The four of them had grown up together and knew each other well enough to think they might achieve the elusive ‘team telepathy’ that had been reported by a few quartets over the centuries.
In less than a year, Kris Falcon would be able to claim that he’d lived half his life on the J.U. premises. He had a routine. Rise. Shower. Dress. Have breakfast. Double check the duty roster. And the best part of his day, stop by the Operations Office to say hello to Mademoiselle Genevieve Bonheur.
Mme. Bonheur had recently become Chief Operations Officer after functioning as assistant to Farnsworth for six years. Farnsworth had retired to pursue some personal interests that included cooking, painting, collecting sea shells, and spending time with her daughter when possible.
On Wednesday of every week, Falcon arrived with fresh flowers for the Operations Office. Flowers would normally be delivered to the O.O. So he made a point of being at the entrance to intercept the delivery truck just so he could carry the bouquet personally, saving and savoring Genevieve’s smile for himself.
With widespread floral mutation, it wasn’t that easy to get flowers with a lovely fragrance anymore, but he shopped florists until he found one that grasped the concept of money being the least important factor along with the stipulation that they would only present a bouquet with an intoxicating perfume. Falcon believed no price was too high to experience seeing Genevieve bury her face in a bouquet, close her eyes with pleasure, and make sounds of delight.
He had the maintenance crew come in after O.O. hours on Tuesday nights and remove the past week’s flowers so that the office would be ready for a new splash of color and scent the next day.
After repeating this process for so long, Falcon had developed a discriminating eye when it came to floral arrangement. If the other knights knew that, he’d never hear the end of it. So he took care to keep his interest in horticulture private. Oh they knew that he bought flowers every week. They just didn’t know how much care he put into the details.
He’d developed personal preferences for particular flowers, along with how he liked them paired with varieties of greenery and how he liked them arranged. More importantly, he’d learned what Genevieve liked. She smiled graciously even when she didn’t particularly care for something and would thank him effusively no matter what, but over the years he’d learned to read the nuances well enough to know exactly what would cause her spirit to do a high handstand.
On that particular Wednesday he’d given the driver an extra big tip when he picked up the armload of flowers set in a large square clear-glass vase. Falcon knew it was just the thing to elicit a big reaction. He walked a little faster than usual, anticipating the way she’d stand up, walk toward him with her high-beam smile, reach for the flowers, bury her face in the petals, take in a big breath, make sexy-sounding noises of delight, and turn her mesmerizing caramel-colored eyes his way. First she’d say, “Thank you, Sir Falcon. They’re lovely.” Then she would turn her head toward her desk and say, “I think I’ll put them here. What do you think?”
He would return her smile and say, “Whatever you want.” Then he would add, “I have tomorrow night off. Would you like to have dinner with me?”
He knew the chances were slim that she would say yes. She would almost certainly say, “I like you very much, Kristoph, but I’m too old for you and I’m not looking for a lover. There are so many beautiful girls who would love your attention. You should ask one of them.”
He would say, “It may be true that others would say yes, but it’s you I’m asking. And I don’t agree with your conclusion that you’re too old for me. Remember this. When you’re ready for a lover, you’ll want one with youthful vigor in the prime of his ability to give.”
He would grin.
She would laugh, shake her head, set the flowers on her desk and fluff the arrangement which, in his mind, could never compete with the life and beauty she emanated like a halo shining all around her.
That exchange had taken place two hundred and sixty-three times. Yes. He’d gone to the trouble of counting. Black Swan had taught him many things about aspiring to being a person of worth and one of those was that a person of character does not give up. He’d engaged in that dialogue with Genevieve so many times that the lines were rote, like actors who had done a very long-running play on Broadway. He didn’t bother to ask himself why he continued to try. He knew why. Because a chance at something, anything, with Genevieve Bonheur was worth that much effort. And that much patience.
Sir Sainregis called out as Falcon passed his way to the O.O. “Still at it, Falcon? You need to get a new hobby. That woman is your lost cause.”
