“But you told me about that girl, Charlotte. Pretty serious relationship if I’m any judge. Unless you were lying.” Ian smirked a little. Then the smile faded.
“Not a lie," he defended. "Char and I were together for about a week. She was my closest friend in the Slums. We'd known each other since we were five. We saved each other’s lives a few times. We had a lot of fun together. She was the only person in the Wasters that I really trusted. And then she died." Marcus could hear the pain and edge in Ian's voice. He knew the story. Char had been the closest thing Ian had had to a real friend growing up. They had been inseparable, and in a moment of stress and weakness, they had been intimate. But when the rival gang learned about the two of them, Char was marked. Ian never did say what happened after that. Marcus assumed he was either ashamed of it, or he didn't think it was worth talking about.
"We never went on a date though. I’ve never done dating, and now I’m starting to think about it and I’m rambling on like a bad film.” Marcus smiled a little. Ian wasn’t really in as bad a shape as he made it sound. Instead, he was worrying himself sick. “You’re smiling?”
“Sorry,” Marcus said as he settled back into his chair a bit. “You didn’t have any parents around, right?” Ian nodded. “Well, your father probably would’ve filled you in on what I’m going to. I got this advice from Jacob when I was sixteen.” Marcus smirked and Ian waited.
“Well? I’m waiting to hear your brilliant advice.” Marcus nodded again.
“Ian, what I’m going to tell you is the thing that all men need to hear sometime in their life. It is by far, the most important piece of advice I can bestow when it comes to dating.” Ian leaned forward. He knew it was something profound. Something deep and huge and necessary if all men needed to hear it.
“Relax.” Ian flinched. It took him a moment to realize that that was all it was.
“Just relax?” Marcus nodded. “That doesn’t solve my problem.” Marcus shook his head and smiled.
“Ian, you’re not going through anything that’s new. Making a fool of yourself for or because of a woman is a rite of passage for all men. Even for those who seem to have it easy. Being a moron is just a part of the game.” Ian pshawed and slumped back in his chair.
“So after I relax, then what?” Marcus thought for a moment.
“Well, don’t do what I did on my first date.” Marcus could see the curiosity rise on Ian’s face.
“What did you do?” He almost didn’t want to tell him. But he knew that someone needed to benefit from his mistakes. May as well be his friend.
“Well, I thought I liked this girl, so I asked her to one of the dances. Well, I guess ‘asked’ is a bit strong. I was so nervous, I wrote her a letter. Nothing fancy. I’m not much of a wordsmith. She accepted, thankfully.” Ian chuckled inside a little.
“Not smooth.” Marcus gave him that.
“No. I agree. That’s why Cecil gives me a hard time about my dating life. I made him deliver the note." Ian seemed to calm a little. Hearing Marcus admit to such weakness was reassuring. Marcus continued. "Well, I came by the house to pick her up, and I met her father. I sat there twiddling my fingers and trying my best not to sweat all over the couch. I answered questions and said names wrong and generally made a fool of myself. She came downstairs, and . . . mind you this girl was not a paladin trainee.” Ian nodded.
“Seems your type.” Marcus frowned a little at that.
“Well, she came down in this one-piece dress with no sleeves or shoulders. Cut real low and a shade too high if you get my drift." Ian did. "I about fell off the couch. Her parents took pictures and we walked out of the house. I said she looked pretty.” Marcus stopped, looking down at his feet. Ian waited for him to say more.
“And?” Marcus looked up with a dumb smile on his face.
“And . . . that was the last thing I said to her all night.” Ian suddenly realized what Marcus was saying. “Actually, I said goodnight at the end of the date." Ian started to grin. "I was so nervous. And her dress didn't help one bit." Marcus paused. "I didn’t talk to her. I didn’t look at her. I didn’t touch her. All I did was walk with her and dance nervously and try not to say anything too stupid.” Ian started laughing. Marcus reddened a bit and tried his best to quickly forget that night.
“Your solution was to say nothing?” Marcus nodded.
“Seemed better than letting out a squeaky vowel sound,” he admitted. “My voice was still changing.” Ian stifled his laughter.
