Sword of the Butterfly

by Scott Carruba

  “What are you doing here?” she demands, voice low.

  The light grin on the woman’s lips does not falter.

  “Good evening, Lilja. I noticed your classes are open to any woman eighteen years of age or older. Well, I qualify, so I thought I might attend.”

  “You want self-defense training?” Lilja presses, and she can sense in her side vision that some of her students are taking notice of the exchange.

  “I’d like some from you, yes,” Anika replies.

  Lilja ponders this for a split second, getting the underlying meaning, and she nods once, a brief, economical gesture.

  “Fine,” she gives, then turning and going back to her class.

  Everyone gathers around, then, though it is obvious some of the more regular students note that something seems off. They see a strange tension in their teacher, and they rightly attribute it to the arrival of the new woman.

  She goes easily into the warm-up routine, something like this not cracking the near subconscious knowledge of her moves and exercises, not after so much training of her own. She watches Anika. The woman is obviously fit, flexible, experienced.

  “Class,” she begins, once the warm-up is complete, and she has their collective attention, “We have a new student with us today – Anika.”

  This gets some smiles and greetings, which Anika returns with the characteristic Malkuth charm. Lilja notices, though, that Miranda, though polite, is very watchful, almost as if protective of her teacher and curious of what passed between the two. Lilja proceeds with a very abridged form of her usual speech for new arrivals. She expects, perhaps, a cynical reaction, but all Anika does is pay close attention.

  “Anika, have you done any martial arts before?”

  The open-ended question gets a further curl to her mouth, then she nods once, arms held easily at her sides as she speaks.

  “I’ve had some combat training, and I have seen some combat,” she informs, which gets some reaction from the others.

  Lilja nods, trying to be more precise, “Only close combat training or some formal martial arts, too?”

  “Yes.”

  Silence stretches out as the two look at each other. It is obvious Lilja wants more information, but Anika proves unwilling to elaborate.

  “Any particular style?”

  “No. I had a private teacher growing up.”

  This gets some further reaction from the others.

  “Alright, then, let’s continue while we’re still warm,” the petite redhead announces, clapping her hands together once.

  Lilja proceeds to explain some new moves, adding to some basic instructions, then lets the students pair up. She is still not sure of Anika’s abilities, though it is obvious the woman is far from a beginner, so she has one of her more experienced pupils work with her.

  It is not long into the drill when the shout is heard, and everyone stops to look over and see that Anika has executed a wrist lock throw and hold, resulting in her partner tapping out. She releases the woman, helping her stand, as the others gather. Lilja hears appraising comments, some remarking how cool the move was, adding other praise in words, expression, and body language. One turns to her.

  “Can you teach us that?” she asks.

  Lilja remains quiet for a moment, noting the satisfied grin on Anika’s mouth. The students are supposed to be practicing other moves, but one thing Lilja prides herself on is having interactive self-defense classes. Even though she senses this is a flagrant display and manipulation by the Malkuth, she will not ignore her student’s requests.

  “Okay,” she gives in, trying to resume control of the situation. “For those who didn't see, our new student showed a good example of how to utilize a technique in a changing situation. Miranda, would you come here for a moment?”

  The larger woman gives a single, curt nod, moving quickly to her long-time teacher’s call, and Lilja proceeds to demonstrate and breakdown the move Anika has just performed. Soon enough, they are paired up again, practicing the lock and throw. She keeps a close eye on Anika, but the woman is at least now content enough to stay within the lesson, one she shaped and introduced.

  The class proceeds with no further unexpected changes, though Anika continues to demonstrate a technique and charm that earns her fast credit with the others. She holds a fine balance between being accomplished but deferential, confident and polite, and it shows in how quickly she endears herself to most of them. Lilja keeps more than an impartial portion of focus on the Malkuth, and she catches the woman looking back at her from time to time.

  Soon enough, the class ends, and Lilja feels an unusual relief. She proceeds to picking up as the others make their way to the locker room or exit, some having lingered to exchange more positive words with Anika. She somewhat loses herself in thought, figuring she knows why the woman came here but still curious, also somewhat upset to have been approached this way. The classes are something of a haven for her, even as their purpose is to be aware of and adaptive to risks and threats.

  “So …”

  She looks up to see the very woman standing there, still in her workout clothes. The two of them are now alone, and the Malkuth wears the challenging smirk more openly on her lips.

  Lilja rises from where she had been putting away more of the equipment, facing Anika fully, just looking at her.

  “It’s very nice. What you’re doing here.”

  Lilja continues to look, remaining silent.

  “How about a sparring match?” Anika pitches, seeming at the spur of the moment, but Lilja doubts much of anything the woman does is not calculated.

  “No, the class is already dismissed.”

  Anika’s head tilts a small fraction, almost as if she is surprised. She then proceeds to pull her shirt over her head, leaving herself in a dark sports bra. Lilja notes not only the obvious tone and development of the woman’s abdominal muscles but also what looks like the crooked lines of a scar that disappears behind the garment, heading in the region of her heart. She is curious of it, but such is not a real concern at the moment.