He looked around to see who was within earshot. When he confirmed that the Sovereign and instructors were nowhere near, he said, “Fuck off,” and continued without breaking his stride. He didn’t care if people thought he was a love-sick fool. Maybe it was true, but if it was, it was his business and nobody else’s.
By the time he turned the corner into the Operations Office that Wednesday, he couldn’t suppress his smile a moment longer. It only took a second to scan the room. She wasn’t there. He glanced at the wall clock. She was always in the office at that time of day. The only person present was the trainee who’d been assigned runner duty that morning.
“Where’s Mademoiselle Bonheur?”
“I don’t know, sir. No one has been here this morning but me.”
Falcon set the flowers down on the counter that separated the administrative area from personnel. “Have you notified the Sovereign’s office?”
“No, sir.”
“Why not?”
“I… uh, didn’t think of it.” Falcon stared at the kid long enough to make him nervous. The trainee looked at the phone on the desk that used to belong to Farnsworth and reached for it. “I’ll call them now.”
“No,” said Falcon. “I’ll tell them myself.”
“Okay.” Falcon looked at the boy sharply. Discipline wasn’t just something to do. It was crucial to grooming prospective knights who wouldn’t someday turn and flee at the first sign of fangs. “I mean, yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Falcon’s mind was a jumble that matched the uneasy feeling developing in the pit of his stomach. Like most people who worked for Black Swan, Genevieve took her job seriously. The Order didn’t tolerate personnel who didn’t understand the importance of the work and give it a priority. If she wasn’t at work, which had never happened before, and hadn’t made arrangements to cover her position, the logical conclusion was that there was something to be concerned about.
The Sovereign’s office perpetually maintained a staff of two twelfth-year students who served as admins for the office. One in the morning. One in the afternoon. It was a sought-after prestigious post for a trainee, even though working for Rev would never be described as ‘fun’. It was a resumé plum similar to a law student clerking for a policy-making judge.
Jamie Kirkpatrick was the trainee on duty. So far as anyone knew, he was the first elf to ever hold the position. Elves were not usually inclined to serve or accept attitude without giving it back. You might say they were usually unsuitable, personality-wise. Jamie looked up and acknowledged Falcon when he came in. “Sir Falcon.”
“Are you aware that the Operations Manager didn’t show up this morning?”
The elf scowled. “No one told me. Let me check with the Sovereign.” Rather than using the interoffice comm, he rose, walked over and knocked on the boss man’s door.
“What!” Rev practically shouted.
Jamie was unfazed. “Mademoiselle Bonheur didn’t come in today. Did you know she’d be otherwise occupied? Sir?”
Rev saw that Falcon was standing behind his admin, looking like he was also waiting for an answer to that question. Rev shook his head. “News to me,” Rev said to Jamie before shifting his eyes and shouting, “Falcon!”
Kirkpatrick stepped aside to let Falcon take his place in the doorway. “Yes, sir.”
“Did you bring thi
s news to our attention?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I see.”
“I, ah, don’t have her phone number, but it’s very unlike her to no show. Maybe you could give her a call?”
Rev matched the intensity of Falcon’s gaze as he said, “Mr. Kirkpatrick! Call the lady and find out what’s going on.”
Falcon heard a, “Yes, sir,” behind him.
“I’m sure there’s no worry,” Rev said. “It’s probably Bastille Day or some such and she forgot to call.”
“Not to disagree, sir, but the reason why she’s head of Operations is because she doesn’t let details slip through cracks. Or take holidays that aren’t cleared. Ever. Sir.”
Rev knew that was true, of course.
Falcon turned toward the admin desk when he heard Kirkpatrick speaking, but quickly realized he was just leaving a voicemail asking her to call the office as soon as she received the message.
Kirkpatrick returned to Rev’s doorway. “No answer, sir. I left a request for a phone call as soon as possible.”
Rev nodded at the kid and said to Falcon, “Come in and close the door.” Falcon did as he was told and came to stand in front of the Sovereign’s desk. “So you’re close to Bonheur?”
