Broken, Bruised, and Brave Read online

  “I thought of the ice queen myself.”

  “That’s a song by Within Temptation.”

  A Goth metal fan, great. Just what I needed, to be ritually sacrificed to Satan or some pagan goddess by a dude with green hair and twenty penile piercings.

  “I stood alone,” I muttered.

  We hiked further into the park, through the tree trunks glistening black, defying the world to protect the life hibernating inside. I kept looking from side to side, fearing some attacker would jump out of hiding, even though no leaves or foliage could block them from our site.

  “Don’t worry,” the man said. “I haven’t lost anybody yet.”

  “I won’t get lost in this park,” I said.

  “I mean, I keep you safe from muggers and rapists. It’s my job.”

  “What?” I wished he would say one thing I understood.

  “Oh, you couldn’t know.” He spun, whirled his arms around, then lunged at me, thrusting a fist close to my face.

  I refused to step back. Somehow, I realized he wouldn’t hurt me. Not with a punch out of nowhere.

  “I’m a kung fu fighter, a modern-day knight protecting the weak.” He turned around, kept walking. Over his shoulder, he threw back to me, “Especially damsels in distress.”

  I never thought of myself as a ’damsel,’ though right then I couldn’t dispute the ’distress’ part.

  “So, what’s your name?” I asked. About time we got that out of the way. “Sir Galahad?”

  “Rhinegold,” he said.

  “Did your parents really name you that? Or did you come up with it?”

  He glanced away from me, to the side. “My mother was a Wagner fan. My father doesn’t like to talk about it.”

  First Nightwish, now Wagner. A long way from Avril Lavigne, my favorite.

  “I’m SeeJai,” I said, and spelled it, like I always do. “Are we almost there?”

  We passed through an area of thicker woods, with the oaks and elms crowded close together, like Secret Service agents surrounding the President, protecting something deeper inside.

  A small grove of oak trees opened up.

  “The oak is sacred to the druids,” Rhinegold said. “The word ’druid’ is derived from their word for oak.”

  Okayyyyyy.

  He nodded toward me. “I guess you’re not a pagan.”

  “If you mean religion,” I said. “I’m not anything.” Sometimes Mom took me to church, but couldn’t enforce anything on me on a regular basis. She had enough trouble just forcing herself to breathe.

  He nodded again. “I can relate. I’m not anything organized.”

  “Someday I’ll get organized,” I said. No matter how I looked then. Someday, one day. “Anyway, what’s with these trees?”

  “This grove is my weirwoods,” he said.

  “What’s weird about them?” Holding my arms close to my chest, I looked around. “They look like ordinary trees to me.” In their shadows, the mist of my breath gleamed like a shining mist.

  “Weirwoods,” he said. “Like in Game of Thrones. You know, on TV.”

  “I remember hearing about it.”

  “Only the books’re better. So, okay, they’re oaks. They’re not white, don’t have red sap, or faces carved into them. But they’re sacred to me.”

  White … red sap … faces … it wasn’t the trees that were weird.

  “Over there’s my castle,” he said, pointing to a small hill.

  We half-skated across the ice-caked snow.

  “All right, the moat is frozen over right now,” he said. “See the two towers? The huge gate?”

  “I see a small rise with some trees on it,” I said.

  “Sometimes an evil knight or wicked magician takes over my castle, and I have to attack it,” Rhinegold said. “Now, I guess I’ll just let the Ice Queen keep it. My fair damsel in distress needs shelter. You should have worn a ski mask too.”

  “How many guys want to pick up women wearing a ski mask?”

  He shrugged. “Come on. You better get warm.”

  Rhinegold began half-sliding toward the rear entrance of the park.

  I hung back, still wondering about this guy. He seemed okay, but definitely an inner astronaut doing the moonwalk while still physically on planet Earth. Could he re-enter Earth’s atmosphere without burning up? Did he even want to?

  More importantly, would he kill me?

  He hadn’t yet, and in this park nobody would ever see or know.

