Warrior of the Ages (Warriors of the Ages) (6 page)

“SEEMS TO ME you’d be glad they did your yard work for free.”

“Maybe I should,” Beth griped, “but I’m not. They trimmed the flowers off the bushes, and why would they do yard work at night anyway, and why would they ignore me when I knock on their door? I know they were in there.”

“I don’t get you. They’re probably at work or afraid to open the door the way you were banging.” Brenda opened a bottle of lotion. “Wow, this is nice. Where on earth do you get all this stuff? More important, who do you think is going to buy any of it?”

“The restaurant next door would be interested in a lot of things I have, if they would stop ignoring me. It’s rude.”

Brenda plunked the bottle back on the shelf. “Oh my gosh, would you stop? You should open this shop downtown or in Beechwood, it’s too upscale for Willowyth anyway.” Meandering towards shelves stacked with tiny paper boxes, she started to open and sniff the contents.

“It will all work out.” Beth said with confidence. She felt that truth deep in her heart even while she had absolutely no idea how on heaven or earth that was ever going to happen.

Brenda turned to grin at her, her hair looked terrific thanks to the box she’d taken home the day before. “Kind of like, ‘If you build it, they will come’? Good luck with that.” She dropped the box she’d been examining. “Oh gross! What is this stuff?” Turning from the shelves, she covered her mouth with a hand, gagging.

Laughing, Beth hopped up and rescued the discarded box, folding the wax lining closed and putting it back on the shelf. “I know, and if I told you about this tea you’d think I was nuts.”

“I already think that,” Brenda mumbled through her hand.

The comment hurt slightly, especially since Beth knew Brenda wasn’t kidding.

“Nobody would put that near their mouth, Beth. I work in a coffee shop so you can trust me on that.”

Squaring her shoulders, Beth insisted, “It’s one of those things only guys can appreciate. Like hunting or NASCAR.”

“I love NASCAR,” Brenda stated firmly, but Beth looked into those pretty brown eyes and knew it wasn’t true.

Brenda looked away, focusing on unpacking a crate of honey and stacking it neatly on a shelf. They were quiet for a few moments. Beth walked around the big room and tried to force the windows open a bit wider, inviting air and daylight in and biting her tongue over Brenda’s tiny white lie. She couldn’t help but wonder why people lied so casually and without cause.

Behind her, Brenda snapped out angrily. “My ex loved NASCAR and I still watch it!”

Beth turned to face her. “What’s wrong, Brenda?”

The woman rubbed her forearm and for the first time Beth noticed she had a man’s name tattooed on it, a small homemade tattoo, done in ink as though she’d been branded.

“He’s back in the area, my ex, shacked up with some nineteen year old right outside town.”

“Tell the police, you said yourself they’re vigilant. They’ll care if there’s someone in town who might cause trouble.”

Brenda straightened her shoulders and flipped her hair back. “Right. If I sent the cops after him—ha! You wouldn’t understand. Heck, I wish I didn’t. Just stay out of it because you have no idea what you’re talking about. People like you have it so easy! Wish I’d had a rich, cushy life like yours—no worries, cool cars….”

“You know nothing about my life.”

“I know that your big problem today is that someone landscaped your yard without your permission.”

THE DEPARTMENT OF Public Safety didn’t look much different than the Department of Motor Vehicles, except there wasn’t the long line of people with varying degrees of frustration and despair written on their faces. This room was empty but for the woman behind the counter. She sat in a cubicle decorated with hundreds of blank forms taped all over the walls, and Beth stood in front of the counter, trying her very best to feign respect in a land where paperwork reigned.

“I brought you a jar of honey from my shop, thought you might like to sample something from the place that you’re—assisting—in getting all the paperwork straight for.” She could hardly say that the woman had helped, in fact the bored, non-descript woman with the hostile expression had been anything but helpful.

“I’m diabetic.” The woman stared Beth down as though she would accept nothing short of a cure from her.

“You’re not diabetic.” The statement slipped out, as they so often did. A drop of truth in your face, take that, liar.
Why would anyone lie about such a thing?

“Excuse me?” Eyes narrowed and Beth knew she was in trouble. That didn’t matter though, because here it came. Why had she expected anything to be different in Willowyth? How could anyplace be different once she got there?

“You’re not diabetic. Why would you even say that? It’s not a pleasant thing to have! All you have to say is you don’t want it, you don’t have to lie!”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

Uh oh
, Beth bit her lip, but the woman had asked. “Yes, I am, only because you’re lying though!”
Smooth and I’m sure that permit application will be tossed before you walk out the door.

“Excuse me, Miss? Is everything okay in here?” A ginger haired man in a spectacular suit touched her arm politely, pale blue eyes glancing towards the woman behind the counter. “Big wheels move slow, eh, Marge?”

