Girls Can't Be Knights: (Spirit Knights Book 1)

by Lee French

  In the upper corner of the side panel, he noticed a square black plastic piece and pushed on it. The magnet inside it released, letting him swing the panel open. He smiled, pleased he wouldn’t have to destroy anything. With luck, no one would even realize he’d taken the hat before he returned it.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” Justin had managed to get partway into the case and stretch his arm out to touch the hat before the voice interrupted him. It belonged to a gentleman in a suit with a patch identifying him as private security.

  “Nothing.” Justin snatched the hat and ducked away just in time to avoid the guard’s attempt to grab him. As expected, when the guard snatched at his cloak, the man’s fingers slid over it without finding any purchase. Running down the stairs, Justin heard the guard reporting a theft on his radio. Just what he needed.

  Tucking the hat under his cloak, he hurried out the side door and sprinted through the plaza beside the building, then vaulted over the low iron fence separating it from the wheelchair ramp. He hoped it would take the cops at least a few minutes to respond to a report of a weirdo taking an antique hat.

  Chapter 3

  Claire

  A strange noise made Claire look up through tears she hadn’t been able to prevent. She saw a white horse standing in the sunshine, light forming a halo around the mare and hooves glinting silver. The horse held a cat in its teeth and flung it away, then huffed and nodded her head at Claire, giving the bizarre impression she had done that to help. Swiping her arm across her eyes to dry them, Claire swore as she remembered she’d been wearing makeup. The long sleeve of her tie-dyed shirt, already streaked with blood from her scrapes, now had smears of black eyeliner and purple eye shadow across the white and blue pattern. Her face would be even worse.

  The horse danced in place and whickered at her, then lifted a leg and struck a majestic pose, her blue eyes rolling upward and back down at her. Drawn by the movement, she noticed the statue on the block of stone the horse stood in front of. Some guy on a horse had been set up there, and this real horse had taken the exact pose of the statue. She stared in disbelief for a second, then had to laugh at the absurdity.

  “Showboat,” chided a male voice behind her. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Claire turned to see the owner of the voice and had no idea what to make of him. The man, well built and muscular, jogged toward them in green-tinted chainmail with green steel pauldrons over jeans and work boots, an emerald-green cloak streaming out behind him, and a sword strapped to his waist. Her father had dressed like that sometimes—exactly like that. This guy might have known him, or might know his friends.

  In direct contrast with his tall, dark, and handsome knightly figure, he carried a pink, old-fashioned ladies’ hat with fake flowers and a wide brim. From the way he handled it, she guessed it must be important or expensive. Claire had no idea what to make of that, as the hat also didn’t look new. When she glanced behind him, the sign for the building he’d just come from read Oregon Historical Society.

  The man shook his head with a roll of his eyes for the horse, and beckoned the mare toward him. “Don’t be a pain, we need to get out of here. They didn’t exactly want me to have it.”

  Stamping a hoof, the horse snorted and nodded at Claire.

  Turning, the man peered at her, making her blush. He gave the horse a sidelong glance, and the mare nodded again, as if to say she wouldn’t cooperate unless he did something. With a shrug, the man smiled at Claire. “Hey. You look like you’re having a rough day, and are probably tired. Can we give you a lift someplace?”

  She opened her mouth to tell him to go away, but only managed to croak out an unintelligible noise. After coughing to clear her throat, she heard the wail of a police siren in the distance and gulped. “Um, sure.”

  He offered her a hand and pulled her to her feet. “I’m Justin.”

  “Claire.”

  “You ever ride a horse before, Claire?”

  Her attention shifted to the magnificent beast as he patted the mare on the neck. She gulped again. “Yes, but it’s been a while.”

  “I’ll climb up first. You put your foot on mine, give me your hand, and jump up. I’ll pull. You’ll sit in front of me. Okay?” His voice came out gentle and pleasant, and she wondered if he had any idea how much she missed having someone, anyone, talk to her like that. Everyone else who was “nice” to her did it out of pity, but she could tell Justin’s offer came from something else. Sympathy, maybe, or just a sense of decency. It made her eyes sting again.

