Disclaimer: Hey, what’s up out there? This is a rewrite inspired by the great Eddiey Muininghan. She sent me an email this spring asking about Tales unfinished fate and inspired me to revamp the story, she even agreed to be my beta reader. The following is what I’ve messed around with pertaining to what I’ve already posted in the past. Nothing much has changed besides the longevity it’s no longer Uber. There were many inspirations for this story in the beginning one being Xena’s adventures, but also those great fighting video games that came out in the early nineties when I was coming up in my generation of gratuitous violence ie; Mortal Kombat, Street Fighter, Double Dragon, Tekken and my fav, Killer Instinct.

Special thanks to Eddiey, and as always my love, Angie.

Amor a Primera Vista, O Amor A Primera Lucha

Chapter One: The Stranger

She never caused any trouble. Just sat and read. And never fiction; there was the History of the Aztec Civilization and The Ancient Middle Americas, and Colin Wilson’s The Occult, The Mystic Power of Runes, along with several other books in the Mystic Power series, the Mystic Power of Crystals, The Mystic Powers of the Earth and so on. She never checked out anything of course, only read, took notes, or scribbled copies of pictures.

Brynn Dobhale the head librarian of the city’s Avalon Wood branch always ignored the stares some patrons gave of the odd looking, too pale woman with the bruises on her face, the scabbed knuckles.

When the woman began to appear the spring before once or twice a month, Brynn too had her apprehensions.

They were in Avalon Wood after all, just out of downtown, the subdivision had once been an upper class neighborhood. Long abandoned by the affluent it was now of a low socioeconomic status, there was an occasional transient in to escape the weather, more frequent were rowdy teenagers during the summer.

Brynn had that kind of power, a lot of her most faithful patrons had come in unsure, wary of the world of books, and though not overtly friendly she was encouraging in her own way, with small smiles, and her soft spoken manner. She felt like she should be a guide, not a salesman, or a teacher.

So when the tall woman with the bruised face first came in she was given a warm smile by the short, librarian with round, close-set, kind, dark brown eyes with a silvery sheen, (and though her own steel blue-gray gaze was quickly averted) the librarian knew she felt welcomed.

Brynn was always on guard. Watchful. Thanks to budget cuts the city’s library staff had been decimated, there was only her and Jimmy Merchant who worked every other day.

The strange woman returned to the Avalon Woods branch more frequently and currently appeared twice a week. She never spoke a word to the librarian who like a little bird learning to be bold began to flutter closer and closer performing daily tasks.

Brynn was actually gathering facts, she had naturally become curious of the stranger. Her reading habits were interesting enough but the librarian grew bored with them, so she fluttered closely to catch glimpses of the woman’s scarred hands, and the compellingly sickish bruises that circled her eyes, and stained her cheeks, the green-blue of old bruises melding with the blue-black-violet of newer ones.

Brynn concluded that she got into a lot of fights, she was not a boxer, at least not the type who wore gloves, her knuckles crashed against the hard bones of other people’s faces.

A bare-knuckle boxer.

It was an underground sport, Brynn read, nothing that could be seen on ESPN.

As for her wardrobe it was that of what Brynn’s parents would have called derelict. The stranger wore a lot of black, black motorcycle boots, with round buckles on the side, black jeans and dark long sleeved shirts even in the heat of the summer, and as the winter approached she donned a long black drover one of those coats cowboys wore with a sort of short cape on the back.

One day in late December Brynn spied her with her coat off draped over a chair. That day she wore a short sleeved shirt beneath her jacket, her arms were as pale as her face, and there were dark markings on her arms. Tattoos. Aztec symbols like the ones from the books she browsed (Brynn had long ago grown bored with thumbing through them wondering what could be of interest).

The woman never looked away from the book she was reading as she shrugged into the jacket, she never acknowledged Brynn had been there at all.

Chapter Two: The Librarian Brynn

Of course she had a personal life out side of the library, beyond her curiosity of the strange woman. She lived alone in Avalon Wood, her parents had purchased when the neighborhood was officially black middle class, she had grown up there in the very same house she’d inherited from her parents Lyle and Kathy Dobhale, now deceased.

She kept to herself, kept her house, and yard, with a fair little garden out back, a considerable library of her own inside. On her off time she enjoyed reading and her favorite online role playing game of which she was currently one of the few, the proud Ninth Rank witches.

She tried to stay busy or else the loneliness would creep in, a loneliness she had always fought, even before the tragic theater fire that took her parents. The Dobhales were never fancy people, the first time they ever went to see a play was their last, they never understood their bookish daughter, and they certainly did not understand those three years she loved another bookish girl named Natalie. They did their best to comfort Brynn when her girlfriend died in a tragic flood in the under ground mall downtown.

Brynn Dobhale had never been beautiful, her eyes were too big and set too close, she had a small mouth her face never portrayed her real age, only about ten years negative, which she was grateful for at last when she reached thirty the year before. She was the color of smoked whole almonds, with hair the color of cinnamon sticks that was too wavy to do anything with but keep cut short, and neatly trimmed so it would not look so horrible doing whatever it pleased about her head.

Brynn kept what she called her grimoir, a memoir in progress, for several years the daily entries always read: Nothing very interesting happened today… or the acronym, N.V.I.H.T, or Arggh I got my period today, no matter how old I get I just can’t get over bleeding every month…or the roses are coming around nicely this year.

The Stranger provided some interesting entries, as did those few deliciously erotic dreams she inspired, the entries Brynn actually read over just for fun.

"You should hear about the weirdoes they get downtown," Jimmy Merchant her part time assistant said one evening near closing. It was time to announce that the library would be closing soon, but the strange woman was the last patron. Brynn was debating whether or not to just go inform the woman instead of using the scratchy P.A. system.

"She’s not your ordinary run of the mill weirdo," Brynn said, they were behind the from counter checking in books, scanning barcodes with little laser wands.

"Wow, sounds like love to me." Jimmy said, he was the color of butterscotch with a round, boy’s face, he kept his hair cut close and dressed like a member of a boy band, causual/glam, a fashionably faded blue t with a silver star emblazoned on the right breast, and baggie jeans

Brynn flushed and giggled a short musical sound that startled Jimmy, as he had never heard it before.

"You’re nuts," she whispered.

"I’m key-rect," Jimmy rolled his eyes, "I always knew you were kind of an oddball."

Brynn shrugged. "She’s interesting."

She paused and decided to divulge her months of information gathering.

"She has these tattoos, and I think she participates in bare knuckle boxing."

It was Jimmy’s turn to giggle.

"I’m serious," Brynn said.

"More like defending her spot under the bridge," Jimmy said, he was younger, barely twenty, more sarcastic, and impudent, the person in her life that came closest to an acquaintance. They were both gay and that was the strongest aspect of their bond, he was always trying to get her to get out and meet women. Right now she suspected he was poking fun of her just a little bit, and regretted talking to him about the strange woman.

"Oh please don’t say that," Brynn said, "I hope she’s not homeless. That’s so sad."

"I don’t know what to tell you," Jimmy finished up the stack of books and began to organize them on rolling carts to go back out on the shelves, "Of course I don’t approve of this…crush or whatever-"

"It’s not a crush," she corrected him.

He looked doubtful. "I said whatever…maybe you should try to start a rapport with her it can be sullen and solemn yet thoughtful or even clever."

Brynn shook her head.

Of course it was too late, the woman appeared, walking towards the counter, she held their gaze until she passed.