Falcon debated how to answer, finally deciding that, where the Sovereign was concerned, honesty was the best bet. “Not as close as I’d like to be, sir. But I know her. Fairly well.”
Rev nodded. “I agree that she wouldn’t alarm us without good reason.”
He was already up and moving when Falcon said, “Maybe we could check her quarters? Make sure she’s not sick?”
“Exactly what I was thinking.” Rev passed Falcon as he exited his office. “Kirkpatrick. What is Ms. Bonheur’s apartment number?”
Kirkpatrick’s fingers clicked on the keyboard. “241.”
As soon as Kirkpatrick had spoken the number, Rev was moving toward the elevator.
“Permission to accompany you, sir?” Falcon asked, keeping pace with Rev.
“Given.”
The security box on the wall next to Genevieve’s door read Rev’s face. When combined with the push of a black button that served as a master key to everything that could be locked in Jefferson Unit, the apartment door clicked open.
He pushed through, but didn’t enter without announcing himself. “Ms. Bonheur? Reverence Farthing here to see you along with Sir Falcon. Are you here?” There was no response. “Do not be alarmed. We’re coming in to check on you.”
The two men entered Genevieve’s apartment. Falcon’s breath hitched when he saw it. The furniture was covered in prints of floral crewel on a white wool/cotton blend. The balcony shutters had been left open and sunlight was streaming in. A crystal pedestal bowl with fresh fruit sat on the kitchen bar. The effect was feminine, pristine, upscale, and, to Falcon, a little magical. As he would have expected, knowing Genevieve, everything was in its place as if she’d been expecting a photographer from “Architectural Digest”.
He passed through the living room to the bedroom. It was the same as the outer room in both style and occupancy status. Beautiful and empty. The bed was made. He rushed toward the bathroom. Again, everything in its place. Fluffy towels folded neatly as if awaiting an honored guest. He opened the drawers close to the sink.
He opened the door to her walk-in closet and found that it had been redesigned to be both attractive and functional. It even had a rod with a shorter hanging space for shirts and blouses over a seat with drawers where she could sit to pull off boots or pull on leggings.
The important thing was that everything was there, including her luggage which fit just above the closed cabinetry.
Falcon could feel it when Rev came to the closet door.
“She’s not here,” Falcon said without turning around. “And she didn’t plan to be away.”
“You’re sure?”
“There’s fresh fruit in the kitchen. Her luggage is here. So’s her makeup. And you know how women feel about that.”
“Indeed I do. You seem kind of young to know that much about women.” Rev took in a deep sigh. “You know her social circle?” When Falcon didn’t answer, Rev said, “I’ll call my wife. Find out who her close friends are. Somebody will know something. Until we find out, don’t be jumping to unwarranted conclusions.”
Falcon thought that was easy for the Sovereign to say. He nodded, but felt like the lead weight in the pit of his stomach was getting heavier by the hour.
“You need to get your mind on duty because you’re up tonight,” Rev continued. “Let patrol take your mind off this. I’m sure there’s a plausible explanation.”
“Will you have someone call me if one of her friends knows something?”
Rev’s expression softened. “Count on it.”
For five days thereafter Falcon continued to stop by the Operations Office just to stare at her empty desk. On the sixth day, he was surprised to see Farnsworth at her old station.
He looked from Genevieve’s empty desk to Farnsworth and said, ““What is it?”
“I’m just filling in. That’s all.”
“What do you know?” She jumped a little when his frustration exploded into a shout. “TELL ME!”
“Watch your tone, Falcon.”
He narrowed his eyes. “That’s Sir Falcon.”
“Don’t you try and pull rank on me. I remember when you were being taken to see the Sovereign for classroom pranks!” On processing the worry on Falcon’s face, Farnsworth backed down a little. “We don’t know where she is. She had a day off. Somebody said they thought she’d gone shopping in the city. That’s all we know. I’m just filling in until she’s back.”
