by Summer Lee
“Well, if you are, grandma, having seen me shouldn’t give you much confidence as to where you ended up. How are you feeling?” She landed the chair on all four feet and got up to check on the woman. She got right up to her and started to look her over. “It’s going to be a slow process. Getting back to your former glory.”
The woman sat up and took a mental inventory of her senses. Her breathing was slightly strained, but better. Her vision was a little blurred, but given the circumstances, she was relieved that she could see at all. She took in a breath and then looked at her arms. Tears came to her eyes, as she saw them looking healthier. The color had come back and she could feel her strength returning. She tried to stand up, but was still a bit wobbly. She landed back down in her chair with a thud. “Thank you, Khassima.” She sighed.
The tattooist helped the woman get comfortably back in her seat. “Hey now! Just because my perfect work saved your life, that doesn’t mean that you can join Dancing with the Stars. You still need rest.” She couldn’t help but smile at her handiwork.
The woman nodded in agreement. “You’re right, of course. When will I be able to travel?”
Khassima laughed at the indomitable spirit of the old woman. “Seriously? Ha ha! I have to say that I haven’t been impressed by anyone since…” She stopped, as she searched her memory for a love she had so long ago. “Anyway. I’m glad I could be of help, but traveling is out of the question, until you get back up to warrior shape, my dear girl.”
***
The woman looked shocked at Khassima’s revelation. “How… how did you know?’
One corner of Khassima’s mouth turned up in a smile. “Do you have any idea, how long I’ve been around? Longer than you have, warrior. I can tell, just by looking at your posture, and the strength in your muscles. Well, of what I could see earlier. Your mannerisms and your stance prove that you, too, have been around awhile. I still bet that I have you beat on age though. Yes. Ha ha!”
Who am I? If only I could remember my name.
The woman glanced over her arms and legs and couldn’t see where Khassima had put the tattoo. “May I ask where you put the tattoo?”
“You may ask all you want. Let’s just say that the tattoo doesn’t have to be of a specific size to work its magic. In fact, sometimes the smaller, the better. Oh, alright! It’s on the back of your neck, just underneath the hairline. That way it will be covered, so no one can see it, while still maintaining your warrior persona. Pretty cool, huh?”
Khassima handed the woman a handheld mirror, as she pulled up her hair. She used the full length mirror as well to see the small tattoo that appeared to be a blood stain.
“It’s perfect, Khassima!”
Khassima smiled at her expertise. “I know. Don’t tell anyone, but I used real lamb’s blood for the color.” As Khassima talked, the newly younger woman continued to look in the mirror. She noticed several changes in own appearance. The woman’s hair was already two-toned in color, with silver and brown. Her complexion had returned to normal flesh color and she was gaining meat on her bones.
“Thank you again, Khassima. I don’t know what I would have done, if God had not led me to you, or you to me.” I agreed. If only I could remember my name.
Khassima laughed. “We are grateful for each other! Ha ha!”
The woman smiled. “I guess we are.” She looked seriously at Khassima. If only I could remember my name.
“Oh no!” the tattooist exclaimed. “I know that look! You want to ask me something that will cause me to do something, which will give me great pain and trouble! Let me save you the trouble and say… nope!”
“Khassima. My heart tells me that you need to come with me. I believe it is what God wants as well.” The woman pleaded with her eyes again.
Khassima sighed. “I don’t really belong anywhere, warrior. I can’t just give up all of this. Yes?”
The woman stood up, and she felt that strength had returned to her legs. Her hair was long and as dark as the night, starless sky. Her muscles were full and taut. Her eyes were as pitch, but with a sympathetic feel. She realized that her transformation was complete as a look of joy overcame her. She clenched her fists and then released them. She repeated that several times. She then lifted her hands skyward. “Thank you my Lord! I will not let you down again!”
Khassima’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped, as she showed that she knew who stood in front of her for the first time. She had revealed her unsure thoughts, but now all doubt was removed by the sight before her.
At the same time, all memory returned to the once old woman who had now turned young. Achava. That’s it. I remember my name.
Khassima spoke with enthusiasm. “You are a True Blood! A direct descendant of a Biblical family line! What’s your claim to fame?”
“I am grand-girl to Achsah, great-granddaughter to Caleb, the great warrior, and blessed warrior of my Father in Heaven!”
“Achsah! You are related to Achsah?” Khassima repeated, almost as if in disbelief. “Are there more of you out there, running around?”
Achava narrowed her eyes. “There are some, but I am the only protector of Israel… at the moment.”
“Well then, you should go and protect God’s people,” Khassima replied, nonchalantly. “I am no warrior and definitely no protector. What could I possibly offer to one such as you?”
“Companionship, while I look for that which no man has a right to keep as his own,” Achava responded, with a serious tone.
Achava saw that the Israeli man was hiding behind a door that was cracked open, listening to their conversation.
Khassima’s eyes widened, as she sighed. “I don’t know. I mean, I hardly know you.”
