Guardian's Hope (15 page)

They were gathered behind the curtained off
area of the new den, where a cot, two chairs and two small white
cabinets formed a treatment area for injuries such as this. Neither
Grace nor Nardo, Broadbent’s partner for the night, showed any
reaction to the occurrence and Broadbent’s hiss and wince was no
different from any man’s to the cleansing of a serious wound.

“What are you doing to him? That’s not
normal,” she cried.

“It’s normal if you’re one of us,” Nardo
said, his eyes intent on the rising smoke. “Man, Professor, your
wee beastie dropped a boatload of shit into that arm. Next time you
might want to quote less and fight more.”

Broadbent grabbed Nardo’s shirt, pulled him
close and whispered something through his gritted teeth.

Nardo stood and straightened his tee. “The
Professor’s vocabulary just expanded by two very crude words,” he
said.

Grace didn’t laugh. “Pass me that towel,” she
said and when Hope complied, “It’s Holy Water. Demon claws poison
the wound and Holy Water neutralizes the poison. It’s a Paenitentia
thing. Don’t know how it works and don’t care as long as it keeps
my men healthy. Yucky smell though, isn’t it?”

“What would happen without it?” Hope asked,
inching closer to observe.

“This long, lean, lovely body of mine would
be horribly scarred.” Broadbent hissed again as Grace poured more
water into the wound. “That’s if I were strong and healthy enough
to fight off the infection. If I wasn’t, it could take weeks or
months to fight it off and in cases of multiple wounds…” He
shrugged. “It would turn me.”

Nardo laughed but without humor. “Talk about
adding insult to injury.”

Grace placed a dry towel beneath the arm and
began gathering up debris. “Next time, be more careful,” she said
with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll be back in a bit to
stitch it up.” She turned and left.

When Hope went to follow, Nardo held her back
and when they heard the door close behind Grace, he said, “Leave
her be for a few minutes. She thinks we don’t know it, but she
cries every time this happens. No big boo-hoo, just a little
weeping and then she’s fine.”

“She’s quite brave about bumps, bruises and
broken bones, but things like this…” Broadbent waved at his injured
arm, “Seem to do her in.”

“Why does Canaan let her do it? For that
matter, why do you let her do it? Surely there was someone taking
care of this before she came?”

This time Nardo’s laugh was real. “She’d only
worry about one of us botching the job. Don’t sweat it. Canaan says
it’s more tension release than anything else. She’s been that way
since Col almost turned.” He was laughing, but his voice was filled
with real affection.

Hope marveled at the ease with which they
accepted the danger inherent in their calling and at their easy
acceptance of the love and care they were given. While these men
might appreciate that love, they had no idea how rare and precious
it was.

Later, after the stitching, Hope sat with
Broadbent while his arm began to heal. She checked under the
wound’s covering at regular intervals and was amazed at the speed
with which the jagged edges knitted together. She periodically
patted his face and brow with a cool damp cloth when he claimed
feverishness, but she saw no signs of fever and suspected he was
enjoying the attention more than seeking comfort. She didn’t mind.
He had a story for every occasion and was an engaging
companion.

Nico and Canaan found them laughing over
another of his anecdotes when they returned from patrol.

“And there’s my mother,” Broadbent was
saying, “In the sudden hush of forty people, saying “Why can’t my
son be like other boys and look at dirty pictures of women!”
Broadbent was laughing so hard tears were pouring down his face.
“The poor woman spent the next year avoiding anyone who was at that
party and I spent the next year being avoided at the gymnasium,
except for the two boys who wanted to know how I got the nerve to
come out.”

Hope laugh was as loud and long as
Broadbent’s. The high, clear sound of it echoed off the
ceiling.

Canaan pulled back the curtain and ran his
tongue over his teeth before he spoke. “This is probably none of my
business, but didn’t I see you leave the club last Wednesday with a
good looking blonde… female. I mean, hey, it’s not as common among
us as it is among humans, but it’s okay. Nobody’s going to
care.”

The injured and his nursemaid broke into
another gale.

