Knights of Black Swan, Books 7-9 (Knights of Black Swan Box Set Book 3)

by Victoria Danann

  When they returned to the kitchen to make dinner, it felt as though an exorcism had been done on the house, clearing away ghostly vibrations of unhappy memories. Farnsworth insisted that they do the cooking together. They were making pasta primavera. He was responsible for the primavera and Alfredo sauce, which he finished before her part of the meal, the pasta, was ready.

  She turned from the boiling pot on the stove, waving a long wooden spoon, and asked Rev to open a bottle of wine.

  “Sure,” he smiled. He picked out a bottle of Red Guitar, then walked straight to the trick drawer, kicked the baseboard underneath the bottom cabinet and pulled at the same time.

  Her mind raced through every conceivable explanation while her knees threatened to give out from under her. Somehow she managed to stay upright. It couldn’t be. But it had to be. She couldn’t dismiss the possibility out of hand. After all, she worked for an organization where impossible things were as routine as requisitioning printer paper.

  While he was facing the counter opening the wine, she came up behind him.

  “So,” she said in the lightest tone she could manage, “the realtor doesn’t come until tomorrow afternoon.” He glanced back over his shoulder, but didn’t turn around. “So I was thinking we might rent a dune buggy tomorrow morning.”

  He wheeled on her with wild eyes, his face instantly drained of color and wearing panic like a mask. He grabbed her shoulders and tried to say the word “no” forcefully, but his throat had closed up and he could barely get out a sound that was somewhere between a whisper and a growl.

  When he realized how much he’d appeared to overreact, he relaxed his grip on her shoulders. Seeing the expression on her face he knew instantly that it had been a trick. A good one. He released her, dropping his hands and stood up straight.

  He clutched his arms around his body as if that would prevent the Powers That Be taking it from him. When a minute had gone by and he was still standing in the beach house kitchen, he started to breathe easier. He had promised that he wouldn’t tell anyone, but he hadn’t guaranteed that no one would guess.

  Beginning to relax, he asked, “How?”

  “How did I know?” He nodded slowly. “There’s a trick to opening the drawer with the bottle opener.” His eyes slid to that drawer and he glared at it like it was a traitor. “But if somebody in this room is going to ask a question that begins with ‘how’, by all rights it ought to be me.”

  “I can’t tell you anything besides the fact that I’m glad you figured it out. If I could have told you more, I would have. Don’t you know I wanted to?” He ran his hand over the top of his head and looked around nervously like he was still expecting lightning to strike. “You have to be the smartest woman alive.”

  At the same time Rev was beginning to hope that he might have a real second chance at life, it hit Farnsworth that her suspicions were confirmed.

  It was real.

  He was real.

  Sol in a younger, different body.

  When the reality hit her, it was all at once. She convulsed, sucking in a gasp as she grabbed for him, exhaling a deluge of tears intermingled with sobs.

  “I… missed you. So much.” He cradled her head to his chest with one big hand and let her cry while he scattered kisses over the top of her hair. “Do you know how hard it is to lose the person you…?”

  “Love?” He pulled back. “The person you love? You do still love me, right?”

  She nodded, wondering why she didn’t feel traumatized by shock. Her best explanation was that some part of her had recognized him and had been processing it on a subconscious level all along.

  “The answer is yeah. I know how I felt when I thought I might not see you again. So, yes. I know. I can’t tell you much, but I will tell you that I had to fight my way back here. Part of it was because my job wasn’t finished, but a big part of it was because of you.” He ran his thumbs across her tearstained cheeks.

  The pasta chose that moment to bubble over making a mess of starchy water all over the stove and floor. The cleanup took an hour and the food was inedible, but neither one cared. They were just happy to be with each other.

  She was finishing up when Rev returned to the kitchen. He held out two fists. “Which one?”

  She smiled indulgently and tapped his left hand.

  He shook his head and opened an empty fist. “Nope. Try again.”

  She tapped his right hand. He held out the engagement ring he’d bought her. “You want to go out for food? Or get married? Or get supper and get married?”

