Twist of the Blade (9 page)

She remembered how much she’d revelled in the feeling of power as she’d lashed out on the tennis court, and her stomach churned.

The elevator door opened. She stepped inside and pushed the button for Wally’s floor.

F f

Wally sat on the edge of his bed, fully dressed, feeling almost like his usual self (though he suspected that was due to that morning’s welcome dose of painkillers), waiting for the doctor to release him. He wasn’t allowed to walk home, and Mrs. Carson (naturally), wasn’t able to drive him because it was daytime and she cleaned houses during the day. So the nurse had promised to call a taxi for him.

He was staring idly at the floor, wondering where the hospital had gotten that particularly ugly mottled-blue floor tile, when a pair of black runners entered his vision. He blinked, then raised his eyes. Black jeans, dark-green T-shirt, black nylon jacket...and startlingly blue eyes framed by long black hair.

Ariane.

“About time,” he said, and then wished he hadn’t. He sounded like a pouty little kid.

“I’m sorry,” Ariane said. “I wanted to come see you last night, but...something happened.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Wally said. Anger welled up like bile in his throat. “You were busy almost killing my sister.”

“I didn’t mean to...”

She can’t control the power of the shard
, he could almost hear Merlin saying.
Or the powers my sister gave her....

He tried to push that voice away, but the memory of it gave an added edge to the anger he felt as he looked at Ariane. Her expression was serious, her eyes locked on his face, searching for his reaction.
At least that’s something
, he thought. He didn’t think he could have stood it if she’d actually seemed
proud
of what she had done.

“You didn’t mean to?
Then why did you?
You don’t just rip open a water pipe and toss people around like rag dolls by
accident!”

“Shhh!” Ariane shot a worried look at the old man in the next bed, but as usual he was asleep and snoring. Wally had come to hate that snore over the past two nights.

“He can’t hear,” Wally said. “Even when he’s awake he can’t hear.” He shook his head, and winced: the painkillers hadn’t killed
all
the pain. “Ariane, I know she’s a bully, but she’s my sister –”

“I know,” Ariane said. “But they jumped me, her and Shania and those other two, Stephanie and Cassandra...”

How come
she
can remember their names when I never can?

“...and I’ve been so tired and drained, I had nothing to fight back with....” Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. “Except the shard.”

“You could have killed them.” Wally’s throat closed suddenly.
Once I thought the world revolved around my big sister. She hasn’t always been the way she is now. And maybe someday she’ll find her way back to being the big sister she used to be.

But not if she’s dead.

And after all the times Ariane had
almost
hurt Flish, and now that she finally
had
, he no longer trusted Ariane to make sure that didn’t happen.

Then she surprised him. “I know,” she said. “And I apologized to her.”

Wally blinked “You
talked
to her?”

“Before I came in here,” Ariane said. “She didn’t really want to listen, but I said I was sorry.”

A little bit of the ice that seemed to grip Wally’s heart melted. “Thank you,” he said.

“Well, you look pretty healthy to me,” a man’s voice boomed from the doorway, and Wally looked past Ariane at the broad, black smiling face of Dr. Kipkoskei. “Who is this? Your girlfriend?”

“No,” said Wally and Ariane together.

Dr. Kipkoskei laughed. “If you say so.” He came over to Wally. “Well, young man? How do you feel?”

“My head still hurts,” Wally said. “But otherwise I’m okay.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” For the next few minutes the doctor examined him, shining a light in his eyes, testing his reflexes, listening to his heart, having him follow a finger back and forth with his eyes. He studied the chart at the foot of the bed. “Vitals are good, everything else checks out...I think you’re good to go,” Dr. Kipkoskei said. He gave Wally a stern look. “But concussions are nothing to sneeze at, my boy. Do you do sports?”

“Fencing,” Wally said. “I’m supposed to be in a tournament in a couple of weeks.”

Dr. Kipkoskei shook his head. “I’m not clearing you for anything that soon,” he said. “You’re not likely to hit your head fencing, but you’ll probably find your reaction time is off for a while. I’d say you shouldn’t even attempt to return to
practice
until next week. There’s a good chance you’ll have some occasional balance problems for a few days, too.”

Wally stared at the doctor. He’d just assumed that once he was out of the hospital he’d be back to normal. People in books and movies never seemed to suffer any lasting effects from being hit on the head. Not fence in the tournament? For a moment, that seemed like the worst thing that had happened so far.
It’s not fair!
he thought, and then reminded himself he was trying not to sound like a pouty little kid.

But it still isn’t fair.

“Anything else?” he said, almost afraid to find out.

“Attention span, memory and non-verbal problem-solving abilities may also suffer,” the doctor said.

Wally resisted the urge to say, “I’m sorry, I lost you halfway through that.” Instead, he just said, “Oh.”

“I said ‘may,’” Dr. Kipkoskei said, putting his hand on his shoulder. “That’s not the same as ‘will.’ So far you’ve bounced back pretty well.” He looked at Ariane. “Are you here to take him home?”

“They’re calling me a taxi,” Wally said before Ariane could answer.

“As long as they don’t call you late for dinner,” the doc
tor said, and chuckled at his own joke. Wally exchanged a pained look with Ariane. Dr. Kipkoskei cleared his throat, and said, “All right then, young man, you’re free to go. The nurse will give you care instructions and my office will call with a follow-up appointment...but if you feel any after-effects, it’s important you come to see me
right away. And watch out for ice from now on. Promise?”

“I promise,” said Wally.

Dr. Kipkoskei gave him a friendly grin, nodded to Ariane, and swept out.

“Let’s get out of here,” Wally said.

