by Bella Knight
“Thank you, Sir,” said Beck. She stood up, and turned off and pocketed her cell phone. “Can I get you anything?”
Greeley coughed, and then he shook his head. “Just… tell my daughters… I loved them.”
“You murdered one girl’s mother, and stalked and married women to get their money,” said Frenchie. “Then, you tried to talk your youngest daughter into getting you out, when you would be nothing but a burden to her. Excuse me if I don’t see it.”
“Write a letter,” suggested Beck. “They can get it to her through intraoffice mail.” The two women turned and walked away.
Bob put away his Sheriff Bob persona, just in order to cuddle in bed with his wife and daughter. Herja and various Valkyries swung by from time to time with takeout, and to clean up the fingerprint powder and put the house to rights.
Since the fighting had happened outside the home, that only took about an hour. They banged through a season of a show about a cat, a witch and a farm, and then they played video games together when they weren’t sleeping. Xenia had a monster headache, and her bruises were turning black and purple. Naproxen sodium, anti-inflammatory drugs, heated packs for the back of her neck in constant rotation, and, of course, motherhood. These were all working in unison to lower her pain.
They reveled in Diana, her toes, her grip with her tiny fingers, her burble, her open-mouthed cry for food. “We are so fucking lucky,” said Bob, holding her close, her daughter grasping her finger. “I thought I was going to lose her, or die —and lose us.” Bob kissed them both on the head. “Love my girls,” he said. “That was the most heart-stopping hour of my life.”
“I am a Valkyrie. It wasn’t just my regular training. It was my Valkyrie training. A week after having this precious girl,” she said, “and I’m in a fight to save her. I moved the right way and minimized the damage. I could have a broken jaw or a smashed skull. I took him out. I told him that, too. I said, ‘You’re already dead,’ to him. And I was right.”
“Wait a minute,” said Bob. “Did you kick him and take him out, or did Reece?”
“We both kicked him. One-two.”
“Oh,” said Bob. He kissed her. “Either way, I’m so glad we’re here.”
Skuld hung up the phone. “And that’s how you become a new mother and fight off bad guys,” she said to Wraith. “How are you holding up?”
“Sore as hell,” said Wraith. “Nice getting half this shit out of me, but the PT sucks.”
“Be happy we aren’t in charge of your physical therapy,” said Skuld. “We’d have you lifting a sword in no time.”
Wraith grimaced. “I have enough of a problem with a half-pound weight. Ow.”
“Highway to Hell,” sang Skuld.
“Ivy emailed me an MP3 of her singing, and you, and some with Herja when she came down. Girl power songs, fighting songs, that sort of thing. It got co-opted, and it’s played on headsets to half the people in PT,” she said. “Half of us in this facility aren’t old farts, you know. And a lot of soldiers. Since I ended up here, the Soldier Pack comes down here in rotation to help with PT. They do it with me. Seems there are lots of soldiers from Vegas and the surrounding areas. So, we all go in together. I can’t act like a fucking pussy with these ladies pumping iron with an arm with no hand attached, or learning to walk with an artificial leg. And I’ve still got all my parts still attached. Move like an infant, can just —kind of vaguely move myself around, but still.”
“Can’t cry,” said Skuld. “I get it. And now Xenia. One week from having a baby, the happiest time of her life, then she literally had to run for her life, and for her baby’s life. Thank the gods that Vaettir was there.” Vaettir, or “Spirit” was their name for Reece.
“That whole thing was insane,” said Sigrun, coming into the room with a tray of iced coffees and teas. “I got more info from Vaettir. She says the whole thing was a way to get Bob to reopen a murder case, but one of the women involved probably-actually committed the murder.” She sighed. “Probably never get enough evidence, either way.”
“Insane people,” said Skuld. “Move over,” she said, imperiously.
Wraith maneuvered herself over, and said, “Peach tea, please.”
“I brought two,” said Sigrun, who put the tray of drinks on the rolling tray, along with a bag, and slid in next to Wraith. “I’ve got scones; blueberry, strawberry, and, the perennial favorite, cherry.”
She handed the cherry one to Wraith, who bit into it. “Tank oo,” said Wraith, stuffing her face.