"Um excuse me Miss," Jimmy said.

Brynn actually gasped as the woman stopped and pinned them with her gray-blue stare, dark brows raised in suspicion.

"This month is new patron month," Jimmy gave a short, hard, swallow, "The librarian that signs up the most people for library cards gets a…prize. Do you happen to have a card?"

Her gaze left Jimmy for a second slashed at Brynn’s, she knew something was up.

"No," her voice was low, hoarse, as if she barely spoke aloud.

"Well, would you like to sign up for one?" Jimmy asked brightly, but very officially, "It won’t take long and all we need is your driver’s license."

"No thanks," the woman said and walked through the heavy glass door.

Jimmy turned to her with large eyes and mouthed weirdo.

Brynn let out a ragged breath. "I can’t believe you. You lied."

"Me?" Jimmy asked.

"There’s no such thing as new patron month," Brynn said.

"Those eyes," Jimmy said, "Sexy, but dangerous, like a wild, jungle cat…she ain’t your type."

Brynn grinned. "And what would be my type?"

"Homey, a book lover, soft butch," he gazed off dreamily as if seeing Brynn’s soul mate, "Such a cute couple."

"You just described Nat," she said quietly.

Jimmy came over and hugged her, startling Brynn who was not used to being so close to another person.

"I’m sorry. Look, you’re lonely, you should go out and meet someone, not anything too fast-"

"I wouldn’t even know where to start," she grumbled.

"You start by saying, ‘hello’," he walked around the counter and stood on his tip toes looking out the glass front, leaning onto one foot, "Fred’s out there."

"You go ahead, I’m right behind you," she said.

"No way," Jimmy said.

"I close every other day you’re not here," she told him, "I always managed not to get snatched."

"Girl…" Jimmy frowned, outside Fred honked.

"Go on," she gave a little smile.

Jimmy practically skipped outside, she locked up behind him, and went back to the counter. She finished up with the books- she could put them away in the morning- then set the alarm, and locked up for the night.

It was January, as dark, and frosty as her city would allow, the moon hung in the sky like the Cheshire cat’s smile left behind, she could almost see the fading outline of his body. The lighted towers of downtown looked hollow and flat like a studio movie set.

She gathered her brown corduroy jacket around her body as she settled in her Volkswagen Rabbit. She fit the key in the ignition, turned the engine over clicked on the headlights, then her seat belt. When she looked up, her hand on the gear shift, she saw a frighteningly, familiar, figure standing next to her car at the front left wheel, floating towards her driver’s side window.

Brynn wanted to drive away quickly, the door was locked, the engine was on, her foot was on the brake, her hand was on the shift. She could always apologize later, she was a woman alone who did not like to take chances.

There was a curt tap on the window glass.

Brynn turned off the engine, she undid her seatbelt, opened the door.

"Yes?" her voice trembled.

"Do I scare you or something?" the strange woman asked, stooping a bit, her gray- blue eyes glowing from the interior light, her bruises garish in the white light.

"Pardon?" Brynn asked.

"I mean if you’re skittish or something I could find another place to go read," her tone was not apologetic, or even hurt, just angry and bored, confrontational.

"No of course not, its just that…" she began, she hated confrontations.

"Your boyfriend have a problem with me or something?" she asked.

"He’s not my boyfriend," Brynn said, "And no. We don’t have a problem with you."

"So you were just being nosy," she concluded.

"I’m the head librarian, I like to know a little something about my…um patrons," Brynn said, she somehow knew that she should not be afraid of the stranger, but with each word spoken she became a bit more anxious.

"So you make up bogus contests to get them to sign up for library cards," she said.

"No," Brynn stuttered, "I’m a guide, not a salesman or a teacher…Are you always so…in-your-face?"

"I just don’t like to be low handed, you know," she said she seemed amused for a split second, "People always giving me looks like I’m something that crawled out of the sewer."

"I’m sorry," Brynn said.

"For what?" she shrugged, "You’re one of the only people who don’t get that look in your eyes. I’ve appreciated it. It’s your protégé Mr. Frenchie-"

"Jimmy Merchant?" Brynn asked.

"I call him Mr. Frenchie," she said, "When I don’t know someone’s name I-"

The Stranger stopped cold, narrowed her eyes quickly. "Anyway, that’s all, sorry I bothered you."

She turned and began to walk away. Brynn watched her go, she wanted to call out to her, but what would she say after the way she had acted.

She drove home replaying the conversation in her head. She hadn’t even learned the Stranger’s name.

....

Chapter Three: Hello, Stranger

The stranger did not show up for two weeks, and when she did it was a half hour before closing time, when the library was empty. Luckily Jimmy was not there. Brynn immediately stood and followed her to nonfiction where she had picked up a book and was settled in the darkest corner.

"Hello," Brynn announced herself.

"Hey," the Stranger said, "I know you close in about thirty,…"

"It’s ok," Brynn said, "I’m Brynn, by the way."

"Little hill," the Stranger said.

"Yes," she brightened, "That’s what my name means. Its Old English. Some lady on a soap opera had the name, my mother borrowed it."

"I’m Hart," she said, "As in deer or stag."

She sat down at the other side of the table.

.....

Hart shifted a little, and boldly looked into the librarian’s eyes, so wide and irresistibly close set, they wavered around, through her gaze, taking in everything about her. She was cute and prim with her pink sweater, suede skirt, and brown boots.

Then she asked her out. Hart wanted to laugh, but those eyes were so hopeful, she forced herself to get sober and say yes.

.....

"Umm I was wondering is you’d like to go out to dinner or maybe a movie sometime," Brynn said deciding to just blurt out her mission, it was crazy, but it was what she had to do.

"Then what?" the stranger asked, "You think you can get to know a bum like me? That we can take day trips in the sunshine and meet each other’s folks? Have a Holy Union, and buy a little house with her and her Volkswagen’s?"

Brynn stood up abruptly. She did not know what she had been thinking. This woman was obviously too abrasive to trust with her feelings.

She turned to retreat but the other woman was up and across the table, seizing her upper arm before she could walk two steps.

"Well?" she demanded turning her around.

"I don’t know," Brynn’s head fell forward and shook as she sobbed.

"Look, you don’t want to tangle fates with me," Hart told her, letting go of her arm, "I’m absolutely no fucking good. Muchacha Malo."

Brynn sniffed. "Alright I get it," she raised her head and was handed a remarkably white, clean, hankie.

"Wipe your face," Hart said softly, then: "You’re a beautiful lady. Beautiful…I gotta go."

She turned and began to walk away. Brynn had backed against some shelves, she got her footing and called out to her.

"Hart," she said the name with more conviction, and emotion than she thought she could have for a stranger.

The woman turned touched, reached, and disturbed.

.....

"You have beauty too," the librarian told her, "You think its worthless so you let people pummel it, but its still there."

Hart walked towards her, nostrils flared, she grabbed Brynn by her upper arms, but that was where the violence stopped.

"You’re a clever, gatita, aren’t you?" she asked.

Brynn sniffed. "I suppose."

Hart grinned, she reached up and moved a lock of hair from Brynn’s cheek, glued there by her tears.

Hart bowed her head a bit, and leaned closer, she smelled like cinnamon and honey, scents that did not match her.

"I shouldn’t have come back here," she said, her lips close to Brynn’s face, "I wasn’t going to come back."

"Why?" Brynn asked, their breaths mingled and she felt pleasantly lightheaded.

