by Drake Dalton
The Knight and the Rift Maiden
by
Drake Dalton
Copyright 2017 Drake Dalton
Published by Grey Cat Press
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Table of Contents
The Knight and the Rift Maiden
Other Books by Drake Dalton
Licensing Notes
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The Knight and the Rift Maiden
The first time I saw her, I knew she was trouble. Some women were like that. They couldn't help it. They were just built that way. Even under that drab business jacket and slim pencil skirt, I could tell that this one was definitely built.
Dimensionally speaking, she was perfect.
Today, that was a problem.
She strolled confidently down the crowded sidewalk in the California sun, an hourglass goddess with her head high, her heels clicking the pavement, and her long red hair coiled tightly in a bun. But the bun wasn't the only thing that was tight. The skirt and jacket were tight, too. Cruelly tight. Painfully tight. They clamped down with bitter authority on the audacity of her proud dimensional freedoms, while jaded green eyes ignored the pain—taking in everything and nothing, marking everyone as an obstacle to avoid before dismissing them from her attention without even wrinkling a brow as she strode through her own little world: population, one.
She was an attorney, at a guess.
Also at a guess, she got there the hard way.
A gal who'd been treated as she'd been treated would enjoy toying with men, teasing hints of her current plaything's dirty little secrets through the cracks in his armor—a bronzed beach god perhaps, with hardened muscles and a head to match—then wrapping those telltale traces around a knuckle with a knowing smile before tugging one embarrassment after another into the open with the crook of a bored finger. Then would come her idea of romance. Planting a spiked heel in a rather private place while her victim was distracted and distraught, she would happily crush his balls with the twist of a delicate ankle before sauntering off to find her next plaything.
It was good that I'd sworn off her kind of romance.
I needed mangled balls like I needed a hole in the head.
But that was my problem, not hers. There was no reason that my caution should rob her of a pleasant distraction on such a dangerous day. She was a modern woman, after all. Live and let live, so to speak. I'd been alone for a few centuries, but I was still human enough to show a lady a good time—especially one with such remarkable hourglass curves. If I could dial up the charm and get her to a warded room, she might actually enjoy the next few hours, after which she could resume her mundane existence completely oblivious to a harsh reality that never happened...
But then we had a problem.
A real problem.
The dimensional zephyr that I'd felt all morning appeared in the distance.
Dimensional zephyrs were nasty little bastards. They may have had other names across the worlds, but since so few of us noticed the mystic bounty hunters, perhaps not. Ignorance never kept humanity safe from a zephyr on the hunt, however. With this one hunting perfection, ignorance would do a damned sight less for my dimensionally perfect, ball-busting Ice Queen.
The miniature tornado crossed the packed street far to her rear.
Hopping the hoods of the gridlocked cars, it paused after landing on the sidewalk to sniff out the trail, then raced up from behind—dodging one dimensionally challenged person after another. The unnoticed reality ripple sped unerringly through the sun toward its oblivious target.
My hand came up.
A warning cry touched my lips.
Her eyes flicked my way—but only to catalog my existence with utter indifference an instant before moving on to record the next obstacle to avoid: a bicycle rack to my left.
My hand froze.
Pain slashed my heart.
I'd been dismissed before, but never so casually. As long as I was still around, chivalry would never die, but that cold greeting was enough to make even me pause. She was hot and all, anyone could see that, but I didn't need her kind of grief—not for pro bono work that didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. Millions went missing each year. Millions would continue to go missing from the world each year. No one cared. With their short lives, people came and went in the blink of an eye, anyway—little more than cardboard constructs—so, yeah. I changed my mind. Sue me. I had a greater calling to consider. Why risk my neck for some snooty little Ice Queen who couldn't even tell the difference between me and some damned bike rack?
But then she felt it.
Her brows furrowed.
A puzzled frown touched her lips.
She turned her head to see why the wind had changed—why a breeze that only she could feel was suddenly tugging at her legs—and she froze. A primal fear that she didn't understand crushed her stomach in its icy grip and drove her to flee from a terror that she could never see. She turned, spurring herself to action, but too late. Her feet were yanked from the ground. Her eyes went wide. Her fingers clawed forward to grasp at something—at anything—as an unseen force ripped her backwards and then up into the air to swallow her like some invisible python.
No one noticed.
No one ever noticed.
Everyone moved on.
Everyone but me.
Her frightened eyes found mine, trembling in terror. They sprang wide—a panicked cry ripping out in silence an instant before she succumbed to an unnatural force that she could never hope to comprehend. Sliding backwards, she disappeared down the maw of that swirling vortex forever, her silent plea ringing in my head with her outstretched fingers the last to go.
Damn...
I was moving before I knew it.
I could say no to cardboard people and evil Ice Queens any day of the week.
I could never say no to those terrified eyes.
#
Diving into a dimensional zephyr took nearly as much courage as jumping into one of the giant tornadoes that ripped across the Great Plains, or riding the tumble cycle of a psychotic dryer with a broken off switch. It might not have been suicide—not exactly—but it was nothing that any sane man would do. If he was lucky, he'd pass out after a while. If not, it was a long ride.