“Welcome,” said Sigrun. “I’ve got Chinese coming in two hours, and pulled pork sandwiches four hours after that. It’s your reward for PT.”
“And to keep me from losing more weight,” said Wraith. “I get it.” She sipped her drink. “That was a good scone.”
“My gods,” said Skuld. “You ate that in two bites.” She gracefully nibbled on her blueberry scone and sipped her iced coffee. “This scone is worth taking your time on.”
“I almost died,” said Wraith. “I have a slightly different take on time.”
The other two women were silent for a moment. “You think more deeply,” said Sigrun.
“And eat more quickly,” said Skuld.
“And laugh more,” said Sigrun. “I’ve caught her laughing to the point where her ribs hurt.” She rubbed her own. “They heal, but they’re a little… sensitive.”
“I’m so sensitive,” said Wraith, rolling her eyes. “I weep at commercials with puppies.”
“Wait until you see the great stalking cat,” said Skuld. “She leaps into my arms and purrs, then rushes off to chase the feathers.”
“I made them,” said Sigrun, proudly. “They’re strips of leather, with feathers tied to them, and bits of yarn with plastic bobbles on the end.”
“You should sell them,” said Skuld. She pulled up her pictures on her cell phone, and showed the mighty hunter —who was hunting the feathered cat toy.
“Wow,” said Wraith. “And ow. Just saying, leg and shoulder. Seriously, you should sell these. Have the Wolfpack make your parts, and you put them together. Then give them back for them to sell for you; they have the ins with animal people.” She sipped her peach tea, making a rude noise as the cup emptied. “And someone get me some drugs. I fucken hurt.”
“I agree about the selling things, and get Lily, the Nighthawks woman, to run your finances. If this takes off, art school can be (at least) partially paid for. And Wraith, you’re getting rude.”
“Being nice sucks,” said Wraith. “I hurt, I can’t go anywhere, I’m stuck inside.”
“It’ll be nine million degrees out there in a short time,” said Sigrun.
“True,” said Wraith.
“We have to go indoors to fight,” said Skuld. “Just when we’ve got to get everything ready for Ren Faire.” The Las Vegas Renaissance Faire was in autumn, when it was not so hot that one could fry an egg on the sidewalk.
“By then I may be able to lift a wooden sword,” said Wraith.
“I will give you my best dirk if you fight in it,” said Skuld.
Wraith stared. “You ordered that from Norway,” she said.
“You must walk, you must stalk, you must swing my dirk,” said Skuld.
Sigrun stared wide-eyed at Skuld. “She will damage herself.”
“I have one more criterion,” said Skuld. “Your lady has done so much for you. She gave up her life, did many projects to make up for being in bed, having been injured in your service. So, you will treat her as your right hand. She deserves better than your tongue. Assault me if you wish, but not your lover.”
Wraith froze her face, then ducked her head. “Sigrun, I beg you, take my troth. You are our wife, and I have treated you badly.”
Sigrun nodded. “I accept your troth. We’ll do rings when you’re out of the hospital, and when our husband is back.”
“He went deep this time,” said Skuld.
“Not a peep,” said Sigrun.
“His handler
sends me coded stuff,” said Wraith. “He’s alive, but very far away —and in, way deep. They are trying very hard to wrap up. It all comes down to evidence. They’re missing some pieces, but get more all the time.”
“Good,” said Skuld. “Rest,” she said. “I will bring the dirk tomorrow.”
“Aah,” said Wraith. “I don’t know if I can lift it, yet.”
“Bring a sheath, or the nurses will go ape shit,” said Sigrun.
“I’ll slip them a coffee bribe,” said Skuld. “With your shield,” she said, and grabbed Wraith behind the head.
“Or on it,” Wraith said, fractionally moving her neck forward to touch Skuld’s.
Changes
Bao finished adding the audio to the Zuni storybook about Ahaiyuta and Matsailema, Morning Star and Evening Star; something Vu did not have the patience to do. Bao was proud of accumulating new skills. Robert read the book and sang the sacred songs. On the one about Awitelin Tsita (Mother Earth, Suni), Robert’s sister read it and sang the songs. Bao was proud of both gaining new skills, and in offering multimedia books for the nonprofit.
