Page 30 of One Bad Knight

All the coffee shop patrons ran out in a hurry, not even bothering to see if we were alright. I couldn’t blame them. We lived in a terrifying new reality. Everyone was trying to survive with their sanity.

“Cripes, is this how you destroyed that demon girl?” I asked, realizing I was panting. I wasn’t sure if it was from the running or the adrenaline.

“No,” Gatsby rasped. “Chopping off her head worked just fine.”

I helped him to his feet, so that his warmth and weight pressed against me. I instantly had the thought I never wanted to let him go.

“Holy twinkies, is that you, Gatsby?” The lanky man asked.

Gatsby’s expression darkened.

“Shit,” the girl exclaimed with a laugh of disbelief. “If you or this chick hadn’t acted fast, everyone in here would be a pile of bones.”

“You know these people?” I asked Gatsby, still enjoying the feel of his body. He didn’t move away either.

It was then I noticed a black van parked in the middle of the road behind the man. “Whack A Ghoul,” I said, reading the big, blocky neon letters.

“At your service.” The girl tipped an invisible hat. “I’m Krystan, and that hot stud behind me is Travis.”

A Jeep screeched to a stop next to the van. A blonde woman hopped out of the driver’s side. The door behind the driver’s seat swung open as a guy well over six and a half feet with a beard and long hair stepped out too. He reminded me of a Viking. Then from around the other side of the car came another tall beefcake with impossibly blue eyes and dark hair. I couldn’t decide if he reminded me more of Superman or Clark Kent.

The beefcake’s eyes widened when he spotted the man leaning against me. “Gatsby.”

Instantly, Gatsby pushed me away. His face tightened and shoulders tensed. “Calan.”

“Gatsby,” the Viking boomed in friendly greeting, either not noticing, or ignoring the icy vibes coming off Gatsby.

The blonde made her way to Krystan but cast a wary eye in Gatsby’s direction.

“You are out, fighting the good fight,” the Viking continued in a cheerful tone. “You have changed your mind and wish to join forces again? We could lay waste to—”

“I didn’t stop them, Leonidas,” Gatsby snapped. He jerked his head toward me. “She did.”

All eyes turned toward me. I was used to public scrutiny, so I instantly rolled my shoulders back, and lifted my chin in an easy smile that didn’t reach my eyes.

“Well done,” the blonde woman said, shooting me a friendly smile. “It isn’t an easy feat to take down a swarm.”

“Emma’s right,” Krystan snorted, referring to the blonde. “I’d rather fight a demon dog or a crib any day over a fucking swarm of itty-bitty biters.”

Though something was very off in the air between these people, especially the man named Calan and Gatsby, something in me instinctually wanted to like the two women.

“Gatsby, how have you been?” Calan asked. His blue eyes radiated sincere concern.

Gatsby refused to meet them, instead staring beyond Calan, as if he were inconsequential. “Alone, which is how I like it.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Calan said.

“Didn’t you hear me, Calan?” Gatsby said. “I said that’s how I like it.”

The Viking man’s face fell, as if disappointed in Gatsby’s answer.

“Is that why you tattooed yourself in sigils?” Emma asked, as she looked over Gatsby’s arms and up his neck. A sadness tinged her words. “So we couldn’t find you?”

“That’s smart,” Calan commented.

“I don’t need your approval,” Gatsby snapped. “I never have, never will.”

Calan frowned. “Of course you don’t.”