  “One sparring match won’t hurt anyone,” Anika states, and Lilja notes the subtle, sure movements of a practiced fighter as the woman goes into a combat stance.

  She looks at the one she has challenged, waiting a brief moment. Lilja just returns the stare, not speaking, and Anika proceeds, moving closer. She does not run or launch an attack, but her intent is clear enough. Lilja has sparred many times, so she is no stranger to it. She makes no outward response, does not go into a fighting stance, but she is ready when the other woman finally nears enough and goes onto the offensive.

  Lilja is not struck, but she is immediately surprised at how quick and strong Anika is, how fast and precise the kicks she launches. First comes a front kick, then a combination of punches, then another quick kick. Lilja dodges away and back, blocking some. Even with the speed and intensity, she knows Anika is testing her. No kicks of this kind were used in the class, of course, so Lilja has no early knowledge of the woman’s capabilities in this regard.

  Lilja moves aside, not wanting to be backed against the nearby wall, fending off or dodging more of Anika’s tireless execution of moves. The woman is accomplished, but Lilja does not feel overly taxed in defending herself. It is a trial, though obviously unleashed with serious intent. Anika had implied as much at their initial meeting, and Lilja knows she is being evaluated. It is somewhat impractical, though, as she does not expect to engage in unarmed hand-to-hand combat with any demons if she can help it. This is more of the Malkuth’s manipulation and other of their subtle, nefarious methods.

  But she is evaluating Anika, too, and though the woman is good, she is not in Lilja’s league.

  She then sees the gleam in the other woman’s eyes, that mischievous smirk still there amidst all of this, and Lilja decides she is done.

  She drops her central gravity, rooting herself to the floor, the retreating over. She sees the next attack coming, mid kick, and she catche
s the limb, launching herself forward and sweeping the support leg with her own, slamming Anika onto her back, turning and twisting the held ankle, forcing her opponent onto her belly as she performs a backwards knee-lock.

  “Aaaahh!” Anika cries out as the lock is pressed, but she does not tap.

  Lilja glances toward the woman, angling better to see toward her face. She increases the pressure again.

  “Gaaah! Okay, okay,” in a breathless voice, and Anika taps out.

  Lilja releases the hold, getting up, facing her opponent. She shows obvious signs of exertion, but her focus is calm, ready, her mouth a straight line. Anika rises, collecting herself, eyes assessing the shorter woman. She gives a single nod, as though of approval.

  “You’re very good,” she remarks.

  Lilja does not care or want it, so she silently gathers her bag and leaves.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Despite the economic situation of the inhabitants of the area, violence of this level is virtually unknown to them, yet this rude awakening met them full force that evening. At least half a dozen casualties resulted from an exchange of gunfire between an intruder and armed guards at the location. Police have been rather quiet about why there were such guards there in the first place.

  “One might assume violence between two rival criminal gangs, but information leaked to this station suggests this was an attack from the vigilante. Though there has not been much in the news for some time regarding the night time crusader, this attack is much bloodier than usual.

  “I wish I could say that this was highly unusual, but let us not ignore what is happening in our City – prostitution and ritual murder of children.”

  The two people at the table in the somewhat darkly lit pub turn their attention away from the broadcast on the screen hanging over the bar. The man perks his eyebrows at the young woman. She seems more interested in the steaming cup of coffee in front of her, bent over it as if in reverence or an attempt to block out everything else. If the latter, it doesn’t work, as she turns her eyes up to see him.

  “What?” Therese demands of Detective Contee.

  “Information leak …?” Quain pushes, his fingertips held against the pint glass of tomato juice.

  “Not from me. It makes … the vigilante look bad, and I’m not trying to do that.”

  He notes the slightest hesitation in her speech, and he wonders if she might have almost slipped and let out something about the vigilante that she is trying to hide.

  “But you’re holding him to task aren’t you?”

  Therese’s face pinches up a bit, her default defensive state, but it almost as quickly fades, and something more forlorn creeps unto her. She nods slowly, lost in thought for a short time. Quain studies her intently.

  “The vigilante is a tool,” she finally resumes, looking up at him, bringing her cup off the table as though in preparation for a taste, “There’s more than one tool for this problem.”

  “Right,” he says, and as she turns her own piercing gaze further on him, he adds more sincerely, “Right. We’re on it, too. There were kids there, and none of them were hurt in the attack.”

  Therese nods, still that slow, contemplative gesture, as though she is not being given any new data but is still processing and analyzing what she can.

  “Good.”

  He watches as she finally partakes of her coffee, one he offered to buy for her, but she declined. She doesn’t look at him, going inward, ignoring the editorial news, the few others in the tavern.

  “You gave him the information instead of giving it to us,” Quain finally speaks, trying to get her back into the focus.

  She shakes her head, taking another sip.

  “Some, yeah, but not nearly enough. I’m not the only tool the vigilante uses, either.”

  “Right. So what do you have going on?”

  She does not react with her normal barriers to this inquiry as the two of them have further communicated since the initial rendezvous, and they have agreed to such exchanges.