"Because," Hart said, and kissed her.

.....

It had been a long time since either of them had been kissed, they both shivered and fell into each other, Brynn’s hand went to Hart’s face, Hart’s arms went around Brynn’s waist: an embrace they’d both fantasized about since first seeing each other that previous spring.

Brynn felt herself being pushed backwards, the table hitting the backs of her thighs, the stranger bending her, laying her on the wide wooden surface etched with graffiti.

"We shouldn’t, not here, not so soon," Brynn broke the kiss.

"Then we can do it here another time," Hart purred on top of her now, tugging at the shoulder of her sweater, kissing the skin that was revealed.

"No. I mean…um," Brynn’s reasoning was broken by a shudder, "I mean we- someone could come in."

"No one-" Hart murmured.

"The doors-" Brynn uttered.

"Fine," Hart said curtly, "My place or yours?"

Before she answered the stranger grinned.

"Definitely mine."

Brynn wiggled off the table, she misjudge how high it was, the landing was rougher than she’d planned.

"Of course not," Hart straightened her coat, composed herself, "How about that dinner?"

"You’ve got a pretty good appetite," Hart said as Brynn grinned at her around a mouthful of hamburger.

They’d ended up at Greenhorn #5, one of five hamburger stands in a citywide chain and Hart Gonzalez’s (Brynn had learned the stranger’s last name en route) favorite place to eat.

"So you’re a fighter?" Brynn asked, she wanted to give herself to The Stranger, Hart Gonzalez, but she could not stop thinking of her as a stranger, and so she was reluctant.

The stand provided a eating area, a sort of car port walled off with a sheet of heavy plastic. It was surprisingly warm, except for the occasional draft that cut through the air. The only other "diners" were two hulking figures grunting at each other as they shoveled burgers into their mouths.

Hart nodded. "Bloodsport, its an underground thing."

"Oh," Brynn said, "So there’s wagering."

Hart stared at her for a second, she seemed quite frozen, then she spoke:

"Yes my dear there is some wagering."

"Then you make a living at this?" Brynn asked, her burger finished she nibbled at a few left over lone fries left on the grease-stained wax wrapper in which she had been served.

"Who are you the IRS?" Hart asked.

"Just curious that’s all," Brynn said.

"A census taker tried to quantify me once-" Hart began and was cut off by a short giggle. She grinned and looked over her shoulders then back at her "date" as if she was surprised that birdish trill had come from her.

The other diners raised their heads like lions hunched over freshly killed prey, masticated bun and crumbles of ground beef hung from their mouths.

"She gets my jokes," Hart said, "And she likes them."

Brynn flushed well through her brown skin, she took a sip of soda.

"Look," Hart said, "If you don’t come home with me tonight I can’t be responsible for what I’ll do."

Brynn’s flush flashed down her neck.

"You are adorable," Hart narrowed her eyes lustfully.

"Let’s walk," Brynn stood wondering what the hell she had gotten herself in to.

"Whatever you like," the Stranger agreed.

Greenhorn’s #5 had no parking lot so they’d parked a ways up the street. Hart jogged ahead of Brynn, shadowboxing. She was impressed by her movements, and stopped to watch her.

"So it thinks it’s a boxer," a voice said from the shadows.

Brynn turned to see the two men from the hamburger stand, flaking a mail box, their forms tall and hard in contrast to the rounded stubby figure.

"It does," Hart said with a jovial edge to her voice.

"A challenge then, Gonzalez" the other said.

"So you’ve heard of me," she said and asked:

"Two on one?" as if she thought the odds were fair.

"Just me," the first one that had spoken said, and stepped closer.

"Hart," Brynn whispered a warning taking a step back.

The challenger wore a black vinyl rain slicker, dusted with filth, underneath was a pair of ragged brown work pants and a striped red and green shirt the colors distorted by food stains and dirt.

The challenger stepped forward, face lumped, brow broken, nose twisted as if it had been reshaped again and again from past fights. The hands were what frightened Brynn, they were huge, not a big man’s hands, but a monster’s, with knobby, perfectly rounded knuckles.

"Hmm," Hart said, "Alright."

"Hart," Brynn whimpered as the monster sailed towards them quickly, and Hart bent into a runner’s crouch as of there was about to be a race.

The monster roared closer now, Brynn grabbed the back of Hart’s collar, she would not move.

"Hart," Brynn screamed.

The Stranger stood and received a blow to the jaw from one of the massive hands. Hart’s head jerked back like whiplash knocking into Brynn’s, sending the librarian to the concrete.

Her ears rang as she scrambled backwards until the spout of a fire hydrant poked her in the back.

The Stranger took another blow to the chest, the hollow thud made Brynn’s stomach flop. The other figure waited patiently in the shadows, watching.

Hart lowered her head, raised her fists to her face though it seemed impossible to Brynn that she could ward off the monster’s hands. She danced, rolling off the blows, until she could finally land one lick of her own, as quick as a striking snake to the monster’s throat.

The challenger gave a mighty gasp and swung blindly before falling to the concrete in a crawl.

Hart bashed her knee into the monster’s face, blood flowed black in the moonlight. She stood over him for a minute waiting for her opponent to stand again. He crawled around the dark sidewalk until his friend came and helped him to his feet.

Hart turned, helped Brynn to her feet, and the two walked to her car, the librarian thought at the time a ridiculously calm pace.

"My place," Hart insisted once they were back in the car, and told her where to turn.

They drove closer to downtown, the stranger exhausting the supply of Kleenex in the glove compartment with blood, claiming that it was nothing.

Their destination was a towering red brick building. Brynn was amazed, it was ancient, the rounded cracking brick, the way it loomed, no one had made anything so tall out of brick in a long time.

Hart guided her into a foyer of mailboxes, to a creaking elevator. They rode it to the top most floor. The walked a maze of dim corridors with wooden floors and upholstered walls, material thin with age.

"Home sweet home," Hart said unlocking her door, letting Brynn in first.

It was a loft with a partly closed off kitchen, the walls were white, the furniture black metal or wooded coated black. The windows were covered with black blinds.

Brynn eyes swept the room, larger objects catching her attention like two towering narrow shelves of CDs flanking a massive stereo system with speakers as tall as she, and a near-life size bronze sculpture of a naked woman standing, her legs and arms spread in V’s, eyes narrowed as she gazed on angrily, her hair windswept.

"You like?" Hart asked taking her across the loft to a bed with an ebony wood frame, ravens carved at four posts, black silk sheets.

Brynn flushed at the sight of the bed despite the macabre ravens their wings at their sides, eyes closed, heads down as if they were roosting solemnly, it gave off an erotic aura.

The bathroom was closed off, the floor a Greek mosaic tile of a sun and hills, and trees, and fields of grain. The walls were painted with pillars and vines, and a garden scene.

"It’s…" Brynn began but did not know what to say.

"Not what you thought my bathroom would be like?" Hart asked, "Its all from my winnings and before that some other enterprises…" she trailed off.

Brynn was not paying much attention, she had spotted the tub, it was brown marble and sank into the floor, there were jet holes, and a brass faucet.

"Would you like to bathe with me?" Hart asked.

Brynn took a step back sure that meant getting naked.

"Here," Hart said turning on the water, "You get started and I’ll busy myself for a few minutes then join you."

"I’m not sure," she said.

"Trust me. I won’t ravish you or anything," Hart turned away from the librarian grinning as if she planned to do just that. She walked out of the bathroom asking her what kind of music she liked.