  Nodding, she wiped her face and followed his instructions. His strength proved more than enough to get her into the saddle in front of him. Sitting on this strange man’s lap felt creepy, and even more so when he handed her the hat and put his arms around her to manage the horse’s reins. Somehow, though, he gave her the same sense of security and warmth that her father always had.

  “Hold onto her mane if you need to,” his voice rumbled in her ear. He turned as the sirens screamed closer, muttered, “Crap,” and snapped the reins.

  She clutched the hat to her chest and grabbed a handful of white horse hair as the beast lunged into action. The mare’s hooves clanged on the concrete and they dashed past a statue of Abraham Lincoln. Leaning back to look behind them earned her a nudge.

  “Move with us, not against us,” Justin warned, his mouth close to her ear. “Yes, there’s cops chasing us. It’s not a big deal.”

  Claire wanted to ask if he’d stolen the hat, but she already knew the answer. He seemed so nice, then he had to go and be a criminal. A thief and a truant rode a horse up Park Avenue—it sounded like the start to a bad joke. They turned and left the green strip behind, galloping up a city street. The horse dodged cars and pedestrians alike as it danced between asphalt and sidewalk. People stared and pointed. A few fumbled for their phones to take pictures or video.

  Several blocks later, the sirens had faded into the distance, unable to follow them through traffic. “Where do you live?” His voice startled her after he’d been silent for so long, obviously concentrating on their escape.

  “Oh, uh.” If she told him, he’d deposit her there. The cops would come and pick her up. She’d get an earful from Brad, her social worker, and then he’d spend the rest of the evening trying to persuade the foster parents at her current group home to give her a second chance. Either she’d spend the night in a holding cell because they had nowhere else to put her, or she’d go back there. Both choices sucked. “Nowhere.”

  “Nowhere? Really?”

  “Yeah. Really.”

  “Huh. Okay. Hm.” He hauled on the reins to get the horse to turn down a pedestrian walkway and they sped up. “I don’t believe in coincidences, so you can come home with me tonight.”

  She flushed, wondering if he’d tricked her with the fatherly demeanor. “Um, I…can’t, uh, pay you or anything.”

  Justin chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. If we ever let a lack of money stop us, we’d be dead already. Tariel, take us home.”

  The strange word confused her until she realized it must be the horse’s name. Her father’s horse had had a strange name too: Kupiri. This mare, though, looked nothing like his stallion. That huge brute had been chestnut-brown with shiny black hooves and eyes. Still, so many similarities made her ask, “Did you know Mark Terdan?”

  The horse’s ears flicked back.

  “Name sounds familiar, sure.”

  He’d said he didn’t believe in coincidences, and she had a feeling she shouldn’t, either. At the moment when she’d needed someone to come and rescue her, a knight appeared and did it. If her father were alive, he would have done the same thing. In fact, she could picture him bringing a stray teenager home for dinner and offering her a place to sleep.

  The horse taking a freeway on-ramp surprised her. They galloped up Interstate 205, staying in the breakdown lane on the right side. Tariel sped up enough that Claire screwed her eyes shut and cringed away from the wind. Justin curled an arm around he
r and held her close. Something cut the wind down, and she cracked an eye open to see he’d pulled his cloak around to cover her. It filled the small space with the scent of vanilla and something woody, like cedar. Looking down, she could see the road speed past, and she wondered how fast they were going. Justin hadn’t ducked under the cloak with her, and she wondered how he managed to avoid getting bugs in his eyes and mouth.

  The cloak flapped up, showing her they’d reached the I-205 bridge. Sunshine flashed on the water as they kept going. This ride felt ridiculous, magical, insane. Not two hours ago, she’d sat in the school cafeteria by herself, ignoring the stares from Brian, his buddies, and the pack of girls who fawned all over them. If they could see her now…they’d probably still find a way to be jerks.

  At least she didn’t have to go to school tomorrow. Maybe, if Justin and whoever he lived with were nice, she could talk them into letting her stay until Friday morning. A wild hope bloomed in her chest as she thought of being able to find a permanent home. No more group homes, no more three month stays with a couple or family who had no idea what to do with her, no more social workers. The shrink visits would probably continue, but they never bothered her much. Spending an hour talking and thinking about herself was fine.

