Sword Fight

by Nathan Van Coops

  Damon’s broad hands found the small of her back and pulled her closer. Everything about him was warm and firm. She balled the fabric of his shirt in her fists.

  But then his lips left hers, and he pushed her away.

  “Wait.”

  Valerie froze, studying his face. He looked every bit as hungry as she felt, but there was something else in his eyes.

  “We shouldn’t do this.”

  “What are you talking about?” Valerie said. “Look, if it’s an age thing, I don’t care. A few years is not that—”

  “That isn’t it,” he replied. He ran a hand through his hair and backed away. “Last night was . . .”

  “Don’t you dare say a mistake.”

  “No. Not a mistake. But . . . ill advised. I lost control of myself, but I shouldn’t have. This tournament is only days away. You need to focus, and I’m . . . I’m not a guy you want to be involved with.”

  She tried to read his face. “Isn’t that something I should decide?”

  “The king will be here soon. We have a lot to do before that happens. You don’t need any more distractions.”

  Valerie tried to focus on his words, but he had to feel what she was feeling. The electricity in the air between them was palpable. Something about the way he smelled. His intensity of focus. The desire was written across his face.

  For all of his equivocating, he hadn’t once taken his eyes from her.

  “I’ll focus,” Valerie said. “And I won’t get distracted. You’re right. But there’s just one thing I have to say first.” She took a step toward him until their bodies were an inch apart. Their breath mingled.

  “One thing,” he echoed.

  Her hands went to his neck as she leapt into the air. She wrapped her legs around his waist, then grasped his face with both hands as she pressed her lips to his, this time harder.

  For a moment, his face was stone, a statue, frozen in resistance, but then his lips melted beneath hers. He clenched her thighs in his grip.

  In all the world there was nothing but this—his muscled arms wrapped around her, the feel of her fingers in his hair. The solidness of him.

  Their lips finally separated, and she leaned her forehead against his, their noses still touching. “Just so you know, this is all I really wanted for my birthday.”

  He smiled and let his lips brush against hers again. “You have a real way with words.”

  She grinned.

  But at that moment, someone knocked on the door of the garage.

  Valerie looked up and considered it, then looked down at Damon. “Mailman?”

  The knocking persisted. It wasn’t a loud knock. It was a small but fervent one that increased in intensity as they stared at the door.

  “I have no idea,” Damon replied. He loosened his hold on Valerie and let her slide to the ground. He took her hand and moved to the door, opening it only a crack. He paused at the sight of whomever it was, and Valerie tried to read his body language.

  “What do you want?” he demanded.

  “I’m here to talk to Valerie,” the voice said. A young boy. A voice she recognized.

  “It’s okay,” Valerie said, moving around Damon. He opened the door to reveal the boy standing on the doorstep.

  Eli.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Who’s this?” Damon asked.

  Eli eyed him suspiciously. “I’m her boyfriend. Who are you?”

  Damon turned to Valerie with an eyebrow raised. “Boyfriend?”

  Valerie flattened her lips. “I’ll explain later.”

  The phone rang on the rear wall of the warehouse. Damon smirked, then moved aside, crossing behind her and heading toward the phone.

  “How did you find me?” Valerie asked, addressing the boy on the stoop.

  “I saw you come in,” Eli said.

  “You followed me?”

  “No. Well, sort of,” he said. Eli leaned sideways to get a look into the garage. “What are you doing hanging out with that guy?”

  “He’s my . . . coach,” Valerie replied. She stepped outside and closed the door. “What’s going on? What are you doing here?”

  “You said I should tell you if I saw that car you were looking for. The Sovereign Mark II with the hole in it?”

  “You found it?”

  “Yeah. It’s in a parking garage up on Cumberland Street. A bunch of sweet cars went inside this morning. There’s something big going down in that garage today.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “Maybe twenty minutes? I thought you would want to know.”

  “Cumberland Street . . . which building?”

  “The one called Regency.”

