On the run in a strange world after pirates kill her parents, Elise plows into Dorothy Blainwick, a young and powerful witch with a monster inside her. Like fire and water, the two have to learn to get along as they try to escape the law, ancient ma...
If they left Unum, where would they go? How? Although no one had ever returned from across the ocean waves, it seemed worth considering, now more than ever. By this time, Dorothy and Elise had reached an emptier part of town, near the military district, and the witch had grown tired of waiting. She had grown tired all around.
"If you want some you'se gonna have to come and get it, know what I mean?"
From the shadows of the crooked buildings drew seven boys, some men, all of whom dressed sharp in hide jackets and leather gloves. What Dorothy knew that Elise didn't is that four of them were brothers—of the Roma family—and that Dorothy had once called them brothers, too.
"As prickly as ever," said the lead boy, probably seventeen, who had white hair that showed its black roots. He stood the second tallest, the most attractive, and certainly the best dressed in his black crocodile skin shoes. "When Micky and JT told us you were here, I have to admit I didn't believe it. It's good to see you."
"Don't care for your lyin' much, Harry."
"Growing into a curvy young lady, though—that's no lie. If you want back in we'll give you a fair shake. If you don't, well, you will again soon." The boys spread out and began to advance. "So what do you say?"
"Fuck off."
Elise quivered furiously. However, just as the boys surrounded them, suddenly they backed off. Turning, Elise saw the shadow of a figure approaching from around the corner.
"Mornin', Father," said the boys as casually as they could.
"Good morning, lads, lasses," came a voice whose accent belonged to Loebland, the island off Unum's coast. You might think it Irish. A man in his early fifties with short greying hair, a trimmed beard and mustache, a well-fitting black cassock, and a tufted biretta marched down the street toward them. Lost in the book in his hand, he didn't pay much mind to the kids, however, and in total silence passed them.
Elise drew a rattling breath.
He turned around. He closed his book.
"Is anything... the matter here?"
"No, Father, we've just been arguing is all," said Harry. "One of those kind of days..."
"Aye, is that it?" The priest turned to Dorothy and Elise with eyebrows just raised. Dorothy nodded. Elise, however, did not.
"What are ya arguing about? Perhaps I can help."
The boys and Dorothy shook their heads. "Nuffin," Dorothy said. "Just a trifflin'..."
"And you? Do you agree with your friend here?"
When the priest faced Elise, the girl couldn't muster a reply. He had approached the girls. Behind him, one of the boys drew a knife.
"Look out!"
Whish!
Turning on his heel before Elise said a word, the priest threw open his cassock and in a flash drew a rapier from his hip. His vestments underneath were tartan white and buff and made of hyleteline, a synthetic fabric that could sustain the blows of swords, or even a bullet.
Dorothy took a swing at Harry, making good on his jaw and sending him bumbling into a wall. When another boy tried to take her arm, Elise bit his hand, stalling him just long enough for Dorothy to rear back and kick him in the head. What a mess she made of him. He fell unconscious before he hit the ground. Elise, not expecting this display of martial prowess, jumped back in surprise. A punching bag was one thing! Obviously, Dorothy had beat to tar people twice her size before!
In the meantime, the priest—his book still under his arm—had deftly disarmed two other boys that drew knives. They didn't try to near him as he twirled his blade in a display of swordsmanship well beyond their years and petty squabbles. At this point, gravely liable to lose their fingers (at the hands of the priest) or their human-shaped faces (at the feet of the witch), the gangsters, including Harry, beat it down the road whence they came.
"You swing that sword pretty well, Father," Dorothy said, breathing heavily and righting herself as their opponents' coattails disappeared around the corner, "...for a Christian."
"Aye, thank you, lass," replied the priest, sheathing his rapier and drawing his cassock tight again. "You did fine yourself."
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