"Lucinda Harris," Brynn said.

Hart made a distasteful sound loud enough to be heard through the wall. "I’ll see what I can do."

Brynn took off her shoes and paced.

The tub began to steam and Hart called out and asked if she was ready yet.

"No," Brynn answered tentatively, she shrugged out of her sweater, and paced some more.

Outside she began to hear Lucinda’s music. Brynn had been a fan since the second album Unwanted Blessings. Lucinda was a rock pianist who made erotic, deeply moving, poetic music from the mid seventies to the mid-eighties when she overdosed in a hotel downtown.

Brynn sighed unzipped her skirt and let it fall and let the music of the last album Golgi Apparatus guide her out of her underwear and into the tub.

Hart appeared in a kimono with another slung over her shoulder. She gave Brynn a smoldering smile as she turned on the jets.

"I thought you didn’t like Lucinda," Brynn said.

"Not really, but I just downloaded that off the net," Hart said as she unbelted her robe, she shrugged and let it fall in the same vicinity of the skirt.

Her arms up to her shoulders were covered in tattoos, mostly Aztec symbols, eagle talons gripped her upper back and wrapped around her collar bone, there was a blue dagger on her right shoulder.

"You’re not one of those awful music thieves are you?" Brynn asked.

"I sure am," Hart stepped into the tub, she was all lean planes, and muscle.

Brynn felt like a pig. She had never been an athlete, she was thirty-one and her metabolism was beginning to slow, she had a little gut pouch and some flab at her flanks. At least her breasts hadn’t hit her knees yet; there weren’t enough of them to sag that far.

She squirmed as Hart moaned and sank into the roiling water across from her.

"Comfy?" she asked Brynn.

She did not answer, only shrugged, the water rippled between them.

"Who was that man you fought?" Brynn asked.

"A nobody trying to make a name for himself," she answered, "Right now I’m top and every bum in Bloodsport wants a piece of me."

Brynn looked away quickly, trying not to stare too much at the tattoos or the bruises, or the muscles, or the skin.

"There’s no one who’s going to miss you?" Hart then asked, "You never mentioned anyone."

"No," Brynn answered, "I’m unattached."

"Me too," Hart said and winked, she sighed, "Aren’t you comfortable?"

"I’m sorry," Brynn said she shifted wanting to stand until she remembered that she was naked.

Sensing her flight Hart darted forward like a fish across the short, bubbling sea between them stopping when their faces were inches apart, her palm on Brynn’s shoulder. The water shifted and slopped over the smooth banks of the tub.

"What are you so afraid of?" Hart asked.

"You," Brynn managed.

"You know better than to be afraid of me," Hart said, "Must be something else…"

Brynn searched her mind, there were always so many fears.

"The darling one was naked and, knowing my wish, had kept only the regalia of her jewelry whose resonant charms can lure and vanquish-"

Brynn’s breath quickened and she listened in disbelief as the woman who pressed so ardently to become her lover recited Baudelaire. It wasn’t exactly love poetry and only a true scholar of the poet could appreciate the words for that moment.

"-Naked then, she was to all of my worship," Hart continued, "Smiling in triumph from the heights of her couch at my desire advancing, as gentle and deep as the sea sending its waves to the warm beach."

She stopped and leaned forward kissing Brynn who giggled.

"I don’t have long legs or hips ‘shining smooth as oil’ " the librarian said, "but I do have the torso of a boy."

Hart smiled. "You’re silly, your breasts and your belly are ‘the grapes of my wine.’ "

They kissed a long time, Hart’s hands grabbed her sternly as they had back at the library and Brynn trembled she could only reach out and pull her closer using her fingers to clutch her new lover’s face.

Hart broke the kiss to turn off the jets, from a wire shelf suspended on the wall above the tub by a suction cup she retrieved a bottle of soap, a loofah, and a cloth.

"I said we were going to bathe," she explained, "I don’t want to seem like I got you here under false pretenses."

Brynn smiled and turned her back when she was asked and let Hart bathe her, reach around soap her small breasts. Something awakened in her suddenly that had slumbered for a long time. The librarian was not frightened though sure there was no way the stranger could know about the fever tingling at her abdomen, the spreading warmth between her thighs.

"It’s ridiculous of you to believe you’re not stunningly beautiful," she said into the librarian’s ear, "There are fairies that would kill to be as beautiful as you are."

Brynn laughed. "Now who is being ridiculous?"

Gloriously covered in suds (they gave her some modesty so she was bold) she turned and began to bathe the stranger.

"You quote Baudelaire and you talk about fairies," she said, "Who are you, Stranger?"

"I’m Hart Gonzalez," was her reply, "And if you let me I’ll make love to you until the sun rises."

Brynn settled back into the water and rinsed herself, when she was finished she noticed that she was being watched. Hart’s eyes flashed with passion, and Brynn realized she was in over her head. The severity of the lust involved, radiating from herself and the stranger, mingling, stirred by her doubt and the stranger’s arrogance.

"Well?" Hart asked, her voice husky from wanting.

Brynn stood, she climbed out of the tub dripping wet, the stranger behind her, she was handed a towel. Grateful she covered herself.

"I’m sorry, Hart," she said, "I can’t-"

"You don’t have to be sorry for nothing," the stranger said, there was warmth in her eyes now, warmth Brynn could handle.

She went for her clothes, stooping a bit, Hart stooped with her.

"And you don’t have to go running off," she said, "Stay the night. It’ll be perfectly innocent."

"I shouldn’t stay," Brynn said.

"Now I can take being denied sex, but company, you shouldn’t have teased me like that, librarian," Hart said then sighed, "Get dressed. I’ll walk you down."

Brynn dropped her clothes and took the other kimono, it was white with a pink and red cherry tree design, she was pretty sure it was pure silk.

"I’ll stay," she said decidedly to the stranger.

Hart gave a small bow of her head and donned her kimono, it was hunter green with gray stallions running along the hem.

She grinned. "Whatever you like Gatita, I’ll get us some drinks," she said, "I think we’re going to be reciting a lot of Baudelaire tonight."

.....

Chapter Four: Bloodsport

Just past down town was a small labyrinth of one way streets and abandoned warehouses. Before the trucking industry, when goods were hauled by train the area thrived, modest businesses manufactured things and the tracks took them out into the world of consumers.

Then the trucking industry took over, the businesses grew and left town for bigger lots and the opportunity to really mass produce. The abandoned warehouses were not desirable to even criminals. Abandoned except for Bloodsport.

Brynn had decided on black stretch pants and fur lined boots from her mother’s disco days, a low cut black t-shirt and a double breasted coat that belted around the waist finished the outfit. She slicked her hair back behind her ears and picked up some sun glasses from a convenience store.

There were few cars outside the appointed warehouse so Brynn was sure she would not be able to hide from Hart. Still her curiosity egged her on.

It was past midnight and the temperature had dipped. As she walked to the building from her Rabbit she flipped up the collar of her jacket.

There was a great metal door which she tried to open, it groaned but did not move an inch. Brynn pressed her ear against the cool, rough with rusty door. The clank of a bolt sent her back into an upright position. A perfect square shaft of light shone for a few seconds before being eclipsed by the silhouette of a pointy bald head, tiny ears and a thick neck.

"Who you?" the silhouette asked.

She tried to look cool and impudent, she had practiced for fifteen minutes back at home.

"Here to see the match," she answered.

The man on the other side of the door laughed. "Go home lady."

