A Knight to Remember (12 page)

“Oh no.
 
No,” she tells me firmly.
 
I stare at her perplexed as she frowns.
 
“They used witchcraft to try and make movable staircases in the palace in Arktos City,” says Virago, shaking her head ruefully.
 
“It didn’t work.
 
They are not to be trusted, Holly,” she tells me completely seriously, her bright blue gaze searching mine.
 

I should laugh at that statement, but she says it with such strong conviction that I sort of stare at the escalator for a moment, uncertain of what to do.

“We…um.
 
We could walk all the way to the other end of the mall.
 
It’s where the stairs are,” I tell her, chewing at my lower lip.
 
“Or you could give it a shot.
 
I promise, it’ll last for only a minute, and it’s so quick and easy!” I tell her brightly.
 
“See?
 
Watch me.”
 
I step forward and on to the first step, then take a step down, and a step down again as the escalator keeps its slow, careful ascent going.
 
“See?
 
Piece of cake,” I tell her with a broad smile, crooking my finger toward her.
 
“Want to give it a shot?”

Virago reaches out her hand, and across the space between us, she takes mine.

Her face is set in steely determination as our arms draw apart, for the escalator continues in its relentless climb, taking me away from Virago.
 
She breathes out, narrows her eyes and takes one big step forward.

“Great!
 
Now the other one…”
 
I tell her as her other foot remains firmly on the ground below.
 
Her legs stretch out for a moment, and then she takes that last step forward, finally standing with both feet on the escalator.

“This is most undignified,” she says, a brow up as she rides the escalator upward with me.
 
I smile at her, shaking my head.

As if
she
could ever look undignified.

And then the escalator ride is over, me stepping off onto the second level, and Virago sort of half stepping/half leaping onto the second floor in one smooth, practiced motion.

“This is a very magical place, and I quite enjoy it.
 
Except for that,” she says, hooking her thumb over her shoulder and back at the escalator as she tries to keep from smiling, her lips twitching as I lead her toward Penney’s, hiding my own smile behind my hand.

“We’ll just…walk around the mall on the way back and take the stairs on the far end.
 
You won’t have to take the escalator again,” I promise her, and—completely unbidden by me—she reaches across the space between us and doesn’t take my hand to thread it through her arm.
 
She simply takes my hand to hold it, her warm palm against my own, our fingers laced together as if they were meant to be.
 

My heart’s still not stopped beating too much, too fast, too loudly.
 
But, somehow, now it beats even faster.

“Okay,” I breathe out, dragging out the word as we walk into the inviting bright light of the department store.
 
The only reason I chose this one over the other stores of the mall is that my mother used to bring me and Aidan here when we were little.
 

I pause for a moment, my heart still thundering, but for different reasons now.
 
I blink, clear my throat as the memories come rushing back.
 
I have so many of them, all happy memories of Saturday afternoons spent trying on different outfits, my mother and Aidan and I all laughing, getting ice cream after hours of trying on clothes.
 
Just thinking about it, it sounds so idyllic.
 
That was how things
used
to be.
 
Before the cancer took my mother.
 
I shake myself a little, breathe out, look back at Virago who’s gazing at me in concern, brow creased, squeezing my hand.

Penney’s, as odd as it sounds, had been one of her favorite places in the whole world.

“I have happy memories here, believe it or not,” I tell her by way of explanation, laughing a little as I say it—but the laugh sounds wooden as I clear my throat.
 
I tug on Virago’s hand and lead her toward the women’s section.
 
“Here we are!”

“Oh,” says Virago after a long moment as I sweep my arm over the rows of skirts and blouses and pants and dresses.
 
She glances up at the mannequins at the edge of the display, all wearing the summer’s latest short skirts and fashionable dresses, her brow furrowed, her head slowly shaking.
 
“I don’t…think that any of this is really very
me
,” she says quietly, again putting her other hand on her side, her hip leaned forward, curving toward me.
 

“Oh?”
 
I blink.
 
“I mean, they’re not armor,” I tell her quickly, but she’s still shaking her head.

“They’re lovely,” she tells me, her voice low as she grimaces a little, her head to the side.
 
“But do they have anything more…ah…”
 
She trails off, sweeps her hand down to indicate her clothes.
 
“
Less
lovely?”

I blink again.
 
“
Oh
.”
 
I realize what she’s saying and glance over the racks.
 
There’s really nothing more boyish in the women’s section this season.
 
I turn and look toward the men’s section, loop my arm through hers.
 
One of my old girlfriends always bought her clothes in the men’s section.
 
I nod at her encouragingly.
 
“Let’s try here…”

Virago’s smile lights up the room as I lead her toward the (albeit man-shaped) mannequins that casually display shirts and pants and jackets and ties.
 
“Yes,” says Virago with smooth surety.
 
“This is it.”

The salesman in the men’s department takes one look at Virago, at her armor and wolf’s tail and massive leather boots, his eyes going wide, and then he simply smiles with a small shrug.
 
Maybe he gets all types here.
 
“How can I help you?” he asks us, and I let go of Virago’s hand as she prowls forward through the rows and racks of suits and jackets and ties and slacks like she’s a woman on a mission.

“She’s looking for an outfit or two,” I tell him.
 
“There was an…accident, and she lost her luggage.
 
And…she’s here for the Knights of Valor Festival…”
 
All of it sounds like a lie, but the man is nodding, his head to the side as he considers Virago, not even really listening to me.
 

“What are your measurements, ma’am?” he asks, wandering after her with his tape measure.

Virago is feeling the weight and heft of a jacket’s sleeve.
 
“I rather like this one,” she says, mostly to herself, but she’s gazing up at me as she says it, her bright blue eyes flicking to me as if she’s considering me, too.
 
