“Well, yeah, I sort of named him in my head on the walk through the bar,” I lied.
“Pub,” Torn corrected.
“Yes. Pub. Sorry.”
“I, for one, cannot wait to hear what you named me in your head on your walk across the… pub.” Both of Bob’s eyebrows were raised as he waited to see how he’d be dubbed if I was the one doing the dubbing.
“Glyphs,” I said. I have no idea where it came from. I knew he might not like it, but I also knew he’d find no offense there. There’s something to be said for the no offense approach, especially when dealing with a crowd of rowdies like Z Team.
‘Bob’ looked at me while the other three looked at him. When he decided it was okay with him, he shrugged to indicate acceptance.
When Torn said, “Right you are. Now that you point it out, ’tis plain as day he’s no’ a Bob. Glyphs suits him just fine. Congratulations. You just nicknamed a knight. No’ an easy thing to do. Needless to say, ’tis a good thing he liked it.”
That was when I knew without a doubt that Torn Finngarick was the unofficial leader of Z Team. Black Swan has a tradition of not naming team leaders, but everybody knows there’s always one guy… He called the bartender over and ordered a Guinness Extra Stout, which is Irish black beer. For me.
When it was set down in front of me, in all its frothy majesty, I didn’t want to say that I was unused to drinking in front of people who thought alcohol was somehow tied to manliness. So I took a big long drink like there was nothing unusual about it. Then promptly spewed it all over Sir Finngarick.
The other three members of Z Team laughed so hard they had to wipe tears, but as I remember it, Torn’s expression never changed. He sat quietly while I borrowed a wet bar towel and offered it to him. No doubt I was blushing from what was the worst humiliation of my life to that point.
As I handed him the towel, I think I said something lame like, “I’d offer to clean you up, but your file says you’re heterosexual.”
Torn took the towel without a word, but the glint of amusement remained firmly fixed in place. When he’d done the best he could, all things considered, he gave me the towel. “Go get yourself somethin’ else. Drinks are on me. Milk maybe?”
I got a root beer from the bar and returned to the snug. Setting the mug down, I said, “You’re needed at Jefferson Unit. You’re to accompany me to Fort Dixon after the funeral. Your things are being gathered and moved as we speak.”
There was no discernible reaction. They were a cool bunch.
Glyphs said, “New York’s no worse than any other place. Maybe better than some.”
Finngarick looked at me like he was a mind reader. If I was ever going to be inclined to squirm, it would probably be under the scrutiny of that stare. “Would you be happenin’ to know why we’re needed so urgently?”
There was no reason to be coy. So I said, “Yes.”
A ghost of a smile seemed to cross Finngarick’s face, which I, a devoted heterosexual, am not ashamed to say was uncommonly handsome. “And will you be sharin’ with us then?”
“Sorry. No.”
Torn glanced at his teammates as if the four could communicate telepathically. “See. The thing is, we’re accustomed to hearin’ The Order needs to sweep us further under the rug. No’ bring us into the light. We would no’ be the least surprised if you came to say we’re bein’ transferred to Siberia. But this? Naturally we’re curious, you understand.”
“Are there vampire in Siberia?” I asked. When no one answered, I said, “Of course I understand that you’d like to know the reasons for your transfer. But I’m not at liberty to say.”
Torn nodded thoughtfully. “Well, then. Might you be at liberty to say why you, in particular, were sent to escort us?”
“The Jefferson Unit sovereign is retiring,” I told him. “I’m being given a try-out for his job. He sent me to get you.”
The stare they gave me looked a lot like disbelief.
Finally Gunnar cleared his throat. “So. You’re saying that, at some point, we could be calling you boss?”
I suppose I could have been more modest, but I gave them the shit-eating grin I thought appropriate. That was a mistake.
Torn leaned forward. “Seems we have limited time for the application of a right proper hazin’ then, Glen.”
Four pairs of eyes landed on me like I was the lamb and they were the wolves in Storm’s metaphor.