“I just work here, you know! I don’t make the laws!” The woman behind the counter glared at both of them, Beth felt a stab of regret when she saw the woman’s chin quiver. Why couldn’t she learn to control her big fat mouth? Why did she have to provoke the woman even if she was a liar?

“I’m sorry!” Beth apologized, pity stabbing her heart. She had hurt the woman.

“You should be!” The woman lashed out. “You don’t come around here calling me a liar! Who do you think you are? I don’t take bribes and I do so have diabetes. You’re not a doctor!”

Beth was thankful when the gentleman in the suit tugged her out the door of the office, and closed it firmly. It didn’t stop the words from whipping out of her mouth though, and she shouted them, angrily. “It doesn’t take a doctor to spot a liar!”

“Whoa, been at it with Marge for awhile? Trying to get a permit around here can be frustrating for even the most patient of us.” The man’s disapproving expression made it clear he did not see Beth as the most patient.

Covering her mouth with a hand, she took a deep breath.
Let it go, just let it go!

“I’m sorry, that was rude. I’m Beth White.” She peered down at the man, inescapable given her height and heels. Professional and smooth, he wore his hair wavy, and an elegant silk tie peeked from beneath his jacket, in a shade of green that only redheads could get away with.

“Sherman Kelts.” Shaking her hand, he smiled a perfected smile. “You’re new in town.”

“Yes. I’m opening a shop off of Main Street.”

Pale eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Really? What kind of a shop?”

Beth displayed the jar of honey still clutched in her hands. “It will be like an old fashioned general store with only natural products.”

“I see.” By his tone, Beth decided that Sherman Kelts did not see. “And you don’t even have electricity yet?”

She looked at him in surprise, wondering how he knew that, and he grinned, displaying very white caps.

“I’m a lawyer, Miss White. I can recognize every permit application the state has from across a room. I can help you get that permit. By law they can’t deny you a basic permit like that. As a matter of fact, you can go right ahead and get started on the work. There isn’t much they can do about it.”

THE WEIGHT OF his mesh tunic hung familiar and soothing against his torso. Chainmail was new since Golgotha. New was good. It helped Kahtar focus on now. Passing through the edges of the misty veil, an unnatural cold wind kicked up. It felt good after the humidity of the day. Air rocketed over him at the entrance to the Arc, and the flesh of his face pressed into his skull, moving back towards his ears as he forced his way forward. It felt as though the wind and clean air passed through every molecule of his being before the Arc opened and allowed his entrance. Only members of his clan, Cultuelle Khristos, could enter their Arc. Even Covenant Keepers from other clans could not penetrate. Such was the nature of an Arc.

Inside, paths forked in several directions. Kahtar took the well-worn one leading to the cave. The sky spread cerulean blue, and there was no hint of humidity, fields of tiny purple and white wildflowers yawned and bent in the gentle breeze. Only the hum of insects and his footsteps followed. Trees far taller and thicker than any left in the Northeast spread blossoming branches towards the sun. If his veil was clean, the Arc was pristine, a bit of heaven on earth. The hearts of his clan thrived within the Arc and the faint touch of them seemed to hover on the air. It soothed, and if he were any other man Kahtar would never want to leave.

Kahtar turned slightly sideways at the narrow cave entrance. The chinking sound of his chain tunic jingled as he maneuvered broad shoulders effortlessly through twists and turns, descending through the passageway into the depths of the main cavern. The familiar earthy clean smells of guano and burning oil filled his nostrils.

The Mother and Elders of Cultuelle Khristos waited for him in a side chamber, lit with the shimmering light of Old Guard and the faint flicker of candles. The Elders sat on a long, curving wooden bench perched upon a stone plinth. A chubby little Elder, Abigail Adit, sat on the very end, her sausage-like legs encased in stockings, and her orthopedic shoes barely touching the ground. Her sharp eyes took him in with a faint hint of impatience. The Mother, leader of Cultuelle Khristos, rose graceful as a dancer to glide to his side and demand the traditional kiss.

It was time to discuss clan security and Kahtar had absolutely nothing to tell them about how Honor Monroe had been shot, and on top of that he was late. Sometimes being Warrior Chief didn’t feel so much different than being Police Chief. Kahtar pulled away from The Mother’s kiss a bit sooner than was polite.

“Everyone who isn’t warrior should retreat to the Arc.”

At his announcement a wall of protests echoed through the cavern, Abigail’s loudest of all, drowning out everyone else’s words.

“Warrior Chief? If you had your way, none of us would ever step foot outside the Arc. You are blind to the purpose of Cultuelle Khristos.”

“Abigail.” The Mother reprimanded gently. “He is doing his job.”