by Davis, Jarod
At first, he didn’t understand how they fought. Every heartbeat and Cordinox translated, jumping between points in space even as he fought. He flickered with every other second, sliding through space. It made him look like a character from some old movie.
For each of Despada’s attacks, whether slash or a thrust, Cordinox managed to stay out of the way or slide a dagger into the right spot, just enough to deflect or slow Despada. When she would have scored a hit, would have had the force of one strike to Erzu’s head from his shoulders, he disappeared, flashing back into existence right behind her.
Together they jumped and every few seconds Cordinox would teleport, dashing through space without moving. Every attack that might’ve killed him, he avoided by just not being there. Then he’d have an advantage because Despada couldn’t know exactly where he’d reappear, and he’d almost get a blade between her ribs. His blade thrusting, he might’ve been able to win too. But she twirled her blade, the ring of motion knocking away his attacks.
Timothy thought about helping then remembered that he didn’t know what he was doing. He saw himself climbing up there, running across the roof with his shadowed tentacles. He’d make an attack, she’d snag his tendrils in her staff, pull him close, and behead him with one swing.
Again Cordinox disappeared with a thought to call on his demonic heritage. This time Despada got lucky. She slashed a random direction. It probably wasn’t mortal, but she hit him, cutting a deep gash down his shoulder. It probably wouldn’t kill him, but it could slow him down, and that could be a death sentence.
They jumped apart, both Despada and Cordinox watching the other. Even from the ground, Timothy could see they were both panting hard. Cordinox touched one fist to his wound. Prodding the damage, he probably wanted to know how hard this would be. Then there was Despada who watched him with crinkled eyes because she thought she’d win.
“You won’t win,” Cordinox promised.
“A fool’s boast. Prove your strength and feed on my soul.”
“I don’t eat garbage.”
“Idiot,” Despada hissed, swinging her blades back at Cordinox. The next seconds were his retreat. Maybe he wanted to know how he’d fight with his wound. Maybe he didn’t have a better strategy. In either case, every second was another step back. He blocked the blades, keeping them from scoring any more hits, and that meant he fell further and further back. Timothy waited for him to teleport again, to just jump behind her and get one blade into her back. Timothy beat Roman that way. Cordinox should’ve been able to do it too.
“Jump?” Despada asked.
“We’ll see.”
She spun her blades again, a disk of speed and blades that she pushed closer to him. He deflected the attacks as she bounced her weapons back and forth, darting those grafted scimitars at his neck. He ducked, his neck safe. He dodged to the left and blocked another attack. His timing off, her blade bit into his hand. He pulled back, quick enough to keep Despada’s momentum from severing his hand. That dagger fell, clattering against the ground after a sickened pause.
Cordinox held out his one blade, still cornered, with just half his weaponry.
Timothy figured he was dead. He figured they were all dead.
“You can still jump.”
“Nope.”
“You think you’re going to survive this, don’t you?” she snarled.
“I think you’re going to have to attack me to win, and I can try something really stupid.”
“You’ll still be dead.”
“Probably.”
Despada moved forward and chopped down. He blocked the first attack before she reversed her blades, the bottom scimitar flying at him. Instead of dodging forward or anywhere else, Cordinox rushed into her attack. He got past the blade, grabbed her weapon’s haft and yanked. He caught her off balance. He pulled and they both stumbled.
They fell.
Timothy didn’t breathe as they tumbled, tilted through the air and he expected a thump of splattered flesh against concrete. He heard a crack, a snap, the clatter of Despada’s staff. What he saw was Despada crumpled against the ground.
She forced herself up and wavered on her feet.
“Kill her,” Cordinox ordered.
If Despada feared this moment, she didn’t let it show. Only Roman and another demon came to her side. Cordinox had Devi, Timothy, Morgon, and Hecate stood with Cordinox. And they weren’t badly hurt. But there wasn’t a big fight, no final melee.
“Later,” Despada promised. She inhaled and Timothy thought of a dragon. She exhaled, and he dropped to the ground when he saw the black fire, felt the cold rush through the air. Winters in Sacramento felt cold. But this was arctic frost, the kind that could snap steel. He dropped and felt the air punched from his lungs, his hands over his head, but he didn’t care. Everything he thought about was making sure he lived through the next five seconds.
Cold burned and stabbed and dug through his body.
This was freezing to death in a second.
Thousands of stabs ripped through his skin.
But then it faded. World blurry, Timothy tried to inhale and exhale through the sensations. It was like he couldn’t think even as the remembered pain began to ease.
Lifting his head, Timothy saw one of his shields. He didn’t remember creating it, couldn’t even feel it over the cold that clung to his skin. The dark frost burns were already half-healed. Then he saw that Despada was gone, her followers too.
Above them, Cordinox touched a hand to one of his wounds. He examined his fingers, wet and red. He looked more curious than anything else when he said, “Congratulations my comrades. We’ve survived this attack. She wasted resources with this assault and now she’s weaker for it.”
But Timothy just thought about how he was still alive. He’d made it. Then his watch beeped six o’clock. He wasn’t late yet so he could still see Jenny, and that second thought felt like the most important idea he’d ever had. Even his cuts were almost healed, so he ran for his car.
