Preparing to pivot, she pulled the staff, still wrapped, from where it poked out of her bag. If she recalled, Big had the endurance of an enormous bowl of gelatin pudding. She’d just have to hit hard enough.
She rushed him, angling the staff towards the ground. When she was in range, she brought the staff up very hard between his legs.
He made a sound like an arthritic donkey being forced to go up a rocky hill, and Grace couldn’t help but whoop.
She drew the staff back, movements sharp and precise from years of drills. That way he wouldn’t snap it as he stumbled. She streamed past him while he was still doubled over.
For a moment, Grace had thought she’d gotten away from them, but then two new arrivals appeared. They were faster, running to flank her, so she plumped for a patch of grass backed by a wall. Maybe Big would get tangled up in newcomers Fast and Nimble.
She’d won the battle of when, but now she was completely surrounded in the side street. Tall buildings blocked her escape on either side. Now they had forced her to try to hold out for a rescue, and there was little traffic on this street even during peak hours. She didn’t intend to make it easy for them.
The way they circled her and began pressing a coordinated attack would have impressed her if she weren’t so busy defending herself.
Short was all compact power, driving a blow right to her abdomen. If she got backed all the way up against the wall, if they could batter her into it, then-- never mind then.
She blocked hard. Her staff splintered in two.
She was on her knees, blocking two out of every three blows coming in. Blood ran down her temple from where Nimble had knocked her own staff against her skull.
“Hold on!”
Grace’s heart leapt as she recognized the voice, half a second before Alex leapt from a window. She would have been concerned, but Alex didn’t seem to interact with vertical space the way most people did.
Swinging from a line two stories high, Alex slammed into Grace, knocking all the air from her lungs. This, too, would probably hurt in the morning, but as they sailed out past the circle of attackers, Grace could only grin.
“Run,” suggested Alex, unclipping the cord from her belt. She grabbed Grace’s hand and took off smoothly. It looked easy when Alex did it, but Grace had tried maneuvers like that before and skinned her knees in the attempt. She stumbled, and then found her balance.
The moment she had her feet under her, Grace vaulted into fluid motion. “Don’t you need your thing?” She gestured behind them, not daring to look as she ran.
“Nah,” said Alex. “I have another.”
“Oh, good,” said Grace as they burst out of the alley onto the main street, dodging affronted pedestrians instead of slowing down.
They tumbled through the door of Grace’s room and shut the door behind them. They’d run the whole way shoulder to shoulder. Their breathing caught and sputtered. By the time they’d reached the stairs they were clutching each other’s arms and gasping for air. Once Grace caught her breath, she found she couldn’t stop laughing.
“Now,” said Alex, locking the door behind them, “let’s get you cleaned up.”
“I’m fine,” said Grace automatically, and then quailed under Alex’s glare. “OK, no, you’re right, not really fine. But I can handle it.”
Alex leaned back out of the bathroom. “I didn’t say you couldn’t. Are these things meant to be towels?” She stuck one of the Arrosan towels out of the bathroom so Grace could see, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger with distaste.
“I have some real towels under the sink,” Grace said. “But I didn’t know where else to put them.”
“No, if we’re going to make them a bloody ruin, these things will do just fine,” Alex decided.
Grace let herself fall back on the pillows while Alex ran the water in the bathroom. The adrenaline was wearing off, and sore spots were making themselves known.
Swinging a leg over Grace, Alex brandished the cloth theatrically, and then bent over to clean the blood off Grace’s forehead. “Not as bad as I thought,” murmured Alex, tilting Grace’s chin with a critical gaze.
“Head wound,” said Grace, distracted. Alex was very close. “They bleed a lot.”
“You’re going to have some nasty bruises,” murmured Alex, unfastening the front of Grace’s tunic so she could brush a finger down Grace’s arm. There were already shadows under the skin that would bloom into a riot of painful color by the following morning.
It was going to hurt, but that was a foregone conclusion. She was in bed, breathing Alex’s scent, and that was an opportunity. She wouldn’t pass it up. “Help me distract myself, then.”
Alex’s eyebrows winged up. “Oh?” She tilted Grace’s chin up, began to lay a line of kisses down the line of her exposed throat.
“You always do that.” Grace pushed the hand on her chin away, leaning her head on Alex’s shoulder so close that her eyelashes brushed Alex’s neck. “Why not let me take care of you?”
Silence stretched briefly between them while Grace nuzzled in. “I keep waiting for you to decide you’re done with me,” said Alex, finally. “To give up on trying to reform the criminal, or whatever it is you’re doing.”
Grace picked her head up, clasping Alex’s face in her hands. “You idiot,” she said. “As if I could reform anyone.”
Alex laughed, half-nervous and half-relieved.
Wriggling out from under Alex’s leg, Grace maneuvered her weight and flipped Alex onto her back. “Let me have a turn.”
Alex did something complicated with the closure of her top. It came open down the front. “Go ahead, then.”
Sitting back, Grace eased it off her arms, pulled fabric from underneath her. Didn’t look until she’d tossed it over her shoulder and heard it hit the wall with a dull thud.
