Forever and a Knight

by Bridget Essex

  “Attis asked you to accompany her on her journey. And she asked for no gold for this service?” asks Kell, her brows raised as she stares hard at me.

  “Well...I mean, the subject of money has never come up,” I tell her miserably. I hadn't thought about it, really, but what if Attis is doing this for money? What if, at the end of this journey, once we reach Arktos City, she wants me to pony up funds that I don't have and don't have any sort of access to? God, that'd be terrible.

  “There must be something she wants from you,” Kell persists. Her face darkens. “How long have you known Attis?”

  “Since last night,” I tell her.

  “Then you know her not at all,” says Kell, her voice low and dangerous as she leans even closer to me, her blue eyes dazzlingly dark. “Once, Attis was good. Oh, she's good still,” she says with a small shrug, “but much of what made her good, her generosity, her kindness...it's been hidden away. It was hidden away a long time ago.” Her voice is a low growl, and she shakes her head. “There must be a reason that she has you with her, is taking you with her on this journey. She isn't altruistic, Josie. There's a reason she's helping you. Be aware of that. You'll repay her, one way or another.”

  I gaze at Kell, feeling my heart break into a million pieces and not really understanding why. What's wrong with me? The beer is obviously making me more emotional, but there shouldn't be a reason in the world that I should care that Attis wants something from me.

  “I tell you this not to startle you,” says Kell, her hand at my elbow suddenly. I glance up at her face and notice that her lips have curled into a soft smile. “I tell you this only so that you know. I agree, yes—Attis looks a happier than when last I saw her. But there's nothing and no one, I feel, that will ever make Attis truly happy again. When her lover died, she took Attis' happiness with her.”

  The warmth floods my face, and, piecing the few mentions together, I understand several things all at once:

  Attis had a lover. This lover was a woman.

  That's...great. It means that Attis, at the very least, is attracted to women.

  But the woman Attis loved died. And though it was a long time ago, Attis still loves her and will never stop loving her...

  I take a deep breath, feel my insides begin to cave in. My head's swimming as I consider this twist.

  It shouldn't hurt so much. But it does.

  Attis mourns a woman who's gone, but her ghost remains.

  I feel so much in this moment: deep sorrow that she's been so sad for so long. And, yes, I also have that selfish, painful, punch-to-the-gut feeling of knowing that I'm never going to have a shot with Attis.

  My head is reeling, and suddenly the room is too small, too stuffy, and everyone's standing much too close. I feel stifled. I really, really need some air.

  “Uh...is there a place to...um... Is there a lady's powder room?” I ask Kell, using the most antiquated language I can possibly think of for “bathroom.” Kell's brows go up, but then she's turning and indicating the corridor that Alinor went down and is now returning in, stumbling over the floor and chuckling to herself as she tugs at the leather straps along the side of her armored chest piece.

  I set my empty mug down on the table and move as quickly as I can toward that darkened corridor. I follow the long hallway, one hand on the wall to steady myself, and then I find a door in front of me that leads not to a room but outdoors.

  There's a small courtyard that leads off in one direction to the stables, and in the dim twilight, I'm able to make out a lean-to that's obviously an outhouse.

  As much as I was hoping (and realizing it was probably impossible) for the tavern to have indoor plumbing, I am resigned to this fate. I shut the door behind me as I step into the outhouse, locking it with the small wooden lock. To my surprise, it actually doesn't smell terrible in here; it's sweet-smelling, actually, the scent of herbs and sawdust and ash the only things I notice. But then, I'm not really paying that much attention to the way the building smells. I lean against the wall, and I wrap my arms around myself as I try, desperately, and with a muzzy head, to make sense of all of everything that's happened.

  Kell told me that there's absolutely no way that Attis would be taking me to Arktos City “just because.” Kell knows Attis much better than me, that much is obvious, so when she tells me Attis must want something from me, it's probably true.

  There's also the fact that Attis has been deeply hurt, so deeply hurt that she's never, according to Kell, going to recover.