“Jeez, and I thought I was bad off.” Marcus let himself chuckle about it and the awkwardness of his first date seemed to change from embarrassing story to funny anecdote in a matter of moments. “Whatever happened to her, anyway?” Marcus shrugged.
“Well, last I heard, she left Littlefield to become a singing star.” Marcus frowned. “What was her name again? Shawna? Shelly?” Marcus snapped his fingers suddenly. “That’s right. Shayna Reilly. She never succeeded that I know of.” Ian smiled.
“What is it with you and singers?” Ian asked. Marcus just shrugged. “Well, that helps my mind. But I still don’t know what to do about tomorrow night.” Marcus stood and clapped a hand on Ian’s shoulder.
“Open doors. Pull out chairs. Try to speak in a manly voice. Brush your teeth. Remember her name. And above all, if you actually, really like her, dance every dance with her. The rest will handle itself.” Ian nodded with a frown. It wasn’t going to be an easy night.
“Can I cut in,” Jennifer said, though her words did not match the movement of her lips. Marcus looked at her and wasn’t sure what to think. She was here. How could she be? She wasn’t supposed to be back yet. She wasn’t supposed to be here at all.
“Why aren’t you dancing with me?” she asked, a curt tone in her voice. Marcus didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just stood there like a statue, not sure what he should do. Lightning was striking all around him, and he flinched at its intensity. But he didn’t move. Jennifer stood there, waiting impatiently.
“If you are a real man, you’ll dance with me. You’ll hold me and kiss me and never let me take advantage of you.” Marcus’s brow knit together in confusion. He wasn’t sure he’d heard that right.
“Who’s taking advantage?” he asked, though he knew his mouth wasn’t moving.
“The advantage will always go to those who are willing to exploit others Marcus. You know that. But you can’t let me do it. Don't get distracted.” Marcus wasn’t sure what he was hearing. It didn’t make sense. Jennifer wasn’t one to take advantage of anyone. But here she was, warning him not to let her use him.
A shadow passed across Jennifer’s face and she was suddenly gone. Marcus whipped around to see high stone walls all around him. He was here again, and Ian was babbling numbers at him. He reached for his sword, and pulled only air. It was then that he felt it.
The ground trembled under the thundering of a thousand footsteps. The armor of a legion of Dread Paladins was moving toward him, and he couldn’t move to defend himself. At the head of the column, armored in mockish white was the Dread Paladin’s commander. Marcus could see the form of Noganus Xandra lumbering toward him, Falseblade in hand.
“You do what is necessary, because you are a paladin. But you have to know when to act, on what is right, and needful at the same time.” Marcus looked around him. That was his own voice he was hearing. But why?
“You still don’t see it?” Noganus called out. Marcus reached again to find his blade, coming up still with nothing.
“How can I see when I can’t even think?” Marcus replied in his mind. Noganus stopped short and stabbed Marcus in the chest. Marcus felt his whole body suddenly rush with warmth. His mind began to swim as he reached to pull the blade from his middle. The power of the blade began to work on him, his skin beginning to turn ashen and gray.
“Trust the boy. In due time, you’ll understand.” With a quick flourish, Noganus pulled off his helmet and sneered. Marcus cried out in horror at the sight before him. The blade cont
inued to eat away at his person, sucking away the life in his body. Marcus could feel himself slipping, knowing his end was near. He tried to open his eyes. It had to be a dream. A nightmare.
With a terrified yelp, Marcus shot up from his bed, his hand looking for the blade that had cut into him. He found himself whole again, sitting up in his bed, the sheets twisted around his ankles. He busied his shaking hands with unraveling the bedding as he tried to process what he’d seen.
Nothing in the dream made any sense anymore. And worse, the face beneath the mask hadn’t been Noganus at all. It had been something he almost refused to believe. He wanted to erase it from his mind. But the figure would not leave him. It persisted in its torment of his mind. Marcus tried his best to filter it, but the concept was too horrifying to justify.