There she lay, warm and brown in Grace’s bed, all curves and grin. The sheet was half hitched off her hip, covering up most of the evidence of trousers. Grace swallowed against the lump in her throat. She could cope with those later.
“You’ve got this.” Alex brushed hair off of Grace’s shoulder. Let her fingers linger at the nape of her neck.
Grace leaned in for the kiss, let Alex guide her head to just the right space. She wasn’t nervous. She just hadn’t had a lot of practice. Yet.
She lost herself in the textures, the softness of skin against her own skin.
She ran her fingers light along Alex’s side, was gratified when Alex pressed up against her in response.
She had just reached between them to fumble at the clasp of Alex’s trousers when a frantic rapping came from the door.
“Ugh,” said Grace, shoving herself off the bed and wrapping herself in a bathrobe. “Just a second. Hey, Derrick.”
She swung the door open.
It was not Derrick.
Petra stood in the door frame, wearing an expression of chagrin that Grace had never seen before. She tracked Petra’s eyes.
Alex had hitched the sheet up over herself, at least.
“So that’s true, then?” Petra said, bitter. “You might have told me yourself.”
Grace picked up the bloody towel, wrung it out in the sink. “You mean when you were avoiding me?”
“You were being horrible about my boyfriend! I needed some space.” Petra took a decisive step forward, snapped the door shut, and stood in front of it, bristling. “And anyway, I haven’t been avoiding you for a couple of weeks now.”
Grace felt defensive. “It’s been busy.” She snatched the dog-eared welcome packet off its perch by the bed, waved it at Petra. “They’ve kept us busy.”
“Not so busy that you can’t find time to cozy up to-- to her!”
“I was looking for the right way to tell you--” said Grace.
“This wasn’t it,” said Petra, voice very tight. Grace thought she might be fighting back tears.
Alex stood up, wrapping the sheet around her long, rangy frame. “Look, I can just go,” she
began in conciliatory tones.
“No, you’re not,” said Grace and Petra simultaneously.
Petra continued. “I’m going.”
“Well, shit,” said Grace. The door closed behind Petra and she sat down very hard on the bed. “Sorry.”
Alex rubbed a hand over Grace’s back. “Happens.”
“It was going to be a nice evening.”
“What, when you got attacked by a pack of masked goons?”
Grace shoved at her. “When I had you in my bed.” At last.
“C’mere.” Alex slid her hands under the robe, brushed it away. Drew Alex into the bed. “Sleep with me. Just sleep.”
Grace tucked her head under Alex’s chin, wanting the comfort to go on. She managed to stay awake for just under a minute.
A knock jarred Grace from her sleep. “Not again,” she mumbled, even though the warm light meant she’d overslept.
Sheets and blankets wrapped warm around her, and the warm bronze tones of Alex’s skin made the horrible monochrome room feel like home. If she closed her eyes, she could easily imagine what it would be like to wake up next to Alex in ten years’ time. Dangerous thoughts.
Instead of dwelling on them, she hauled herself to her feet and cracked the door open. The scene with Petra meant she might never open the door without checking who it was again.
This time, it actually was Derrick. He carried a basket and a rumpled piece of paper.
“Derrick, I have company,” Grace hissed. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Alex stirring sleepily in the bed. It was a rare unguarded moment, and she wanted nothing more than to savor it.
Derrick shook his head, eyeing the bruises that mottled her arms. “It can’t wait, Grace. It’s a message from your parents.”
He offered both the paper and the basket.
Grace took both warily and, like a coward, investigated the basket first. Inside, she found pastries. She passed one to Alex, took one for herself, and then handed the basket back to Derrick. Chewing, she turned her attention to the letter. There was no point in delaying.
The paper was thin, transcribed from the data lines. Ink smudged on the outside. It must have been hastily transcribed. She swallowed and read it.
Dear Grace,
We understand you got in another fight last night. Suffice to say that we are deeply disappointed in you.
We’ve taken the liberty of removing you from the staff-making class. Perhaps removing temptation will help you remember that your goal is to foster relationships.
If you act out one more time, we will be forced to bring you home.
Grace’s jaw dropped. “How did they even know? The only people there last night were me and the five people who attacked me!”
Alex propped herself up on her elbow. “Petra came by.”
Crunching the paper in her fist, Grace scowled. “How would she have known about the fight? You’d already cleaned up all the blood.”
“Blood?” Setting the basket precariously on the edge of the bed, Derrick took Grace’s shoulders and looked her over. “Where?”
Grace swept the hair off her forehead so he could see the scabbed-over cut on her temple. “Your concern is touching,” she told him. “Now, could we get back to the matter of figuring out why I’m getting punished because some crazy gang has decided beating me up is a super fun sport?”
Alex rolled over onto her belly. A smile tugged on the corner of her mouth. “Sounds like you’ve really upset someone.”
The tone made Grace stop. “You think it’s a good thing?”
“In my line of work, it means you’re getting close to something that people don’t want you to know.” She stretched luxuriously. “Means you’re making progress.”
Derrick stepped between them and angled his body directly toward Grace. “Whatever happened, you’ve got to make it stop. This is a symposium of peace and sharing, and princesses can’t get in fights.”
