Knight's Nemesis

by Misty Kayn

  Knight wasn’t a garden variety. Or the gawking variety for that matter.

  FOUR

  Through a maze of tall, dense gardenia and jasmine plants, Clementine arrived inside the lower gardens filled with narrow pathways. She lowered the ramp and wheeled onto the asphalt road at the same time as a pair of stable boys approached the horses. Labyrinths of green and color, the gardens were beautiful. Nights ago when she visited the clinic, she didn't see rampion and there wasn't any now.

  Red roses intertwined the white fence enclosing a rectangular, plain white, two-floor townhome with black shutters. It was a respectable clinic with a small family eatery next door. She unlatched the fence and wheeled to the clinic's entrance.

  Two red stripes of paint ran top to bottom of the black wooden door. Next to the door, a small clay bin was attached to the building, low enough for her to reach. Clementine peeked inside and found two capsules. Her healer still took patients. She picked up a pale yellow capsule half the size of her pinky, hoping the line late in the night wasn't long. Some nights she waited from breakfast to lunch. He was a busy man.

  With a snap, she broke the hard capsule in half. An image of a yellow number five popped out of the capsule and glowed in the air before her. She swiped her hand over the number, and hooked onto the healer’s magic. “Clementine Arer,” she said, letting the healer know she was number five in line. With time to waste, she took the narrow tunnel on the left, backpack in her lap.

  She rounded the corner and made her way to the patio of a small diner. The ten table eatery’s patio was surrounded by thick grape vine walls that attached to the building and over the path from the healers to the eatery. Tonight, five empty tables in need of clearing lined one side of the vine wall. A pair of men sat next to each other two tables down. A couple, she thought, from the way they touched each other's hands. And probably Daylanders.

  Daylands folk didn't wait for the blinking star to signal time to eat. The couple feasted on fresh fish from the lakes of the high gardens. A half full bottle of chilled, white grape family wine graced the middle of their table next to the small clay vase with three pink budding roses. The dim glow over their young, pretty faces, created the romantic atmosphere that the Nightlands' diners were famous for. Daylands folk organized their weddings, honeymoons, and other romantic trips around the garden's logging schedules to take full advantage of the everlasting nighttime.

  There was something else that lurked in the night. Murky, moody wolves.

  Knight sat in the far back corner. Just him, his shadows, and dim, young flowers in a vase at the middle of his table. Only his green eyes flashed bright under the blanket of a lone night.

  Rearranged tables cleared the path for the wheelchair, so she rolled forward. "Hi," she said when she reached his table.

  He wore a pale blue shirt and probably the same black pants the clan seemed to prefer. Leather string held back his brown hair and his alert eyes scanned the area behind her. He moved the chair next to him and she parked, both their backs to the vine fence.

  For Clementine, and probably Knight too, night wasn't romantic. It was the norm. Except for the way they sat. They should sit across from each other she thought but said, "No rampion here, I've checked." She attempted to ease her discomfort with conversation.

  "How long?"

  "I'm fifth."

  "Do you want something to drink?"

  "Their white wine is very good I hear."

  While he called the server, she reached for the three pink roses in their prime. The soft, thick petals were smooth and a little wet, so someone had just picked them for him.

  Knight pretended not to pay attention.

  Clementine swiped her hand over the flowers.

  The rose buds didn't glow brighter.

  She swiped again, touched the petals with a tip of her finger, but held back the magic her dove wanted to expose. The dove lived for magic.

  Knight snorted.

  Inwardly, she rolled her eyes.

  He upturned his nose and inhaled. A low rumble came from his chest and his wolf stood at attention.

  A tall, slender man, four fingers shorter then Knight strode straight to their table. He wore green, rubber, knee-high fisherman boots over black string clan-pants. He didn't wear a shirt. Dirt from fishing or farming lingered on his well-honed torso. At the table he stopped, ran a dirty hand through his short blonde hair and left the style sticking out on all ends. Vacant pale blue eyes bounced between Knight and Clementine. “You called a meet, I’m here.”