  I followed. I didn’t feel ready to die, but it would solve all my problems.

  He stopped, startling me so I almost fell on my ass. He pointed up. “Look. Northern lights.”

  Far off high, vast, bright green flashes danced and flickered in the sky, with some flickers of red.

  I caught my breath at their cold, awesome beauty.

  “Must be a powerful magnetic storm going on in the upper atmosphere,” Rhinegold said. “We don’t usually get them this far south.” He turned to me. “Or the heroes of Asgard are fighting in Valhalla.”

  “Yeah, right. I vote for the magnetic storm.”

  Whatever caused the lights in the sky, they looked more beautiful than a yard full of Christmas lights. Natural, majestic. Something far above, far beyond mere people. My puny self.

  Only, I had a weird feeling, like the world put on this cosmic light show only for Rhinegold, and I was just lucky enough to be there to see it with him.

  Even though just a big guy in ice-sparkling winter coat and hood, a voice coming out of a faceless ski mask, I sensed something special about him.

  A nice guy, sure, but more. Of course, a Round Table knight, roaming the streets of Cromwell late at night to pick up damsels in distress.

  A short while later, I stood behind Rhinegold in the backyard of a condemned brick house as he pried loose one of the plywood boards covering the back door.

  Across the alley, a garbage dumpster overflowing with plastic bags stared at us. Dogs had scattered tissue, chicken bones, and beer bottles through the alley—all now covered with ice, gleaming in the alley’s yellow sodium street light.

  A short, scraggly wire fence surrounded the back yard. Rhinegold vaulted it with practiced ease, then helped me over.

  No sound came from any of the surrounding houses, so it must have been later than I realized. I stopped wearing a wristwatch the day I dropped out of high school. The electrical equipment high up a telephone pole whined, then clicked.

  “Come on, come on,” I muttered.

  I didn’t like trespassing. What if the police cruised by and saw us? Or one of the neighbors spotted us and called the cops?

  So what was I doing going into this condemned house with a weird man I just met? Sure, I expected to spend the night with a stranger, but one with a car and their own house or apartment. Not a homeless dude.

  Maybe the place was dangerous, full of holes in the floor you could fall through. Or the roof could cave in or the walls fall down. Or rats.

  And maybe Rhinegold planned to kill me. Rape me, then cut my throat, and squash my body in a basement hole. Just like I read in a magazine years ago.

  But the dizziness behind my eyes told me I needed solid food. And the faintness in my heart told me I needed warmth.

  Without them, I could die tonight.

  It’d make things a lot simpler.

  Chapter Two

  A Strange Stray Cat

  As spooky as a wounded faun caught in a trap.

  Rhinegold held the wood panel away from the door, and motioned her through the door, into his home in exile. Poor and humble, but sufficient while he bided his time.

  She ducked her head, started to lift one leg, then stopped, stepped back. “How can I trust you?” she asked. “Or what if somebody’s waiting inside to kill me?”

  He pulled out a flashlight, and shone it into the old house. An aluminum sink. Cabinets. Conspicuous open spaces where the refrigerator and stoves once sat. Chipped Formica counters and worn linoleum.
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  The poor lighting hid the accumulated dust and grime, but the sour odors of dirt, mouse droppings, and mildew hung in the air.

  Hey, not many medieval dwellings—even glamorous castles, let alone peasant huts—met modern hygiene and sanitation standards.

  “See?” he asked.

  “All right, you go first,” she said.

  He motioned for her to hold the plywood board and flashlight.

  She backed off. “I’ll go.”

  Fair damsels in distress could madden the coolest of battle-hardened knights.

  The inside air temperature matched the outside, but the walls blocked the wind. A gust whistled through the gap in the back doorway where he loosened the board.

  “Is it safe?” SeeJai whispered.

  “Close enough,” he answered in a normal voice. “For a crack house, it didn’t get torn up too bad. The walls and floor are still solid. I was afraid the dealer and his buddies would come back, but either they’re still in jail or found a new place, because I’ve been here six months.”

