SIX

Ivy sat sharpening her sickle in the blessed quiet and coolness of the wine cellar. The sound of scraping metal as she ran the stone over the long, curved edge of her full-length sickle never failed to soothe her nerves. The cellar was a traditional underground storage area, filled to the brim with barrels and bottles of wine as well as other forms of alcohol. If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought the occupants of the household had a major alcohol problem given the sheer volume and variety. But she did know better. She knew that each member of the camp had been gifted with their own sanctuary of sorts from Ryker well before he was their Captain. And this square room, accessed from the same building as the gym and the indoor heated swimming pool, was her brother’s personal slice of paradise.

Beyden had always been a wine lover, ever since she had snuck him his first sip of merlot when he had been sixteen. He loved examining the textures, flavours, and ingredients of different wines just as much as he enjoyed popping the corks over a cheese board or a slice of pizza. Beyden could match wine to any food, whether humble or extravagant. As far as hobbies went, she supposed it could be worse. Plus, it made birthdays and Christmases very easy.

Given that it was her brother’s haven, she also felt safe down here and it had quickly become her little refuge for when she needed some peace and quiet. Like after her conversation with Dex this morning. That frustrating talk had quickly been followed by another, briefer and somewhat more amusing chat from Max. Max had bailed her up before she could seek her solitude in the cellar, asking her a series of questions in her typical blunt fashion. Ivy’s responses had been equally as blunt. She had learned very early on in their acquaintance not to let Max get carried away;

“Yo, Ivy. You still cool to do reconnaissance for the chades with souls?”

“Yes.”

“Have you talked with Lark yet?”

“No.”

“Do it. You guys head out tomorrow.”

“Fine.”

“Can I play with your sickle?”

“No.”

“Can I wear your cloak?”

“No.”

“Party pooper.”

And then Max had personally held the door open for her so she could enter the stillness of the cellar. Ivy shook her head and couldn’t help smiling when she thought of the short woman. Max was refreshing in every way and so far removed from what she envisioned a goddess would be like, it was ridiculous. Max had no clue – or more likely, no interest – in social niceties or politics. She treated everyone the same based on their merits as a human being rather than their perceived standings within society. She was funny, strong, and surprisingly sweet. She asked Ivy almost every day if she could train with the ranger’s sacred weapon or wear her dark, forest green cloak. Ivy’s response was the same every day; no.

Looking down to where her blade rested on her cargo pants, Ivy couldn’t help but feel guilty when she saw the plain black material. Rangers wore their uniforms every day without reprieve. She was both proud and bitter to wear the uniform of her brethren. Proud because she had earned her right to the dark cloak through blood, sweat, and tears. But bitter because they instilled such fear and loathing from paladins and wardens alike. As a ranger, she could never blend in and if the long, hooded cloak wasn’t obvious enough then the sickle with the ten-inch curved blade and five-foot metal handle, screamed killer. But as her position had become more semi-permanent here, she had ceased wearing her ranger robes around the house. Although the plain black cargo pants and tee shirts were by no means fancy or special, it was still a special kind of freedom to her.

Feet on the stairs had her gripping the handle of her sickle hard before she relaxed ever so slightly. Anyone who had the ability to walk down the stairs was no threat to her. Or so she thought, before a messy head of reddish-brown hair preceded a lean body into the room.

Lark didn’t say anything as he entered, just immediately began prowling the racks. The silence stretched out uncomfortably before she finally decided to break the quiet; “Red or white?

The abrupt question gained his attention and he stilled where he was, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Wine,” she clarified, “Are you wanting a bottle of red or white? I assume that’s why you’ve come into the cellar.”

He looked at her without blinking, “It’s ten in the morning.”

“And?” When he didn’t answer at first, Ivy was hoping he would get her unspoken message and leave her in peace. He did shift his penetrating green gaze from hers but he made no attempt to leave.

“No. I’m not here to swill the contents of Bey’s wine cellar before midday. You know what they say when you assume …” was all he volunteered as he began wandering around the large underground room once more.

She did know and she wondered if he was deliberately baiting her by calling her an arse. Watching his face in the dull light, all she could see was a mask of indifference … and some truly superb cheekbones. Annoyed with herself for noticing his face and annoyed with him for putting his face in front of her, she picked up her sharpening stone again and ran it over her blade. The rich sound of metal singing echoed obnoxiously throughout the confined space.