“That’s nice to know, my lord,” Broadbent
sputtered, “But you missed my point. My mother found copies of
Modern Warrior
and
Weapons
under my mattress.”
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and turned to Hope.
“After that, they wouldn’t even let me take archery. When I first
came here I was totally inept.”

“Still is,” said Canaan, laughing now as
well. “We keep him around for the entertainment.”

“And because I’m the only one in this House
who can read.”

“We can read. We just don’t see the
point.”

Broadbent smiled at Hope and shrugged. “The
illiterate masses. What can one do?”

But Hope was looking at Nico. For a moment,
the half-smile of amusement had left his face and his eyes
darkened. As quickly, the half-smile returned and he gave a short
bow.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go see if Grace
needs help.”

“I’ll come with you,” Hope offered, somehow
feeling that Nico might need her more than Broadbent.

“No,” he said shortly. “You stay and take
care of the Professor.”

He’d been too sharp. It was ungentlemanly and
uncalled for and he would apologize. Later. He folded a paper
napkin and ran his fingers along the crease so forcefully the paper
tore. Broadbent was a good man, well read and educated in the
finest schools. Broadbent made her laugh. Broadbent could discuss
the classics that she had read as well. They were the only books
her father allowed. Broadbent would make the ideal mate for a woman
like Hope. He should encourage the relationship. So why had his
heart leapt for a moment when he thought Broadbent might be gay and
why had it sunk to the pit of his stomach when he heard the
truth?

He knew why. The woman haunted him. Hers was
the face he looked for when he came home from patrol. He heard her
voice when she wasn’t there. She visited each day in his dreams.
She’d stand at the side of his bed in her prim flannel robe and
gown, smiling gently and with a look of longing in her eyes. He’d
reach for the tails of the little bow that held her gown close to
her throat, but it always floated out beyond his fingers. She’d
smile sadly and then she’d speak.

“I’m not for you,” she’d say and fade
away.

Her sleep induced specter was right. She
wasn’t for him. The people who’d raised him put great stock in
dreams and visions and while he’d buried those days deeply, some
things still persisted. He tried to remember the chants he’d
learned as a boy, the ones to destroy the haunting of dreams, but
it had been too many years and the words were no longer there.

It was getting too hard to be in the same
room with her. Sooner or later, by some gesture or word, he’d give
his feelings away.

He finished setting the table, made his
excuses to Grace and headed for his rooms.

*****

Hope smiled, nodded and joined in the
conversation when she could. Her eyes kept straying to his empty
seat.

With a straight face Grace had said, “Nico
sends his apologies. He’s tired, hasn’t been sleeping well. He
thought he should skip supper and hit the sack early.”

But her eyes gave her away and Hope knew that
Grace didn’t believe a word she was saying. Canaan nodded sagely,
Manon and Otto looked at each other knowingly, Nardo rolled his
eyes and the twins snickered and snorted at each other, obviously
enjoying the joke she’d missed. She distinctly felt the thought
that Nico needed to get on with it or get over it, but she couldn’t
distinguish with whom the thought originated. She almost asked and
caught herself in time. If they wanted her to know, they’d speak it
aloud.

“By the looks of Broadbent’s arm, things are
picking up.” Canaan stabbed another slice of ham and put it on his
plate. “Pass those sweet potatoes down here, will you please.” He
scooped a large spoonful onto his plate.

“It’s that time of year,” Col said between
forkfuls.

Nardo laughed. “What, like it’s Demon Season?
Do we need a license to kill?”

The twins dropped their forks, made guns of
their fingers and pointing them skyward at the sides of their
heads, said, “Bond, James Bond.”

Rapid-fire, Nardo threw two rolls which they
caught with their gun hands. Hope laughed at their silliness with
the others, but she knew, once again, she’d missed the reference.
She spent an hour or more every night on one of Nardo’s computers
looking up the words and references she didn’t understand. It
sometimes felt like she was learning a second language and no
matter how much she studied, she was always behind. If she was
going to live in this modern world, she had to catch up with
it.

“I don’t know what you put in these potatoes,
Babe, but they’re a helluva a lot better than that stuff my mother
used to make.”

Grace beamed with pride, but it was Hope who
blushed as she felt the thoughts pass between the pair. To cover
her embarrassment, she said, “Now that’s something that’s
universal.”

