She woke to a knock on the door. She hadn’t thought to set an alarm because she didn’t think it would be possible to sleep later than seven. A quick look at the clock had her scrambling out of bed. She was decent in her yoga pants and cami and gods knew Storm had seen her that way many times, and worse. Much worse. So. No point in being shy.
The door flew open. Elora pulled him in and told him to make himself comfortable, that she’d just be a minute, then left him looking amused while she performed obligatory bathroom functions, splashed water in her eyes, scrubbed with the tooth brush, and untangled with the hair brush. She threw the mass of heavy hair up in a high ponytail, jumped into a pair of chocolate brown, velvet leggings and donned a soft knit top.
She opened the bedroom door and said, “Ta daaaaa.” She saw that on the TV show, “Dear Diana”, and hoped it meant “ready to go”.
He smiled, opening the door for her. “Late night?”
“How did you know?”
“Psychic.”
“Sorry to make you wait. It was exciting being out of the infirmary. I couldn’t sleep and was up late reading.” She squeezed past him while he held the door. “This is a big day for me. I’ve been wondering about the world outside my glass front box.”
When she said the word ‘box’, it made him wince a little. Of course he’d feel the same way in her place. That’s why it had eaten at him when she had asked if he thought confinement was harm.
“Have you ever given a tour before?”
“Nope. First time, but I do accept tips.” Then he added. “Of the monetary sort.”
It might have been funny if she understood the reference, but, he knew that questioning look on her face, so he said it with her, “What’s a tip?”
Knowing it was meant in a good natured way, she laughed with him.
On the rest of the walk down the hall past apartment doors, down the elevator, out into the busy junction, he explained the fine art of tipping: who gets one, when, for what service, how much, and how it should be given. She thought it was way too complicated.
He stopped to point out various places where services are available before they came to the coffee shop. The chalk board menu displayed some nice choices of hot drinks and the glass shelves showcased some giant, yummy-looking muffins. She asked for a large hot chocolate, a double chocolate muffin with chocolate chips, and a cup of mixed fresh fruit.
Storm laughed and asked if she wouldn’t like some Hershey’s syrup on the fruit cup.
They found a table for two in the solarium which, she was sure, would be her favorite indoor space. Storm had ordered a coffee called Americana and a thing that looked like unleavened bread stuffed with bacon and overcooked eggs. It was kind of disgusting, but she was willing to overlook a lot where Storm was concerned.
After all - suddenly she heard in her head an audio flashback of Storm’s voice speaking softly, saying, “It’s gonna be okay. We’re almost there. Almost there.” He had carried her to the infirmary in time to save her life, all the way urging her toward hope and survival. He alone made the decision to rescue her despite dissenting voices saying things like “don’t touch it” and “kill it”. With that inexplicable torrent of memories, she felt a wave of appreciation, affection, and admiration wash over her.
“What’s in that disgusting looking thing you’re about to put in your mouth?”
He chuckled and explained about breakfast burritos while chewing and insisting she take a bite. She agreed, but only on condition that she could keep her eyes closed while doing so. Her conclusion was that she wouldn’t be ordering one anytime soon. She said she was old enough to know that everything can’t be chocolate, but fortunately those aren’t the only two choices.
It would be hard not to notice that passersby did a double take when they saw Elora. Celebrity was the last thing she wanted. It was anathema to her, the very reason why she’d lived the equivalent of captivity her entire life, mostly restricted to palace grounds.
“How long do you think it will take for people to get used to me?” she asked.
Storm looked around. He’d been so focused on every nuance of Elora’s mood, every slight change of expression, that he hadn’t realized she was drawing unwanted attention and feeling self-conscious.
“Oh. Yeah. I guess you’re the new kid in town. People get used to change really fast around here. I’d give it twenty-four hours which means you’re more than half way to being part of the scenery.”
“You can’t imagine how good that sounds. So, now, I think I’m ready to hear about what happened to Lan. If you’re ready to talk about it.”