“You know me well enough to recognize me as a True Blood,” Achava added. “I really need you to accompany me. Just think, Khassima. If you found grace in helping me once…”
“Then it could happen again. Yes.” The thought started to intrigue the tattooist. Achava didn’t even have to finish her statement. She did it for her. “Alright. You sold me. All I need is my tattooing tools and a few odds and ends. What is it that we’re after?”
Achava looked around, as the door that was ajar slowly closed. “I cannot tell you here, but I can say that it is of the most importance. Please.”
Khassima stood staring at the determination in the warrior’s eyes and she nodded. “I realize that I might not ever get another chance like this one that you just presented to me. Let me get my things. Meet me outside.”
Khassima pushed open the closed door where Achava had seen the roommate hiding behind the door. Achava nodded and walked toward the front of the building.
“I’m leaving,” she heard Khassima say, abruptly. “Thanks for everything, but it’s time to fly.”
The man grabbed her arm. “You cannot desert me in my time of need. I will not allow it!”
His grip obviously hurt Khassima as she groaned. Achava watched as Khassima glared at him and finally broke away from his grasp. “Do you have any idea of who I am?”
Achava watched as Khassima started to hum an ancient song. Slowly she danced around the man, as she moved in sync with the ancient song. The dance itself was ancient. Her hands flowed as water and her movements were that of a jungle cat, stalking its prey.
He was obviously mesmerized, but could not move. “You are a witch!” he cried out. “What have you done to me?”
There was a golden glow in Khassima’s eyes, as she smiled a Cheshire grin. “I have done to you what I have done to thousands of men over my lifetime. You will now do as I say. You have no choice.” Her dance continued, as she walked him against his will back into his room, and pulled his door closed. As soon as the door closed, she stopped dancing, smiled and gathered her things. “I’m sure that will come in handy on our little trip,” she muttered to herself, walking toward Achava. “He was an abusive man.”
“I could tell.”
“By the way, what do I call you, once you retur
n to your former glory?”
“Achava. My name… is Achava.”
Chapter the Third
SAM WAS NERVOUS about going to the lair—or headquarters—of the Antiquarians. He wasn’t sure what their place of existence was called, but Anthea had told him that they needed to find Aharon as quickly as possible.
She contacted someone named Kierek. He supposedly had all of the information that anyone could ever need about finding anyone. “Kierek always keeps his features hidden, because there are more than enough people who would like to have his head. He doesn’t care who he sells information to and he can get anything from anyone for a price.”
The fact that Anthea knew underground people like that concerned Sam even more.
He saw her change from the supposedly warm and friendly, yet openly blunt warrior, to the greedy woman that Achava had told him about. She was right about that one. She wanted the fleece for herself and tricked him into helping her. The only time he felt that she was honest with him was when she told him that she aged Achava and said she would die, unless the tattoo was reversed.
Just when Sam thought nothing else could surprise him, something unusual slapped him with a dose of reality. He was beginning to wonder what was real anymore. Events were happening faster than Sam could cope. All of these new abilities that Achava and Anthea had given him a stomachache, just thinking about it all. The secret societies and diabolical plans didn’t help his stress levels at all. He would have just called it quits again, had it not been for the fact that Achava needed his help. The only way he could help her was by teaming up with Anthea. In the beginning, that sounded like a great idea. Recently, not so much.
Sam found out that the Antiquarians had a place of operations in a pawn shop in St. Petersburg, Russia. He did not have to go to the one in Florida.
It was cold, so Sam made sure to dress warmly. But even his large insulated jacket could not prepare him for the bitter cold in St. Petersburg. Anthea seemed unaffected in her thin leather jacket with Isotoner gloves.
She practically stormed into the little shop, whose sign was hard to read in any language. It appeared that the Antiquarians didn’t care if anyone found their store or not. The sign must have, itself, been an antique. It was worn and faded. Even though it was made from hardened sheet metal, it wasn’t strong enough to last as long as it had. “Где Аарон?” Anthea repeated over and over as soon as they crossed the front door’s threshold.
Sam just looked at her with a puzzled expression. Not just because he didn’t speak Russian, but the fact that no one was in the store and yet, she felt she was being heard.
“I don’t think anyone’s here,” he said, while rubbing his hands together through his thick gloves.
“Oh, they’re here alright,” she returned, with a smile. “Где Аарон?” When she got no response by blatantly asking for Aharon’s whereabouts, she looked around for cameras on the walls and decided on a different approach. “Я хочу поговорить с собой старинный!”
Sam looked around at the supposed base of operations for the ancient group of antique fanatics. He raised a brow and smirked when he saw what he would expect to see in a pawn shop, lining the shelves. Televisions, VCRs, clocks, and maybe a few things that could have been about 30 years older than he was.
He laughed to himself, when he realized that if the Antiquarians did, in fact, reside in that shop, of course they weren’t going to be displaying ancient artifacts out in the open. He slowly walked toward the back counter where the register sat. There was an open doorway behind it. As he got closer, he could see that it was some kind of stockroom. He figured it was probably where they held the pawned items, which made sense.
