CHAPTER Four FLOAT LIKE A BUTTERFLY. HOVER OVER HEL.
From the Memoir of Glendennon Catch
Sovereign Jefferson Unit, Order of the Black Swan
Few things have occurred in the annals of The Order that were as embarrassing to the knighthood as the showing Z Team made during the Battle for Jefferson Unit.
After the initial wave of antivirus injections were disseminated throughout Manhattan, mostly by dart gun, it had looked for a time as if the long war with vampire was over. Jefferson Unit hunters had been transferred. Likewise, most support personnel were cleared out. What had remained were students, teachers, food service people, a couple of medics and an administrator.
It was also during that time that my father-in-law, Sir Storm was missing.
Anyway Z Team were brought in to serve as a skeleton crew. Elora and Ram were on site, but were retired and teaching. Sir Fennimore was there using accrued leave time to delay being separated from his fiancée, but technically the only knights on duty were Z Team.
Nobody in their right mind would have set that up if they’d had any idea that an interdimensional assault on Elora was possible.
To make a long story as short as possible. Ram was in Ireland for his mother’s birthday. Elora would have been the logical choice for commander, under the circumstances, but Z Team ignored her and basically treated her like she was there to clean. They ended up getting sealed into a sublevel with the teenage French vamps, so they weren’t just useless. They weren’t even there.
Elora and her students held the unit. Sir Fennimore was injured early on in the fight. I was left guarding a sublevel bunker with all the unit’s non-military personnel inside. Just as a footnote, since this is my only chance to say so, staying there, following Elora’s orders, was the hardest thing I’ve ever done when I could hear the battle taking place above me. But I stayed at my post.
When it was over, Z Team was dressed down royally by Sir Storm and I have to admit I enjoyed that immensely. Had it coming. That and more. Every last one of the arrogant assholes.
I didn’t cross paths with them again for a while. One of Z Team left The Order and I was assigned as their fourth for a job in Romania checking out possible vampire remains. It was my first job as a floater and I didn’t mind it much.
So when Raif left with Mercy, the remaining two members were made floaters. Didn’t sound too bad to me at the time. Later I would come to understand that floating is a post in hel. ~~
Torrent Finngarick had been the oddest combination of good times and short fuse. When it came to whiskey, his blood ran true Irish, but he always stopped short of drunkenness. Since his dad had been the town drunk, Torn was set on being the apple who fell from the tree and rolled so far away there was no longer any traceable relationship to the tree.
As a child Torn had attempted the caretaking duties of an adult, to the best of his ability. Most nights his father would pass out and slump over the kitchen table. When Torn was too young to drag or carry him to bed, he would clean up puke and drool, then cover his dad with a blanket and leave him sitting in the chair.
Occasionally some well-meaning soul would offer to help, but Torn’s dad would chase them away, drunk or sober, saying he didn’t need any pissin’ charity. Torn had sat by with big sad eyes wishing he could override those angry declarations. The old man might not have needed or wanted kindness and comfort, but Torn would have given a kidney for a hot meal, a smile, and maybe a gentle touch now and then.
By the time Z Team hit its stride, Torn had emerged as the de facto, but unrecognized leader. Black Swan’s official policy on team organization was a loose form of consensus. If any of his teammates had been asked, “Who’s in charge?” they would have said nothing, but their eyes would have slid toward Torn. If he’d been asked, he would have said, “We’re all in charge.”
Torn was born with the Irish elf gift of storytelling and, under his deft direction, it was an art form. He could captivate an audience without trying. He was liked by men when he was in a jovial humor and respected with a wide berth when he wasn’t. He had no trouble attracting women admirers and, in fact, frequently frustrated his teammates by being both magnet for attention and center of attention.
With all he had going for him, he couldn’t quite shake the anger, because there was a big part of him that remained the kid who had been shunned and shamed for being the son of a good-for-nothing. Scars carved in the young slice deep and they don’t heal properly, even those that are invisible.
By the time Z Team was split up, Torn was slightly harder to rile. Maybe that was maturity. Maybe it was fatigue. Maybe years of having a friend like Raif had afforded him a small shift in perspective.