A few minutes later, clutching a plastic bag containing the doctor’s instructions and a three-day painkiller prescrip
tion, Wally was in the elevator with Ariane. He wanted to see Flish again, so he pushed the button for her floor.

“I’ll wait here,” Ariane said as they left the elevator. Wally handed her his plastic bag without a word, and went off to see his sister.

When he stepped into her room she was staring out the window at the grey November sky. He cleared his throat, and she turned to look at him. He winced. Her face was still blotched and bruised, one eye still swollen shut. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi, yourself,” she said. “Mrs. Carson told me you were here.”

“She told me you were too.”

They stared at each other. “I’m sorry about what happened,” Wally said finally. “But you shouldn’t have tried to jump her. Haven’t you figured out by now she’s dangerous?”

“I still say they’re tricks of some kind.”

“Tricks that almost got you killed,” Wally pointed out. “Flish, you’ve got to leave her alone. There’s...” His voice trailed off.
I can’t tell her the truth
, he thought.
She’d never believe me.
“It’s not safe.”

Flish’s eyes narrowed. “Are you still going to hang out with her after
this?
After she almost killed me?”

Wally said nothing.

“Well, if you do, tell her this,” Flish snarled. “She’s rid of me for now, but I’ll be waiting for my chance. And someday, she’ll be the one that ends up in a hospital!”

Wally felt cold. “Flish, this is nuts. She doesn’t
want
to fight you. You and Shania started this. Just leave her alone!”

“After this? No chance.”

Wally stared at her, wondering how Flish had become ...
this
. But in fact, he thought he had a pretty good idea.

It’s not really Ariane she hates
, he thought.
It’s Mom and Dad.

Wally read a lot, and not just fantasy novels. In some science book or other he’d read about what psychologists called displacement, where aggression was redirected to something that had no connection to the real source of the person’s anger.

It’s a textbook case
, he thought. But looking at Flish’s narrowed eyes and tight lips, he didn’t think she’d appreciate his amateur psychoanalysis.

“I’ll tell her, Felicia,” he said. It was the first time in months he’d used her given name instead of the nickname she hated. “But please, just...think about what I said. I don’t want you getting hurt again...hurt
worse
. And you could be.” He thought of the giant shovel Ariane had toppled at the diamond mine in the Northwest Territories. “Believe me.”

“I appreciate your concern, Wally,” Flish said, and for once there was almost no sarcasm in her voice. “But this is between her and me. I
owe
her. And I
will
pay her back. I don’t know when, or how...but I
will
.”

Wally sighed. It was hopeless. “They’re letting me out,” he said, changing the subject. “How long will you be in here?”

“A week, at least. And then crutches until Christmas.”

“Do you need anything? Books? Your iPod? Clothes?”

Flish shook her head. “Mrs. Carson already brought me everything. I’m good.”

“All right. I’ll drop by again tomorrow,” Wally said.

“Bring me a Subway sandwich and some chips when you do,” Flish said. “Hospital food sucks.”

Wally smiled a little. “Tell me about it.” He waved and went back out to the corridor.

Ariane put down a five-year-old
Reader’s Digest
and rose from a green vinyl chair next to the elevator. “Well?”

“She still says she’s going to ‘get you,’ someday,” Wally said wearily. “But she’s going to be on crutches for weeks, too. Maybe she’ll cool down by the time she’s back to normal.”

“If she wants to come after me she’ll have to get in line behind Rex Major,” Ariane said. She pushed the elevator button. “Well, at least I don’t have to worry about her for a while.”

The doors opened. They moved aside as an old man pushed out an even older woman in a wheelchair, then stepped into the elevator together. As the door closed, Ariane looked at Wally, her blue eyes wide and bright in the fluorescent light. “I felt...
heard
...the second shard,” she said in a low voice.

He felt a kind of electric shock run up his arms. “Where is it?” he whispered back.

“A long way away.” She took a deep breath. “Somehow we’re going to have to get across the Atlantic...to Europe, I think. Probably France.”

Wally said nothing. Two days ago he would have been thrilled. Two days ago he would have said, “So what are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

But two days ago Ariane hadn’t put his sister in the hospital. Two days ago that little worm of doubt hadn’t yet wriggled into his mind. Two days ago he hadn’t begun to wonder if Ariane could really control the Lady’s power and the shard of Excalibur.

Ariane was looking at him oddly, obviously waiting for him to say something, and he suddenly felt angry – not at her, but at himself. She was his friend. She’d given up the shard once to save his life. If he could trust anyone, it was her.

And so he said the first thing that came into his mind. “Great! So book some plane tickets and let’s go!”

The moment he’d said it, he realized how stupid that was. He knew Ariane didn’t have the kind of money that would make running off to Europe something you did at the drop of a hat.

The elevator door opened. “And how do you propose we do that?” Ariane said as they walked together toward the front door. “Hold a bake sale? Collect donations outside the liquor store? ‘Donate a dollar so Ariane can travel to Europe to defeat evil and save the world!’”

Wally laughed. “Sorry,” he said. “That was stupid. Although I like the bake sale idea. I’d love to see the posters.”

Ariane stopped walking and put a hand on his arm, bringing him to a halt too. “Do you...” She hesitated. “Do you have the money?” She turned red as she said it, and Wally wished again he’d never said anything about buying plane tickets.

“Yes and no,” he answered reluctantly. “Truth is, I have
lots
of money...but it’s in a trust fund, and I can’t
get at it until I’m twenty-one. There’s a household account
that Mrs. Carson can draw on for food and stuff, but I can’t touch that. I do get a monthly allowance, which is plenty for ordinary stuff...and enough that Flish keeps trying to extort it from me...but it’s not enough for plane tickets. Not unless I save it up for six or seven months. We probably can’t wait that long.”