If they were going to have that kind of store for their cover, then it would be smart to make it a functioning pawn shop.
“Я хочу поговорить с собой старинный!” Anthea repeated, as Sam just shook his head.
Anthea became more adamant and more irritated at the lack of response she was getting, than the cold. “Я буду записывать это место вниз и всех вас с ним, если я не получить некоторые ответы! Уже сейчас!”
Sam smiled, for no other reason than the fact that he really liked the way the Russian language sounded. Even if it was spewing forth from a hard-headed warrior.
He could hear some movement coming from inside the stockroom. That’s where he focused his attention as he backed up a few steps.
“Хорошо! Хорошо! Я!” was heard coming from the stockroom.
Soon, a young Russian man came out and placed his hands on the counter. He had greased back, black hair, a goatee, and beady little eyes. He had on a heavy wool shirt with faded blue jeans. He was extremely thin and Sam figured him to be in his mid-40s.
Sam was taken by surprise at the man’s appearance. He definitively expected to see someone around Itai’s or Aharon’s age. “You’re an Antiquarian?”
The man gritted his teeth and glared at Sam. “Do not speak that name again, if you wish any service.”
Anthea walked up to the counter. “Oh, so you speak English?”
“Obviously,” he responded with a strong Russian accent. “We have many different tourists and is important to know several languages. Makes them feel at home.” He forced a smile, to reveal one large silver tooth in the front of his mouth, surrounded by several teeth that looked like they hadn’t seen a toothbrush in years. “No need to threaten to burn store down, pretty lady. I am here now.”
Sam laughed. “Is that what you were saying? Wow. No wonder he came rushing out.”
Anthea ignored Sam and leaned over the counter, while glaring at the Russian. “You know why we’re here.”
The Russian’s eyes revealed more than his mouth did. “Would you like nice toaster, perhaps?”
She grabbed the front of his shirt and practically pulled him across the counter. “Don’t play with me! We want Aharon! Now!”
The man avoided eye contact with Anthea, as he tried to break out of her grasp. “I don’t want trouble! Take cash in drawer!”
“Enough!”
An older, more authoritative voice came from just behind the stockroom door. The old man with a long white beard came out, dressed in a robe that reached to the floor.
Sam shook his head. “That’s what I was expecting an Antiquarian to look like!”
The old man snarled at Sam as he tapped the clerk’s shoulder. The employee lowered his head and went back into the stockroom. “Why are you harassing the help? Can’t you see the sign?” He pointed to a sign that read, Мы оставляем за собой право на отказ от службы никому!
“That’s pretty and all, but I can’t read Russian,” Sam snapped.
***
Anthea placed her hand on Sam’s chest and moved him back from the counter. “It states that they don’t have to help us, but I’m afraid they have no choice.” Her eyes were locked with the old man’s.
“I’ve been here a long time, girl. I don’t like threats.” The old man interlocked his fingers and bent them back to crack the knuckles. “You already threatened to burn us down. What more could you do?”
Anthea smiled. “I could make it known the location of the secret lair of the Antiquarians.”
Sam cringed at how easily she threatened people. He missed Achava that much more.
The old man ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth as he obviously thought about what Anthea had said. “Alright. You got me. Aharon’s not here. He hasn’t shown his face around here for a while.”
Sam looked puzzled. “How did you know we were looking for Aharon?”
Anthea rolled her eyes. “Sam. Did you understand anything I said in Russian?
He shook his head. “No.”
She raised a brow, smiled, and then turned back to her conversation with the old man. “Where is he?”
“What�
�s it to you?” The old man replied.
“No games,” Anthea said as her anger flared. “Tell me where he is now, or…”
“Alright!” he exclaimed in disgust. “I get it! You’ll burn and torture me and tell everyone where we are! I get it!”
Anthea had a look of satisfaction. “Good. Where is he? I really hate repeating myself. If you tell me, I’ll make sure that there is absolutely no backlash on your organization. You’ve already had a big enough mess, with that whole business concerning Itai Malka. I know you don’t want to clean up anything else. I’ll do it for you.”
The old man snickered. “You and your puppy there?”
Sam had enough of being treated like he didn’t matter. He turned and walked toward the front door. As he looked out, the snow was falling harder. A strong wind had started to blow within the last half an hour as well. Visibility outside was extremely low.
“We may have to wait out the storm inside,” Sam said, with concern. “It’s crazy out there.”
Anthea ran over to the door, as impatient as ever. She glared outside for a brief moment, then calmed back down. “It looks like Sam’s right. Sorry, old man. We may have to stay here for a while.”
Sam grimaced at her words. He said that as a test for her, to see if she would respond with the truth. He knew she could Soul Merge out of there with no trouble, if she wanted to.
Anthea came from a family with sorceress powers to travel instantly as their souls merged from one place to another. Sometimes to even the other side of the world.
Sam assumed that she was agreeing with him to lower his guard. He believed that if she built up his confidence, by making him think that she respected him, she would have him in the palm of her hands.
Think again.
***
The only problem with Sam feeling the way he did, was that he was horrible with his poker face.