  Yes, it's more painful than I even want to admit that I'm never going to have a chance with Attis. But all of the pain in Attis' features...I understand it now. I understand where it's coming from.

  I know nothing about the story, but I can piece it together a little. Alinor said that Hera was killed, didn't she?

  I press my palm to my forehead and take a few slow breaths. Okay. I need to remove emotion and attraction out of this and get to the root of the matter.

  Which is this:

  This was never anything more than Attis allowing me to accompany her to Arktos City. She's allowing me to accompany her to, basically, prevent me from dying. Which, you know, is pretty kind of her, so if she really does want something when we reach Arktos City, I'll do my best to get it for her, even if it's gold she wants. Sure. I can get gold. I can figure that out. Maybe I can sell my Scooby Doo shirt for big bucks once we reach the city. Ha. I press the heel of my hand against my dry eyes and try to calm the ache in my heart.

  Everything else? The dead lover? Attis and all of my attraction to her? I've got to let that go. Attis' past is not my business, and—frankly...neither is Attis' future.

  I take another deep, slow breath and let it out, curling my hands into fists. I don't know why I was so attracted to Attis, but I was, and it's perfectly fine that I'm attracted to her. But there can be nothing else. Attis is in mourning, and there's no possibility that anything can ever happen between us.

  And that's okay, you know? She's from another world. I'm from earth. It could never work.

  Obviously.

  I have myself so convinced that when I reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, I'm surprised when my hand encounters a warm wetness on my cheek. I take my hand back stiffly, wipe the tear off on the arm of my werewolf coat.

  This is ridiculous. I'm being ridiculous.

  I square my shoulders, put on a hard smile and wrap my coat tightly around me as I exit the outhouse.

  I've done much harder things than this in my life. Walking my sister's casket down the aisle was the hardest thing I've ever done.

  But this, I must admit, feels a little like that as I enter the tavern again, as I walk slowly down the dark corridor back toward the tavern proper and the table full of laughing warrior women. The warmth of the tavern does nothing to ease the coldness in my heart, the ache there, the deep shooting pain that I'm doing my best to ignore. I glance into the tavern, and I pause in my stride for a moment, taking in the scene.

  Attis is back from taking care of Zilla, and she's in the midst of a deep conversation with Kell, who has her arm around Attis' shoulder and is whispering in her ear.

  Attis is a little taller than Kell, and is bent toward Kell. The dark, deep red of her hair, the straightness of it, is actually melding a little with Kell's large, curly mane. If they weren't wearing armor, if they weren't standing in a dimly lit tavern next to a table of possible-gnomes, they'd look like two friends at any bar in the world, deep in conversation.

  I continue down the corridor, shoving down any feelings I have. When Attis sees me striding toward them, her amber gaze flicks to me but then back to the floor, her jaw tightens, and she nods once, sharply, to Kell. They move away from each other, and Kell's eyes dart to me, her mouth turning up at the corners...but the smile does not meet her eyes.

  “Are you very hungry?” Attis asks me when I get back to the table. I stand beside her, and I'm surprised to feel Attis' gloved hand come to the small of my back. She
had leaned toward me and murmured the words into my ear as Kell moved away from us, heading back with a jaunty swagger toward the bar and the smiling bar maid, who leans forward so far when she sees Kell approaching that she's almost lying on the counter.

  “I am hungry,” I tell her Attis tiredly, not glancing up at her. “But I'm also pretty beat from today. Where are we sleeping tonight?”

  Attis looks surprised for a moment, but she shrugs quickly. “Of course, of course... I'm used to the travel, but you aren't. I apologize,” she says, much more formally than she's been talking to me on this trip so far. I take a deep breath, steel myself again.

  Attis straightens her shoulders, indicates the staircase along the wall that leads up to a second level, and—I'm assuming—rooms you can rent. “We'll be staying here tonight. The tavern owner, Shannon, is setting up a room for us right now.”

  “Okay,” I tell her, nodding as I wrap my arms around me again, trying to absorb the warmth of the tavern. Trying to warm the coldness seeping into my heart.