“Where you going?” Isis shouted after him. After this fight he should have been broken, but he wanted to be somewhere else. He had to be somewhere else, so Timothy ran as hard as he could until he saw his car, aimed for it, jumped in, jammed the engine to life, and then he sped back to The Verge.
Timothy sprinted up the stairs to his apartment, slammed the door open and closed, flicked the light and threw off his clothes to jump in the shower. Forty-seven seconds later, he smelled like Spring Sunshine, toweled off, and got into some clean clothes. In his black jeans, and blue shirt, he almost looked presentable. Then again, he felt like a waiter, so he didn’t know how well this outfit worked. A glance at the clock and he had fifteen seconds.
He wouldn’t be late.
He knocked the door open, slammed it shut, and skipped down the steps, three at a time, only to run down the open air hallway to Jenny’s apartment. Timothy skidded to a stop, took a second to try to stop panting, and knocked.
A few seconds later the door opened. Jenny glowed as angelic as her soul. Anyone else and it probably wouldn’t have meant anything. A butterfly barrette pulled his attention to her hair, those stands of curled brown, warm like coffee or chocolate. Her lips glowed against the pale of her skin. Timothy didn’t know anything about makeup, but he guessed she used chap stick or lipstick, some product designed to entice and allure even as he couldn’t explain it. Dressed in jeans and a sweater, Jenny should have been average. She should’ve been some moderately attractive girl guys would notice for a second before moving onto her really hot friend. But for Timothy, there weren’t any friends who could surpass Jenny.
“Hey,” she said with a curve of smile that made him think life couldn’t suck.
“Ready?” he asked, and she followed him back to his car. Hair and skin a little damp from his shower, the world was just cold enough to keep him energized, heart pounding because this was Valentine’s Day. And he was going to his car with Jenny Morgado. The words felt like an incantat
ion, the best words to summon happy.
When their doors slammed shut, he asked, “What’s your pleasure?”
“Something simple. I don’t know, Mexican?”
“There’s a good place at Arden.” Simple, it was nice enough that there were servers, not so nice that it had to be a place for a date. Because that part wasn’t official yet. She nodded, and they were off and listening to music and talking about the songs. Timothy took the chance and teased her about the lyrics. That made the five minute drive feel like ten seconds. After parking outside the mall, he opened the door for her, and they headed inside, sat down, and ordered. The main corridor was filled with people. Some had bags. Most of the patrons clustered together like family or friends.
It felt way too easy. Nothing awkward, they traded stories and details while Timothy tried to memorize everything she said until Jenny asked, “What do you think of them?” Two kids, probably high schoolers, leaned together, across their round table. She was grinning, her cheeks dimpled, as the boy said something to her, trying to look serious and failing to keep his mouth from cracking into a grin mirrored on the girl’s face.
“They’re a couple. But they haven’t admitted it yet?” Timothy guessed.
“How long?”
“Ten years. They’ve been together since they were seven. And now that they’re old enough, they’re starting to figure out what it means to be a boy and girl.”
“I think they just met,” she said.
“Why’s that?”
“Because they could appreciate it more. It’s new and exciting, a really big priority. Everything they can think about and discover is going to be each other. If they’ve always known each other, then they might take each other for granted.”
“But it would be great if they didn’t.”
“That would be nice.”
“They could be surprised, shocked there’s something new in their relationship. That would be pretty amazing. You could have this connection with someone you’ve known forever mixed with the excitement of realizing there’s so much more.”
Jenny tilted her head, “You’re not like a lot of guys.”
“Thanks?”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s a good thing.” Timothy would have given up a couple paychecks if it meant he could know what her smile meant.
“What’s the longest relationship you’ve been in?”
“About three months.”
“And the longest crush?” Timothy asked, always curious about every part of her life.
Jenny shrugged, “A month?”
“Fall into it for six months, a year, and then see how much take people for granted.”
“But that’s not all that realistic,” she said. “Who’s in a crush for months at a time?”
Timothy swallowed, desperate to keep his mouth from saying something stupid, obvious, and absolutely true. Instead, he wanted to know, “So all relationships are doomed? There’s no point in hearts or romance? Every song is wrong and movies are just there to sell popcorn?”
“Maybe,” but she grinned back at him.
“That’s what I thought.” Nodding at another guy, Timothy asked, “How about him?” He sat between the cell phone alcove and the cookie shop, his pen sliding across a notepad.
“Student?” she guessed.
“I don’t know. How come he keeps looking up? And why study here?”
“Maybe he’s people watching.”
“That’d be rude,” Timothy said.
“Very,” Jenny agreed with paper-thick seriousness. “Why then? Why take notes?”
“An artist? He’s going to draw us eating Mexican food and talking about the other people here.”
“Or he’s a spy.”
“A spy?”
“Yeah, he’s taking notes on how to look like one of us. He’s a spy for an alien invasion, and he wants to learn how we act like people.”
“Couldn’t he be an explorer?”
“Sure,” Jenny said. “But he’d have to want something. No one explores without wanting something. Maybe our air or water or something. What’s his name?”