  Valerie contemplated the distance to uptown. “Are you going back up that way? Can you keep an eye on the garage until I make it?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Okay. Make sure it doesn’t leave. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Valerie watched Eli pedal away, then closed the door.

  Damon appeared to be wrapping up his phone call. “Fine. I’ll be there.” Then he hung up.

  “Who was that?”

  “A work thing. I need to go out for a bit, but I’ll try to get back as soon as I can. For training,” he added.

  “How long do you think you’ll be gone?” Valerie asked. “Ann’s sword is getting judged tonight at the Twisted Tentacle. It’s a big deal.”

  “I have my ticket. I’ll try to make an appearance.”

  “Okay. I’ve got to run anyway.” Valerie made her way toward the door. Damon caught her by the hip and spun her to him. She once again found herself pressed against his chest.

  He gazed down at her. “When I get back, we focus, okay?”

  Valerie traced her fingers across his chest. “I’m focused.”

  He released his grip on her, bit his lip in visible frustration, then snatched up his leather jacket and disappeared out the back door.

  Valerie smiled.

  A few moments later, the engine turned over on the Vulcan. The low rumble faded away as he left the lot.

  She stood there with her fingers to her lips for several long seconds, then shook her head to snap herself out of her daydream.

  She had a decision to make.

  She weighed her options.

  If she wanted to stay out of Jasper Sterling’s grasp, his personal lawyer was probably the last person she should be around, but he had the briefcase. It would be no good getting in front of the king at the tournament if she had no evidence to back up her side of the story. If she could get her hands on phony contracts or some proof that Jasper had lied, at least she’d have something to prove her case. And she may not get another chance at it.

  Crossing to the practice cabinet, she considered the swords, but then thought better of it. She’d have a hard time explaining herself if she was stopped uptown with one of those. She moved to one of Damon’s toolboxes, opening drawers until she discovered a hammer. That could work.

  The Guardian was far too conspicuous a vehicle for what she had in mind, but her only other option wasn’t much better.

  She got the rear garage door open and located the battered wreck of a car she had used in the practice melee. The rear passenger door was still missing, along with the headlight and various other pieces she had knocked off or mangled, but with the city as busy as it was, she hoped it wouldn’t warrant too many stares. The ski masks she and Damon had worn were still in the glovebox.

  She climbed into the car through the missing rear door, located the keys above the sun visor, and exhaled. It was just a little bit of armed robbery.

  Her heart shouldn’t beat so quickly.

  She settled into the driver’s seat.

  One trip uptown. Somehow get the briefcase from Blaise. Back before anyone knew it.

  Easy.

  She turned the ignition, shifted into gear, and stepped on the gas.

  20

  Stolen

  The uptown district o
f Port Hyacinth was teeming with activity. Valerie had gotten lucky and trailed a caravan of parts dealers though the city gates. The guards had waved her through without stopping.

  Now she was nearly at her destination.

  The streets were filled with pedestrians and cars alike, and Valerie was forced to park the battered Lark sedan on a side street a block south of Cumberland and proceed on foot.

  It was for the best anyway. The wreck was far too conspicuous a vehicle to breeze right up to her target in. She was bound to attract attention.

  She checked her sweatshirt pocket, tossing Rico’s leftover show flyers into the passenger seat and stashing the ski mask in the pocket instead. Positioning the hammer in the waistband of her jeans, she then pulled the edge of the sweatshirt overtop to hide it. No use drawing suspicion just yet.

  She walked the last couple of blocks to the Golden Hill neighborhood and located the Regency Arms. The high-rise condo building was outfitted in mirrored glass and had several armored guards stationed out front.

  The parking garage was gated.

  How on earth had Eli gotten in?

  She kept an eye out for the boy, all while attempting to keep a low profile. She pulled her hood low over her brow to try to shield her face.

  As she was standing on the corner eyeing the condo building from across the street, a buzzing noise made her turn. Eli was whizzing up on his bicycle, his leg cocked and sneaker jammed against the frame and back tire, using his foot as a brake. The bike came to a skidding stop directly in front of her, and Eli tossed his hair out of his eyes.