  “You’re late.”

  “I’ve taken up gardening. What do you think?”

  “I think you should take up a muzzle.”

  The man smiled. “New girlfriend?"

  "Sit," Knight said.

  He didn't.

  "She pregnant?" he smirked.

  "Not your place, sit."

  The man growled but it was more of a snort, pulled out a chair and threw it, more than placed it, away from the table. He plopped his weight on the chair, legs sprawled in front of him. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Not my place you say. Don't I know it, Alpha."

  Clementine frowned. The tone mocked Knight's title. Strange. "Clementine," she introduced herself to Arthur, Knight's second in command. She’d seen him at Mother's shop this past spring before Mother moved to the gardens. She remembered they’d argued and she remembered Arthur spouted curses.

  Away from the table, he examined her, his vacant eyes devoid of wolf or man didn't take interest. "Clementine what?

  It wasn’t a “who,” it was a “what” but she said, "Arer."

  "Seer's daughter?" His eyebrows shot up.

  "I prefer Harria's daughter."

  "Why?" Knight asked.

  "She doesn't sell the future anymore."

  Knight groaned.

  Arthur threw his head back, the small bulge on his throat bobbed as he roared with laughter.

  Clementine’s eyes widened. Lucky for him he dined at the healer’s. "Is he well?" she said then pinched her lips. She’d meant to keep that stray thought to herself. What was so funny?

  Beside her, Knight shifted and ground his teeth.

  Arthur chuckled, finally coming to. He hitched a breath. “This is...this is epic." He shook his head then glared at Knight. "What do you want?"

  "Pull back." His hand landed flat on the table.

  Arthur's eyes filled with his wolf, shone brighter, and she yelped, rolled back at the sudden change of demeanor. Bright blue flashed in the dark of the night, his wolf ready.

  She backed her chair as far as it went. Arthur's face wavered between man and white wolf, the wolf's teeth bared, his gums bloody. Clementine gripped her armrests, not wanting to look like she saw his wolf, she'd already yelped, but her dove, the unwise, offended bird, leaned forward ready to engage. Clementine, mentally, slapped herself.

  Arthur placed his palms on his bent knees. "You can't dump your cake and wanna eat it, you aren't my Alpha anymore."

  "I'm everyone's Alpha, unless you’re moving to Daylands."

  "We'll take him!" one of the two lovers tweeted.

  Knight and Arthur glared at him.

  The man waved his fingers. "Never mind."

  A middle-age, dark haired server with the biggest kinky hair in the lands walked to the table. She wore a long yellow dress with a pink belt and she ignored the wolves, smiled at Clementine. "You staying for dinner?"

  "Just the wine, please."

  She placed a half-full wine glass on the table and sashayed back inside.

  Knight stood. "Get it together and pull back, don't make me do it."

  "And if I don't, what you gonna do?"

  A cold breeze ruffled her hair, and goosebumps rose on her skin. If she’d had body hair, it would be up, too. There shouldn't be a breeze so cold in the thick live fence at the start of a fall season. Above, on the grape vine roof, leaves rustled and white grapes fell on the table.

  Thump.

  Thump.


  Thump.

  The wolves faced each other.

  She spun her chair away from them and towards the young, puzzled couple. They lacked self-preservation, they should leave. Instead, they pulled out their imaging devices to snap pictures. Clementine parked next to the kitchen entrance.

  "Come back," Knight said.

  "Fuck you. All this is your fault,” Arthur said, his voice gruff with the wolf, “he’s taken me. Fuck. You." He bared his teeth and swung. Knight dogged. Over the table, Arthur hurled himself on Knight. The table cracked down the middle. Cold winds blew outright and out of nowhere. The Daylanders screamed and stood away from their table. The clay vase thumped to the floor, broken into pieces. The budding roses opened, and glowed an angry bright red. Long vines, like whips, lashed out from the roof.

  "Get out of here!" Clementine said.