  “There's something you should know,” says Kell then, clearing her throat and leaning close to Attis. “The wolves are on the prowl again,” she whispers to her friend.

  Attis' brows rise; her mouth turns into an instant grimace. “The wolves? The same wolves?” she whispers.

  That's when the scream happens.

  Chapter 6: The Ghost

  The scream is loud, so absolute and enormous, that instantly, and as one, every single person falls silent in the tavern, and we all, as one, turn to search out where the scream was coming from: up on the balcony.

  It's...a ghost.

  That's really the only way I can describe what I'm seeing. Standing tall and straight on the hand railing of the upper balcony is a white mist, vaguely person-shaped (woman-shaped, really, with a dress and flowing white hair, if you squint), and she's perfectly see-through. She's standing like a ballerina, balanced on that top railing, her arms widespread as if she's about to embrace someone, her white, see-through, wispy hair blowing backward in a nonexistent wind, the skirt of her dress blowing backward, too.

  The ghost (or whatever the hell it is) opens her mouth, her mouth that's black on the inside. She opens that mouth wide, like a ghost would in a horror movie...and then...it screams again.

  The first time, I could imagine the sound was a human scream, but this time...this time it's obvious that the sound being uttered isn't exactly human.

  When I say exactly human, I mean that it's the kind of sound a human would probably make under extreme duress, something I've—thankfully—never heard in real life, aside from news clips. But it's also a deeply animal sound, a guttural, spine-tingling roar of emotion, of terror, rolled into one deeply chilling maul of a scream that washes over the tavern, going on and on and on until my ears feel raw.

  Everyone remains silent as we stare up at this ghost-type-thing.

  And then that ghost simply...jumps.

  She jumps off the railing that she was standing on, and she falls through the air as quickly as if gravity is attached to her see-through form as much as it's attached to ours. But she comes up short, then, and she's dangling in the air in front of us, as if she's dangling from a rope tied to the balcony.

  As we watch, she twirls in the air, hanging there, I realize, as if she just hung herself.

  I stare in horror—and the specter vanishes.

  “Bloody hell,” shouts a booming voice, and then a woman, an actual flesh and blood woman, comes to the railing and squints down at the tavern.

  She's a large woman, and she looks like she smiles a lot, judging from the lines on her face—but she's certainly not smiling now. She frowns down at the people gathered in the tavern, and she shakes her head, wisps of graying hair dislodging from beneath the tight white cap she's wearing.

  “Sorry 'bout that, everyone,” she shouts, rubbing her red hands on her apron as if she's drying them. “Don't you fret about that. How about a round of free ale for all!”

  A bright cheer comes from the gathered tavern people, and immediately the silence is overtaken by the happy, boisterous yelling from the patrons. The woman pushes off from the railing and bustles her way down the stairs into the tavern, making a beeline, I realize, for our table, as she reaches us.

  “You're knights, right? Can any o' you please help me?” she asks quietly when she reaches us, shaking her head as she leans forward, dropping her voice to a conspirator's whisper. “This be the fifth time in as many days that ol' Mag hurled herself from the rafters, and it's really been puttin' people off their porridge, if'n you know what I mean, to see a woman kill herself during supper each day.”

  “That was really a ghost?” I'm asking before I realize that the words are out of my mouth.

  “Shannon,” murmurs Attis, leaning toward the woman—the tavern owner. “What happened? Who is she?”

  Shannon screws up her face and shakes her head, lips pursed. She shrugs her wide shoulders. “Bit o' bad business, that was. Ol' Mag, as you know, was my grandmother. But she killed herself right after she had me Ma. Mag had a fever, and it addled her brains, poor dear. She hung herself right from that railing, well...exactly as you just saw it. Her ghost been seen every once in a while, but it's a rare occurrence since we keep giving her cream and gold coins to appease her, placing the offerings by the fire every moon, just as we were told to do by the old witch what lives in the Stick Woods. And, so far, the last time ol' Mag's been seen was when I was a younger lass. But now...” She shakes her head again. “She's been appearin' off and on for about a year, but it's only been about once a month, and if I give a round o' free drinks, nobody much talks about it. But now five times in a row, every day. She be actin' up mightily, and I don't know why, and I can't be havin' my tavern overrun by spirits during the dinner hour—it's bad for business.” She huffs her cheeks and spreads her hands to us. “I know you knights have the magic for this. Can ye help me?”