“Xleg.” A silly noise, it was easy. It was also easy to say because he was thinking about sitting there. A glance around and there were lots of couples. Then Timothy noticed a guy watching them, tracking from Timothy to Jenny. One second and Timothy swallowed, thinking it might’ve been a demon. But the guy looked away and went back to talking to the girl who sat across from him. When Timothy looked at him, trying to see some kind of demonic energy, there wasn’t anything but someone looking for a Valentine’s Day score.
“From?”
“Saturn?”
“I’m pretty sure Saturn is just gas, but sure, why not?” Jenny agreed with a sip of soda. “Oh, how about those two?” Hand still around the can, she motioned for the two people sitting in front of the ice-cream shop.
“That’s tough.”
“Friends?”
“He’s a bit young.”
“Cougar and someone else’s cub?”
“Okay,” Timothy laughed some more. “That’s not what I expected you to say.” The other guy had looked at him because he was with Jenny. This other guy wanted to analyze the competition. Timothy never really noticed competition before. A glance at Jenny and he knew he’d fight for her if that’s what it took. And that would’ve been simpler too because he sat with her and joked with her but that didn’t make this a date. They could end the night with a solemn handshake, and the next time he saw her she could be bubble with joy as she talked about her new boyfriend.
“I have many talents,” Jenny said with a bow.
“Like what?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“You really aren’t what I’d expect.”
“I have many talents,” Jenny said again.
“Disturbed guesses among them.”
“What about him?”
“He looks like he’s planning for an eating competition?” Timothy guessed.
“That’s pretty gross.”
“Eating that much?”
“Eating that much always reminds me of the orphans who’re starving right now.”
“And you don’t think there’s a hell?” Timothy asked.
“Moments like this, and yeah, I have to reconsider my beliefs,” Jenny said. “What do you want to bet he’s beaten by a Japanese girl a tenth his size?”
“But he’s pretty thin,” Timothy said. Even from across the food court, Timothy could guess this would’ve been a tall, thin guy. For a second, Timothy was reminded of Morgon and the fight he just survived. That part of his life didn’t feel real, and he was glad. He wanted the true part, the actual part, to be right there with Jenny.
“Small people. They’re the ones you want to worry about.”
“You’re kind of small,” Timothy said.
“No I’m not.”
“You’re short and skinny. How’s that not small?” Timothy asked.
“Just because you’re a giant.”
“Of course, me and my five ten height, dominating the world. But you know,” Timothy said, “There could be something terribly wrong with him. And we’re here, laughing, and saying really mean stuff. Well, you’re saying mean stuff. I’m being a good person.”
“I didn’t say anything super bad. But he can’t hear us, not over this din.”
“So that makes it okay?”
“If it doesn’t hurt him, why not? And he’s wasting food which is wrong, especially if we’re right and it’s just for a competition.”
“How about them? What’s their story?” Timothy asked. Five girls, anywhere between eighteen and twenty-eight clustered near the lobby to the movie theatre.
“Protesters.” Timothy tilted, confused, so she told him, “They’re doing what I was going to do. They didn’t have a guy for Valentine’s Day so they get together and have fun even as everyone else’s supposed to be in love and happy. No rose or candy or guy to stand there and
hold them and make them feel special.”
“Would you like to be in that group?”
“Nah, I’ve got a guy.”
“Who?”
“You. You’re mine now,” Jenny laughed, and he would’ve been fine with that answer, but she had to go and say, “No, I’m just kidding.” Timothy had to smile because that was the appropriate thing to do. “Or am I? Give me your hand.”
“Why?”
“Just give it to me,” Jenny said, so he held out his hand, palm up. She turned his hand and took a pen. The first poke and he flinched, “Shush, don’t be a baby.”
“What are you writing?” he asked because he couldn’t see past her wrists. She shushed him again, telling him to be quiet. He didn’t pull away though, not until she was done. Etched in blue ink was PO: Jenny Morgado. “Thanks,” he said.
“Prove me wrong.”
So they debated whether or not writing on someone’s hand could be a binding contract. Their conversations moved across hours, a dance Timothy loved. They sat there and time disappeared, and they left when an electronic voice called the mall would close in five minutes. Shrugging and laughing because they still thought it couldn’t be past nine, they went back to his car, still talking. Timothy’s day stretched and kicked him around, but he couldn’t imagine being tired with Jenny so close.
Timothy pulled into his parking spot and got out, their doors echoing together. Still arguing about the best song ever, they headed up the steps. They passed two floors of college students. When it was time to say goodbye, Timothy did something old fashioned and scary. He walked her back to her door.
For a second, Timothy thought she looked nervous with her fingers wrapped around her wrist. “You’re at my door,” she said. “After we spent a couple hours hanging out.”
“I am.”
Nibbling her lips for a second, Jenny asked, “So…was this…? Was this a date?” Nervous and tense, that could’ve been Jenny with hope or Jenny afraid she’d have to cut off a heart. Because that was the really cruel part. She could say no, which might hurt her too. She’d have to be guilty, have to lose a friend. And it would be Timothy’s job to convince her he’d be fine with rejection.