  “My P.I. is still looking into things on the ground. I’ve found some … interesting information on the ‘net, but I’m still verifying and compiling it.”

  “I doubt it’s confessions and addresses of operations,” he says, picking up his glass for a decent intake of the thick juice.

  “I’d really rather finish the analysis before saying more,” she states, seeing through his none too subtle attempt to glean the details.

  “Fair enough, but we go on leads all the time, and a lot of them turn out to be false positives. Investigation is pounding the pavement, you know? We play the numbers. Check and check and check some more.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, when do I get to meet this P.I. of yours?”

  She shrugs, thin shoulders rising within the thick leather jacket. “I don’t know. Maybe never. That’s more up to him. Besides, he’s working for me. He’s also good. He’ll find something, give it me, then I’ll deliver it to you.”

  “Actionable intelligence?” Quain perks his dark brow.

  “Whatever you want to call it. I really don’t care.”

  “Well, I hope something good breaks for us soon,” he admits, and his manner gets more attention from her, “This is getting really bad. It’s already really bad. So, it’s just getting worse.”

  He pauses, looking away, and she just stares, her eyes seeming magnetized to him.

  “Frankly,” he resumes, looking back at her, “I’m worried about him.”

  “Him?”

  “The vigilante,” he elaborates, and though she gives no more reaction, he believes he’s gotten a small morsel, “There was the one attack that left those kids dead, and we’re pretty sure the other case I’m on was a reprisal or bait. And now this. Those guards weren’t killed, but they were all shot. One will take months, if not years, to recover.”

  “So?” she demands, and he can see it in her, how much this affects her and what she thinks of those involved.

  “Look, I’m not defending these guys, but the vigilante somehow managed to be less … bloody, in the past. It looks like they’re openly declaring war on each other.”

  “Yeah, well, the criminals will take it personally, but the vigilante … shouldn’t.” Again a brief pause that makes him wonder what may have been altered in her speech or what it may mean of her personal investment in all of this.

  “Okay, but how?”

  “What?” Her eyes dart back to him.

  “How do you not take this personally? Think about it. This guy decides to put himself at very serious risk to take care of some business that he obviously thinks the police can’t or won’t do on their own. And now, these criminals may be executing kids to send him a message? Shit, I mean … well, it would take a lot of fortitude to not take all this personally.”

  She just looks at him, letting some moments pass. He returns the gaze, waiting. He sees a small movement in her jaw, a curl to her upper lip.

  “Yes, it’s tough. I just hope the vigilante is up to the challenge,” she finally says.

  *****

  Lilja comes in from having spent many hours out, jogging, walking, rock climbing, trying to sort things in her mind through this combination of physical activity and the embrace of nature. It is, perhaps, a distillation, a way to reduce the chaotic components into something more palatable, something more comprehensible. She has not come to a conclusion, but it allows her to better see and focus on the problem.

  Skot looks up from his laptop as she walks in, doing more of his work, whether further study on the Book or communiques to oversee the various family or business interests, she is not sure. He brightens as she enters, a smile taking his lips.

  “Lily,” he greets, quickly saving his work and preparing to push back from the computer.

  “Hi,” she says, her hand moving a bit in a sort of half-formed wave, “Sorry I was out so long. I’m going to take a quick shower.”

  “Okay,” he says, concern already leakin
g into him like a virus.

  He has missed her, of course, though she did text him a few times during the hours-long jaunt. Upon seeing her, he just wanted to jump up and wrap her in his arms, exchanging kisses, but it seems she had not been interested in that. It only adds to his worry.

  He tries to get back to his work, but this is only more caution. The infrastructure of their family and the myriad financial ventures is well in place, and he needs not really deal with any of the multitudinous day-to-day maintenance. He likes to read over reports, of course, but the machine works without micro-management. He is involved in bigger things, such as the continued lack of any information regarding the skin wearer, study of the Book, and its protection. All signs point at the Infernal making another try for the tome, and why would they not?

  Though he has much with which to occupy himself, he finds it difficult to focus, and the time of her ‘quick’ shower takes too long for him. He hears her return, moving about in the kitchen. He picks up his large glass, downing the remaining water in it, and heads to her.

  She looks up to see him there. “I’m making some coffee. Would you like some?”

  “Sure.” Skot smiles.

  He looks at the play of her wet locks over her back as she moves. How it hangs as she bends to get some of what she needs, then falling back. She is in a simple t-shirt and sweatpants, and he finds her enticing. He knows, though, that she is not in such a mood, so he represses his own feelings of arousal.

  “How was your time out?” he tries.

  “It was okay.”

  She adds water to the machine, turning it on. He waits, hoping she will now give him more attention, give more of herself, now that her task is complete. She just stands there, hands held on the countertop, as though she is supported by it, just staring at the coffee maker.

  “Lilja?” he begins, stepping closer, placing a hand lightly on her upper back, letting it glide down slowly in a soft, hopefully comforting motion, and she turns to look at him. “Is everything okay?”

  She moves in closer slipping her arms about him, and he returns the embrace with an almost physical sense of relief, holding her tight. He feels as her own hold increases in strength.