  “We actually don't have the magic to help you,” says Kell, flicking her glittering blue gaze to Attis. “But Attis does. She's a mercenary, and I'm sure she'd be glad to offer her services to you, to help you get rid of the specter.”

  Attis is glaring daggers at Kell, but her gaze softens when she looks to Shannon again, Shannon with her hopeful face and her hands clasped in front of her expansive chest. Attis clears her throat. “I've not done a ghost removal in....uh...a good, long while,” Attis says, holding up a hand, “but it can be done. Still, I must warn you, it seems that the ghost has resided here for many years, so she's quite entranced in this place, and it will be much harder to remove her—”

  “Don't be wheedlin' me for more money with the difficulties and such. Name your price, mercenary,” Shannon tells her, eyes narrowed.

  “Room and board,” says Attis calmly, “for me and my friend and my horse for tonight.”

  “That be all, truly?” asks Shannon, narrowing one eye at Attis until it's just a slit.

  “Yes, madame,” says Attis, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin. “But you must also give me any small thing I require for the spell to remove the ghost. It does require a few...odd ingredients, and you must get them for me quickly and with no fuss.”

  “Done and done,” says Shannon with a wide smile, throwing her arms wide and then ducking forward and wrapping Attis in a tight, squeezing embrace before Attis can react. “Thank you for helping me!” she crows, releasing Attis and taking a quick step back, then barking to the bar maid: “Lanna! Do you have that room ready for our guests of honor?”

  “Geez, Ma, Hannah's doin' it,” says the bar maid, glancing angrily at her mother. Lanna the bar maid is currently doing her best to flirt the leather pants off of Kell, who is doing her best to flirt the skirts off of Lanna. They're leaning toward each other, elbows on the bar between them, each wearing charming, wide smiles, their faces close enough to one another to kiss...until Lanna screeched at her mother, that is. Kell pushed off from the bar and ducked her head with a small l
augh when Lanna yelled across the room.

  “Oh, so right you are,” says Shannon, patting the white cap on her head. “If'n Hannah's doin' it, that means the room should now be ready for you...if you want to be gettin' on preparations for the removal of the spook,” she tells Attis hopefully.

  “Yes, of course,” says Attis, glancing at her friends clustered around the table with a wistful glance.

  “Not just yet, Attis. Stay awhile more. It's been too long, and we still must catch up,” says Kell, striding over and reaching out between them. She places her hand on top of Attis' arm. A meaningful look passes between them, though I can't make out what it is.

  “I can go up to the room, actually,” I tell her, jerking my thumb toward the stairs as a lump forms in my throat. “I'm just really tired. I need to get off my feet,” I tell Attis quickly, as she frowns at me.

  “But of course. Our room is the third door down on the left,” says Attis, indicating the upper level.

  I don't wait to say anything else or see if she has anything more to tell me. I walk over to the roaring fireplace, picking my way around the other boisterous tables and the people laughing, singing or—upon one table—arm wrestling. When I reach Wonder, fast asleep in front of the fire, I pick her up quickly (she's as hot as a loaf of bread just pulled from an oven, so I probably saved her from becoming medium rare). I carry her protesting, fuzzy bulk up the narrow staircase and then down the hallway, the noise of the tavern lessening the further down the hall I get.

  The door opens beneath my hand as I lay my palm flat against it, so I worry that there's no lock on the door, but as I step inside, I am relieved to find that there's a lock, similar to the lock that was on the outhouse. So I secure the door before I drop Wonder to the floor and take a deep breath, surveying the tiny room with unseeing eyes.