Everyone was looking at her now. She’d
interrupted their conversation. “I’m sorry…” She jumped at Grace’s
pinch, nodded, and started over. “I think all women like to hear
their man say they do something better than his mother.”

“C’est vraiment. It is true. No woman wishes
to be second to a man’s mother,” Manon said in agreement.

Grace gave Hope an encouraging pat on the
shoulder. “Absolutely,” she said her eyes alight as she looked to
Canaan. “And don’t you forget it.”

Feeling braver, Hope asked, “Is there really
a Demon Season?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes,” Col said again. “Shit, Nardo, you’re
the one who’s keeping all those statistics. Haven’t you noticed
they’re more active in the spring and summer?” He turned to Hope.
“He got his skull first, but Dov and I have been at this longer.
Oh, and sorry about the ‘shit’.”

She waved the apology away. “It’s okay. I’ve
given up. You’re all heathens.” She’d made them fill the jar three
times over and had passed the proceeds along to St. Stephen’s,
where Canaan said the priests were taking good care of the
poor.

“Finally,” Dov sighed. “It took you long
enough to figure it out. My tongue’s been bleeding for weeks what
with biting it all the time.”

“Poor baby.” Grace said with mock sympathy
and then made a rolling gesture with her hand at Col. “Spring?
Demons? Hope and I are waiting.”

Col looked at a loss. He frowned at Dov.
“See, jackass, you made me lose my thought.”

“If you lost your thought it’s because
somebody flushed, Shit-for-brains.”

“Boys!”

“Okay, okay. I got it now. Mom says that Hell
may be all fire and brimstone, but the otherworld is cold and
dank.” At Dov’s snort, Col jabbed him with his elbow. “That’s the
word she used. Dank. It’s a real word, isn’t it?” He looked to Hope
and at her nod he continued, “Okay then. Doesn’t hurt to improve
your vocabulary,” and to Grace and Hope, “She thinks they like the
warmth of spring and by summer it’s hot and dry.”

Canaan nodded. “My sister could be right. We
had a major battle at the New Year, but it does seem like there’s
usually more action in good weather.”

“It always seemed that way to me,” Uncle Otto
agreed, “Though I never thought of it in terms of weather. It was
more like it’s spring and a young demon’s fancy lightly turns to
thoughts of murder and mayhem.”

“I get that one!” Hope said excitedly, “It’s
Tennyson!”

Everyone, including Uncle Otto stared at
her.

“I’m sor…” she started to say and then
changed her mind when she saw Grace move. “Don’t pinch me. I meant,
you all say things or make gestures and I don’t know what they
mean. Stop it, Dov. I know what that one means. I lived with Lenny.
I mean gestures like this.” She made a gun of her thumb and index
finger and held it by her face. “I laugh because you look so funny,
but I don’t know who James Bond is.”

“He’s a…”

“No,” she interrupted. “It will ruin your
joke if you have to stop and explain. I understand that much. Only
this time I understood the reference. It’s the poet, Tennyson. You
know, ‘In the spring a young man’s fancy turns lightly to thoughts
of love.’”

“Well I’ll be,” Uncle Otto nodded his head.
“I’ve said those words a hundred times and never knew where they
came from.”

“You’re talking Alfred, Lord Tennyson.
Right?”

Now everyone was staring at Dov and Hope
liked it better that way.

He grinned sheepishly. “I remember the name
because of this time in school when the teacher was making us do
this poetry sh…tuff and I heard her say Lord Tennyson and I got all
excited ‘cause I thought he was a Guardian and I asked her what
House he served. She didn’t take it well. I had to do a punishment
report. A thousand words on some dumb poet. You remember that
Col?”

“It’s hard to remember every moronic thing
you’ve done. Now, can we get back to how I’m right and Nardo’s
wrong?”

Nardo raised his hand. “I concede and I bow
to your greater experience. I’ll look into it. And Hope, you and I
need to get together and figure out how to make some sales.”

“Holy shit!” Dov jumped up excitedly. “Are we
going into the sex toy business? Can I help?”

Hope slumped to the table and buried her face
in her hands. “Does everyone know everything?” she muttered to
Grace.