“I’m not--” Grace began, and then buried her face in her hands. “There’s nothing I can do differently!”
Pulling the sheet along with her, Alex said, “Sure there is. You either figure out how to upset people less, or upset them more until they show their hand.”
Derrick went still. “Grace, don’t do anything stupid. I don’t want to scrape you off the sidewalk.”
“Yeah, I’m getting beaten up for fun,” replied Grace. She looked down at the bruises, just a little bit more colorful than they’d been earlier that morning. They were the kind that meant she’d have to be careful not to bump into things to keep them from hurting.
Just now, she felt like she was bumping into Derrick. That hurt, too. She couldn’t figure out how to stop him worrying. She was pretty worried, too.
He stood there, looking at Alex lounging easy on Grace’s narrow, borrowed bed. She couldn’t reach him.
She couldn’t figure any of it out.
Instead, she wrapped her arms around him, headbutting him in the best approximation of affection she could muster.
It lasted for approximately three and a half seconds before Derrick pushed Grace away. He held her at arms’ length, as if he was going to shake her if he didn’t like her answer. “Do you even know what you’re going to do?”
“I don’t know,” said Grace. “I’m going to go find Petra.”
She ducked out of the door before Derrick could say anything else.
Without much hope, she knocked on Petra’s door, so close to her own, and was surprised when it opened.
She was even more surprised when it didn’t immediately slam in her face once Petra saw who it was.
She stood in the doorway, realizing that she hadn’t bothered to visit her sister since she’d started icing her out.
In typical Petra fashion, she’d personalized the space. A colorful vase was visible on the bathroom counter, currently full of pretty purple flowers. They had wilted at some point after Petra had installed them.
In between the tasteful personalized touches, there was clutter. The duvet was scrunched down to the side of the bed, and Grace was reasonably sure Petra hadn’t left her tunic on the floor to add a pop of color to the monochrome carpet.
Petra stood in the doorway, looking nearly as shocked as Grace felt. Her hair hadn’t been brushed. She wore a soft top in the same soft material as her trousers.
“Hey,” Grace said, unsure of her welcome.
When Petra continued staring, Grace sidled into the room past her and shut the door behind herself.
“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry,” Grace began, at a loss. They hardly ever fought. “I just want to make sure you’re OK. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
She moved restlessly through the tiny room, feeling like she was intruding on something. Her elbows brushed up against Petra’s furniture.
Petra remained silent.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” Giving up, Grace perched awkwardly on the unmade bed and waited for Petra to say something. Her throat grew dry.
Petra sniffled and Grace realized she was fighting back tears.
Grace reached out a hand to her. “Hey,” she said, “it’s OK.”
Petra flew to her, wrapped her arms around her, and burst into tears.
Doggedly, Grace held on and weathered the storm.
“I missed you so much,” said Petra, once she’d gotten her breath back and taken a seat next to Grace on the bed.
“I was literally next door to you,” Grace pointed out, smoothing a hand over Petra’s hair.
Petra gave a watery laugh. “I was so mad.”
“Well, I’m here for you.”
“You never know how much you need a big sister until you start acting like you haven’t got one anymore,” said Petra, wiping away a tear. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“So, what happened?” It had to have been something.
“Well, Dylan--”
Grace jerked, fury rising from the embers she’d tried to smother. “Did he hurt you? I’ll kill him if he
made you cry.” She was only half joking.
Petra swatted at Grace, still at an awkward angle. “Stop it and let me talk.”
“You mean like you did last night?”
When Petra shoved at her in lieu of a response, it meant everything would be okay. Grace felt immediately better, and then worse again when Petra said: “I’m pregnant.”
Very carefully, Grace didn’t say anything at all. She focused on keeping her body very, very still so that nothing would leak out the corners of her mind and into Petra’s.
Petra leaned forward, buried her face in her hands. “I want the baby.”
Mechanically, Grace put her arm around Petra. Comfort seemed in order. “And Dylan? Do you want to keep him?”
Petra gave a little watery laugh. “I don’t know. I like him, but I don’t know if he-- you know?”
Straightfaced, Grace said, “No, I don’t.” She tugged Petra a little closer. “But-- I want you to be happy.”
She could feel some of the tension leave Petra’s shoulders.
Petra leaned in a little, just like they’d done when they were younger and sharing secrets. “How about you? Do you like her?”
Grace could feel the corners of her mouth twitch up. “Yeah. I do.”
“How forthcoming.” Petra elbowed Grace.
Grace arched an eyebrow. “I don’t think you want the details any more than than I want to hear about you and Dylan.”
Petra groaned, but she also let it drop. “I still don’t like her.”
“I, meanwhile, am going to start the Dylan fan club,” said Grace, very dry.
That got a healthier-sounding laugh from Petra. “But we’re friends again, right?”
“I never stopped being your sister,” said Grace. The weariness had faded from the corners of Petra’s eyes, Grace noticed.
Petra shoved her out the door. “Now get out. I’ve made a mess, and I need to tidy it up.”
Feeling lighter herself, Grace left Petra tugging at the sheets.
In the hallway, Grace took a moment to wish she could resent Petra. She had lost that battle when she was eight.
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