still, he wanted to focus on his good fortune because his natural optimism wouldn’t allow those details to be more than minor obstacles. He loved the fact that she was close to the same height, most beneficial for slow dancing and other romantic activities that thrive on the alignment of bodies. She was long legged, but curvy with a graceful, rolling gate that made his teeth clench with aching. He loved her contradictions. She was smart, polished, and charming, but had an appetite like a starving rugby player.

He smiled to himself remembering the way she moaned over chocolate and coveted Storm’s cake. He smiled even bigger when he relived her reaction to seeing his ear. He had barely suppressed a full on shudder when her fingers had feather brushed up his ear and touched the tip. If his pants weren’t holding his cock down, it would have popped up at full attention. It made him wonder how his body would respond when she touched other places.

“What’s so funny?” Kay asked as they walked toward the lounge.

Thinking quick on his feet Ram said, “Just thinkin’ about how much cake she ate. I’ve never seen a body enjoy food so much.”

Kay just said, “Um hum.”

Storm didn’t like the idea of Ram walking along thinking about what Elora said and did. He was starting to think that maybe bringing her to dinner had been a bad idea.

***

BLACK SWAN FIELD TRAINING MANUAL Section I: Chapter 13, #31

Vampire are difficult to recognize as such on sight. The vampire’s coloring remains the same as it was at the time of inception if it has recently fed. If not, it will be pale by comparison to most people. That is the main reason for the myth of walking dead. The only physical characteristic that is permanently altered is the color of the iris which suffers loss of pigment. The extremely pale eyes are striking in appearance and, unfortunately, that serves to add to their allure. This feature cannot be relied upon as the only indicator as humans are occasionally born with similar coloring.

Elora didn’t sleep much. The pleasure of privacy was too sweet. Knowing that she was not on view, like an animal in a zoo, restored some dignity and gave her a more hopeful outlook about adjusting to this strange reality.

Putting her things away didn’t take very long. The Operations Office had been thoughtful enough to provide bottled water, clean sheets and towels, fresh fruit and a few high protein snack bars. By far the most touching thing was a vase of calla lilies with a card reading, “Welcome Home, Thelonius C. Monq.”

She knew that Thelonius M. Monq had taken a very big risk, no matter how well calculated, by sending her through an untested, purely theoretical device, but, if it was a choice between that and certain death… The invaders were clearly determined to wipe out the Laiwynn Clan. She supposed that he did know what he was doing. If she had come through the portal anywhere but Jefferson Unit she probably wouldn’t have survived or wouldn’t have wanted to. Her heart softened toward Monq a little, especially since she supposed he must be dead.

She found the thermostat that controlled the temperature in the unit, turned it up a little, crawled between the sheets, and turned out the light. Lying awake in the darkness she played over and over in her head the incredible evidence that elves are real. Fairies, too, for that matter. She told herself to remember to ask Storm about fairies; if they’re small, with gossamer wings. Again she thought it was odd that she received the great vampire revelation without missing a beat, but couldn’t get over the real life presence of elves. Of course, the elves of fairy tales were not six feet tall, but everybody was smaller back then.

Thoughts were a jumble in her head: multiple layers of similar, if not parallel dimensions, elves, fairies, modern day knights who protect the weak from their own blissful ignorance of things that go bump in the night. When she found herself unable to settle her thoughts and sleep, she turned the bedside lamp back on, located the Black Swan Field Training Manual, got back under the covers and started to read.

She woke to a knock on the door. She hadn’t thought to set an alarm because she didn’t think it would be possible to sleep later than seven. A quick look at the clock had her scrambling out of bed. She was decent in her yoga pants and cami and gods knew Storm had seen her that way many times, and worse. Much worse. So. No point in being shy.

The door flew open. Elora pulled him in and told him to make himself comfortable, that she’d just be a minute, then left him looking amused while she performed obligatory bathroom functions, splashed water in her eyes, scrubbed with the tooth brush, and untangled with the hair brush. She threw the mass of heavy hair up in a high ponytail, jumped into a pair of chocolate brown, velvet leggings and donned a soft knit top.

She opened the bedroom door and said, “Ta daaaaa.” She saw that on the TV show, “Dear Diana”, and hoped it meant “ready to go”.

He smiled, opening the door for her. “Late night?”

“How did you know?”

“Psychic.”

“Sorry to make you wait. It was exciting being out of the infirmary. I couldn’t sleep and was up late reading.” She squeezed past him while he held the door. “This is a big day for me. I’ve been wondering about the world outside my glass front box.”

When she said the word ‘box’, it made him wince a little. Of course he’d feel the same way in her place. That’s why it had eaten at him when she had asked if he thought confinement was harm.

“Have you ever given a tour before?”

“Nope. First time, but I do accept tips.” Then he added. “Of the monetary sort.”

It might have been funny if she understood the reference, but, he knew that questioning look on her face, so he said it with her, “What’s a tip?”

Knowing it was meant in a good natured way, she laughed with him.

On the rest of the walk down the hall past apartment doors, down the elevator, out into the busy junction, he explained the fine art of tipping: who gets one, when, for what service, how much, and how it should be given. She thought it was way too complicated.

He stopped to point out various places where services are available before they came to the coffee shop. The chalk board menu displayed some nice choices of hot drinks and the glass shelves showcased some giant, yummy-looking muffins. She asked for a large hot chocolate, a double chocolate muffin with chocolate chips, and a cup of mixed fresh fruit.

Storm laughed and asked if she wouldn’t like some Hershey’s syrup on the fruit cup.

They found a table for two in the solarium which, she was sure, would be her favorite indoor space. Storm had ordered a coffee called Americana and a thing that looked like unleavened bread stuffed with bacon and overcooked eggs. It was kind of disgusting, but she was willing to overlook a lot where Storm was concerned.