  In the living room he shoved a bunch of thin, narrow wood slats he removed from the upstairs bedrooms after tearing up the carpeting, into the fireplace. The sharp points of the small tacks pricked his fingers. When he had a big pile, he squirted lighter fluid over it, then flicked the Bic.

  Just behind him, SeeJai sat motionless on the floor.

  A faint tingle of anticipation tickled the pit of his stomach as he wondered what her face would look like in the light. As he waited for her to feel warm enough to remove her thick coat.

  He called her a fair damsel, but he didn’t really know. Lots of Greco’s street whores—and some of the women walking the Red Line—looked like they couldn’t get a date to a Lady’s Choice dance even if they were the only woman left alive.

  And it wasn’t just the brick-hard faces and the wasted eyes or the loose skin falling out of the revealing clothes—though he hated that as well—many started out plain. Overweight. Acne scars. The impression they gave of having spent too many nights crying themselves to sleep because they had a crush on a football star who never even noticed them.

  As the flames caught and spread, the fire sent out welcoming waves of heat. Rhinegold slid off his ski mask, removed his gloves, and unzipped his heavy down jacket.

  He set the ash-gray, wrought iron grille onto supports just above the flames, then dropped triangular shapes of aluminum foil onto it.

  “Hope you like pepperoni and sausage pizza,” Rhinegold said.

  “Thick crust or thin?”

  “Original. It’s already a little scorched from when I first brought it here.”

  “You carried it?”

  Rhinegold grinned. “The Pizza Store won’t let drivers deliver to condemned houses. Can’t say as I blame them.”

  She sat beside him, legs folded, and leaned into the fire. “Oh, that feels good. I didn’t know I could feel so cold this close to the equator.”

  “Take off your coat and stay awhile, my great-grandfather used to say.”

  “I’m still defrosting.”

  “Like a Thanksgiving turkey,” Rhinegold said.

  She paused. “I don’t know. Like a hamburger patty, I guess.”

  Rhinegold retrieved several large bottles of water from the shadowy corner where he kept them, and placed them in front of the fire to begin to melt the ice inside.

  Rhinegold’s hands, feet, and cheeks burned and tingled as blood flowed back into them.

  “Next time, wear a mask like me,” he told her. He stared at her face to appraise it for winter damage. And at the same time, to satisfy his natural male curiosity.

  Bright red cold burns mottled most of her marble-white skin, looking chapped and painful. The skin of her blue lips flaked and crinkled like a shedding snake.

  Yet, none of that disguised her essential beauty. She wasn’t really pretty or cute, but magical and unearthly, with deep black eyes that gleamed with flecks of gold. Subtle, exotic elfin features combined with her short, straight black hair to create a pixie-like appearance.

  She had normal round ears, but in her true, natural state, they must be pointed.

  For she had to be a changeling. A fairy sprite left as a baby on some lucky mother’s doorstep.

  Although her coat still hid most of her figure, he could tell she was small and thin. Yes, a true imp.

  An elven princess visiting him in disguise, but unable to hide the soul spirit glowing inside her.

  She could be hiding under bright green clover in Gaelic Ireland.

  Or running through the lilac heather of a Scottish highland.

  Or dancing under the moon and stars within a ring of large stones, vanishing in a twinkling if mortal eyes approached.

  Did she know her own power? Probably not, or she wouldn’t be putting herself on the Red Line.

  Could he help her?

  A slow, deep tremor passed through his spine, skull to rear end, and his fingers spread automatically, as though making some mystic gesture.

  Could a mere human knight such as himself even dare to win the love of a woman who glowed with such surreal glory?

  At last, he found another woman worthy of his heart. The wicked queen forced the king to exile his only son the prince, for daring to love the fair princess.

  Now he found another princess.

  Really?

  Would a true princess walk the Red Line no matter how many hardships she endured? Wouldn’t she rather starve to death than throw away her sacred honor?

  She mumbled something.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I said, does the pizza have any black olives?”

  “Gross, no. If you like black olives, you better leave now.”