He glanced at her deadly weapon and she saw no signs of awe or trepidation in his gaze, “I actually came down here to sharpen my weapon. This is the best place for it.”

Her hand paused ever so slightly; the kid had a smart mouth on him. Just like Axel … and Max … and Cali … and Diana. In fact, damn near everyone in the house had a smart mouth. No wonder her poor, gentle brother was learning the fine art of sarcasm. Too bad for him, she had no patience for smart mouths, “What do you want, Lark?”

“Straight up?” he stopped directly in front of her.

“That’d be nice,” she responded.

“I need to know if I can trust you to have my back.”

That caused her to stop her rhythmic motions and she felt her eyes go round, unable to believe what she had just heard, “You need to know if you can trust me in a fight?”

He didn’t so much as twitch at her incredulous tone, merely crossed his arms over his chest and widened his stance, “That’s right. Let’s be realistic, shall we? You’ve been imprisoning and killing chades since before I was even born. Max comes along and says she can cure them and you’re immediately on board.”

Ivy raised her chin, “I didn’t hear a question there.”

“Okay,” he nodded, “can you really go from slaughtering chades to saving them?”

She fought the urge to frown and immediately defend herself against what he said. She didn’t think of it as slaughtering chades. She never had. To her, it was saving them from an endless non-life of misery and dishonour. It was no different than putting down an ailing, beloved pet. Yeah, hunting your own kind was a shitty job but as clichéd as it was – somebody had to do it. And there were too many others out there who revelled in the opportunity to cut down the poor beasts. At least she gave them some dignity. Although, she was sure nobody else would see it like that. Clearly, Lark didn’t.

“You don’t agree with me.”

“What?” She asked, refocusing on the paladin in front of her.

“You don’t agree with what I just said. Which part? The slaughtering or the saving?” his green eyes narrowed, studying her face for a moment before he nodded; “Slaughtering them. You don’t see it that way.”

Instead of answering immediately, she took a moment to study him – like, really study him. She knew he wasn’t psychic in any way and there was no way his element was talking to him either. As paladins, their connection to their domains didn’t work that way. She knew he was supposed to be a genius. She had heard numerous comments and good-natured jibes about it but she hadn’t really thought they were being literal. She had just assumed he had earned the moniker because he was such a heavy reader. But perhaps she had been wrong. If he truly was highly intelligent, it was possible he also had an eidetic memory.

“Do you have an eidetic memory?”

He didn’t look surprised by the question but he shook his head, “No. Not a true eidetic memory. I don’t get the precision recall from sensory input like sounds and smells. It’s more visual – images or words on a page. So, it’s only a photographic memory.”

“But you can read micro-expressions,” she prompted. His eyes remained steady on hers as he nodded and she cursed inwardly. She only knew one other person who was skilled enough to read her very expressionless face and the damn man had used it to his advantage to tear down every barrier she had. She didn’t need another Nikolai in her life, thank you very much. One was definitely more than enough.

“Perfect,” she muttered.

“You have something to hide?” he asked, sounding suspicious.

“Just my own business,” she was sorely tempted to snap back but she managed to reign herself in and come across as disinterested instead. Three sentences from the guy and her nerves were already fraying. It didn’t bode well for their working relationship.

“And would that be your business of killing chades or the part where you somehow became an informant for Max?” he questioned.

“Take your pick,” she told him.

He shook his head, looking irritated, “Why are you even here?”

She studied him openly, a little confused as to why he was being so combative. She had no problem dealing with bad attitudes but she knew Lark wasn’t prone to having them. He was always laughing, always happy, always easy-going. She had barely spoken a handful of words to him in the few weeks she had been here, so perhaps he just had an instant dislike of her. Or perhaps, it was that he’d noticed she had barely spoken a handful of words to him and he thought she was a total bitch. If so, it would be an opinion of her own making because she was the one taking pains to ignore him. All because his pretty face made her heart go pitty-pat.

He was still waiting patiently – or stubbornly – for her answer, so she decided to be honest instead of belligerent, “I’m here because Max asked me to be here.”

Lark’s eyebrows rose, “And you do what Max tells you?”

“That’s right.”

“Just like that,” he snapped his fingers.

