To Protect and Serve Ch. 03

"Do I have confidence in you that you would make a good enforcer? No, I think you would make a GREAT enforcer. But besides the sexual aspect of my house, there are other things to keep in mind. Me and mine must always appear resolute when dealing with our adversaries, even in a more political or even social arena. These are things in which your indecisiveness concerns me. When you tell me that you are 'all in,' these are other things to keep in mind."

He waited until Banshee had teed off, then continued, "I am not willing to give up on you yet. You've been convincing yourself for over ten years that your feelings about sex were abnormal, and you've had only a few weeks to think otherwise. I have no desire to lose you, and am willing to slow though not stop your integration into the house. But since I am giving some ground, I expect you to do the same."

A weight vanished from Shamira's shoulders. She wasn't getting kicked out. "What do you want?"

"First, I want you to continue your training with weapons and hand-to-hand combat. Secondly, I don't want you to withdraw from sexual pleasure, either your own or those of the house. You seemed to enjoy your time with me and with Clara --" He stopped and grinned. "And your encounter with Renata's jaguar form --"

Shamira looked sheepish, but she also grinned.

"-- so I think you need time after each encounter to just think about it. If necessary, talk to Lillian here, or me or Clara or whoever you feel comfortable with. If a session gets to intense, just stop it. No one will think less of you for it. In a month's time, if you still have doubts, then we will revisit the issue. I --" Shane stopped when Lillian lagged too far behind, exposing her master to the sun again. It wouldn't kill Shane or even hurt him, but it weakened his magical powers. He turned her around, bent her over, and spanked her hard and fast for a full minute before allowing her to stand up again. Shane looked as if nothing had happened. "I have one more thing I ask of you," he said.

"What?"

"An answer to a question, one that has been on my mind since I talked with you outside your parent's house."

"And that would be?"

"Who was Jimmy Fisk?" Shane saw the reaction immediately. As before, he knew it wouldn't be a happy story. Of course, he'd looked up the name and eventually found a news story about it, and he wondered why the name haunted this young woman twelve years after the event.

"Why?"

"Because it obviously matters to you, and I need to understand you. You said that you had to be strong so that people like Jimmy Fisk don't die. I just want to know what happened, because it obviously helped shape who you are."

Shamira didn't want to talk about it, but it was either that or possibly lose any chance she had of having a place in Shane's house. "He was a guy I knew a long time ago. He was . . . he died right in front of me and --"

"The WHOLE story," Shane said softly.

'Does he already know?' she wondered. 'Maybe. Or maybe it's just that obvious.' "He was a friend of my brother's. I was fourteen, he was a very wise sixteen. He and my brother played Dungeons and Dragons together and . . . well, if you saw Jimmy, it'd make sense. He was the quintessential geek. Creative, loved comic books, reading, anime, computers . . . smartest guy I'd ever heard of. He was taking college classes while a freshmen in high school. Everyone who met him knew that he was going to be . . . was supposed to be moving on to greater things," she said through clenched teeth.

"You loved him?"

"I had a monumental crush on him, but I don't know about love. He was the first guy I ever had a crush on, but to him I was a baby sister. I even tried gaming and stuff just so I could be around him more." For a moment, she let fondness smother the sorrow. Jimmy had been one of the good guys. That's what made the sorrow that much worse. "One day, he was walking me home after school because my dumb-ass brother got stuck in the principal's office. So Jimmy showed up at my school and I thought I'd won the lottery or something. On the way home, we ran into some seniors from the high school who didn't like Jimmy. Didn't like that he was smarter and better than them and –-"

"Anyway, they started bullying him. Nothing too bad at first, but they were all bigger than he was. They took his glasses, pushed him around, stole his backpack and started ripping up one of his textbooks. I was so mad --" She paused. She could remember every moment of that fall afternoon. The roar and rattle of traffic, the leaves scattered on the sidewalk, and the still-warm sun slipping through the branches of the trees lining the street. She remembered being so damn scared that she almost wet herself, and she remembered hating herself for it.

"What happened?" This time, it was Banshee asking. Her face was blank, but her voice betrayed a hint of concern. It didn't surprise Shamira as much as it once might have. She knew from Renata that Banshee was not as cold as she sometimes appeared.

"I couldn't let them do it. I went to grab his glasses back from one guy, but then he just shoved me back. It just made me madder, so I went forward again, and this time I scratched his face. He got mad and punched me so hard that I was almost out. I could barely see through one eye, and I busted my face when I hit the pavement. Jimmy just turned his back on them after cussing them out for being a bunch of cowards for hitting a girl. He leaned over to check on me and . . . I don't know if they forgot just how close we were to the street or what, but one of them put his foot on Jimmy's butt and just shoved him." She stopped and felt moisture at the corner of her high. Damn, it appeared vampires could cry after all. She wiped it away to find that it was actually blood. Vampires cried blood? That was just disturbing.