Back at Jefferson Unit, Sol was cool to the Zs while Storm was downright rude. Outside the Sovereign’s offices I said, “Welcome to Jefferson Unit. See you around?”
Torn stuck out his hand. “Sure, kid. We’ll be seein’ you ’round.”
As I remember it, there was a catfight between two nurses within twenty-four hours of Z Team’s arrival. Rumor had it that it had something to do with Finngarick. He wasn’t overly talkative on the subject and neither were the two women with nail scratches on their faces that were so deep they were practically gouges.
Perhaps his silence was gentlemanly, but I’m pretty sure the reason for the fight had nothing to do with gentlemanly behavior. If Finngarick wanted to survive in Sol’s culture of character, changes would need to be made quickly. The boys of Z Team had a golden opportunity to climb out of the dregs of disfavor. And I hoped they’d grab on with both hands because everybody deserved second chances.
Right?
CHAPTER TWO
In the long chronicle of Black Swan knights, Torn was one of only a handful who were not second sons. His particular life circumstances, otherwise known as fate, created the perfect storm necessary to build a potential Black Swan knight.
His mother had died when he was a toddler too young to retain any conscious memory of her. His father was a drunk, on the dole, and the town joke. By the time he was seven he’d learned to fight and was ready to take on all comers, even much older kids, anyone who had something untoward to say about his old man. Even though he’d be the first to acknowledge that there likely had never been a sorrier excuse for an elf.
Other elflings had an arsenal of hurtful things to say.
“He’s a shtate gobshite.”
“He’s a pox” or “eejit” or “maggot”.
Torn knew his father had given up, crawled to the bottom of a whiskey bottle and stayed there because he’d lost his mate. He wanted to shout at his da; that he was still there, that his father still had work to do. But he didn’t. He learned to make modest meals and put a besotted Mick Finngarick to bed.
If tears were shed, they fell with no one to see.
As word spread that a person should think twice before insulting Torn Finngarick or his father, opportunities to find release by pounding someone bloody became fewer and farther between.
He’d grown to just under six feet by the time his thirteenth birthday came around. By that time he’d taken to traveling to nearby towns and hanging around outside pubs in the hopes that somebody who hadn’t heard of him could be goaded into a fight. When he scored a taker, they were always put off by the grin that communicated pure pleasure. Sometimes it was accompanied by outright laughter.
That would have given a wise man pause. But a wise man wouldn’t be taunted into a street fight with a kid like Finngarick. So Torn was free to show exactly how much he relished the lesson he was about to give on the stupidity of engaging in rough play with strangers.
On one such occasion he stole a car and drove to Derry, the seat of the Irish Elf kingdom. He knew there would be a sea of possible victims there, particularly on a Saturday night.
As it happened, a knight named Draglanore was in Derry having a pint with a friend while standing at the bar at the Crow’s Cock on Queen’s Quay. He overheard the patrons behind him talking.
“The boyo’s fuckin’ put down four hale and hearty men and still ready for more. Ne’er saw nothin’ like it.”
Sir Draglanore turned his body toward the elf who’d been speaking and said, “Pardon me for overhearing. Are you talking about an altercat
ion in progress?”
The man looked Draglanore up and down, undoubtedly thinking the man’s speech was a bit highfalutin.
“That’s right,” he said, eyeing Draglanore with a modicum of suspicion. “Outside in front. Boyo too young for drink, but not too young to fight.”
Draglanore nodded. “Thank you.” As he turned back to his friend he acknowledged the quiet, but insistent voice. All knights are trained to pay attention to the inner prompting that pulls in one direction or another. Some said it was a function of the mystic. Some said it was a brain mechanism yet to be fully understood. Black Swan was far more concerned with practical application and function than definition. Turning back to his friend, he said, “You’ll have to forgive me, John. I need to check on something.”
John was agreeable. “Go ahead. I’ll keep the beer warm and the women cool.”
