by Joey W. Hill
"Get the hell out of here!" Sam roared.
Reg stumbled over to a groaning Jason. Sam fell to his knees by Jen’s side and untied the cord with shaking hands. He barely noticed Reg and Jason getting to their feet and crashing away into the woods.
Jen didn’t say a word. He needed to say something, make her feel okay. He helped her turn over and sit up. When he opened his mouth, nothing emerged.
Just speak, dammit. Say something profound after ten years of not saying a word to her, of thinking about her every second of every day.
"Are you okay?" he blurted.
She shook her head and passed the mud-stained sleeve of her sweater under her bloody nose. She winced and Sam caught her hand. "Here, don’t do that. Your nose might be broken."
"Me—Mephistocles—"
"He’s okay. He got away." Sam placed his hands under her arm and elbow and helped her to her feet. Her leg shook against his. She was going to fall down. He didn’t think about it. He just bent and scooped her up in his arms, cradling her under her back and knees.
Her body felt like cotton, not the cosmetic kind Laura bought in the store, but the natural kind his first grade teacher brought to class when they were studying agriculture. All natural, silken soft, with a billowy fullness that made him want to squeeze his fingers in it and feel it envelope and give way to the pressure, all at the same time.
She shivered so hard she shook Sam’s body. Or maybe he was shaking. He needed to get her and her broken nose to a hospital, fast. Jen looped her arms around his neck and put her face against his skin. He pressed his nose in her hair. It smelled like blood, and decaying leaves, with a faint, fragrant trace of shampoo.
Life was like this, tragedy or magic balanced on the pinhead of a moment in time. Magic had won, this time, and he held its purest essence in his arms. Because it might be the last time, he’d carry her as long as he could.
Sam tightened his grip on her, and exited their nightmare with heaven in his grasp.
* * *
They called her parents at the hospital. Most of the emergency staff were in costume. Casper the Ghost gave him a blanket for Jen, and Freddy Krueger brought her an ice pack to hold on her nose. Sam held it for her, so her fingers wouldn't get cold.
At length, Jen started to cry again, in gulps. He dropped the ice pack into the chair next to him and put an arm around her shoulders. "It’s okay, Jen, hush, it’s okay…"
She nodded, then shook her head and sobbed some more. He held her with both arms.
"You have the worst case of hat-hair I’ve ever seen," she quavered at last. He had pushed the coif off when they reached the hospital.
"You sound like Elmer Fudd," he teased gently. "I’m glad we’re both okay," he admitted.
"You were so great, Sam," she choked.
"You were so great," he said. "You saved Mephistocles."
She laughed, a shaky sound with a load of relief and a little bit of hysteria in it. "My totem."
"Your what?" Sam released her reluctantly when she shifted.
She brought her hand up to her double pierced left ear. The second hole had a tiny cat-shaped earring.
"I love cats. I collect them. You know, figurines and all? Ms. Carlson, that English teacher who’s so into Indians, says that everybody has an animal spirit that guides them, and sort of matches their personality. God," she looked away. "I sound like an idiot."
Sam imagined her in front of a big bay window, curled up like a feline on a sofa kissed by the morning sun, while he fondled her neck and hair. "You don’t sound like an idiot," he said.
She shrugged and wrapped her arms around herself, rocking a bit. "So is this how you normally spend Halloween?" she asked. Her red-rimmed eyes coursed over his costume and she choked on a chuckle. "Rescuing damsels in distress?"
Sam smiled. She had such gorgeous green eyes, even though they were raccoon-like now, with smeared mascara and eyeliner. Somewhere over the years she had gotten a small scar on her chin. He wanted to ask her how it had happened. He wanted to know everything about her, but he could tell the horror of the past two hours was still haunting her.
Instead, he opened his mouth and told her about his young Crusaders. He told her about all the training in martial arts and medieval tournaments. He told her about his mom, and about his memory of the last Halloween he had spent with his parents, and with her.
For ten years, he hadn’t been able to even say hello to Jenny Lind Meriwether in the halls at school, as if he was a knight ensorcelled, unable to break the spell of silence laid upon him by the events of ten years ago. Now, the enchantment was lifted, but her green eyes, emeralds in a pond of cream, were still able to bespell him. They drew words from him he did not think he could have said aloud, even to himself.