Storm sat back and looked out the window for a minute. She was just about to withdraw the question when he turned back to her.
“We’ve been hunting a big nest of vampire, practically a community. They’ve been doing stuff that’s out of character for vamps. Drugging women in bars and clubs with, ah, aphrodisiacs. Do you know what that is?” Elora nodded slowly without taking her eyes away from his. “I guess it makes it even easier to get women to leave with them quickly. No need to waste time with drinks and ploys.”
He looked up at Elora to see if she found the subject objectionable, but she was looking at him steadily, with interest. “Anyway, the short version is we came across a group of them. There was a difference of opinion about who lives and dies. We took a lot of them out. They killed Lan.”
Looking down, he rotated his coffee cup a couple of turns. “One of the alarming things about this is that young vampire, under a hundred-years-old or so, are too blood crazed for sophisticated operations like planning strategy. So there’s organization involved. And that is very unnerving.” He looked up at Elora. “The one of us hardest hit, although he doesn’t let it show, is Rammel because Lan was his partner.
And, I wouldn’t like for anyone else to know I said this, but a lot of people think of B Team as being…,” he paused looking like he wasn’t sure he should continue, “...elite or some such nonsense. There’s a concern that it affects morale more than usual if one of us...”
Looking at this man who had spent so many hours selflessly trying to give comfort, she wished there was some way to repay that in kind. “I’m sorry.”
“Enough of that.” He pushed out his chair, got to his feet. “Tour bus is leaving.”
Storm spent the next couple of hours showing Elora the sights.
The unit was housed in a facility built after the model of the Pentagon, not in the sense of seven sides, but in the sense that the hexagon-shaped building surrounded and enclosed a large open area. In that opening, called a “courtpark” by residents and staff, were tall trees, garden walks with fountains, and picnic facilities. In the center was a rugby field with a track around it. There were no windows breaking up the plain, tan perimeter of the 1950’s style building. All windows, with the exception of the Chamber dome, faced the interior park.
The ground level featured a large circular foyer called the hub, a glass solarium, the main meeting room known as the Chamber, the infirmary, library, mail room, dining hall, a small grocery, a coffee bar, billiards room, and a country club style lounge with an oversized oak bar, card tables and plush seating set in small conversational groupings.
The media center, server rooms, offices, workout facilities, training simulators, firing ranges, classrooms, and laboratories were on lower levels. Apartments for the seventy four personnel and trainees who lived and worked at the facility were on the higher floors. There were also two whister pads on the roof.
The building was home to twenty four knights, twenty four trainees, medical staff, teachers, administrators, clerical personnel, cooks, engineers, whister pilots, and maintenance crew.
Original funding for the organization had been generous, but two and a half centuries of well-invested funds had rendered a treasury that would be the envy of most small nations. Black Swan knights might live with their mortality hanging by a thread, but no luxury was spared their off duty hours.
She had seen part, but not all of Monq’s facilities. The biggest surprise was finding the boys in classrooms and tutelage, the fourteen to twenty-two-year-olds who fit the physical and psychological profile and may someday develop into the sort of exceptional person who expresses the traits of Black Swan knights. The boys looked at Elora with great interest, which was to be expected. Storm would have been worried about them if they didn’t.
They stopped by the mail room so Storm could introduce their very own postmaster. “I know Henry is going to be one of your favorites because he’s the one who makes sure all those packages find their way to you.”
The tour would have been delightful as well as educational were it not for a brief stop near the Black Swan mascot, a one-hundred-twenty-pound, black, Alsatian male, who had been relegated to a lonely life in a basement kennel. When Storm and Elora came within a few yards of the cage, the dog began snarling and charging the chain link. Storm said he was ruined, not trainable. They didn’t want to euthanize him because he was young and healthy, but he was too dangerous to let out. So they did nothing except feed him and hose out his kennel. Elora kept her opinion to herself, but was revolted by the untenable solution.
