So the two founders set about accomplishing their mission by trolling the families of the European aristocracy which often faced the problem of two male heirs living to adulthood. As the custom was to keep family estates undivided and pass to a single male child, the quandary facing such families was what to do with second sons. The redundancy of healthy, adult second sons was both blessing and curse.
Placement in the clergy was politically expedient in terms of power and wealth. Such a position was a good match if the boy demonstrated the unusual traits of being a next-in-line who was both compliant and ambitious. Others, true to the rebellious nature typical of their place in the family hierarchy, sought out the Knights Templar and other enterprises where high born progeny found career, adventure, and sometimes discipline as gentlemen soldiers or highly paid mercenaries.
The most exceptional of these were recruited by the Order of the Black Swan. There they found a purpose that far transcended an inheritance of wealth, power, or public recognition and, in the end, counted themselves the more fortunate between their older brothers and themselves.”
Elora had listened with rapt attention to this tale of triumph over tragedy and every part of it resonated deep within her. “And there are no women knights?”
“No.”
“There has never been a woman knight?”
“There has never been a woman knighted by The Order of The Black Swan. There have been a couple in the sense that we bestow the title: Jeanne Hatchet, 1472, and Marie-Angélique Duchemin in 1798. Either the French are forward thinking or Jeanne d’Arc paved the way.”
“And you just happened to have those facts on the tip of your tongue? Including dates?”
He shrugged. “Photographic memory.” He handed her a little, soft cover book with a yellowish tan cover marbled like parchment. The title was in bold, black print. The Order of the Black Swan Field Training Manual. “This is available on electronic tablet of course, but I like to do some things the old fashioned way.”
She opened to the first page and read the first item. The plural of vampire is vampire. “Why have you given me this?”
“Because you have passed my test and are granted freedom of the building and grounds on a probationary basis. Since you are now able to wander the facility at will, I think it’s important that you understand the nature of the work we are doing.” Elora practically leaped from her chair, but he held up a hand in a gesture to ‘wait’. “There is a condition.” She narrowed her eyes. “I would like to monitor your psychological adjustment to your new situation with one hour sessions two times a week.”
She looked at him suspiciously. “Psychotherapy?”
“Yes,” he said flatly and without apology.
She looked wary. “Are you bound by confidentiality?”
“Yes.”
“Agreed.”
“Very well. You will be moved to one of the apartments this very day if you are ready to leave your nest at the infirmary. I know they will be sorry to see you go.”
“Quite humorous,” she said as she was moving toward the door. Suddenly she stopped in her tracks, the elated mood gone as quickly as it had arrived. She turned toward Monq. “Those boys I saw, in the infirmary, the ones who were covered with blood. They’re vampire hunters?”
Monq rested a solemn gaze on her and nodded. “It’s dangerous work.”
“And Storm is one of them?”
“No. He’s not one of them. He and his team are the best there is.”
***
CHAPTER 6
BLACK SWAN FIELD TRAINING MANUAL Section I: Chapter 10, #27
Vampire are usually attractive because they were young, healthy adults at the time the disease was contracted. They were essentially frozen in their current physical state for the remainder of their lives. When selectivity is not an option, a depleted vampire will attack a person of any age, sex, or condition. If the body of that person survives, it will not continue to age or develop, but will maintain in stasis so long as it is fed sufficient amounts of blood.
Not much packing was required to get Elora ready to move. Almost all her clothes were already hanging on the rolling rack. Storm was able to carry the four crates all at once which meant the two of them were able to make the move in one trip. Elora said goodbye to the staff on duty, accepted hugs and graciously thanked them for their care and patience.
Down one long hallway, turn right, and up the elevator three floors. She made a conscientious effort to remember the way. The apartment had last belonged to a knight who was no longer in service at this unit. There was a faded rectangle on the door where the name plate used to be. She didn’t ask too many questions because she didn’t want to take the chance that answers might take some of the exhilaration out of the moment. Storm had made a point of saying these quarters were just temporary until they sorted out the best solution. She didn’t care if she had to pitch a tent every night. She was just glad to be out of the infirmary holding pen.