"...did you hear me..."
About the only thing that a guy caught in a dimensional zephyr could do to lessen the damage was curl up in a ball and ride it out. And pray for a soft place to crash, of course. A guy caught in a dimensional zephyr should always pray for a soft place to crash.
"Hey, I'm talking to you. Did you hear me?"
Someone shook my shoulder. Something feathery soft brushed my cheek. I opened my eyes to a maidenly face and a set of bright green eyes. Both were framed by a tangle of loose red hair that spilled down from a savaged bun to tickle my cheek. Lips pressed in a disconcerted frown, my redheaded Ice Queen had leaned down to shake me awake.
"Yeah, um... yeah. I'm up," I said, struggling to rise. Her eyes were quite warm when they weren't filled with terror. It was good that I'd sworn off her kind of romance. If not, I'd be in serious trouble.
Straightening, she stepped back to give me room.
"Do you have a phone?" she asked while I was still coming to my feet. I'd been lying on a dusty sidewalk in the shade of a rather hard brick building, but even through the fog of a slowly-waking brain, I could see that the narrow two-lane street next to us was oddly quiet.
"A phone?" I asked, feeling the words form on my tongue, thick and rubbery.
"Yes, mister parrot," she said. "A phone. I think I was mugged. I can't find my purse and I'm late for a meeting. I'm also somewhat turned around. Which way is Market Street?"
Market Stree
t.
She was turned around, alright. More than she knew.
"No, Missus... um..."
"Nybolt," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of indifference. She was doing her best to be polite, but men like me apparently held no interest for her, even under present circumstances. "Julie Nybolt. Miss. And that's too bad. How about Market Street? Any idea which way?"
"Some," I admitted as my wits began to return. I glanced up the street to confirm my suspicions. A bright sun hung in a peaceful blue sky, but the wide plate glass windows in the two- and three-story brick buildings that crowded the block were far too dark. Far too quiet. The street gutters and the deserted sidewalks near the buildings were dirty, too, but not with the healthy kind of dirt. It was the grime of windborne particles accumulated over long periods of time. "I'm thinking that you might not like the answer, Miss Nybolt. Or, Julie. May I call you Julie? My name's Dave Masters, by the way, and don't worry about my head. I'm fine."
"I'm glad to hear it," she said with a disinterested nod. "Why won't I like the answer?"
She was very pretty, even with her arms crossed and looking at me with a skeptical brow. Her blue jacket was unbuttoned. She was showing more of her white silk blouse and stunning endowment than before. I saw, of course. I was pretty sure she'd intended that I should. It was a nice gesture, especially since I'd be enjoying fish-n-chips in San Fran if not for those damned eyes—although she wouldn't remember anything of her sudden trip. If I'd misread the offer, I'd have stolen a peek, anyway. Not only was she the most pleasant distraction in this abandoned city, it had been a thousand years since I'd passed up a chance to appreciate that a woman's most defensive posture put her best assets on such prominent display.
But all that was beside the point.
Her posture screamed something aside from a sultry sex appeal.
The jacket was open because she'd lost her buttons during her hasty flight. The matching skirt no longer pinched her knees at the hem like before, either. That meant the rear seam had come loose. It was easy to see why she'd thought she'd been mugged, but she was showing some steel. Despite talking to a stranger with her outfit falling apart, she remained calm, cool and completely collected. A mind like hers might be able to handle the truth, after all, which would make my job easier...
But I'd still need to lead her to it gradually.
If I told her directly, she'd call me a kook.
Then, she'd storm away.
"I have this really smart friend," I told her, brushing the dust from my blue jeans and then casually straightening my red-and-yellow rugby jersey while I treated her to a disarming smile. "He uses big words to make you feel like a child when he talks. You know the type—or maybe not, since you seem smart, yourself. Big words may not bother you like they bother me. Anyway, he got drunk once and started talking about an old college buddy who went to work at one of those secret government labs that doesn't exist—"
"Is there a point to this story?" she asked, gently interrupting.
She didn't exactly look down at me. Like I said, though, average-looking guys with beat-up blue jeans and shaggy brown hair were only allowed so much of her time. I was apparently near my limit.
"Straight to the point," I nodded. "I respect that. Okay, Julie, how's this? We may not be in Kansas, anymore."
"Kansas?" she snorted. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Look around," I told her, lifting my hands. "Do you see any people? Any skyscrapers? Do you hear any traffic or ships or jets? Market Street's not far away. Neither is the waterfront. I mean... hell... the Transamerica Tower should be right over there," I added, pointing to the deep blue sky above the low brick building over her shoulder. "Do you see anything that looks like a tall pyramid behind you?"
To her credit, she didn't freak out.
"What are you suggesting?" she asked instead.
"I'm not suggesting anything. I'm just saying. We're still in a city, obviously, but unless there was a major catastrophe that we missed, maybe it's not the same city. Maybe there's some merit to that college guy's theory about aliens and abductions."