Bao had a company to set up their online purchases, and sales greatly improved. The tribal elders used them in tribal schools, and schools near the reservations began offering them in their school libraries. Universities and libraries also paid for copies of the books. They were doing well, and Bao trained two Wolfpack in adding the audio, Ulysses and Bear. The boys loved learning audiovisual work, and had begun vlogs in their native Zuni and Hopi —and in English.
Bao stretched, saved everything, then closed the computer. She was already wearing her yoga clothes, for comfort when pounding out book after book, from creation to release. She put on a video with yoga stretching, weight lifting of small hand weights, and a yoga cooldown. She showered, blow-dried her hair, dressed, and went looking for her daughter.
Hu arrived, breathless, just as Bao was getting out the cream cheese.
She bowed, then hugged her mother. “Hi!” she said. She switched into Mandarin. “I did well with all my lessons, my chores are done, and I played soccer with Grace, too.”
“Good,” said Bao. She and Hu switched languages without thinking. Bao was proud that her daughter’s Mandarin was that good. “Did you do all your languages?” Bao was learning Mandarin, English, Paiute, and now a touch of Zuni.
“I helped Gregory today, and we talked a little about the stars.” Hu took out her sealed cup of juice she kept in the refrigerator, drank it down, unscrewed the top, and carefully poured herself some more white grape juice. “Are we making peanut butter cookies?”
Bao nodded. Hu carefully read the recipe card, and put the package of cream cheese into the bowl. She added the confectioner’s sugar, then slowly folded in the creamy peanut butter and the milk. Bao took over beating it, then poured in the whipped topping as Hu slowly beat it. Hu spooned it into the premade chocolate cookie crust, and covered it with a reusable silicone cover. Bao slid it carefully into the freezer. Hu then taught her mother how to make radish roses, celery peanut butter “logs” with raisin “ants,” and baby carrots. Bao poured the ranch dip into a ramekin, and they sat down to eat their snack.
“What’s wrong?” asked Bao. “You are even more quiet than a ghost.”
Hu hung her head. “I am exhausted,” she said.
“I can see that,” said Bao. Her daughter held her head in the side tilt that said she didn’t want to say anything. “May I ask why?”
“Grace needs to move around a lot because of her ADD. She also needs to change what she does every fifteen minutes instead of every twenty-five minutes, sometimes. I don’t switch with her, which makes her mad. She wants to see everything I do, too, and stop and talk while I’m doing my work. Callie and Henry put us on opposite sides of the room, and had me do my violin or her do the drumming or keyboard when she gets too controlling. It seems to calm her down. She keeps losing brain points because she’s trying to make me have her brain.”
“That sucks,” said Bao in a very Chinese voice, making Hu giggle.
“Then, I need to spend time with Damia. She loves the horses and doing horse chores, so I help with those, or I help her clean and repair tack. Or, I just walk with her, or do Quiet Cooking with Vi, or we do some math together, or something. It makes Grace absolutely insane. She wants to be the center of everything, and for someone to pay attention to her all day and all night.”
Hao took a moment to relish in her daughter’s mind. Her insight at such an early age was astonishing. “True,” said Hao. “And what is a good way to help her change?”
“You can’t change anyone,” said Hu. “You can only change yourself.”
Bao heard Robert’s wisdom in that statement. The man had hidden depths. “True, but people can change. How do you remove yourself from Grace’s attempts to make you do what she wants?”
“I need do things differently from her,” said Hu. “It will make her really mad, but I’ve got to get my stuff done, too. Extended reading ends up with her trying to talk to me. Math ends up with having her try to make me do her stuff for her. Chinese ends up with her trying to speak more than me.”
Bao had noticed this, and had worked to speak to all the children equally. Inevitably, Grace lost points when she tried to control getting more. “Are you doing the same work?” She knew the answer, but wanted Hu to think about it.
“Not anymore,” said Hu. “Most of it, I’m past her, because she just can’t or won’t focus. The medication is helping, and her diet, too.” She looked sadly at the freezer. Sugar-packed desserts were off the table, literally, for Grace. “But, she just learns differently.” Hu grabbed a radish and finished it off.