  The wolves tumbled on the floor while the cold wind picked up speed. Vines lashed out on the Daylanders' backs, bleed them raw as they ran.

  The vines dropped from the roof and tangled around Knight's legs.

  Clementine headed for the tunnel exit, ducking the whips, fighting the shivers when her vision sharpened, her dove pushed against the skin and bones. Oh no, no.

  The wolves rolled over her chair and broke one wheel.

  Clementine fell with a thud and a yelp. Palms flat on the floor, she pulled the weight of her leg as she tried to get away. A hand closed on her ankle. Swirling bright blue eyes locked on hers, his wolf's teeth bared, and ready to strike.

  Wild with anger, he opened his jaw.

  Knight pinned his weight while blunt teeth bit Arthur’s throat. He growled a warning.

  Arthur clamped her ankle tighter despite the teeth jabbed in his throat. "What are you doing girl?" His voice a rumble she barely understood, his wild eyes on the capsule in her hand.

  Knight growled louder, snarled as blood poured out of Arthur's neck. Vines that wrapped Knight's legs pulled him upwards, Arthur's neck in his mouth. Knight would rip out his throat. They'd kill each other.

  Clementine tugged on her leg but couldn’t escape. Leaves, like insects, came alive and crawled to her. Trembling, leaves creeping over her arms, she breathed hard and fought back her dove whose eyes she saw through. When magic sparked on her palms, she broke the imager's capsule.

  Tiny red particles exploded in the air. Like dust on the cold wind they spread out over the patio and covered their bodies. Oh star, not the red illusion. She held her breath so she wouldn’t inhale.

  Arthur breathed deep, the sound wet with blood, and after a blink the vine branches swung helpless from the ceiling. The winds swirling around them settled the red dust over the tables and chairs on the other side. Knight groaned, released Arthur, and turned to lie on his back, a pair of wolves settled.

  "I am very tired, my friend. Shit." Arthur’s fingers relaxed, blood from his wounds dripped onto cobblestone.

  “You hang in there you hear me. That’s an order,” Knight said and placed his hand over Arthur’s shoulder.

  Clementine leaned back, sure she intruded on something private. The seam of her dress in her hand, she wiped the sweat from her forehead, wishing to beat wheels out of here. Finally, when she couldn't hold her breath anymore, she inhaled. Dust tickled her nose, made its way into her mind. Her eyes rolled up and her eyelids closed as an illusion presented itself.

  A violin plays.

  The scent of jasmine caresses the air.

  Red dust escapes the brunette's bare feet. Her legs are long, her hips are wide, her waist is narrow and her breasts are large with hard dark nipples. An exotic beauty, even her eyelids are charcoaled and her lips glisten with pink rose powder oils as she walks beside us.

  Us who?

  A nude, man with wide shoulders and big brown eyes crawls behind her.

  She walks to one table and bends over it, her nose at the flowers in the clay vase. She inhales and smiles then smacks her bottom. With red manicured nails, she strokes the rose petals then glances behind her at the man. Her face elongates into a wolf with bright green eyes.

  "Wolf," I echo.

  Her wolf-face wavers and the man turns his head away. She smacks her bottom again and spreads her ass cheeks, her teeth bared in a smile, her nether, pink lips glistening with moisture. He leans forward and swipes his long tongue over them. The violin plays with purpose guiding his licks, interrupting her moans. He sucks her bud, and noises come from his throat as he enjoys licking her wetness. They ignite my core.

  My. Me. I blink and look around. It’s hot in here and my head hurts. I think about removing my dress but I can't because I don't wear undergarments. "I should be doing something," I whisper, eyebrows drawn. I try to remember what I should do as pressure builds in my ears. The pressure is familiar.

  A bird shrieks.

  The man licks her faster. She is moaning, her snout turns up and sniffs the air, her long brown hair flies about her in the winds.

  She has a pretty clip in her hair with a single, tiny red stone.