"Alien abductions," she said, her eyes going flat. "That's your theory?"
"Well, yeah. I mean, I don't know... maybe we've been beamed up somewhere."
In the past, I'd found that it was easier for people to believe in joyriding aliens than parallel worlds or alternate dimensions. Since I cared more about making her realize that this wasn't her world than I did about the exact science, it was close enough. We were on an alien planet, even if it was one of the near-Earths that occupied a similar space-time in Earth's existing orbit, rather than a completely alien planet on the far side of the galaxy.
She snorted, then rolled her eyes.
"If you don't have a phone, I'll be going. As I said, I'm late." She spun and headed east, heels pounding purposefully on the pavement. I hadn't intended that she leave without an escort, but the seam of her pencil skirt had, in fact, come loose. The mesmerizing flash of inner thighs deep within that dark cleft, along with the seductive roll of her rounded hips as she walked away took me by surprise. I was sunk—completely sunk. The gentle sway in the strands of hair, the eye-catching action within that skirt, the sight of those well-toned calves... to a man who'd been forced to go life alone, it was all just plain cruel.
She'd have smirked if she knew.
"I'm happy that you believe you're okay, Scotty," she added over her shoulder, "but you may have hit your head harder than you thought. Get it checked out. Good luck."
"Dave," I said, giving her the name that I'd been using for a while as I snapped out of my stupor and hustled to catch up. "Call me Dave."
"I thought it was clear that this was good-bye," she said without looking back, but then her pounding heels stopped short.
A huge red dog stepped from an alley ahead. The click of soft toenails echoed up the street. Head low, it glared through dead eyes that showed no mercy.
With a hungry growl, it bared its fangs.
"On second thought, perhaps your way is best."
#
I would never agree that my way was best. Not anymore. In this case, my way involved recklessly giving a ravenous dog no chance to think. That meant doing something foolish.
I charged around Julie while she was rooted to the ground. Racing flat-out, arms wide while yelling at the top of my lungs, I gave that suddenly confused hellhound a start. The flame red dog was nearly the size of a small horse, but it had been too busy eyeing a potential meal to even notice me.
It hopped back with a surprised yip.
I waved my hands and hollered all the harder, making myself as big and loud as possible.
The dog's resolve crumbled.
Turning, it scampered up the alley with its tail low and a high-pitched whine echoing in its wake.
"How did you manage that?" Julie asked, amazed and more than a little relieved.
"Dogs like that have one thing on their mind," I said as she moved to join me. Her green eyes seemed to notice me for the first time. "When they see you, they'll let out a soft woof or a low growl to ask if you're food. Be assertive. Tell them no before they decide on their own."
"One thing on their mind, huh?" she asked, then smiled. "It takes one to know one, I'd guess."
"Hey, is that any way to talk to a man who's saved your life—and not once, but twice?"
"Twice?" she asked. Her brow rose. "When was the first time?"
I silently cursed my tongue.
She was amazingly pretty when she was interested.
I'd dropped my guard in the face of that pretty face and forgotten that she wouldn't remember anything involving the dimensional zephyr. Fortunately, awkward slips like that one were easily fixed, thanks to the 1970's, disco parlors, and cheesy pick-up lines.
"The first was the instant we met," I said. "You were bored to death without me."
"Oh, god," she groaned. "Don't you ever say that to anyone ever again."
I got the laugh
I'd hoped for.
She started to relax, which was good because no matter how gradually I broke the truth, she would soon be in for the shock of her life.
"I believe you were heading to the waterfront," I said, offering my arm. "Shall we be off?"
"I thought we were saying good-bye."
"No, you were saying good-bye," I told her with a shake of my head. "I still need to see the waterfront. There's no reason we can't travel together. Besides, there's no such thing as one dog. Where there's one, there are others. What'll you do if you run into his pack?"
She chuckled—a surprisingly playful sound filled with mischief.
"I'll just tell them no, of course," she said. Then, she surprised me a second time when she leaned close and struck a low, conspiratorial tone as the rush of her distracting perfume filled the air. "Although, now that you mention it, I did have a shock the only other time I tried to train a pack of dogs. They were ever so naughty. Their personalities completely changed. They tried things that they'd never even thought of when we were alone. Some of it was downright rude. Maybe I should let you tag along, after all."
Her suddenly playful mood knocked me off balance, but that was just the start.
Leaning in as she did—even with all but the top button of her soft shirt firmly fastened—the up-close inspection that she offered confirmed that she was every bit as fully endowed as it first appeared.
"You, um... are you sure we're still talking about dogs?"
"That's what I said, isn't it?" she replied.
"The four-legged kind?"
"Two legs, four legs, what's the difference? A dog is a dog."
"That's what I thought."
She chuckled and took my arm.
"You know, I may have misjudged you," she told me as we started down the sidewalk. "What did you say your name was, again?"
"Dave. Dave Masters."
"Well, Mister Masters, what do you do for fun?"
"What's wrong with taking walks?"
"What, indeed," she said, perhaps more to herself than to me.