I must be going out of my mind, he thought as he laid himself back on the bed. The sweat soaked pillow was cold and uncomfortable. But Marcus didn’t move. He didn’t want to do anything that might bring him any comfort just yet. He needed to ponder. He needed to process what was going on inside his mind.
A year ago, one of Mordred’s Mind Sifter wizards had attacked him with a ghastly phantom of Jennifer. The creature had been all in his mind, but the attack, as well as Mordred’s own mental assault, had left him with a strange nightmarish memory that he hadn’t really ever shaken. But the image he saw now of Jennifer in Noganus’s armor, had not been a part of it.
Jennifer can’t be behind all this. The thought seemed to draw strength from him. He needed help with the dream. He didn’t know what it meant. And this new wrinkle was a little too much for him to take.
I’m panicking, he thought finally. That has to be it. But the image of Jennifer cleaving through his neck with the Withering Falseblade just wouldn’t go away.
Chapter 9
A Night to Remember
The day of the Littlefield Cotillion came, and the campus was abuzz with activity. The Paladin Activities Committee was hard at work turning the Quad into a fantastical menagerie for the student body to enjoy for the evening. Lights and streamers went up at a furious pace, and a podium and stage were constructed with great haste. The Paladin Council only gave them the day to prepare, as always, so the work was done with such speed, it was hard to believe it was being done safely.
Most of the student body over the age of fourteen was set about the business of getting themselves ready. Men filed into the flower shops and huddled around the many kiosks that had wisely set up shop around the campus. The stylists were jam packed with women readying themselves for the social event of the season. If it weren’t for the fact that this happened every year, one would’ve thought the campus had gone insane.
Just outside the campus, the press awaited the opportunity to begin covering the event. Dignitaries from a dozen countries and representatives from several of the top military bodies in the two continents would be attending. Not to mention the presence of the most elusive of celebrities. Every man-jack with a camera and an electronic pad would be there to catch a glimpse of Rebekah Norik, since she had been the subject of much debate and theory over the last several months.
All in all, Littlefield felt less like home to the warriors of light, and more like a three-ring circus.
Jennifer sat back as the transport from the dock thrummed to life. It had been a quiet trip across the Center Sea. The hydrofoil had two things that Jen had decided she liked. A quiet, nearly silent engine, and a serious lack of press. She had forgone her usual meditations and had instead gotten some actual sleep for a change. The gentle hum of the engines had lulled her to peaceful unconsciousness. In the wake of it, Jen had decided that she wanted a boat.
Upon reaching land, however, the lack of press subsided. The dock was littered with the usual paparazzi, snapping pictures as though they could somehow steal her away with a single image. At the center of the crowd was again, Simon Houghton, snapping pics and jockeying for position among his fellow journalists. If you could really call them that.
How did he beat me here? She thought. Jennifer had done her best to pass through the crowd without so much as a reaction, but it took all her control not to hit someone. Drew had been very kind and somewhat wise in his advice to her about dealing with the press.
“I want to hit them sometimes too,” he had said. “But just because they’re asking for it, doesn’t mean we give it to them.” Jennifer wanted to disagree, but decided it best to follow that advice. With all the stress she had dealt with over the last year, the last thing she needed was a lawsuit from a sue-happy cameraman.
Jen breathed a sigh of relief as she felt the transport pull away from the docks. The popping noise of flash bulbs and the drowning noise of screamed questions began to fade away, leaving her again in peace. The questions didn’t bother her. It wasn’t the attention. It was the insistence. It was all of the force with which it came at her that really got to her. She was just a human being. No amount of singing and dancing that she did made her worth this much attention.
Of course, there were questions that did actually bother her when she was really honest about it with herself. The incessant yammering she heard about the budding romance between herself and Drew was a constant bother. She and Drew had a working relationship. She wasn’t attracted to him in the least, though the opposite was certainly true of him.
It was when the press asked her what she thought of Rebekah Norik and Marcus Kasidyne that she really flared. She wasn’t sure why, but the mention of Marcus and the thought of him with someone else, as false as that claim probably was, really did get under her skin. She had relegated that to old feelings and called it done.