After all - suddenly she heard in her head an audio flashback of Storm’s voice speaking softly, saying, “It’s gonna be okay. We’re almost there. Almost there.” He had carried her to the infirmary in time to save her life, all the way urging her toward hope and survival. He alone made the decision to rescue her despite dissenting voices saying things like “don’t touch it” and “kill it”. With that inexplicable torrent of memories, she felt a wave of appreciation, affection, and admiration wash over her.

“What’s in that disgusting looking thing you’re about to put in your mouth?”

He chuckled and explained about breakfast burritos while chewing and insisting she take a bite. She agreed, but only on condition that she could keep her eyes closed while doing so. Her conclusion was that she wouldn’t be ordering one anytime soon. She said she was old enough to know that everything can’t be chocolate, but fortunately those aren’t the only two choices.

It would be hard not to notice that passersby did a double take when they saw Elora. Celebrity was the last thing she wanted. It was anathema to her, the very reason why she’d lived the equivalent of captivity her entire life, mostly restricted to palace grounds.

“How long do you think it will take for people to get used to me?” she asked.

Storm looked around. He’d been so focused on every nuance of Elora’s mood, every slight change of expression, that he hadn’t realized she was drawing unwanted attention and feeling self-conscious.

“Oh. Yeah. I guess you’re the new kid in town. People get used to change really fast around here. I’d give it twenty-four hours which means you’re more than half way to being part of the scenery.”

“You can’t imagine how good that sounds. So, now, I think I’m ready to hear about what happened to Lan. If you’re ready to talk about it.”

Storm sat back and looked out the window for a minute. She was just about to withdraw the question when he turned back to her.

“We’ve been hunting a big nest of vampire, practically a community. They’ve been doing stuff that’s out of character for vamps. Drugging women in bars and clubs with, ah, aphrodisiacs. Do you know what that is?” Elora nodded slowly without taking her eyes away from his. “I guess it makes it even easier to get women to leave with them quickly. No need to waste time with drinks and ploys.”

He looked up at Elora to see if she found the subject objectionable, but she was looking at him steadily, with interest. “Anyway, the short version is we came across a group of them. There was a difference of opinion about who lives and dies. We took a lot of them out. They killed Lan.”

Looking down, he rotated his coffee cup a couple of turns. “One of the alarming things about this is that young vampire, under a hundred-years-old or so, are too blood crazed for sophisticated operations like planning strategy. So there’s organization involved. And that is very unnerving.” He looked up at Elora. “The one of us hardest hit, although he doesn’t let it show, is Rammel because Lan was his partner.

And, I wouldn’t like for anyone else to know I said this, but a lot of people think of B Team as being…,” he paused looking like he wasn’t sure he should continue, “...elite or some such nonsense. There’s a concern that it affects morale more than usual if one of us...”

Looking at this man who had spent so many hours selflessly trying to give comfort, she wished there was some way to repay that in kind. “I’m sorry.”

“Enough of that.” He pushed out his chair, got to his feet. “Tour bus is leaving.”

Storm spent the next couple of hours showing Elora the sights.

The unit was housed in a facility built after the model of the Pentagon, not in the sense of seven sides, but in the sense that the hexagon-shaped building surrounded and enclosed a large open area. In that opening, called a “courtpark” by residents and staff, were tall trees, garden walks with fountains, and picnic facilities. In the center was a rugby field with a track around it. There were no windows breaking up the plain, tan perimeter of the 1950’s style building. All windows, with the exception of the Chamber dome, faced the interior park.

The ground level featured a large circular foyer called the hub, a glass solarium, the main meeting room known as the Chamber, the infirmary, library, mail room, dining hall, a small grocery, a coffee bar, billiards room, and a country club style lounge with an oversized oak bar, card tables and plush seating set in small conversational groupings.

The media center, server rooms, offices, workout facilities, training simulators, firing ranges, classrooms, and laboratories were on lower levels. Apartments for the seventy four personnel and trainees who lived and worked at the facility were on the higher floors. There were also two whister pads on the roof.

The building was home to twenty four knights, twenty four trainees, medical staff, teachers, administrators, clerical personnel, cooks, engineers, whister pilots, and maintenance crew.

Original funding for the organization had been generous, but two and a half centuries of well-invested funds had rendered a treasury that would be the envy of most small nations. Black Swan knights might live with their mortality hanging by a thread, but no luxury was spared their off duty hours.

She had seen part, but not all of Monq’s facilities. The biggest surprise was finding the boys in classrooms and tutelage, the fourteen to twenty-two-year-olds who fit the physical and psychological profile and may someday develop into the sort of exceptional person who expresses the traits of Black Swan knights. The boys looked at Elora with great interest, which was to be expected. Storm would have been worried about them if they didn’t.

They stopped by the mail room so Storm could introduce their very own postmaster. “I know Henry is going to be one of your favorites because he’s the one who makes sure all those packages find their way to you.”

The tour would have been delightful as well as educational were it not for a brief stop near the Black Swan mascot, a one-hundred-twenty-pound, black, Alsatian male, who had been relegated to a lonely life in a basement kennel. When Storm and Elora came within a few yards of the cage, the dog began snarling and charging the chain link. Storm said he was ruined, not trainable. They didn’t want to euthanize him because he was young and healthy, but he was too dangerous to let out. So they did nothing except feed him and hose out his kennel. Elora kept her opinion to herself, but was revolted by the untenable solution.

Courtpark entrances and exits were of particular interest because she had spent months longing to be outside. After stopping at the grocery to gather up supplies for her pantry and refrigerator, they returned to Elora’s temporary quarters.