  “Hey, I almost didn’t see you. You look different with that hood on.”

  “Kind of the idea,” Valerie replied. “Is the car still here?”

  “Yeah.” Eli nodded. “Come on. I’ll show you.” He leaned his bike against the stop sign, then darted across the street on foot, gesturing for Valerie to follow.

  She tailed him around the back of the condo building, cutting down an alley filled with dumpsters that was still somehow cleaner than Tidewater. Eli directed her to hide behind one of the dumpsters while he peeked out and checked the area. “Okay. I think we’re clear. There’s a couple of guards, but they only come around every once in a while. There’s a hole in the fence.”

  The fence he was referring to was actually a shoulder-high, concrete wall with some chain link attached to the top as a sort of window that admitted daylight into the parking garage. “Hole” was a generous term as the area he was referring to was simply a corner of the chain link that had broken free of its mounting brackets along one column. Eli was able to pry at it and create an opening just wide enough to wriggle through. Once inside, he called for Valerie to follow.

  Valerie retrieved the mask from her pocket and put it on, then squeezed through the chain link.

  It was a drop of several feet into the ground floor of the parking garage. She landed softly and followed Eli farther in. There weren’t a lot of cars on the ground floor, but the ones she saw were expensive. Most were sports cars. She spotted two King Edward Edition Monarch VIIs, several imported French Louis, and a gold-flecked Marvel 1600. Some bore iridescent paint jobs. Whoever drove them clearly had money to spare.

  Eli waved her on, and they ascended a flight of stairs to the next floor. Here she found more than just luxury sedans and limousines. These were war cars. An entire row of the racing machines was lined up, paint sparkling even in the dim light. Diamondbacks, Hell Runners, even a Shogun. Any one of these vehicles would have been a rarity to see on its own. Together they were staggering.

  She focused on her goal and kept her eye out for Blaise’s Sovereign Mark II. Eli led her straight to it. It still had the hole in the rear door where Jasper’s sword had punctured it.

  “How did you find it?” Valerie whispered.

  “My friends and I sneak into garages sometimes to look around. These are all pretty cool, but my favorite car is a Belmont Super M8. There’s one in the MacDougal Street garage. My friend, Scabs, knows the guy who washes it. He let us sit in it once.” His voice grew louder as he got more animated.

  “Shhh. Somebody will hear you,” Valerie said. She tried the door handle on the limo. As expected, it was locked. She cupped a hand like a visor and pressed her face to the window, trying to get a look through the tint. “You think the briefcase is in there?”

  “I thought I saw something that looked like a briefcase,” Eli said. He came close and peered through the window as well, trying to get a good angle. The dark interior made it difficult to make anything out.

  “Uh-oh,” Eli said. “Someone’s coming.”

  Valerie spun around and ducked. There were indeed voices in the garage, coming from around the corner. Several women and at least three men were making their way through the garage. One of the women laughed at something her companions said. Valerie peered over the hood of the car next to her and watched as the rest of the group came into view.

  Her heart sank as she recognized Blaise, the one person she most wanted to avoid. But then, a moment later, her apprehension turned to fury when Jasper Sterling and the Red Reaper came around the corner. Jasper was smiling. Laughing even. The Reaper was carrying the Sword with the Red Hilt again, and her mind immediately flashed back to the duel with Henry. She tightened her grip on the hammer and seethed. Jasper was only a matter of a dozen yards away. If she only had a sword . . .

  The group paused in a cluster, evidently about to part ways. One of the women looked vaguely familiar to Valerie, and it took a moment for her to recognize that it was from one of the posters behind the bar at the Twisted Tentacle. Niko Okazaki. She had a set of car keys in her hand and was angling toward the rugged-looking blue-and-white Shogun.

  “Okay. So you all understand the arrangement,” Blaise was saying. “You’ll be compensated for your performances. Half now. And proportionally to your rank at the end of the tournament. From here on out, you’ll work as a team to keep anyone not in this group out of the finals.”