The shaft disappeared, and she realized it was one of those cloak and dagger little sliding peeking doors.

Brynn gave the door a kick. "Let me in," she shouted, then; "Yo."

The little door slid back open.

"Yo," the man said, "You got money?"

"Yeah," she answered, that was partly true she had about fifteen dollars in her coat pocket.

"Name," the man demanded.

"Dobhale," she said deciding, what the hell, "Brynn Dobhale."

The sliding, peeking, door closed, the big door groaned some more and opened.

"Never get your type in here," he eyed her, and she him, he was slimmer than she had imagined but not by much.

"Never knew your people was into…sports," he said.

"Oh yeah," she answered having no idea what the man meant, just glad to be "in."

The place was packed; there were Goth teens, and men in business suits, women in barely anything at all, even people who looked like transients. They bunched in crowds around pairs of fighters. Brynn stood a minute in awe, then realized she was toeing a puddle of blood.

"Eww," she muttered and stepped back quickly.

Like a visitor to some museum where the exhibits were alive, and beating the tar out of each other, Brynn began to explore soberly.

In one ring of spectators a woman with a mohawk of five inch high razor blades, a rack of crescent shaped horns and a leather tail of spikes was slithering around a puny, sickly looking little man. She whipped at him playfully with her tail as he stood shivering in his thick framed black Woody Allen glasses.

Brynn forced herself to look away at the maddened faces of the spectators. She did not want to see what damage the woman would do to the little man.

There was a scream and Brynn’s eyes rolled back to the sight, the little man had a wild look on his face, he had hold of the woman’s tail and was slapping at her legs, and ass. The nerd howled with delight, and his eyes glowed like an animals in the dim lights of the warehouse.

Brynn moved on to the next ring where a grotesquely overweight and naked man moved with a cat-like quickness, his flab shimmered like liquid, landing meaty blows to a woman who looked to be seven feet tall and took the punches as if they were mosquito bites.

Then she saw Hart, her black hair pulled back into a ballerina’s knob, her face just as poised. She made a graceful swagger around a woman with a broad back knotted with muscles, her arms were well muscled too, all four of them. Hart’s opponent looked oriental, but her eyes glowed green, and she had flaming red hair.

Hart fended off two fists, and sidestepped the other two. She shouted something at her opponent and grinned a bloody grin. She was obviously enjoying herself, even more than with the hulking man the night before.

Hart was caught by a fist, could not dodge another, or even a third as well as the fourth, she kind of stumbled back, but regained her footing, by then she was head butted and tripped.

Brynn gasped.

"You want in on this?" someone asked, "Five hundred on the medium?"

Brynn ignored the offer, Hart was not getting up.

"Looks like the end for you, medium," the multi-armed woman triumphed, she stooped a bit before Hart, grabbed a fistful of her hair lifting her head, neck and torso.

Brynn tried to push through the crowd, but they were gathered tight and calling for death. The librarian fell to her hands and knees, she crawled through legs emerging in the center just as the creature was cocking a fist to put an end to Hart.

"Stop," she screamed, she ran, jumped and latched on to one of the wrists.

The woman grunted, as if catching a spider scurrying up her arm, and flung her behind Hart.

Brynn landed hard her bones jarred not used to such jostling, she scrambled to her feet. "You stay away from her. You-"

Before she could say more a blue light filled the room, Brynn squinted her eyes finding herself close to the source; Hart.

The light was a pair of wings, ethereal ones that did more than glow, they flapped lazily taking Hart into the air, then disappearing, leaving her aloft.

"Bring it," she told the woman.

A roar then filled the room as the four armed woman flexed her back and grew at least five more feet, her legs extended and bent like a goat’s.

She stalked quickly towards Hart, who flew right at her. When they collided, Hart’s feet in the beast woman’s chest the whole warehouse seemed to shake. Hart landed and turned to Brynn.

"Damned you Gatita," she said calmly.

"Sorry," Brynn said.

"Hmm," Hart said as if she were not so sure of the apology, "You look hot, but you’d better get back."

The opponent was shaking off her blow, she had fallen on her ass. Hart flew at her and hooked an arm around her neck, locked her legs between a pair of the arms.

The opponent let out a choked cry and tried to shake Hart off, slamming her back into a concrete beam, then to the concrete floor wallowing.

Brynn winced not sure if Hart had been crushed as the creature’s movements became more pained, one fist slammed into the floor three times.

"She gave," someone called.

The beast woman rolled over and there was Hart, laying quite still.

Brynn ran to her, falling on top of her.

"Are you ok?" she asked.

"Get back," Hart rasped pushing her away weakly.

"UNFAIR," the opponent howled back to her "normal" height, "Cheating bitch."

She bowled into Brynn sending her flying. The librarian landed among the spectators, hitting her head on the stained concrete floor, her body still not used to being thrown around failed and she could not move.

Dazed she looked up and saw a woman all in gray smiling at her.

"Some fall, love," she said, "Let me help you."

"I know you," Brynn said, "I’m sure of it."

"Well, you’re a fan then," the woman said stooping, pulling her to her feet.

The melee around them had vanished, they were not in the warehouse.

"You’re Lucinda Harris," Brynn gasped, "You’ve been dead for nearly twenty years."

The dead rock singer grinned. "I certainly hope you won’t hold that against me."

....

Chapter Five: Dead Rock Star

"There you are," Hart said as Brynn opened her eyes, "I’ve been looking for you for hours."

The stranger’s worried face was surprisingly soothing and she wanted to be scooped up in her arms and carried away back to the loft, back to the tub.

Brynn moaned a little. "What happened?"

"You got freight-trained by a fucking giant," Hart said helping her to her feet, "You’re not as fragile as you look."

"You were hurt…" Brynn said, she looked around, they were in a strange alley, she shivered hearing the chatter of rats.

"I know Gatita," Hart hugged her close, "This is not the place for you. Neither is Bloodsport."

They walked a few blocks, back to the warehouse and Brynn’s Rabbit.

Hart drove them to her place she said few words, just a little grumbling- something like being a laughing stock.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" she asked once they were safe in her loft, back in the tub.

"I just wanted to see what it is you do," Brynn said.

"I told you. I fight."

"You do more than that. You go into some kind of trance," the librarian said, "They were calling you a medium."

"You’re just too damned smart for your own good," Hart shook her head, "You could have been hurt or killed, that place is not a fucking tea room. Bad spirits hang out there."

"I noticed," Brynn said.

"Then you run into the ring and do your Pocahontas thing," Hart laughed. "Gods, I’ll never be able to show my face there again."

"Maybe you shouldn’t," the librarian said.

"Oh no," she declared, "That is not fair. What if I didn’t want you to be a librarian anymore?" she asked, "It’s too early for us to be trying to change each other. If you don’t like what I do then you can just walk out right now."

Brynn said nothing in return this had become too much too fast.

"We have a good time, huh Gatita? Look at you. It’s been such a long time since a woman has looked at me the way you’re looking at me now. I’m lucky to have you in my corner Dobhale."

"So what should I do? Wait around until you’re killed?" Brynn asked.

"I’ve been doing this a long time. I know what I’m doing, don’t be so over dramatic…." Hart sighed, "Come on you’re not going to walk away from me…"

"No," Brynn said, "Tell me how does it all work?"