Draglanore laughed. “Indeed. Exactly what I fear when I wake each day.”
It wasn’t difficult to find the subject of bar talk. Finngarick and the small crowd he’d drawn had retired to an alley a few doors down from the pub so as not to draw the attention of law enforcement.
Draglanore arrived just as Finngarick delivered a knockout punch to a man who was in his late twenties and muscled to a point that suggested the use of enhancement drugs.
Finngarick was smiling like he was having the time of his life. Draglanore stepped in front of him and turned to the crowd.
“That’s all for tonight folks. The kid has had enough.”
The idea of being shut down by a prissy-talking stranger infuriated Torn. He pushed Draglanore’s shoulder from behind and was surprised when that had no visible effect on the man.
“Ain’t your fuckin’ business, eejit. You wantin’ some? I got enough for you and them, too.”
Draglanore turned slowly and deliberately. When Torn got a look at his face he could see that Draglanore wasn’t like the other men who showed up to fight him. He was self-possessed in a way that was foreign to Finngarick.
“What’s your name?”
“Who’s askin’?”
“Gray Draglanore. And you are?”
Torn huffed and looked up and down the alley, but said, “Torrent Finngarick.”
Draglanore nodded. “A fine name.” Torn snorted, which made Draglanore cock his head to the side. “You from around here?”
Torn wasn’t sure why he hadn’t already turned and walked away. It crossed his mind, but there was something compelling about the man. So he decided to let things play out a bit and find out what his angle was. “No.”
“Just passing through?”
Torn’s eyes skittered away in the direction of the stolen car. “Maybe.”
“I see. What year are you in?”
“And why would that be your fuckin’ business?”
“I might have an offer for you. I might not. I won’t know unless you answer my questions.”
Again, Torn thought about walking away, but the event in progress had the potential to be the most unusual and interesting thing that had ever happened in his short life.
“I’m in seven.”
“Seven.” Draglanore nodded. “Do you by chance have an older brother?” Torn shook his head. Draglanore showed mild surprise, but quickly recovered his passive expression.
“Just me and my da. Why are ye askin’?”
Draglanore ignored the question. “Are you smart, Torrent Finngarick?”
Torn’s lips twitched in a way that told Draglanore what he wanted to know. The kid was angry, handy, smart, and on the way to being on the tall side for an elf. He was already six feet and expecting another growth spurt.
“Do you like what you’re doing now? Your friends? Where you live? Where you go to school?” Draglanore already knew the answers to those questions. Black Swan knights are good at reading people.
Torn barked out a laugh, spat on the ground and wiped a rolled-up sleeve across his bloody mouth and shook his head as if to say the question was ludicrous. “No’ even a little.”
“Well, in that case, I may have an alternative to suggest. I work for an organization that recruits people like yourself. You would get the best education anywhere, see the world, meet people you can respect, and, if you’re interested in that sort of thing, make a lot of money. I can send someone to talk to you and your father if you’re interested.”
Torn narrowed his eyes. “Gangsters? Lookin’ for a body who can fight?”
It was Finngarick’s turn to be surprised when Draglanore laughed out loud. “No.” The knight shook his head, clearly amused by the idea. “Not gangsters. Although we do know something about fighting.”
“You work for the king?”
“Not the mob. Not the king. It’s a secret. If you sign on, it’s a secret you’ll take to the grave, but it’s also a decision you’ll never regret.”
Torn was intrigued. “My da…”
“Yes?”
“He’s a dosser. Likes the whiskey.”
“Oh?”
“Aye. Most of the time he’s locked and manky.” Torn looked down at his shoes, suddenly feeling ashamed in front of the elegant well-spoken stranger.
“I see. And you’re concerned that he may not be at his best when our recruiter comes to call?” Torn looked up into Draglanore’s eyes with a vulnerability that hadn’t been there before and nodded. “Leave that to us. Give me your address and expect someone in the next two days. We don’t operate on the same time as the rest of the world. We get things done. You need to be prepared to leave if you like what you hear. Day after tomorrow.”