She glances sidelong at the man who takes the tape measure from around his neck.
 
“I’d like this one,” she tells him, then, but he gestures toward the fitting room, and then back at me, brows raised.

“Would the lady like to…try it on?” he’s asking, tilting his head toward the nearest fitting room.
 
“This one is unisex,” he says, pointing to it.
 

“Yeah, try it on,” I tell her with a smile, gesturing toward the fitting rooms.
 
I grab a dress shirt, a tie and some pants, guessing on the sizes as I usher her toward the rooms.
 
“You go in here, take off your clothes and try these on.
 
To see if they fit,” I explain, when she looks perplexed, glancing over her shoulder at the attendant guy who’s still watching us, now both brows up.
 
I guess most people don’t need to have fitting rooms explained, but sometimes they do, okay?

“Give us just a second…”
 
I mutter to the guy, and hold open one of the fitting room doors for her, handing over the rest of the clothes.
 

Virago gazes down at me, head a bit to the side, working her jaw for a heartbeat, before I clear my throat.
 
“Do you need help?”
 
I ask.

“No,” she murmurs, her voice husky.
 
She breathes out, smiles softly.
 
“I don’t.
 
But thank you, Holly.”
 
She pulls the door shut after her, and I lean against it for half a heartbeat, feeling the blood quicken inside of me.
 

I sit down on the little chair outside of the fitting room, swallow, try not to think about the metallic clangs and noises that sound exactly like buckles being unbuckled from in the fitting room.
 
I try very, very hard not to think about Virago becoming naked in there, but then why I try
not
to think about it, my overactive imagination supplies me with many possibilities, and then I’m bright red.
 

“Holly?” asks Virago after a long moment.
 

“Yes?” I squeak, then clear my throat, picking up my purse as I stand too quickly.
 
“I’m right here,” I tell her, taking a deep breath.

The door to the fitting room creaks open.

“What do you think?” she asks me.

And there, leaning against the dressing room door is Virago.
 
Sans armor and torn pants and leather boots.
 
Those things are on in a small, neat heap on the floor in the corner of the fitting room.

Instead, she’s now wearing a buttoned down cream-colored shirt under a ridiculously pretty, shiny and bold red satin vest.
 
Her muscular legs are clad in a pair of smoothly-creased black slacks.

And over her chest, tied neatly (like she’s been doing it all her life), she’s wearing
a red tie.
 
It’s expertly knotted and pulled snug against the graceful curve of her neck.
 
She’s standing there, her hips to the side, curved toward me again, and her thumbs are hooked into the black slacks’ belt loops.
 
She’s wearing a confidant, sexy smile as she takes in my appreciative expression.

Honestly?

I’ve never seen anything more gorgeous in all of my days.

“It’s a little more constricting than what I’m used to,” she says easily, turning to the side and leaning toward the mirror as she adjusts the buttoned sleeves at her wrists with long fingers.
 
“But, for now, it’ll do, I think.”
 
She glances up at me, eyes hooded and bright and unwavering as she gazes deep down into the very heart of me.
 
“What do you think, Holly?”
 
Her voice is so soft and low that I almost don’t hear her words, but my body still reacts to them, shivering at the sound of her voice.

“Beautiful,” is the only word I can think of, the only word I can manage.

At that, she gazes at me, breathing slowly, evenly, her head tilting as a slow smile turns the corners of her mouth up wickedly.

My heart can’t possibly beat faster.
 
I feel like it’s about to burst out of my chest.
 
I clear my throat, turn a little.
 
“This is great,” I tell the sales associate with a shaky smile.
 
“We’ll take it.
 
Um, Virago, I’ll go pay for it,” I tell her, beginning to angle toward the register, but I’m paused, because there’s a hand at my wrist, long, gentle fingers curving over my skin with a warmth that makes me shudder.

I turn back, look at this woman with the intense eyes, the woman in the men’s clothes, who exudes a sensuality I can do nothing else but respond to.

Her strong jaw works for a moment, and she opens her full lips to say something…but whatever she was going to say evaporates, and she simply shakes her head, just a little, says nothing as the ink-black silk of her hair falls over her shoulder again.
 
She lets go of my wrist and I turn away, feeling the flush move over my skin.

The sales associate’s grinning at me, shaking his head, as I hand him my credit card.
 

“Your girlfriend looks great in those,” he says, chuckling a little as I try to gather my wits about me, willing my knees to stop being jello.
 
I take a deep breath, let my shoulders roll back, try to calm my roaring heartbeat.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” I tell him weakly.
 
He raises a single brow.

“Right,” he tells me, snorting.

I stare at him, my eyes wide.

Right.

Chapter 6:
 
Do You Believe in Magic?

“Hey, Carly,” I answer my cell phone’s insistent ring and murmur into it as I open the doors of my car.
 
Virago straightens her sleeves again proudly, placing her neatly bundled armor and pants and boots in the backseat, then sitting and staring straight ahead thoughtfully in the passenger seat, considering the buttons on the sleeves.
 
I bite my lip, watch her long fingers adjust a single button before I shake my head, press the phone a little harder to my ear.
 
“Hey, now’s not the best time, okay?” I squeak into my cell phone before my best friend makes a shrewd little sound.

“Are you
with
someone?” she asks delightedly.

“Carly, seriously…”

“No,
you
seriously, miss Holly!
 
Are you with someone?
”

“Yes…”
 
I whisper, turning in my seat and putting my hand over the speaker as she begins shrieking.

“Oh, my
God!
 
Oh, my
God, I knew it
.
 
Oh, my God, what’s she
like
?
 
How did this happen?
 
I totally just left you last night…oh, my God, did you go
out
after I left last night?
 
Did you just totally hook up with someone?
 
I’m dying here, I need
details
, you’re
killing
me!”