Hart sighed, she shifted the water. "He’s called Itzcoatl, he’s an Aztec warrior, he’s a spirit I’m in touch with, I channel him into my body and we fight together. That’s what Bloodsport is all about, you have to be in shape physically but there is a metaphysical self that also has to be in shape."

She was looking away from the librarian, ashamed, afraid of what she might think, but when she met Brynn’s gaze she was grinning, and there was a different look in her eyes and Hart was unsettled. It was lust of course.

"That’s sexy," the librarian said, she glided around the tub and did not stop until Hart was in her arms. They kissed a different kiss from the night before, there was more gravity to Brynn’s hold than the submissive clutch. Her tongue was a hot, swaying, darting thing, and she nipped at Hart’s shoulder and neck enough to bring the blood and break the damn of skin that kept it from flowing.

Hart grinned when she turned over the next morning and found that she was not alone. She snuggled close then nuzzled the librarian awake. "You’ll be late."

A stretch. A moan and a grin. "Who cares?"

Hart laughed, "C’mon get up."

"Not going," Brynn rolled over and continued to snooze.

Hart grinned at her. They had made love most of the night, the librarian bold and erotic, almost impatient. Hart had been a bit overwhelmed, even disheartened, but was sure things would calm down for future love-making sessions.

"Brynn. My little hill, wake up," Hart said.

The librarian gave a little roar. "I refuse to trudge out in the cold and go to that frightfully boring place. I’ll never go back."

"What?" Hart sat up, because though the pout was sexy, Brynn was serious.

Brynn rolled over, the silver sheen of her eyes seemed to sparkle. "You don’t expect me to go back? After what I saw last night?"

"But you love the library," Hart said frowning, "You’re a guide."

Brynn laughed, not her usual tinkle, but something wicked. "I’ll not spend another second among a bunch of books for the rest of this life."

" ‘Such conduct , furthermore, guarantees, impunity’," Hart quoted watching her slip out of bed, and walked away, she called after her, " ‘And is not impunity the most piquant ailment to debauchery?’ "

"What are you talking about?" Brynn returned to find Hart out of bed, staring at her coldly.

"What is it love?" she asked.

"Who are you?" Hart asked advancing, catching her wrist.

Brynn put on a pout. "You’re spoiling the game."

"I asked who you were, so you have to tell me," Hart said, "Those are the rules."

The librarian snatched her wrist back and dashed across the loft, snatching things and throwing them over her shoulder at Hart.

"Bitch," Hart gave chase, leapt over the sofa and caught a handful of red-brown hair, she received a stout slap/scratch.

They wrestled to the floor, Brynn wailing and hissing. They were both still naked, and Hart could not help but be just a tad turned on.

She got Brynn on her stomach, pressed her to the floor, got one arm behind her back and twisted.

"Who are you?" she insisted at the squirming librarian.

"Fuck off," ‘Brynn’ bleated.

"Where’s my Gatita?" Hart asked.

"Oh she’s having a wonderful time," ‘Brynn’ replied, "Just a teensy bit appalled at what we did last night. You should thank me, there’s no way you’d get a good lay out of her."

Hart could have strangled her, instead she hefted her to her feet. Lots of spirits haunted Bloodsport, many were like her Aztec warrior, disembodied, looking for a medium. It meant living, even though that fraction of life was through fighting.

"On your feet," Hart said not sure how she was going to get them both dressed and out the door, "Now you’re going to tell me who you are."

"I’m Lucinda Harris, your love is my biggest fan, she’s honored to have me as a guest." Brynn replied.

"Not if you’re planning on taking over her life," Hart dragged her back across the loft to the circumference around the bed where their clothes had landed the night before. The sight made Hart sick, she had not made love with Brynn but with a dead rock star.

"Get dressed."

"You can kiss my ass," Lucinda said and laughed.

"I’ll punch your goddamned lights out then dress you," Hart suggested.

"I wouldn’t be so threatening," Lucinda said, "The Little Hill can still see you."

Hart narrowed her eyes. "Get dressed."

Lucinda defiantly toed the shirt Brynn wore the night before in disguise.

"I’ll do whatever to get her back Harris," Hart told her, "If that means causing you some major pain."

"I’ll scream," Lucinda warned.

"I’ll break your fucking arm before any one comes to your aid," Hart said, she glanced down back at the pile of clothes.

"It sure doesn’t pain you to threaten your beloved so," Lucinda snorted bending and beginning to dress.

Hart kept an eye on her. "You picked the wrong chick to possess, I know all the ins and outs."

The ghost knew details about Brynn’s life, where she worked, who she was, Hart had never sympathized with ghosts, she wondered what Itzcoatl thought of her.

"That’s going to drive a rift between you," Lucinda taunted, "She wasn’t quite ready to give it up to you…kind of frightened of you…now you’ve gone and taken advantage of her when she was weakest."

"Shut the fuck up," she snapped, "I’ll bite your throat out."

"Hart?" Brynn asked suddenly, she blinked as if waking up to the sun in her eyes, "What’s going on?"

Hart stepped closer. "Oh sweetie," she grabbed Brynn’s face, "Are you ok?"

"I’m scared," the librarian said groggily, "I should be at work."

Hart laughed a little.

"I-" Brynn began, her neck jerked so she had several of Hart’s fingers in her mouth and bit down.

"Awwff," Hart slapped her and quickly pulled away, saw the damage she had done.

‘Brynn’s’ nose was bleeding. "She knows when you are sleeping. She knows when you’re awake…" Lucinda sang.

Hart shivered, Brynn was still there, deep down and she was seeing everything that was being done to her. She tied her up for safe keeping, then dressed and paced around the loft before untying her,

"Where we off to love?" Lucinda asked.

"Home," Hart said.

....

Martín Gonzalez looked up from the Ducati motor bike he was repairing and grinned wolfishly at the VW Rabbit coasting into the drive in front of his double-wide.

"Another satisfied customer?" he asked no one.

His wife Rayna stuck her head out of the window. "It’s Hart," she grinned, "My darling Hart…with a guest."

Martín grumbled, anytime his daughter showed up there was guaranteed trouble. She’d gone off fifteen years before to the goddamned Unfinished City (of course there was a different name for it back then) for some big adventure. As if the nice little town he’d brought her up in was no good anymore.

"Hart," Vulcan, his son loped from around the side of the house. Where like Martín Hart was dark haired, his son had taken after his mother and was all red; his head his face, his neck, the boy was covered in red hair. That particular trait had not come with Rayna’s gene package, but later when he too ventured into the city he returned with some Lycanthropy problem.

Martín watched his son as he shifted from foot to foot, and gave a hard shiver of excitement.

"Hart," he barked at the car as it coasted to a stop, "Hart. Hart."

"Calm down," Martín shouted.

"Hart," Vulcan continued then whined with impatience rolling his eyes at his father and his stern look.

Martín watched as his daughter went around to the passenger side of the Rabbit and lifted a little woman over her shoulder, kicking and screaming.

"Whacha got?" Vulcan took off and danced circles around his sister as she carried the woman towards the trailer, "Whachagot wachagot wachagot?"

"You’ll see," Hart smiled.

"I know damned well what it is, its trouble," Martín scratched his graying goatee.

"Just enough excitement to keep you alive old man," she said otherwise disregarding him as she trotted right past him where Rayna waited with the door open, a look of concern on her face.

"So you’ve taken to kidnapping then?" Martín called, "The cops are already snooping around my crop. You trying to ruin me girl."

They all went in, Vulcan too, the door shut firmly behind them.

"I had to marry a gringa bruja," Martín shook his head.