  “Just pay them already,” Jasper said. “They all understand their part.”

  Blaise laid his silver briefcase on the hood of a neighboring car. All eyes turned toward him as he opened it and removed a document. “Your signatures are all required, then you get your money.”

  “And I trust you won’t forget your part,” one of the fighters said. “When you have your seat at the Round Table, we’ll be counting on you to come through for us.”

  “It will be as though each of your own voices is speaking to the king’s ear,” Jasper said. “Only this way, you’re also rich.”

  The fighters gathered around Blaise and signed the document. One by one, they received envelopes. One or two peeked inside, but Niko Okazaki merely tossed her package through the open gull-wing door of her car, then slid in after to put the keys in the ignition. Tensions eased, and the rest of the group milled around to watch.

  The throaty snarl of the Shogun’s engine filled the air. It was followed by exclamations of admiration from the other fighters.

  Blaise closed up the briefcase and moved toward the car Valerie was hiding behind. She eyed the briefcase. First the falsified dueling contract, now a fixed tournament. There was no way to know what other documents he might have inside. If she could expose this to the king, he’d have to listen.

  She was so close to what she wanted. The proof of Jasper’s duplicitousness was practically within reach. If she didn’t take this chance, she might never encounter it again. She turned to instruct Eli, but he was already gone. She glimpsed a flash of movement near the stairs as he slipped from behind one car to another.

  A nagging voice told her she ought to follow. She should hide. But Blaise was getting closer. He reached the far side of the car and fumbled for his keys.

  “Screw it,” Valerie muttered. She vaulted onto the hood of the car and immediately leapt up to the roof.

  Blaise looked up to see her looming over him. “What the—”

  Valerie kicked him in the hea
d. Blaise flailed backward and hit the concrete.

  She jumped to the ground after him and snatched up the briefcase. Despite being dazed, Blaise flung a hand out to stop her, his fingers wrapping around her ankle. She stomped his arm with her other foot, causing him to shriek and lose his grip.

  She ran.

  “Stop him!” Jasper shouted.

  Valerie sprinted for the stairs at the corner of the garage. She briefly spotted Eli, cowering behind a luxury sedan along the far wall, but he wisely ducked out of view to stay hidden.

  She allowed herself one look back and was shocked to find her pursuers already closing in on her. Two women were in pursuit, one a fighter she didn’t recognize, and the other was Niko Okazaki, a wicked look of determination on her face.

  Valerie dashed down the stairs, crashing into walls as she flew down them, not wanting to relinquish her grip on the briefcase. She completed a full circuit of the stairs, then emerged on the ground floor. She looked around to orient herself, trying to identify the corner where she first came in.

  A figure vaulted from the level above and landed in a crouch ahead of her. Niko had a sheathed sword in her hand, but as she stood, she drew the blade from its scabbard.

  “Hello, thief,” she said.

  Valerie’s eyes widened at the sight of the masterworked steel in her hand. It was Yawarakai-Te, crafted by Niko’s legendary ancestor, Masamune Okazaki.

  If it were any other circumstance, Valerie would have gaped in awe at the sight of the sword, but as the second fighter’s hands reached for her throat, she was forced to duck her outstretched arms and sprint away across the garage.

  It was a dozen yards before she came to the sickening realization that she was headed the wrong way. More of her pursuers had made it down the stairs now, including Blaise. He shouted encouragement to the ones chasing her, but it was clear he himself was unable to keep up.

  Valerie turned a corner of the garage but nearly ran straight into a pair of men-at-arms, both armored in mail and shiny helms and carrying maces. “Hey! You there! Stop!” one shouted.

  The exit was just beyond the guards, but the gates were still down, and these men now blocked the path to the pedestrian exit. They rushed her, and she fled the only direction left available to her, back through a pair of double doors and into another stairwell. Lacking any other options, she climbed upward, leaping the steps two at a time. She burst back into the second level and looked around.