Maybe she listened because it took her mind off everything else, but she listened, and as long as she listened, he would tell her anything she wanted to know.
She reached out tentative fingers, touching the design on his chest. "What’s this mean?"
"It’s a Celtic cross."
"The pearls look strange," she sniffled and lifted her hand. Sam stopped it with one of his. He caught the drip of blood with the gauze pad Freddy Krueger had given him. "The pearls are kind of like dimestore things," she observed, "and the rest of the outfit is so authentic."
"No," he shook his head. "The pearls are the most real thing on the whole costume."
Jennifer’s eyes widened. "My pearls from that night."
Sam nodded. "My lady’s favor," he said quietly.
She stared at him. "God, you’re unreal." Her eyes filled with tears again.
Sam flushed and looked down. "Sorry, it was dumb. I didn’t mean—"
"No." Her hand fluttered beneath his gaze and brushed his cheek, raising his face to hers again. She dropped her hand. "It’s just, it works for you. All of this," she motioned to the costume. "What you did tonight. It’s like you aren’t pretending. It’s like this is really who you are. You look at me, and I feel like---" she stopped, her color rising all the way to her hair line. "It—you make me feel like some kind of maiden, a damsel in distress." Her whisper, the most potent sound in the universe, filled his ears. "You make me feel like a virgin, and I haven’t felt that way in a long time."
He could have stopped breathing right then, and her words would have filled his lungs for hours. He managed a half smile and raised the ice back to her nose.
"My sister says a virgin is just somebody who's never been in love." He put a hand against the side of her head to help him steady the ice, and yes, to feel her hair. It did feel like satin, and it reminded him of the gauzy curtains that floated in the summer breeze coming through the window of a white bedroom.
She hiccuped over a sob. "I guess that makes me a virgin, then." She looked up, looked directly at him, pinned him with green sorceress eyes that demanded truth. "How about you?"
He shook his head. He made himself hold that gaze, even though it took ten times more bravery than facing Reg. "I haven’t been a virgin since the day I met you."
Jennifer glanced away. The emergency doors opened to admit a gurney and two interns, and the open doors gave Sam a view of the parking lot. "Uh-oh," Jen said. "That’s my parents’ car. I guess I’m in for it."
The spell was broken. She had released him. For one incredible moment, he had gone on one proverbial knee and offered her his heart. Maybe it didn’t matter so much that she didn’t offer him the same. Maybe it was enough to let her know his heart was hers for the asking. Sam wrapped the ice pack in a towel, twisted it so she’d have a warm handle to hold it by, and rose. She grabbed his hand.
"Sam," she took a deep breath. "I want to see you. Don’t disappear on me again, okay?"
I’ve always been here. "I won’t." He squeezed her fingers. He wanted to bring them to his lips, kiss them, but he was out of knightly courage.
She worked her fingers in between his, lacing them together, not just the loose, easy-to-slip grasp. "I mean i
t, Sam. I want to see you again. I mean, be with you, go out with you. I mean," she flushed and looked away. "If that’s okay with you?"
A star burst in Sam’s chest and sent super sonic heat rays through every aching muscle.
"That would be great," he grinned.
"Okay." She let out a breath. The double doors bounced against the cement block walls, admitting a pair of adults, vexed and worried-looking enough to leave no doubt as to their identities.
Jen glanced at him. "You better get out of here," she cleared her throat. "This is going to be worse than dragon-slaying."
Sam smiled and raised her hand, pressing his lips to the skin, and feeling all squoozy inside at the slight tremor he felt in her fingers, the way her eyes suddenly got a little softer. He slid back down next to her and picked up the ice pack.
"Did I mention dragons are my specialty?"
THE END
This story is dedicated to the two Teds in my life, both modern day knights in a world that thinks it has outgrown knights, when it actually has never needed them more.
Joey W. Hill writes epic fantasy, mainstream fiction and women's erotica. For more information about her published and upcoming works, log onto her website at www.storywitch.com.