This was a real problem. Bao, Callie and Henry were the main teachers, with David teaching sacred songs, drumming, and beadwork, and the violin and piano teachers coming from different sources. Grace was taking up more and more of everyone’s time. Bringing her home may cause her to try and do the same “pay-attention-to-me” thing that would be toxic for Damia. Leaving her where she was damaged Hu and the other kids. This was a problem that needed a solution.
Why not ask the actual people involved? Bao thought. “What are some solutions?” Bao asked her daughter.
“I think I want to be a Wolfpack,” said Hu. “I’m really working toward my Nevada High School Proficiency Exam. I also only have to take just over twenty credits, at the moment.”
Bao stared at her daughter, forcing her brain to catch up. Of course, that was the ultimate goal of the homeschooling. But, Hu was intelligent, a hard worker, and had access to thousands of hours of online instruction that met state requirements. Two of Tito’s kids had taken the test young (at sixteen and fifteen), and both were now in college. But Hu was only eleven years old.
Bao resolutely pushed her daughter’s age out of her brain. If her daughter wanted to go to the university, she could go online, or go to the local college, university, art or design schools, or whatever she wanted.
Bao took a deep breath, and answered. “Yes, of course. If this is what you want, I will welcome it. We could spend more time together. In fact, I would love to teach you my business. You could end up with a paid position, if you enjoy the work.”
“I hate to say this to you, Honored Mother, but it doesn’t matter if I enjoy it, or mildly dislike it. Robert says to learn every indoor job you can. The desert is a poor place to take outside work. I doubt I’d hate it. I like coding things. Besides, if I want to do a vlog, or make my own multimedia textbooks, I could.”
Bao snorted at the “Honored Mother” bit. “All good ideas. So, when do we start?”
Hu shrugged her shoulders and said, “Today. There’s two kids on the list to join, and Nighthawk kids shouldn’t have to wait.”
“My business is taking me away from direct teaching. I think I know a way to get another Chinese teacher,” said Bao.
“No,” said Hu. “You enjoy it. Cut down a day if you want, but teach at least two days a week.”
Bao nodded. “You know me too well,” said Bao, taking the last radish. Hu beamed.
Bao sent a text to Henry and Callie to withdraw Hu from the Nighthawks school, then changed into shorts and a camisole. She walked Hu over to the Wolfpack.
“Are you sure?” she asked, just outside the door. “You know you’ll have a lot more work.”
“Rotating work,” said Hu. “And, Wolfpack gets a cut of the profits.”
Bao nodded. “Looks like a course on online banking is in order.”
“Henry will teach me,” said Hu, and opened the door.
Chayton looked up from the couch when they entered the living room. He put down his tablet. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Hu giggled. “I’m joining the Nighthawks,” she said.
“Do you have a social security number?” asked Chayton.
“We were naturalized,” said Hu. “Honored Mother passed a test. So, yes, I do.”
Bao grinned. Her daughter was intelligent and charming.
“So, we’ll get that from Mom, and…”
“I’ve got it memorized,” said Hu. “I didn’t memorize my bank account number, though.”
Bao handed the passbook to her daughter. “Here’s the information. We have a bank that works both here and China. In fact, you only have until autumn to get my daughter used to her new life before she’s whisked away to China. Most of what we do is online, but I want to keep Hu in touch with her homeland, to see where she was born.”
Hu jumped up and down, and squealed. “Honored Mother!” she said in Chinese, and bowed. “I will apply myself, and honor you with my diligence, before the trip.”
Bao bowed back. “I expect this of you in all things,” she said in Chinese. She switched to English. “You have intelligence, and you use this intelligence to be perceptive. I’ve never been more-proud.”
Hu hugged her mother, and they both got teary-eyed. “I hate to break up this Hallmark moment,” said Chayton, “but, I’ve got the info I need. Just added you onto direct deposit. I just added up all the stuff I’m allowed to let you do; it’s all onsite. No hanging out with Tito offsite unless he comes to build something here.” He grinned. “Sorry, forgot you live with Nico. I bet you will be hanging with him, working on your own home. Tell him to add it to the spreadsheet.” He typed in Bao and Hu’s email addresses. “Now you can see the chart.”