Falcon turned to go, but Farnsworth stopped him at the door.
“Falcon. I will call you if I hear anything.”
He nodded solemnly and tapped the door jamb twice before leaving.
CHAPTER TWO
When Glen’s foot touched the tarmac as he deboarded the jet at Fort Dixon, he felt the idea of ‘home’ settle around him. Unfortunately it felt more like a shroud than a favorite fleece blanket. The last time he’d been there his heart had still been intact. He was thinking… correction, hoping, that Rosie would soften the consequences of her ultimatum and decide that what they had was worth a compromise here or there. When he’d been given his first assignment, he’d been sure that he’d be getting leave and seeing her in the near future. But after a year’s worth of phone calls to her parents, who hadn’t heard from her and didn’t know where she was, his hopefulness and outlook for the future had begun to fade.
The second year, hopefulness had turned into emptiness.
The third year it became hopelessness.
The fourth year it became bitterness. And that was the filter through which he viewed his ‘homecoming’ to Jefferson Unit.
Not much had changed. It was familiar right down to the look of the serviceman waiting by a jeep to take him to J.U.
“Take your bag, sir?”
He looked at the driver and thought it was a little silly to wear camouflage on an air base in New Jersey, but he knew the soldier didn’t have a choice about what he wore. He was probably close to Glen’s age, but that was just on the outside and looks can be deceiving. Glen was pretty sure he was at least fifty years older on the inside.
“Sure.” He handed his duffel over and pulled himself into the Jeep.
“Been having nice weather.”
Glen just grunted and turned his head away in the universal gesture of I-don’t-want-to-talk.
The driver took the hint and said nothing else until they stopped in front of Jefferson Unit. Glen sat in the Jeep staring at the front door for a few seconds, not really motivated to get out and open a new chapter to what had become a lousy excuse for a life. He tried to remember the guy who had once functioned as temporary Sovereign. At twenty years old. Glen supposed that remnants of that kid must still reside somewhere inside, under countless layers of things he wished he’d never seen
. But he hadn’t been in touch with that person for what felt like an eternity.
There was a time when he would have chatted up the driver and had the guy inviting him out for a beer by the end of the five minute ride. He’d been easy to get along with, had a tendency to bring out the best in people, wasn’t big on judging, and liked things pacific. You might think that was a gift, and in some cases it might be. In Glen’s case, however, it had been a curse. Because his affability was the very reason why he’d been tagged to be a ‘floater’, one of just six such knights in the whole of The Order of the Black Swan.
If Glen had been asked to write a job description for ‘floaters’, he might have said they were accursed souls, doomed to wander the earth without roots, home, or lasting connections. Unfortunately, no one with the authority to make changes had ever, in the near five-hundred-year history of Black Swan, asked a floater how he felt about the assignment.
With a sigh he pulled himself out of the Jeep and took his duffel, which held everything he owned. He had no place that he could call his residence, no car, no furniture, no pets… What he did have was a lot of money in the Black Swan ‘bank’. Since he’d spent practically none of what he’d earned for five years, he’d be considered a wealthy guy by most.
“Thanks,” he said to the driver without looking at him.
“Sure thing, sir.”
Glen walked purposefully toward J.U.’s state-of-the-tech security entrance wondering if he’d see people he’d known from before. He wondered how he’d appear to them and what they would think when they realized he wasn’t the same person they’d known. Storm had called a few times. Glen had let it go to voicemail. Each message was the same; a recorded inquiry about how he was and an invitation to visit them on leave. He’d never returned any of the calls. Same thing with Elora.
He punched in a series of codes, talked to the tech officer on duty, gained entrance to the security lobby, then stepped through the inner door which put him on the outer ring of the Hub. It was early afternoon, one of the busiest times of the day at Jefferson Unit. The knights had awakened and come down for breakfast at one or two. The students were transitioning from academics to physical training.
Knights of Black Swan, Books 7-9 (Knights of Black Swan Box Set Book 3) Page 63