  She watched the water give way to land, then water again, then back to land. Tariel took them off the freeway three exits into Vancouver, Washington, and Justin pulled the cloak off Claire. The last time she’d been here, her father had to stop for gas on the way home from a family visit to Mount St. Helens. It looked about the same as Portland, as far as she could see. They trotted down city streets, heading east. The horse seemed to know where to go, and Justin didn’t steer so much as hold on.

  They kept going and going. The city thinned into suburbs, then they turned down a street and saw nothing but trees and shrubs. Tariel sped up again, turning down another street. From there, they took an unpaved road that led to a faded red house squatting among the trees with an ancient white truck parked in front of it. Well-tended gravel paths led deeper into the property. Scalloped white trim and a tidy flower and herb garden created the impression of a welcoming, friendly farmhouse.

  When Tariel stopped next to the truck, Justin helped Claire climb off the horse, then hopped down beside her. “Welcome to the Brady Farm.”

  “It kinda reminds me of the place where I grew up,” Claire said with a wistful sigh.

  Justin smacked Tariel on the rump. “I’ll be out later,” he told the horse. Giving Claire a smile, he held out his hand. “Can I have the hat back?”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” She shoved it at him, and he took it. “What do you farm here?”

  “Me? Nothing.” He beckoned for her to follow him down the path to the left. “The in-laws keep goats and pigs and chickens, and they grow vegetables. If you go a short way from the house, you’ll run into an apple orchard, and there’s a cranberry bog and a blueberry thicket.” They passed through a clearing with an old, dead stump in the center and a lean-to against the wall of the farmhouse filled with neatly stacked firewood. An axe lay under it, and a few dozen logs still in need of splitting had been left in a pile.

  Beyond the clearing was a smaller house, this one painted green with bright white trim. It had its own garden, with orange flowers around the edge and most of the plants cut back. Claire guessed they’d been vegetables until a recent harvest. Justin led her to the door and wiped his boots on the mat before walking in without knocking.

  “Come on in,” he said, holding the door for her. She entered a small mud room and slipped her cheap old sneakers off while Justin unlaced his boots and left them behind. He hung his cloak on one hook and his sword belt on the next. The hat went on the same hook as the cloak. He opened the inner door for her. “I’m home,” he called through it. “I brought a guest.”

  They walked into a tiny kitchen made smaller by a round table with four chairs in the middle of it. Claire figured the scratched and dented white appliances must be older than her, and the decorating too. Peeling pale yellow wallpaper with a tiny, dingy white, heart pattern clashed with the brown and white linoleum and the white-speckled, golden-yellow countertop. When it had all been new, it had probably matched and created a pleasantly warm room.

  No wall divided the kitchen from the family room. The linoleum stopped and beige carpet began, the wallpaper stopped and wood paneling began. A sagging brown couch sat opposite a boxy TV resting on stacked metal milk crates whose open sides served double duty as bookshelves. Fuzzy pink blankets lay everywhere, along with pink and lavender dolls and stuffed animals. Two young girls erupted from the explosion of girly toys, both in homemade, satiny princess dresses, and ran to Justin.

  Claire noticed pictures on the walls of these two girls and of the beautiful woman who walked in through the door leading deeper into the house. The family portrait, with Justin sitting and holding his daughters close while his wife hugged his shoulders from behind, struck her heart. She remembered a similar picture on her family’s wall, a photo she no longer had. The sight of it made her rub a thumb over her locket.

  Justin picked up both girls, one in each arm. “This is Claire. Tariel found her, and she needs a place to stay tonight. Claire, this is Missy.” He nodded to the toddler with white-blonde curly hair. “And Lisa.” The older girl also had blonde hair, in waves instead of curls. “And this is Marie, my wife.” Like Justin, Marie didn’t seem old enough to have two kids, a house, and responsibilities. At most, Justin couldn’t be older than twenty-five, and his wife had to be younger than that.