....

"This is not good," Rayna said passing her authentic feathered Blackfoot drum-wand over Brynn’s prone body, her red brow furrowed, "There is a hold on her, but not a very strong one, still, she shouldn’t be bothering with the spirits if she does not know what she’s doing."

"She wasn’t messing around," Hart confessed, the kitchen table had been cleared of the leftover morning dishes, the librarian was laid in their place. The trailer had never been very roomy but looking around at the dream catcher hanging off the ceiling, the Cherokee rugs, the Llwellyn’s calendar, the smiling Buddha in the corner with his arm around the faceless Venus of Willhendorf she felt at home.

"She followed me to Bloodsport, got possessed by Lucinda Harris," she explained.

"That bitch," Rayna snorted, "Talk about being clueless about the spirit world, thought she was the hottest thing around. I say if you’re going to make music do that and leave the magic to the professionals."

Hart rolled her eyes. "An enemy of yours?"

"Of course," Rayna said, "Your father was in love with her, but when she left him high and dry he came crawling back to me trying to buy my love with a few dozen of his dumb mushrooms."

Rayna chuckled, she was under cheerier circumstances a big laugher, always playing practical jokes, but now she returned to the serious business at hand.

"This could do her some damage to her soul," the witch said, "The poor thing, she’s adorable…A friend of yours?"

"Kind of," Hart said.

"I haven’t seen you so concerned over the well being of a young woman since, Alexa." Rayna took on the conspirital tone.

"Mom, please," Hart said, "Just help Brynn."

"Brynn," Rayna grinned, "What is she?"

"A woman," Hart said evasively.

"She’s not a witch or a medium," Rayna said, "Certainly not a Blue Dagger."

"She’s a librarian," Hart told her, "…Just a librarian."

"What?" Rayna asked, they stared at each other for several blinks, "This is serious then."

"Don’t make a big deal out of this Mom," Hart pleaded.

"Shoo then," the witch said, "Let me get started, you phone up the coven, get your father to fire up the barbeque."

"Oh Mom, no," Hart said, "Don’t make this out of one of your gatherings."

"You know," she shrugged, "Any excuse, it seems ages since Solstice."

"Alright," Hart said, she peered down at Brynn eyes closed she was sleeping peacefully thanks to a spell, she touched her hand. "I won’t be far Gatita, this is my Mom, she’ll fix you right up."

Rayna looked down at her and smiled, then pretended she was not paying attention.

....

The four witches worked until sunset, Rayna, and her coven, Hattie from up the street, Belinda, and Shirley from the next town over.

Three of them came out of the trailer where a small crowd was gathered, drinking beer around a large fire.

Martín offered his wife a toke on a fat joint she smoked several quick sips, then looked up at the sky exhaling.

"Blessed Be," she crowed and grinned down at her kids, hunkering by the fire, Hart in her drover, Vulcan shirtless and golden in the fire light.

"Well, she’s asking for you," Rayna said to her daughter.

Hart stood and immediately went to join her lover’s side. The last coven member, Belinda waited, she smiled at her.

"I hope it will be a Wiccan hand fastening," she joked, Hart only rolled her eyes.

"Hart," Brynn squeaked, her eyes wider than usual, more luminous and beautiful as ever, "What’s going on?"

She explained and apologized.

"It’s ok," Brynn said, "At least that is what the witches said, "The red headed one, is she really you mother?"

Hart laughed. "She is."

Brynn looked on at her in disbelief.

"Well I certainly wasn’t laid by a buzzard and hatched by the sun," Hart said, and apologized when she got another puzzled look.

They finally kissed, and Hart swore to herself that she would die before she would let more harm come to her librarian.

Chapter Six: Unfinished Business

Brynn locked up the library grinning to her self in the dark. "It was only a family emergency."

"I thought you didn’t have any family," Jimmy asked behind her, he had been grilling her all day.

"I’m not without any family at all," she told him.

He was not buying it but Fred was waiting impatiently. "You should have family crisis more often, you returned in a real good mood-"

"Goodnight, Jimmy," she said walking to the Rabbit.

Dismissed he left with Fred, she gave him a cheery wave as they sped off.

"Hey."

Brynn jumped, and whirled, finding herself in Hart’s arms, eyes shinning in the dark.

"You scared me," she whispered.

Hart smiled. "You shouldn’t be afraid of the shadows anymore, from now on I’m the worst that will be hiding in them."

Brynn kissed her. "No lucha tonight?"

Hart laughed at her Spanish. "No, not tonight, just me and my kitten."

She turned suddenly away from Brynn, a sporty black car swerved into the parking lot and the doors flew open, three women got out of the car.

"Shit," Hart muttered.

"What is it?" Brynn asked breathlessly.

In the dim, flickering light of the single parking lot lamp, she could see that one was dark brown, taller than Hart. The second one had midnight blue hair shaped into spiky tufts. The third had hair shaved close, she was the shortest of the group.

Hart took a step forward ready. "Get in the car and get out of here."

"No," Brynn said.

"Well lookie what we got," the shortest said, "Two for the price of one."

"What the fuck can I help you with Chevelle?" Hart asked, "And um let me see if I can remember the newbies, O’Riordan and Drexler."

The three gave dark chuckles. "You and the sweetheart can come along with us."

"Yeah she came to Ducee’s the other night, lost bad on a couple of hands, ducked out before she could pay up," the spiky haired women answered, she had a thick Irish accent and Brynn guessed her to be O’Riordan.

"Whatever it is, I’ll pay," Hart said sure Lucinda was behind all of this.

"Good," the one called Chevelle said, "A barrel of Hollering Woman, and twenty thousand bucks."

"Lucinda," Hart muttered under her breath.

"What’s Hollering Woman?" Brynn asked, but was ignored.

"And your debt Hart?" Chevelle asked, "We’ve been looking for you too."

"I don’t owe Ducee shit," she said.

"You still wear the tatt," Chevelle said, "You still call on Itzcoatl."

"Itzcoatl is mine," Hart told them as they moved in closer.

Chevelle leapt like a cat, Hart met her as she landed with two fists to her chest,

she stumbled back. O’Riordan, joined in the attack, suddenly revealing two gleaming metal poles the length of her arm, they sliced through the air with such speed they sang. Hart easily dodged one, then ducked the other, but Chevelle tripped her to the ground.

Drexler came for Brynn, who screamed and slapped at her.

Hart rolled to her feet and roared, the glow of her wings swept at the darkness, she removed two long daggers from her boots and flew over her attackers lashing out at them with the blades.

In her struggle Brynn was able to see the source of the ethereal wings, a great eagle, it’s talons on Hart’s shoulders where the tattoos were drawn.

She landed slicing at Brynn’s attacker who fled back towards the black car.

"Whoa so fast to whip him out to impress your new girlfriend," Chevelle commented.

"I’m cut," Drexler whimpered, "Oh shit, she cut me."

Brynn clutched at Hart, desperate to look into her eyes, but she would not turn around, would not speak to her like she had at the warehouse.

"Let’s get naked on this bitch," Drexler said stripping out of her shirt, revealing a glowing pattern across her skin, the other two followed suit and had the same pattern.

Brynn stared until she could make out the lines. It was armor, chain mail patterns over their legs, arms, bellies and backs, with breast plates drawn over their chests.

Hart attacked again, first O’Riordan who deflected her advances then Chevelle who should have been cut except the blades did not release blood, only little showers of dying sparks.