The apartment had ten foot ceilings which made it feel expansive. After months of confinement in a small room, she needed all the feeling of spaciousness she could get.
The galley kitchen had a pass-through bar featuring a fully stocked wine cooler. Beyond that was a small dining area with glass top table and good view of the courtpark. One wall of the living room was glass with double doors opening onto a balcony. Another wall featured a gas fireplace, recessed with bookcases on both sides and a big screen TV monitor.
No one would accuse the former resident of exploring his feminine side in any significant way. The décor featured minimal lines, function and efficiency with colors mostly in mahogany, black, stainless steel, and shades of green varying from forest to sage. But, no expense had been spared and the result was an overall sense of quiet luxury.
The bedroom mirrored the living space and shared a chimney with the living room so that both featured a gas fireplace with everything else reversed.
The floors and walls of the bath were covered in multicolored slate to compliment the large, black, whirlpool bath at the ready to soothe the sore muscles of a tall person. The sport style shower was large enough so as not to require either a door or curtain to contain water spray. Most amazing was the generous expanse of mirror which had a TV monitor embedded within. When turned on, the TV program seemed to appear within the mirror like magic.
She opened the double doors to the balcony and stepped out into the open air. The fact that she could open her front door and walk out into the hallway anytime was a privilege she would never take for granted again. The fact that she could be alone, unobserved, was heaven.
As soon as Storm had set the crates down on the closet floor, she hustled him out wanting to unpack and get ready for her big night out. Storm allowed her to give him the bum’s rush. He helped her program a personal code into the keytouch lock, gave her a small, thin phone, showed her how his personal number had been programmed in, and promised to be back at 8:00 o’clock.
As he turned to go, a very big guy with impossibly orange hair walked up and nodded at Storm as he was punching his code into the lock on the door across the hall. Over his shoulder he said, “Hey, Storm. Somebody moving into Lan’s place?” He opened his door and turned back for an answer. That’s when he saw Elora in the doorway. He gave Storm a questioning look with eyes as big as golf balls.
“Not much.” Storm shrugged like nothing was out of the ordinary and walked away, leaving the guy standing there gaping at Elora. She gave him a big smile and a little wave, stepped back, and closed the door.
Ram and Kay returned to base the same day Elora Laiken moved into temporary quarters. Storm had invited her to come to dinner in the Mess, meet his teammates and celebrate her probationary freedom. He couldn’t wait to show her off. They weren’t going to believe who the lump of flesh turned out to be. Not to mention what she looked like all cleaned up and put back together. Elora was thrilled about the prospect of expanding the limits of her environment, but nervous about m
eeting Storm’s closest friends.
Thanks to the guy across the hall, Elora was no longer a secret. You would think that someone would have thought through how to spin her presence at Jefferson Unit. Sometimes it’s the most obvious details that fall through cracks. Within fifteen minutes Sol was getting calls asking about the girl in Lan’s place. In turn, Sol called Storm and found out exactly what had transpired, also learning that she would be making an appearance at Mess that very night, a little after eight, in what would no doubt turn into a spectacle unless it was managed first.
Sol decided the most efficient approach would be to meet the situation head on and simply make an announcement in the Mess. So he showed up at 7:45 and demanded attention with a handheld mic. He spent less than five minutes explaining that the unit is hosting a visitor from another dimension, that she had spent the past three months recovering from wounds received as a result of pioneering a scientific exploration heretofore thought impossible, and that she would be staying for awhile. He asked everyone to make her feel welcome and ended by saying they would get that opportunity soon because she was expected in the Mess in ten minutes. The knights and staff took it in stride. Truthfully, many of them had borne witness to things that seemed much less believable. As soon as Sol left, they went back to talking and eating as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Elora finally decided on the black, Ferragamo boots, a silk skirt - the only one she had purchased - and the black Armani sweater with the zip front. She zipped the sweater up to just below where the locket fell between her breasts and left her hair down. When she looked in the mirror she thought the best thing about the way she looked was that she could be mistaken for an ordinary woman, out in the world without supervision or script or bodyguards or paparazzi. It wasn’t all bad. Maybe.