“Just like that,” she responded, without explaining further. Her reasons for trusting Max were her own and she wasn’t about to be drawn into a debate with anyone about how that implicit trust had come about. But she was going to speak to the woman about assigning someone else for her little errand. Lark and she were clearly incompatible; “Look, if you have a problem with Max’s choices then go talk to her about it. Better yet, I’ll do it for you.”

He watched her in silence as she packed up her things and put the leather cover over the blade of her sickle. Just as she was about to stand, she heard him mumble something unintelligible under his breath before he raked his fingers through his hair. He took a couple of steps forward, eating up the distance between them before he spoke;

“I’m sorry, I owe you an apology. I came down here on the defensive because I figured you have a problem working with me – my age, my status … my hair colour,” he threw her a smile before adopting his serious face once more, “I’m good at reading people, as we’ve already established, so I know you’re not happy with the arrangement. That pissed me off and bruised my ego and so, I acted like a Ryker. I’m sorry.”

His young face was earnest and his green eyes were lit with sincerity and although she appreciated the olive branch, her mind became stuck on one thing; “A Ryker?” she questioned.

“Yeah, you know – like an arsehole,” he explained, helpfully.

She didn’t laugh like she wanted to but she did finally relax her own shoulders and allow her lips to quirk a little at the corners, “You did do a fairly good job of acting like a Ryker.”

He laughed and she felt the happy sound skitter over her skin, “Thanks,” he said, “Why don’t we start again? Hi, I’m Lark. I’m the earth paladin in the Order of Aurora under my liege, Max, daughter of the Great Mother.”

Ivy was glad he made no attempt to offer his hand. She had no desire to touch his skin and gain confirmation that it was just as pleasant as his laughter, so she just nodded, “Ivy, Ranger.”

He waited a beat, obviously thinking she was going to add something else but when she didn’t his smile grew, dimpling his cheeks; “Well, Ivy, Ranger, it’s nice to officially meet you. Once again, I apologise for my earlier antics. I made my own assumptions and it was unfair of me.”

“It’s fine,” she said. What else could she say? His assumptions had been correct; she didn’t want to work with him. And although his age and therefore lack of field experience was a big issue for her, the main issue was her wayward imagination and traitorous body.

“Okay, great. Well, Max wants us to get started and I have to admit, I’m curious to see if Max’s little idea for widespread chade redemption is plausible,” he offered, crossing his ankles and leaning against a particularly large barrel.

She was too. In fact, she was pinning her reputation, her career, and even her life on the hopes that it would work. Because the main reason she became a ranger in the first place was for the seemingly impossible dream of helping the fallen wardens – not hurting them. It was a silly dream and one seemingly at odds with her job description but it was true nonetheless. Not that she volunteered that information to Lark. She didn’t want to open herself up to disbelief and ridicule.

“I’m ready when you are,” was all she said.

He didn’t appear bothered by her short responses. He nodded, “Dex is going to be joining us. I’ve already spoken to him and he’s fine to head off at first light.”

“That works for me too,” she assured him. “I can call Nikolai and ask where the latest chade sightings were.”

Lark straightened up, “Oh, that’s a good idea, thanks. But I actually know a place we can start.”

Now that piqued her interest, “Oh? And where is that?”

“There’s a small rest stop off the highway between here and the city. It backs onto the state forest. There’s at least one chade there who has a soul. Or at least there was a few months ago,” he told her.

“How do you know that?” she asked.

“A few months ago, Max was attacked by a pack of chades at that reserve,” Lark explained, “There were five of them. We were able to kill four of them before Max took exception to Darius killing the last one. She used her power to spank him. He landed straight on his arse.”

She ignored the humour in his voice at his comrade’s expense, “And she took exception because she believed the last chade had a soul?” She queried.

“Yep,” he nodded. “It’s what prompted us to call you that first time.”

It certainly would simplify things if Max had already determined the chade still had an intact soul. It would surely increase the odds of their little experiment working. The easiest and quickest option would probably be to just escort Max to the local chade encampment. But that was something Ivy never wanted to do and she prayed Max never asked her to either because it was one order she would have to say no to. She looked in Lark’s direction, glad they were at least on speaking terms even though most of her worries where he was concerned weren’t resolved;

“Tomorrow then?”

Lark nodded once, “Tomorrow.”