  She laughed, and looked even more enticing than ever.

  Maybe even princesses were more sexually loose in these modern times. Not that he still possessed any right to complain.

  He pulled the pizza off the small grill with tongs, giving each of them three large slices. And handed her a bottle of water and a packet of Lay’s potato chips.

  As she chewed a piece of pizza, SeeJai transformed from a magical pixie into a thin boy in his early teens. With two small mounds of breasts nearly buried under a thick wool sweater.

  So the princess would prefer another princess to win her royal hand.

  Inside, he shrugged. Resigned. Hiding his disappointment from himself.

  “You understand,” he said, “it’s just men drive by the Red Line. Most want females. Some want males. No law says a woman can’t, but it’s really only men.”

  SeeJai stared at him, then dropped the pizza slice in her hand. “Oh no you didn’t just say that!”

  Rhinegold raised his palms. “I didn’t mean—”

  She stood up and paced. “Hey, I know what I look like. I know I’m not pretty like other girls. People say I look like a dude. But I’m not! I swear.”

  “I believe you, come on—”

  “Ever since I was twelve I’ve had to put up with this shit. Are you a lesbian? You look so butch. What a tomboy.”

  “Well, it’s—you look—I’m sorry, it’s not my business, I don’t —”

  “I keep my hair cut this short because it flatters my face and I don’t like to take care of it, all right? I wash it, I don’t even have to dry it.”

  “It’s all—”

  Her hands clawed up and down, their tension tearing the air, “I know, but it’s so crazy frustrating, just makes me—”

  He got his hands on her shoulders, trying to maintain a grip to hold her still. “Take it easy, SeeJai. I didn’t mean it bad.”

  “I don’t either. I’m not homophobic or anything. If a woman likes other women, I don’t care, but that’s not me.”

  “Shhh,” he whispered, like calming a little kid. Her body seemed lost within the thick winter coat, yet tremors shook through his hands. He wanted to hug her, but didn’t dare. Just a strange man, might frighten her.

  “Calling me a
lesbian’s just a way to avoid saying the truth: I’m ugly.”

  “You’re not ugly,” Rhinegold said. Wishing he hadn’t gone out to explore the storm’s aftermath. Yet, sensing somehow, this woman could have a powerful effect on his life if he weren’t careful.

  “You’re just saying that.”

  He shook his head. “You’re like one of those optical illusions,” he said. “You see two columns, then your mind switches gears, and you see two faces staring at each other.”

  She nodded. “I remember the ugly big-nose witch becoming the back of a young woman wearing a fancy hat.”

  “Or plastic toy screens that can display two different pictures,” Rhinegold said. “Look at it one way, and you see Mickey Mouse. Tilt it, and there’s Minnie.”

  SeeJai nodded, breathing deeply, struggling for control, but not crying, thank goodness.

  “You’re like that. All right, one picture is kind of butch. The other is a lovely elven princess.”

  SeeJai blew a loud, fast sputter of air mouth of her mouth, and laughed. “Princess. Yeah, right.”

  “To me.”

  She rolled her eyes, then started, and stepped back. “I’ve heard of you! The Gold Knight. My friend told me to watch out for you, you’re crazy.”

  He nodded. “Lots of people say so.” He added, “Just like people say you’re a lesbian. They don’t understand. Come on, sit down and eat.”

  After they ate, they lay on the floor in front of the fire. Rhinegold basked in its warmth, and let the flickering flames mesmerize him.

  “How do you make money?” SeeJai asked. “You don’t look like you’d make a good panhandler.”

  “That’s a good one,” Rhinegold said. “I run a protection business.”

  “Like the Mafia? Pay me off, or I’ll blow up your store?”

  “Like there’s any made guys come close to this neighborhood in the last forty years. No, I really protect people. Ordinary people.”

  “You mean, like I want to go into another neighborhood, but I’m wearing the wrong colors?”

  “I’d tell you to change clothes. No, I can’t afford to get the gangs angry at me, because if ten homey punks start shooting at me, one of them might actually hit me.”