She was standing in the kitchen watching the LED time on the microwave oven when she heard a light knock on the door. No matter how many times Storm told himself that he was an escort and not a date, he couldn’t make himself believe it. He still had his hand in the air when the door opened. She was wearing the same shy smile he had seen on the twelve-year-old Elora Laiken from the internet video.
“Hi,” she said with a little chest high wave of her right hand.
“Hi. You look wonderful.”
She took in his long sleeve gray tee and the black pants that he seemed to wear so often. They were made of a fabric she wasn’t familiar with. It looked a little like leather, but, even without touching, it was obviously soft, draping over Storm’s tight, masculine curves like silk. “So do you,” she said and he laughed in that unguarded way that made him seem so genuine and comfortable in his skin.
In addition to spreading the news that Elora was across the hall, the carrot topped guy was also responsible for letting it slip that the apartment had belonged to the recently K.I.A. member of B Team. She knew because, on the way to dinner, she asked Storm who Lan was. Storm seemed fine with the arrangement, but she didn’t know how the other two would react.
The Mess at Jefferson Unit was quite elegant. It was a long rectangular room with an expanse of courtpark windows along one side. Next to the windows and along the opposite wall were rows of tables-for-four arranged dining car style with one end against the wall. The arm chairs were big enough to seat four large men comfortably, two on either side. Each table had a small, green shaded lamp. The effect was soft, ambient lighting; good for quiet conversation. The tables were set with herringbone white linen, heavy Waterford crystal glasses, and sterling silver. In the middle of the room, between the two long rows of tables-for-four were round tables that would comfortably seat six with wide aisles on both sides to allow for ease of service. The carpet was an upscale floral design with a dark green background. The walls were painted a soft shade of sage and accented by glossy white chair rail and moldings at floor and ceiling. It was relaxed luxury at its finest.
The Mess offers two meal seatings at dinner. The trainees, educators, and support staff eat at six. The knights, medical, and research staff eat at eight. There are also quick meal options in the bar and to-go meals in the hub diner and grocery.
There is no assigned seating in the Mess but knights usually sit at tables with their own team members. It’s just a little like having the evening meal with family. Even though the room full of people had taken the news that there was an inter-dimensional guest without missing a beat, everyone stopped and stared when Storm entered the room with Elora. She wasn’t an introvert, but she didn’t crave that sort of attention either. So she reverted to what she was trained to do - act like royalty.
Krisp, the maitre d’, appeared out of nowhere saying, “Right this way.” Of course Storm knew the way to the table usually occupied by B Team, but he thought it was good of Krisp to go out of his way to make Elora feel welcome.
She swept along behind Krisp looking striking and statuesque. Storm was thinking she would have attracted stares even if she wasn’t a paranormal headline. She didn’t make eye contact with any of the occupants, but was able to ascertain that diners came in all manner of dress from shorts and flip flops to leather jacket and tie.
On seeing their approach, Kay and Ram stood up for introductions as a matter of courtesy. Storm hadn’t given them any details about her background thinking that was personal information; her news to tell should she choose to tell it.
As they approached the table, Elora sized them up noting Kay’s huge frame, distinctive cheek bones, square jaw, and concluded that she wouldn’t want to fight this man. He immediately put her at ease with a smile and relaxed body language. He was wearing a collared shirt, brown twill pants that she thought were called khaki, and square toe boots that looked comfortably broken in. With a little twinkle in his eye he said, “Wow. You’ve changed a lot since the last time I saw you.”