  She laughed and nodded. “Yes. Both.”

  “You know you’re never going to be able to tell anybody. That it’s me.”

  “Okay. I can keep a secret, but you know I’m not the only one who knows you pretty well. I’d be surprised if at least one other person isn’t suspicious.”

  After a short pause, his jaw clenched and he simply said, “Storm.” Then he looked away and sighed. “I guess I haven’t taken steps to disguise Sol very well.” He ran a hand over his head. “Maybe deep down I really wanted to be found out.”

  He gave her a devilishly intimate smile and stepped into her, pressing her body into his and brazenly cupping her breast with his palm. “I know I like having you know. A lot.”

  They drove to the beachside roadhouse that was twenty minutes up the highway. Farnsworth said she’d never been, but thought they stayed open late.

  The parking lot was crowded for ten o’clock at night. It was the kind of joint that promised a good time, but not necessarily good food. The crowd was mostly twenties and thirties. Lots of people with tans on their faces from windsurfing even in winter. The bar area occupied the middle of the space with pool tables on one side and eating tables on the other.

  The minute they walked in Farnsworth noticed that every female of every age stopped what they were doing and turned to look at Rev Farthing. She knew the new body was good-looking, but hadn’t thoroughly digested the idea of drop dead beautiful until that moment. She was also self-consciously aware of the age difference. Acutely so.

  A blond wearing a half apron, a black fanny pack, and a Harley tank top that revealed way too much bounteous bosom sauntered up to them, smiling at Rev. Without ever once making eye contact with Farnsworth, she said, “Seat yourself, gorgeous.” She noticed that even the wording ignored her. ‘Seat yourself’ instead of seat yourselves.

  Rev smiled at her and nodded as he put his hand on the small of Farnsworth’s back to guide her toward the “dining room”.

  It had taken him less time than he would have imagined, prior to finding himself occupying a new body, to get used to having women throw themselves at him. He saw it as harmless, ego-boosting fun. No more. No less.

  After a few minutes Ms. Overboobed arrived with two menus and two glasses of water. Again, she managed to leave the menus and the water without making eye contact with Farnsworth. When she left, Rev said, “What looks good to you?”

  “I’m so hungry I almost don’t care how much grease is in it or how many times the same grease has been used to fry other people’s food.”

  He laughed. “Well I could go the health route and try to take care of this body, but I’m thinking I’ll go with the other option which is to do whatever the hel I want. You should take care of yourself though.”

  She was just about to ask what he meant by that when the slut slinked back over to their table. Her approach to order taking was the height of informality. She bent over and rested her elbows on the table, which revealed what very little had been left to imagination.

  From that pose she tried her very best I’m-interested smile on Rev. “So what are you having, sugar?”

  “Half pound burger medium with bacon, shitake mushrooms, hickory sauce, yellow mustard. Three onion rings on the burger and heat the bun. Put some fries on the side of that with a ketchup bottle that hasn’t been opened. And I’ll take a long neck Lone Star.”

  She grinned. “I like a man who knows what he
wants. And what about your…?”

  She pointed at Farnsworth with her pencil and glanced her way for the first time.

  “My fiancée,” he beamed at Farnsworth, finishing Boobs’ sentence for her.

  Farnsworth smiled and wiggled her ring finger in the air.

  Boobs’ face fell and she flushed, flummoxed. “Oh, I wouldn’t have… What’s your order, ma’am?”

  “Anything without arsenic.” Boobs looked confused. “Bring me the small version of his burger, medium well, without the bacon and onion rings, with lettuce and tomato. I’ll have a coconut rum with 7 Up now.”

  When they were alone again Rev said, “That’s new. I didn’t know you like coconut rum.”

  “It helped me sleep through a few hard nights after…”

  He decided to change the subject. “What was that about arsenic?”

  “At least half the female population of this establishment wouldn’t shed a tear if I ended dinner with my feet straight up in the air like an exterminated cockroach.”

  Rev looked sincerely lost. “No clue.”