"He got hit by a car?" Shane asked.

"Yeah. The driver never had a chance to break. Jimmy was stumbling, so his head got nailed by the bumper. I'll never forget that sound . . . that cracking sound, and the sound of tires screeching to a stop on asphalt. The bullies ran away, and I just . . . cried. I couldn't move, I couldn't crawl, I just . . . I just couldn't do anything. The driver stopped, someone called the police, some good Samaritans chased the boys down and held them for the cops. I was just a weak, stupid girl who couldn't do anything but cry. And it was all my fault. If I hadn't gotten involved, they never would have shoved him like that. And if I'd been stronger --"

"You were a fourteen year old girl who had no physical chance of standing up to high school boys," Shane said, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"Don't," she whispered, her voice choked with an old familiar pain. "Don't try to say it wasn't my fault --"

"It wasn't your fault," Shane insisted.

"It's my pain," she told him, trying to find her resolve. "It's been mine for a long time. Every day, I got up and promised myself that next time I'd be strong enough. Every day I was a cop, I promised myself that I wouldn't let someone kill their own Jimmy Fisk. No one should die like that. Someone needs to protect the few good people we have left on this damned planet."

Shamira was beginning to make more sense to Shane. "Did you ever consider that protecting a good person is what Jimmy was doing?"

"It should've been me," Shamira muttered. Some pain was lessened by sharing. This wasn't one of those. This pain just hurt. "Not him."

"It shouldn't have been either of you." This melodious voice belonged Lillian, who had removed her ball gag in direct defiance of Shane's edict. The master vampire, however, didn't appear to be in a punishing mood. "Sometimes bad things happen despite everything the good guys try. I was a fully trained necromancer, and I almost lost Monique. You were a young girl who was outnumbered and overpowered, but you tried. Yes, Jimmy died anyway. From the way you make him sound, this Jimmy fellow would probably be mad as hell at you for carrying this guilt all these years."

"If you want to remember him," Banshee said slowly, "remember him for what he was. Use his memory as your strength, not your albatross. Do not make it so that every fight is about failing him, and so that you will not be happy until you die in someone else's place. His death was not because of you. Your heart did not fail, your courage did not fail, and your decency did not fail. This is more than most people can say."

Shane raised a hand, indicating that it was time for his subordinates to stop talking. Shamira had the look of someone who felt they were being ganged up on, however well meant the attention. But he had one parting comment. "Do not let the snuffing of his light extinguish yours as well. As Banshee said, use his memory to do exactly what you promised to do: serve and protect. Don't let it deny you happiness or make you think you don't deserve it. People like you deserve it more than anyone." He got into the cart as Lillian put her gag back in and got behind the wheel.

For Shamira, it was a surreal moment and a surreal conversation, and she was glad it was over. For obvious reasons, the rest of the game went like shit for her as a familiar hollow feeling seeped through her blood and bones and into her lungs. Her mind was elsewhere, and her golf balls were following suit. But her day wasn't done yet. Quite the contrary, it was about to get weirder.

She was approaching the dog-leg in the middle of the ninth hole when she saw a man standing in the fairway. He was glowing softly white, and seemed to be floating a good foot off the ground. Shamira raised her club, prepared to use it as a weapon. The man was making no hostile moves however, but rather just floated there while staring at her, then at a clipboard that he carried, then back at her. He looked befuddled.

"Shamira, you're away. Is your lie that bad?" The other players appeared on the fairway, with Lillian still holding her umbrella. Shane saw that Shamira was staring, then looked to see what it was. "What? Can't decide on a club?"

Lillian's eyes shot open and she removed the ball gag once more. "Sir, there's a ghost on your golf course."

"Nonsense," he replied. "Jeremiah wouldn't let another non-corporeal on the property. And I don't see a damn thing."

"Trust me sir, it's there," she replied. "And Jeremiah wouldn't do anything about it if it wasn't hostile. So since only Shamira and I seem to see it, and me only because I'm a necromancer, then it must be here for her," she said, looking at the dumbstruck vampire.

"Here for me? What did I do?"

"You didn't die," the ghost grumbled, looking incredibly perplexed. "I'm not sure how to handle this now."

"Handle what?" Lillian asked. Know the spirit was non-hostile made her remember her manners.

"Handle these questions. I was supposed to be communicating with a disaffected spirit, not a vampire."

Shamira was now really confused. "What questions?"

"Let's see," the ghost started, "Are you unable to pass on, do you have unfinished business, are you in pain wherever you are . . . the standard."

"Who's doing the asking?" Lillian asked. Shane and Banshee were just standing around, annoyed at being left out.

The ghost managed an embarrassed look. "Forgot that part, didn't I?" He looked at Shamira. "Miss Shamira Carswell, your sister would like to talk with you."

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To be continued . . .