She raised her chin giving the impression that she believed she was the same height and smiled. “Have we met then?” She teased back as she offered to shake hands.
She turned to Ram who was wearing faded jeans and an intricately patterned, black, tee shirt with a large AC DC and lightning strike symbol on the front. He took her extended hand in his, but when he said, “Hello,” she jerked her hand back to her side like she’d been burned. Looking confounded and a little embarrassed he asked, “What’s wrong?”
Elora pulled herself up until her presence was nothing less than commanding. Storm was fascinated, having not seen this side of her before. “Your voice is what’s wrong, Mr. Hawking. It sounds very much like one I’ve heard before saying, ‘kill it. Kill it now.’” Her tone was crisp and slightly imperious.
Ram’s face fell when he realized she had both remembered and made the connection. Though feelings of intimidation were completely outside his range of emotion, he was unsettled. He looked at his feet as if trying to form a response and then glanced up to see that everybody in the room was stopped, looking at them like it was a show. His coloring deepened by a shade. “Hey! Find somethin’ else to do for Paddy’s sake!” He shouted a challenge at the crowd in general, then said, “Wankers,” under his breath.
Knowing Rammel Hawking's somewhat unpredictable temperament, curious onlookers decided it was in the best interest of a quiet evening to pursue their own business in terms of dinner and conversation.
Satisfied with that, he turned back to Elora, leveled a steady, blue eyed gaze, and leaned in so that he could speak in a much lowered tone of voice. “Naturally I regret that, my girl. Please,” without taking his eyes from hers he bent his head in a little gesture of contrition, “accept my apology.”
She stared at him for a minute. He was just three inches taller at six feet one which meant that, in her Ferragamo riding boots, a stretch of posture, and a tilt of her chin, they were practically looking eye to eye. She took in the boyish features; flawless skin, full, pouty mouth, and mess of multicolored blond hair. All that came together in a perfection of creation with watercolor eyes that seem to waver between sea blue and midnight sky. S
he didn’t know if she liked him, but her intuition said he was sincere and there was no arguing with the allure.
She took so long to respond that finally he leaned even closer, captivating her with glittering eyes that made the reflected light dance. He spoke so quietly it was almost a whisper. “Do no’ be mad.”
She was willing to bet that few people had ever been able to resist him when he turned on that adorable, puppy dog plea. As if he could tell the moment she relented, he smiled in a way that seemed far too intimate for a recent introduction.
“If we’re goin’ formal, ‘tis Sir Hawking when we’re on these premises, but I’d like it if you call me Ram.”
He was close enough that she could smell that his breath was sweet, like a baby had just chewed spearmint, but his underlying scent was a heady mixture of musk and wild fern. She took a half step back and dropped her chin slightly. The man was dangerously disarming.
“Okay,” she said simply and the wave of relief that circled the little group, still standing, was palpable.
Ram and Elora sat next to the window across from each other. Storm sat next to Elora with Kay across from him.
When they were settled in, Kay said, “So, welcome to Jefferson Unit.”
“Thank you. Until today I haven’t really seen anything except the infirmary. And the Chamber room,” she said as an afterthought.
“Is that the now-famous locket?” Kay nodded in the general vicinity of Elora’s chest.
Storm followed his gaze and realized he didn’t want Kay studying the locket too closely where it snuggled in the cleavage between her breasts. He mentally caught himself being irrationally possessive and gave himself a little internal shake.
Krisp came by and oversaw the pouring of water by a young man in a black vest and white waist apron. He rattled off chef ’s selections for the night. The only dish Elora recognized was chicken. She didn’t understand pecan crusted, but she did like mushroom sauce so she asked for that. After everyone had ordered she admitted that she didn’t really know the dish choices by name and would need to get a quick education on food. They were served a tomato soup course which she thought was delicious, but eating red soup is always a little worrisome when you’re trying to make a good impression.
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