Courtpark entrances and exits were of particular interest because she had spent months longing to be outside. After stopping at the grocery to gather up supplies for her pantry and refrigerator, they returned to Elora’s temporary quarters.
Storm said he was expected to spend the afternoon in a meeting, but that he would like to see her that night. She seemed a little fidgety, embarrassed almost.
Finally, she said, “I wonder if I could ask you about something of a delicate subject matter.”
Storm ducked his head a little to catch and hold her gaze. “There is nothing you can’t tell me or ask me. And whatever it is will remain between us. I’m good at keeping things to myself.”
“Well, do you know if anyone has given thought as to how I may earn money?”
He frowned. “I don’t think that’s been addressed, but the credit card I gave you will buy a lot of stuff. And you’re welcome to use it. No strings attached.”
“Thank you. That is most generous and I’m very grateful. The thing is that it is one thing to accept such a gift when helpless, but to continue would be – I think the term is – freeloading.”
His features smoothed out and he nodded slightly. “I get it. How about this? We’ll make it a loan. I’ll keep a record like a running tab. When you start making your own money, you can pay it back.”
Her relief was evident. “That would be wonderful. So long as I don’t get too far in debt before that happens.”
“So what is it you need?”
“Well, for one thing, in my world I played a musical instrument a lot like your guitar. And I miss it.”
He stood there wondering how much more there was to know. He’d probably just scratched the surface.
“Please, Elora. Get what you need. Criminently! Forget need. Get what you want. I think I could make a case that it should go on The Order’s bill. They owe you big. How much is it worth to find out that some of the creatures we chase may be slipping dimensions? We’d never know that was a viable possibility if it weren’t for you. You may be the key to a thousand unsolved files gone cold. If you want a Rolls Royce to use as a living room sofa, you should have it. You’re important to this organization.” He started to turn and then came back, again ducking his head in that charming way of his that brought them eye to eye. “And to me, too,” he smiled.
“I don’t want a whatever-that-Rolls-thing-is, but I would like a few more clothes, a guitar, and a good amp.”
Storm’s chin pulled back as he raised an eyebrow. “Electric?”
“Yes. What did you think?”
He laughed shaking his head. “I don’t know. Delicate princess. Old fashioned lyre.”
“Delicate?”
He looked her up and down unapologetically. “Well, feminine anyway.” He opened the door and then stuck his head back in. “No weapons.”
“No promises.” Assuming she was joking he chuckled, closed the door, and strode away.
***
CHAPTER 8
BLACK SWAN FIELD TRAINING MANUAL Section 1: Chapter 1,#2
Soon after infection, the vampire virus begins to inhibit normal function of certain parts of brain. Cognitive reasoning is impaired and conscience is suppressed in vampire for long periods, sometimes centuries.
Elora thought a hot chocolate would make a perfect pairing with internet shopping. Feeling confident about navigating her way to the coffee bar and back, she decided to venture downstairs for a to-go cup.
As she stepped into the hall, she found Ram coming out of the apartment next door. He seemed surprised, but pleased.
“Good day,” he offered with a radiant smile. He was wearing faded, button down jeans again with a grayish blue, Metallica tee shirt that made his blue eyes pop and sparkle. “Ms. Laiken.”
She returned his smile while her entire essence quivered with a silent exclamation. There’s an elf living next door!
“Call me Elora.” As she pulled the door closed she remembered this had been his partner’s apartment. Suddenly she felt awkward about the chance meeting and her expression changed to embarrassment. “I know this was your, uh, friend’s quarters. I hope you don’t mind. It’s just temporary.”
Ram had walked the few steps down the hall so that he stood next to her in front of the door. “Tis fine, Elora,” he said her name like he was tasting ambrosia on his tongue for the first time. He glanced at the faded rectangle where Lan’s name plate had been. “Tis no’ like he’s usin’ it.”