  “You can’t be oblivious to the way Boobie is coming on to you.”

  His gaze jerked toward the bar and then slid back to Farnsworth slowly as a snide smile formed on his perfect mouth. “You’re jealous of the waitress? Seriously?”

  “You need to get with the twenty-first century, old man. They’re called wait staff now. Not waitresses.”

  “Wait staff. Bimbo. Whatever. I can’t control other people’s minds or their clothing choices or the fact that they choose to run up credit card bills getting grotesque implants, but you’ve got to know you’re the only one for me. Now and forever.”

  She gave him her best heartwarming smile. “Now that I know who I’m with, I do know that. That’s why I didn’t trip her when she walked away.”

  They laughed and talked, made fun of the juke box music, stuffed themselves with America’s favorite toxins, and loved every second of it. When it was time to leave, Farnsworth insisted on paying the check. Rev protested, but she was adamant. So he gave in.

  With the pen provided she wrote a note on the back. It read, I’m famous for giving great tips, but not tonight. – The Gorgeous Sugar’s Woman

  She didn’t trip the waitperson, but by all that was holy, she didn’t tip her either.

  CHAPTER 13

  Glen was standing in front of his dresser not wearing a stitch, vigorously rubbing excess moisture out of his hair with a towel, when his phone buzzed. He looked over at the face, read the first part of the text, and cursed under his breath.

  Z Team was called to the Sovereign’s office. Since he was officially a part of Z Team, he assumed that included him. It also presented the potential of a timing catastrophe. He was supposed to be in Sov. Farthing’s office in forty-five minutes. The problem was that he was also supposed to be picked up in an hour by the half witch, half demon who he hoped would someday be his mother-in-law.

  Which of them would he least like to disappoint? Now there was a riddle for the sphinx. Glen was thinking that, when Monq said everything in life could be distilled to an equation, he hadn’t been faced with that particular dilemma. Any way you added the factors, the sum equaled undesirable result.

  He stood holding his phone for a few seconds, then replied to the text.

  Would it be possible for me to arrive five minutes early for a private word, sir?

  Glen watched while the send bar filled and waited until he received confirmation that transmission was complete. When no response dinged in right away, he decided to use the wait time productively and get dressed.

  He glanced away from the phone long enough to retrieve faded jeans and a black tee shirt. The clothes were pulled on without Glen diverting attention away from his phone except for the literal blink of an eye when the shirt slid past his face.

  Sitting on the side of the bed, he jerked on crew socks, then pushed his feet into short black combat style boots and left the lacings undone. Looking up at his reflection in the mirror that hung over the dresser, he grabbed the comb, pulled it haphazardly through his hair a couple of times and then shook his head so that it didn’t look like he’d gone to a lot of trouble. He cared about grooming, but drew a line short of metropussy.

  The phone vibrated against the wood of the dresser top and Glen snatched it up faster than a snake strike.

  Five minutes face time approved.

  His feet knew the way to the Sovereign’s office so well that his body would take him there with his mind on auto. Thinking it wouldn’t be a good idea to ask to meet five minutes early and be late, he went with the philosophy of better safe than sorry. He exited the elevator at second sublevel, glanced at his watch, and took up a post outside the Sovereign’s office ten minutes early. He wasn’t taking any chances on being late.

  The trainee on duty as outer office assistant had a vantage point that gave a partial view of the hall. He looked at Glen quizzically.

  “Got a meeting with the big giant head in,” he looked at his watch, “seven minutes.”

  The kid nodded and smiled.

  In five minutes Rev opened his door part way and said, “When Sir Catch arrives, show him in.”

  The kid looked toward Glen. “He’s already here, sir.”

  “Oh.” Rev opened the door the rest of the way and saw Glen waiting. He motioned for him to enter and retook his seat behind his desk while he waited for Glen to close the door behind him. “Well?”

  “It’s about the Z Team meeting, sir.”

  “Yes? What about it?”

  “I’m scheduled to have dinner with the Storms tonight. She, uh, Mrs. Storm, is supposed to pick me up in half an hour or so. I was wondering if I should cancel that engagement?”