Drexler ended the offense with a kick that handed at Hart’s middle sending her stumbling back. Chevelle followed fists flying, both slamming either side of Hart’s face.

She retreated a bit, her enemies between her and Brynn, she ran at them once again then jumped into a spinning kick catching Drexler off guard but not O’Riordan who grabbed Hart’s wrist. They continued the spin trading punches the last sent the Irish woman to the cement.

Chevelle grabbed Brynn around the waist and pushed her inside the Rabbit, she struggled until she was given a stern pinch.

Hart landed on her feet and ran towards the Volkswagen O’Riordan on her heels, she grabbed her shoulder. Hart landed a punch, the Irishwoman struck back, kneeing her in the stomach, she doubled over and took a forearm to the spine.

The Rabbit started and jumped out of the parking lot with a squeal of rubber.

"Bitch," Hart rasped, they had gone with her librarian.

Drexler kicked her in the jaw, and the two ran away. Hart picked herself up and watched them jump into the car.

O’Riordan leaned out the passenger window.

"You know where to find us, Pussy."

....

Brynn’s captor did not seem to want to hurt her, she tried to explain to her that she was possessed when her alleged debt was accumulated.

"Who are you anyway?" Brynn asked the naked woman who had taken her captive.

"We’re the Blue Daggers," Chevelle said looking in the rear view at her..

"You’re warriors," Brynn said, "Like Hart?"

"No not like Hart," she said "No one hardly does that medium shit anymore, not since Ducee was coming up, we all got the armor tatt now."

Brynn got up enough courage to look at Chevelle’s tattoos, the armor that glowed when she fought.

"You like what you see Dulcita?" she asked, "You were all for it the other night."

Brynn flushed. "That wasn’t me," she insisted.

"So how did you get hooked up with Hart?" Chevelle asked, "You one of them ghost chasers?"

"No," she said, "I’m a librarian."

The Blue Dagger laughed. Brynn frowned.

"You’re kidding? You really are a stiff, a civilian?" Chevelle asked.

Brynn nodded grimly.

"We know you were possessed that night," Chevelle said, "Our boss thought it was very amusing, she’s a big Lucinda fan."

"My girlfriend loves her," Chevelle said, her voice was airy for a second, wistful, then hardened again, "Ducee, our boss, she figured if Lucinda was talking about Woman Hollering then she, you knew who had some and we could go…um, relieve them of it."

"What is that?" she asked, "Woman Hollering."

"A Wine of Despair," Chevelle said, "Our boss is a connoisseur of sorts."

"What’s Wine of Despair?" Brynn asked.

"Aren’t we curious?" Chevelle asked, "Aren’t you worried about your precious Hart?"

"Hart is going to be fine," Brynn said "And if you hadn’t run like cowards she would have kicked you asses."

Chevelle sighed. "Hart and her women," then went on with her explanation, "Sometimes when things happen…let’s say a child is born, or two people fall in love, or someone dies, special circumstances and certain people produce this life elixir…if a woman happens to drown herself out of sorrow then you get the Wine of Despair."

"I’ve never read about any sort of thing," Brynn said, "I doubt if it can be read about…"

"Right," she said, "Just like a lot of shit that goes on in this city. like the Order of the Blue Dagger."

"Is Hart a Blue Dagger?" Brynn asked, she noticed they were driving out to Calvary an area populated by gays. The district was marked by Calvert street a strip of bars and shops. She and Nat used to frequent a bookstore and café there.

"Hart is top," Chevelle said, "The toughest mother-fucker of all time, she knows the craft, she knows how to fight, she can have ghosts eating out of her hand."

The car stopped in front of a dark building from the 20’s with the behemoth cement pillar façade in front of cheap brick.

They drove around back, and parked. Not the least bit concerned with being naked in a public place she guided Brynn to the back door and buzzed. Behind them the dark car driven by O’Riordan and Drexler arrived.

The dark door swung open and Chevelle held it for the others. The four of them went inside.

They abandoned Brynn and began to rummage a rack of clothing.

"Man, that was my favorite shirt I left back there," O’Riordan said finding a pair of baggie black jeans and a button-up shirt with flames along the hem.

"Do you have to get undressed at all?" Brynn asked.

"Yes," they all answered together.

"It’s part of a long tradition," a door appeared, crammed in it’s frame was an overweight woman, she walked forward, an ivory and gold cane at her side, she wore a silk black shirt with matching silk pants. As she neared Brynn saw that she was a handsome woman with sparkling blue eyes, gray hair cut short and combed neatly.

She should have been grotesque, but she moved with the grace of a tidal wave in a Japanese water painting, massive, swooping slowly.

"Brynn Dobhale," she extended her hand and the librarian took it shyly, the fat woman had the bearing of a queen, and her soft spoken southern accent wreaked gentility.

"I’m Ducee," she grinned still holding on to the hand, her eyes penetrating Brynn’s as she commented to the others, "Hart sure knows how to pick them."

They laughed as she pierced Brynn with her gaze before continuing. "I am sorry to inconvenience you this evening but I have some urgent business to discuss with Hart and well let’s just say it, she’s not the sit down for brandy and cigars type," Ducee said drawing Brynn away, "I would have never caught up with her if it weren’t for your little adventure."

She cursed her curiosity but still had so many questions about the Blue Daggers, they had sinister organized crime vibe about them, and if that was true she was about to sit down with the Don.

"Welcome to our little clubhouse," she said, "Our base of operations since the early thirties when we acquired the building."

"What is it exactly do you do?" Brynn asked.

Ducee laughed at the question like a politician. "Well, vice my dear."

Brynn did not know what to say next as she was led out the sliding door where Ducee had appeared.

"If you’d like, I’ll tell you the old story of how the Blue Daggers came about," she said, "We’re not just a gang of female street ruffians, though a lot of us like your dear Hart started out as just that."

Brynn could see that, one gangly, young, Hart, snorting at adult authority, ditching school to break into cars.

Ducee led her into a hallway, dimly lit by brass lamps hanging from the ceiling. The walls were covered in a blue fabric with a fleur de lys pattern set in gold, the floors were a gleaming dark wood.

"Hart," Brynn said turning to look behind her, she had forgotten she had been taken captive she was sure she should have been rescued by now.

"Hart’ll be along soon," Ducee said, "In the meantime we can keep each other company."

For the first time in her life Brynn was not sure if she should trust someone, the charming exterior the fat woman put up seemed too obvious like the stone in front of her club.

Hart did not like the whole situation one bit. She grumbled to herself as she hotwired someone’s pick-up truck in the parking lot of a twenty-four hour adult video store.

She was a fool to think she had done her time with the Blue Daggers, they would always come back needing her to fight for them, always after her to repay the debt she earned as Ducee’s second in command, and the honor of wearing the tattoo, knowing what she knew. No matter how many battles she fought they would always be back.

"As long as I wear the Blue Dagger," she said to herself.

The truck started.

She sighed and backed out of the parking lot pushing her thoughts away, thinking of Brynn. She hated to see her librarian manhandled by Chevelle Cantu her long time rival. Hart had to go get her out of Ducee’s clutches quickly, anything could happen down in Calvary, the alleged gay district of the city.

Hart despised self pity, but it was a secret sin she attended to every now and them, self loathing always followed up later like a hangover. She desperately wanted to build a life with the cute librarian, and she was sure they could never live in peace as long as she was a Blue Dagger.

To be continued in chapter seven —soon-

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