“Why me?”
Draglanore smiled. “I have a feeling about you.”
Torn glanced away, but hurried to ask, “Will I see you again?”
“Maybe someday,” Draglanore smiled. “In our organization paths tend to cross from time to time. I expect I’ll be hearing things about you within a few years.”
Sir Draglanore did indeed hear things about Torrent Finngarick within a few years. They just weren’t good things.
Simon Tvelgar stood at the door to the humble Finngarick residence with rain pouring off his umbrella making him look like a fountain.
Torn answered the door, looked Tvelgar up and down and said, “You him?”
Simon wasn’t prepared for that greeting, but took the kid’s meaning. “Yes.”
Torn opened the door. Two hours later, Tvelgar had the required signatures from both Mick Finngarick and his son. Tvelgar wasn’t especially bothered by the fact that Mick Finngarick was too drunk to know what he was signing. He agreed with Draglanore. The boy belonged with Black Swan.
Torn stood at the door with a duffel over his shoulder, about to embark on the first real adventure of his life. He looked back over his shoulder at his father slumped over the small kitchen table, sound asleep, then stepped out into the rain without looking back again.
I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading Simon Says.
Reviews are enormously helpful to me. Please take the time to follow a link back to the book you’ve just read and post your thoughts. A few words is often as powerful as many.
Victoria Danann
NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR
SUBSCRIBE TO MY MAIL LIST Be first to know…
Victoria’s Website
Victoria’s Facebook Page
Twitter
Pinterest
Victoria’s Facebook Fan Group
Links to all Victoria’s books can be found here…
www.VictoriaDanann.com
Also by Victoria Danann
Click any active title to go directly to the Amazon page.
THE KNIGHTS OF BLACK SWAN
Knights of Black Swan 1, My Familiar Stranger
Knights of Black Swan 2, The Witch’s Dream
Knights of Black Swan 3, A Summoner’s Tale
Knights of Black Swan 4, Moonlight
Knights of Black Swan 5, Gathering Storm
Knights of Black Swan 6, A
Tale of Two Kingdoms
Knights of Black Swan 7, Solomon’s Sieve
Knights of Black Swan 8, Vampire Hunter
Knights of Black Swan 9, Journey Man
BLACK SWAN, NEXT GENERATION
KBS, Next Generation 1. FALCON
KBS, Next Generation 2. JAX
KBS, Next Generation 3. BATISTE (Coming)
ORDER OF THE BLACK SWAN D.I.T.
D.I.T. 1, Simon Says
D.I.T. 2, Finngarick
D.I.T. 3, Irish War Cry
D.I.T. 4, The Wild Hunt (Coming)
ORDER OF THE BLACK SWAN NOVELS
Black Swan Novel, Prince of Demons
Black Swan Novel, Deliverance (Coming)
Black Swan Novel, Nightshade (Coming)
THE HYBRIDS
Exiled 1, CARNAL
Exiled 2, CRAVE
Exiled 3, CHARMING
THE WEREWOLVES
New Scotia Pack 1, Shield Wolf: Liulf
New Scotia Pack 2, Wolf Lover: Konochur
New Scotia Pack 3, Fire Wolf: Cinaed
New Scotia Pack 4, Brandish (Coming)
THE WITCHES OF WIMBERLEY
Witches of Wimberley 1; Willem
Witches of Wimberley 2; Wick (Coming)
Witches of Wimberley 3; Wednesday (Coming)
CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
Sons of Sanctuary MC, Book 1. Two Princes
Sons of Sanctuary MC, Book 2. The Biker’s Brother
Sons of Sanctuary MC, Book 3. Nomad
Sons of Sanctuary MC, Book 4. Devil’s Marker
Music Man Series, Book 1 Catcher (Coming)
Simon Says (Order of the Black Swan, D.I.T. Book 1) Page 9