She seemed surprised. Realizing how callous that must have sounded, he hurried to say, “Lan was no’ the sort who would want a memorial made of his quarters. He loved women and would relish knowin’ you’re the one who is sleepin’ in his bed. Temporary or not.”
Elora cocked her head at him and narrowed her eyes. “So. You’re a silver tongued elf.”
He shook his head slightly and lowered his sparkling eyes to fix on her mouth. “No. My tongue is sweet. Regular and pink. Will you come have a taste then and see if I’m true?” As he leaned in like he would kiss her she took a step back looking at him like he was daft. Noting that her expression and body language signaled wariness rather than playfulness, he laughed softly and straightened changing tactic and topic.
“So, where are you off to?”
They started ambling toward the elevator. “The hub. Coffee bar. Only I’m not getting coffee.”
“Let me guess.”
She gestured as if to say, “Be my guest.”
“Judgin’ by the way you devoured Black Forest cake last night which, by the way, was quite somethin’ to see and hear, I’m thinkin’ you’ll be after more chocolate.”
She grinned, delighted despite herself. He was a clever elf. She added that to a growing list of attributes that included smooth talking, possibly fun to be with, and, of course, gorgeous in an ultimate sex fantasy sort of way. His manner seemed boyish at times, but there was no mistaking the fact that he was a fully grown man in every respect that counts.
“Hot chocolate. It comes in liquid form. I discovered it at breakfast this morning and am thinking about forming a Cult of Chocolate.”
“It also comes in cold liquid form as chocolate milk. Humans are addicted before they have teeth.”
As they reached the elevator he pushed the down button and was suddenly serious as he was thinking she had probably had breakfast with Storm and discovered hot chocolate without him. He wanted to be the one to see her learn everything new about his world.
Bringing him back to the moment she turned toward him and asked, “Where are you, um, headed?”
“Somethin’ no’ nearly so fun as chocolate.” The elevator doors opened and they entered. His expression turned sober and he sighed. “A discussion about replacin’ Lan with a new fourth team member.”
“Oh. Storm sa
id something about a meeting this afternoon. Sounds dreadful. For all of you.”
“That about sums it up.” The elevator doors opened into the busy hub. Casually leaning his body into a brace against the opening to make sure the door held, he nailed her with that devastating smile and said, “Life goes on, right?”
She nodded, psychically agreeing to keep it light, and stepped out into the busy junction.
“I’m goin’ down another floor. You know your way? How to get there and back?”
“Oh yes, I’ve known how to get to the hub ever since the day of my hearing.” She gave him a little, chest-high wave with her right hand as she started off in the direction of the coffee bar. He paused for a couple of seconds to enjoy the saunter of her retreat, the confident stride, the flare of her hips, the sway of her body. He smiled to himself thinking he would never get tired of watching her go and never get tired of seeing her come.
Then it registered that she had said ‘my hearing’. He didn’t know she had been through a hearing, but made a mental note to get a copy. The Order is meticulous about video records.
On the way to the coffee bar she spotted a courtpark entrance and decided hot chocolate could wait a little longer. For three months she’d pined for the feel of unconditioned air on her skin, no ceiling, just sky above. When she opened the door and stepped onto the paved apron, a feeling of freedom and exhilaration swept through her that could only be understood by those who have experienced a lengthy convalescence or penal confinement. The tree leaves rustled and preened in the breeze with the brilliant colors that follow a cold winter and dry summer. Some had begun to fall. She spent an hour walking on leaves that made a pleasant crunching sound beneath her feet. She explored some of the garden walks and the open space of the track and rugby field. By the time she turned to go inside she was spiritually renewed and committed to making a go of a new life.
The table in Elora’s temporary dining area did an adequate job of subbing for a desk. Enough light. Enough room. In fact, she thought this might be her favorite place she had ever lived. Of course that was a very short list, the first residence had been a palace in another dimension, the second was a twelve by fourteen infirmary room.
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