  The violin strokes are fast and the man wants to stroke himself but he can't because a white cloth is wrapped around his member, blocking his pleasure. He slaps his red mushroom tip peeking above the cloth. He licks her faster, hits himself harder, her fingernails in his hair pull his head and rub his face all over her folds.

  Rampion scent replaces jasmine. It's poignant and nauseating.

  The couple wavers.

  They appear closer now.

  A pale, slender hand swipes over the red jewel.

  FIVE

  Nearing dinnertime, inside the plain white walls of the healer's room, Clementine swung one foot back and forth on the side of the raised metal table. The table she sat on, a grey counter with a sink and a grey chair between a counter and a window, decorated the examination room. It was sterile and devoid of personality, unlike the man who practiced healing.

  After she managed to get her butt off the floor and find the imager's anchor in the jewel of the woman's hair clip, the illusion disappeared. If the cold winds and her dove’s shrieks hadn’t awoken her, she'd have stayed slumped against the wall and under the illusion for the night.

  She exhaled and dug into her backpack that she’d found at the entrance to the clinic. Arthur had searched her bag and took the pills before he left. Both wolves had swum out of the illusion fast, though they probably suffered the same after-headaches she did. Inside her head a composer orchestrated seventy lines of drummers using seven starlights old children as performers. She grumbled, pressed two fingers on her temple and looked forward to meds.

  When she’d retrieved her bag she found her knife, dresses, and boots. No capsules. When did she take her boots off? What a mess. Her favorite dress hung around her neck like an old rag. Lifting up, she stripped it off and pulled on another one, a leftover from Seven's youth.

  She missed her sister. And her strength. They stuck up for each other, though, Seven more for Clementine than the other way around. If Seven were around, she'd have ripped through the vines, not hesitating for a blink before using magic on whatever came at her. But Seven wasn’t there and Seven didn’t have magic.

  Clementine dropped the pack on the floor and rested back on her hands. She recalled the patio event. Someone manipulated the winds and the vines. Winds blew like they were in an open space and the vines weren't sentient to move by themselves. She didn't know of any magic that could animate Nightlands’ nature, even she couldn’t move the nature. Flowers glowed and she supplemented their glow, they didn’t move.

  But, she recalled the old tales of primary magic sources that still lingered among folk. They spoke of the magic that made the Nightlands, of animals so powerful they could change the climate. Clementine shook her head then winced. Those were nothing more than tales parents scared their kids to bed with. Nightlanders didn’t believe in tales, they believed in what they witnessed every night, a star in the sky.

  Clementine wanted to help, she really did, because starvation and
poverty hurt the lands, deprived everyone of a healthy living. A pang of guilt ran through her and she remembered her Mother's words that she should steal from others, use the magic she was born with. Mother thought being considerate of others and their magic was a weakness, but Mother didn't know a source traced along with magic and that Clementine’s dove could leave her.

  Well, with imager’s capsules gone, Knight must move onto plan B and let her get back to work, something she was good at compared to combating thousands of rotting flowers, vines, mad wolves, and winds that blew up in her face.

  The door opened, admitting Knight.

  He was bare chested and wore a pair of new black pants. Patches of healed bruises splattered on his torso. He threw his backpack on the floor and sat in the corner chair, his pants stretched when his knees relaxed apart. Elbows on the armrests, he leaned back and thumped his head against the wall. Twice. After-headache probably pounded his temples. He expelled an exhausted breath.

  This wolf shouldered a lot of weight, the weight of the entire land. That must be a lot and she almost felt bad for him. Okay, she felt a little bad for him but what could she do? "There's a foul odor all around the clinic, and people will notice. I'll be ready soon, but my chair is broken and he took all my capsules."

  "An imager is coming."

  “Which one?”

  “Kai.”

  The same imager Clementine used. Kai worked his craft best. "That won't fix–"

  "I know," he bit out.

  She cleared her throat. "I forgot to bring coin with me, but I'll pay you back for the healer." When her cheeks heated, she looked down at her hands. “I packed fast and didn’t think.”