  “I see.” Rev stared at Glen a moment longer. “That won’t be necessary. What I have to say to Z Team won’t take longer than five minutes.” He sighed. “Probably.”

  “Thank you, sir. Should I wait outside in the hall?”

  “No. Just open the door and relax until they get here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  When the other three members of Z Team came strolling in looking like they owned the place and like they wondered what he was doing arriving early, Glen was thinking he wished he’d been told to wait outside. First in was Torrent Finngarick, also known as Torn, followed by Rafael Nightsong, aka Raif, and Gunnar Gustafsven, a.k.a. Gun.

  “Come in and close the door behind you.” Rev didn’t try to disguise his distaste for Z Team. “Got a special assignment for you. You’ll be leaving Tuesday at 1500. Sensitive situation in Bulgaria. You’ll be escorting a special investigator and insuring her safety.”

  “Her safety?”

  Rev gave Torn a look that would have instantaneously shriveled an ordinary guy’s testicles to the size of peas. The three seasoned members of Z Team looked at each other. Torn said, “You’re no’ sendin’ us on a squint mission. No’ now.”

  The Sovereign looked Torn over. “Orders from the top. We all have somebody we have to answer to. On this mission you’ll be taking your orders from the expert who’s being sent to the scene to act on behalf of The Order.”

  Torn’s lips pressed together. ”’Tis ox leavin’s, Sovereign.” He used the term ‘sovereign’ sarcastically and with a belligerence that could get him brigged and fined. ’Tis about what happened in Caracas, right? Time to let that go. ‘Twas a long time back and a joke to boot.”

  Rev was hit with splashes of wild color and a memory of being so sick he almost doubled over just from recalling it. He’d been getting steadily better at handling the random remnants of experience his brain had retained. That particular incident must have been a doozy to elicit such a big visceral reaction. He wondered what those animals had done to Rev Farthing in Caracas in another lifetime unknown to him.

  “No,” he said evenly as the unpleasant feelings began to fade. He rose from his chair slowly and deliberately in a display of authority before placing his palms on his d
esk. “It’s not about Caracas. It’s about orders.”

  Glen stood and stepped in front of Torn. “Sir Finngarick forgot himself and got carried away in the disappointment of being denied an immediate return to hunter duty, sir. It won’t happen again.”

  Rev looked from Glen to Torn and back again. He decided the best option was to allow Glen to defuse. “You’ll probably be gone three days, but it could take longer. Pack accordingly. You know the drill.” Rev turned toward his computer screen. When no one moved, he looked at them each individually before saying, “Dismissed.”

  When they were a few feet down the hall, Torn turned on Glen. “What was that kiss ass routine, rookie? And whatever gave you the idea that you fuckin’ speak for me?”

  What happened next was the last thing in the world that Torn was expecting. Glen placed his palm on Torn’s collar bone and shoved him back against the wall. Hard. That apparently effortless move, was accompanied by the low level werewolf snarl that never failed to raise the hair follicles of everyone within earshot.

  The next words that came out of Glen’s mouth were half spoken, half growled.

  “Don’t talk to me like that, Elf. I’m not a trainee anymore. And don’t even think about being disrespectful to a superior again. I don’t care if you have a history. You better get your shit together before you make me sorry I threw in with you.”

  When Glen released Torn and stepped back, Gun laughed into his hand and said, “Yeah. What he said,” which only served to infuriate Glen further.

  Glen wheeled on him. “Shut it, Gun. You were the one tasked with defusing this redheaded powder keg.” He jerked his head toward Torn. “Where were you in there? The situation had one leg hanging off a cliff. I gave you plenty of time to step in and handle it, but what? You pussied out? Had a petit mal seizure? You scared of this elf?”

  Gun was starting to grasp that his new role wasn’t a figurehead, that it had teeth and he was supposed to be using them. The realization that the kid had just done the job he was assigned, after he failed to do it, was a creeping humiliation that was manifesting in the reddening of his face. “Now look…”