  “Goodness.” Her face drawn with concern, Marie went to Claire and put an arm around her shoulders. Wisps of platinum-blonde hair that had escaped from her ponytail brushed against Claire’s cheek. “Had a rough day, it looks like. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  Marie’s concern made everything hurt again. Claire’s leg throbbed, her hands stung, and her eyes ached. She nodded and let Marie escort her to a bathroom in the back. After pulling out some towels, bandages, and ointment, Marie left her alone in the tiny room. She shut the door, leaving Claire staring at herself in the mirror. The smeared makeup and blood made her look like a strung-out tramp. Panic warred with hope in her mind and both tangled with confusion. How did today turn into this? What would tomorrow be like? She had no idea.

  It would take an awful lot of soap to wash all this away.

  Chapter 4

  Justin

  “Daddy, will you play?” Missy leaned against his shoulder.

  Lisa wriggled to get down. “We’re having a tea party.”

  Justin crouched and set Lisa’s feet on the floor. Two years ago, when Lisa turned three and Missy joined the family, he resigned himself to tea parties, unicorns, princesses, and pink. Any other day, he’d accept the invitation and enjoy the time with his daughters. “Sorry, I can’t right now.” Pulling Missy away from him required firm conviction and not looking at her big eyes and skilled pout. “I have to go see Kurt, and then I have to change out of my armor.”

  Missy sniffled, signaling the start of a bout of fake crying that he didn’t have time to deal with right now. “Daddy, play,” she whined.

  Fixing his attention on Lisa as he pried the toddler from his side, he sighed. “Can I count on you both to help me out with something important?”

  Missy stopped pouting and set her feet on the floor, gazing at him with interest and adoration. Lisa perked up and gave him her attention too.

  He smiled at them both. “Claire is sad right now because some bad things happened to her this morning. If she comes out before I’m back, can you see what you can do to cheer her up a little?”

  “Yes, Daddy.” Both girls gave him solemn nods.

  “I knew I could count on you.” He pulled a glove off and tousled Missy’s hair. Marie had returned to working on dinner and he went to her side. Leaning in to kiss her cheek, he told her, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Marie nodded. “Who is she?”

  “A kid I
found in Portland who needed help. She can sleep on the couch tonight.”

  “Jay,” Marie said with a frown in her voice, “you can’t just pick up stray teenagers and bring them home. She’s not a puppy.”

  “Tariel found her. I can’t explain why, but I feel like I have a connection to her somehow.”

  She took her attention away from the bowl she’d been whisking and gave him a mild look of concern and suspicion. “Oh. Really.”

  He snorted, then kissed her ear and brushed it with his nose. “Not like that. More like kinship: a sister or a daughter. Besides, she’s maybe fifteen, and I’ve already got plenty of woman right here.” He rubbed her butt and brushed his thigh against hers.

  “Mmhmm.” She turned and kissed his nose. “Make sure you remember that, Sir Knight.”

  “Yes, My Lady.”

  She nudged him away with her hip. “Go on, Kurt is waiting.”

  He pushed his leg against her, unwilling to leave yet. Holding her cheek, he kissed her. She deserved to be kissed, often and with interest. He offered it as a small token of his appreciation whenever he could. Besides, Kurt could wait and so could the rest of the world.

  Marie broke it off before he wanted her to and smiled at him. “You’re forgiven. Get moving. Dinner will be ready in half an hour.”

  He brushed his thumb down her cheek and grinned, pleased to have put that sparkle in her eyes. After slipping on rubber boots in the mud room, he grabbed the hat and jogged up the gravel path, then through the wood chopping clearing. Instead of heading to the farmhouse, he plunged into the trees. Stupid bad luck made him need a quiet, forested spot to go see Kurt. He hopped over bulging roots and skirted shallow mud pits with practiced ease.

  Five minutes of jogging later, he stopped beside an old sycamore with a tattered yellow ribbon hanging from the lowest branch. The place had proven perfect every time, and he’d tied that ribbon five years ago himself. Back then, he’d wandered for hours to reach a spot that worked for him. Now, he’d been here so many times he could find it blindfolded.