“You have a call Miss Burton,” a shrill, squeaky voice said over the intercom. Jenny frowned. That was Shirley, her driver. Drew had insisted after a few months on the road that if he wasn’t with her, that she have an escort. Shirley fit the bill. She was smart, strong and made up for her voice with an iron disposition. She also didn't talk much, and she didn't care that Jennifer was a celebrity. For that, Jenny was grateful.
“Thanks Shirley.” Jenny sighed slowly and pushed a button on the keypad by her seat. A screen popped to life in front of her, showing exactly who she thought it would be. “Hello Drew,” she said coldly. Drew grimaced.
“Just wanted to see if you got in safely.” Jenny shook her head.
“No Drew. I’m actually on my way to a horrible death. Shirley just blew through a guard rail and took the car off a cliff.” Drew shook his head a little. “You worry too much.”
“That’s my job. Listen. When you get there, tell Casey that we won’t be able to do the show right away, because you have a personal appearance to make.” Jenny nodded in exasperation.
“Drew, we’ve been through this. I know what I have to do. Besides, Shirley’s gonna keep me in line, right?” Drew went to say something else, but stifled himself and fumbled around for something. “Anything else?”
“I wish I could be there.” Jenny could hear the honesty in his voice. Drew wanted to be right by her side. I’m glad you’re not, she thought. She didn’t dare say it to his face. That would start a whole other discussion that she refused to have.
“Look, you just get the band here as soon as you can. The sooner we do this, the sooner we can leave.” Drew looked like he wanted to say something else, but Jen didn’t give him a chance. “I need some rest before we get there. Don’t bother calling. I’m taking a nap.” Jen flipped a switch and the screen went dark. Some days, I wish I'd stayed in Tanru Province, she thought. Not that she ever really wanted to go back there. One of the stops on tour had been in Tanru, but Jenny had refused. She didn't want to set one pedicured toe in that place again. Too many bad memories.
The cab of the limo was silent except for the steady thrumming of the engine. Jenny put her head back in her high-backed seat and closed her eyes. She needed rest, and sleep sounded good right now. The hands of sleep pulled in around her consciousness, and in moments, she was slumbering.
&n
bsp; Marcus was just finishing with his dress finery. He hadn’t worn the outfit in some time. He hadn’t even looked at it. It wasn’t that he disliked the suit. It was actually quite flattering. But the last time he’d worn it was three years ago. And his date had been a very different person.
Marcus stood outside the Burton household, trying to keep his knees from knocking together. He didn’t get nervous often. In fact, being nervous was fairly foreign to him. In his short years as a student in Littlefield, he had faced down a great leviathan, and gone toe to toe with the crystal despot Scarn Za'On on the ghostly island called Revenant. He'd even gotten into a bare-knuckle fistfight with a sixteen-foot tall summoned Cyclops.
Dating still made him nervous.
After a few minutes standing there, the door finally swung open and Marcus was pleased to see that Jennifer’s mother had answered the door. Gerard Burton tended toward dislike for Marcus, despite all that Marcus had tried to do to dissuade his opinion. But Daria was a paladin. She understood what Marcus had committed to.
“Hello Marcus. And how are you this evening?” Marcus shrugged but said nothing, mostly to keep from saying something stupid. Daria motioned for Marcus to enter and he did so. Just inside the door, looking as stern as always was Gerard. Marcus did his best not to recoil when he saw him.
“Kasidyne,” he said gruffly. Marcus hated the way he said his name. Like it was a poison on his lips. Any minute he expected Gerard to spit.
“Now be nice Gerry,” Daria whispered just loud enough for Marcus to hear. Gerard folded his arms and remained still. He’d determined himself to be a stone tonight. This was his only daughter.
“It’s good to see you again sir.” Marcus extended his hand politely, ready to give a firm handshake, just like Jacob had taught him. But Gerard just let it hang there. Hesitantly, Marcus pulled his hand back, but maintained his gaze. Gerard met his eyes with all deliberate effort, and gave only the slightest of smirks as Marcus backed up.
The Paladin Archives Book Two The Withering Falseblade Page 15
