Chapter 22: Duel Arcane

Kennedy got another hour of sleep before it was time to get up, but she was awake when Amy came to wake her. They showered again, both holding each other's eyes.

"I was scared the other night," Amy told Kennedy. "Scared for you. I saw you stagger. I thought you were shot."

"It was a dart from a tranquilizer gun. It didn't work."

"I don't pretend to understand what went on, after that. I saw you standing there, so brave... but so alone. I wanted to run out and grab you and drag you back, but Deb just laughed and told me 'watch the mojo.'"

Amy shook her head. "I didn't see anything, but I heard -- weird things."

"Jurassic Park," Kennedy agreed. "Amy, I tell you true, there's an explanation for all of this and I tell you equally true you could go your entire life without knowing it and being better off for not knowing."

"Deb?"

"Deb and others," Kennedy told her.

"Rosalie and Marcie?"

"Rosalie, mostly."

"And I don't want to know about it?"

"I could lie, you know," Kennedy told her. "I tried that with Ruby, but it got her killed. I never tried it with Harriet, so... maybe that's a vote for truth. I swear to you, if you ask me, I'll tell you, but you'd be nuts to ask."

"I don't think I understand."

"Understand this. Both of us are standing here in the shower, rubbing our breasts and looking at the other. We've both been doing that for about five minutes. You have hard nipples; I have hard nipples. You really don't want a Carnival girl, Amy."

"Sometimes, Kennedy, our bodies tell us things that we don't want to hear. Like maybe there's a time to hold tight to our principles -- and other times it's carpe diem."

"Well, if we don't stop here soon, I, at least, am going to be working out with a silly-ass grin on my face."

Amy laughed, reached over and flipped the valve for Kennedy's hot water to all the way off. Kennedy jumped two feet into the air when the frigid water struck her, and came down with nipples that stuck our more than ever before -- but no silly-ass grin.

The day went normally until four o'clock, then Kennedy was called down to the office. Lauren was there, Ferinc, Mr. Glastonbury and Pipes.

Pipes spoke first. "My friend is concerned about Clarice. He was not pleased at all to hear about this latest episode. He talked to your father, Kennedy, and he has asked Mr. Glastonbury and myself to coordinate a response."

"And I speak for Lauren Tredegar," Ferinc interjected. "We too have had enough of this. When I leave here, I'm flying to Sunnydale, California, where I will visit Professor Walsh, who, we're fairly sure, has a direct link to whoever is behind this.

"I will explain to her that Camp Wanakena will join with Mr. Pipes and Mr. Stuyvesant in seeking an order in open court, forbidding agents of the government to come within a half mile of Camp Wanakena, or two hundred yards from any attendee, staff or camper. Mr. Pipes assures me that he is quite familiar with the legal forms required and that it will make such hostile visitations extremely expensive in terms of publicity and will almost certainly result in sentences for contempt for anyone involved."

"Just so long as it stops," Kennedy said darkly.

"It will," Mr. Glastonbury told her. "Have no fears, it will. Your father has made it quite clear to a half dozen US senators and two dozen congressmen that it stops or he's going to go public with what he's learned about what they're up to."

Mr. Glastonbury looked around at the others sitting around Lauren's desk. "They are running a rather empirical program, starting from scratch. They don't know the good guys from the bad guys and have ignored the advice of several people who told them to be careful. They have discovered our enemies. They can tell when they find them, because there are piles of bodies, broken lives and shattered dreams. When they come here they are humiliated and sent packing.

"Even dim bureaucrats have finally managed to put two and two together and realize that there are two sides and they need to concentrate on the opposition, not their allies. Or, at least, that's what they told Mr. Stuyvesant."

Pipes kept silent throughout. Kennedy looked at him and raised her eyebrow.

He laughed. "My friend is also upset, because he'd been assured that Miss Kennedy was not the target of any Federal investigation. However, the fact is that his influence decreases dramatically beyond the boundaries of New York City and Albany.

"On an unrelated topic, I talked to my niece at lunch. She said she was doing fine, although the air horn warning woke them all up. Then she gave a Cheshire grin. Miss Kennedy..."

"Lauren, I'd like to say a few words at dinner about decorum," Kennedy told her. Lauren looked at her, clearly wanting an explanation. Kennedy shook her head. "It's just for us, okay?"

"And Clarice?" Pipes insisted.

"She and her friends have started to prepare early for the Friday night talent show. I would advise you not to ask."

"I have to, Kennedy."

"They want to practice modeling. Think Victoria's Secret catalog stuff."

He blinked. "Oh," he said weakly. "I think I can report she's fitting in well, then?"

"I think, honestly, she's one of the saner girls here, Pipes."

Again he blinked. "I'd like to tell that to my friend. After Dwight, he's... concerned."

"Clarice is the opposite of Dwight. It's what happens when you're fed up with a certain class of attitude. It isn't anything your friend would appreciate learning about, though. Was he happy when he learned that Clarice knew the origins of Fatso's nickname?"

"No, he wasn't happy. On the other hand, he was the one who slipped."

"Yeah, well, sometimes it's not a slip, okay?"

"I'll bow to your wisdom."

Ferinc got things back on track. "I have a long drive to the airport followed by a long flight. We will do what we can to prevent any more repetitions."

"Still, it wouldn't hurt to be eternally on guard," Mr. Glastonbury told them.

"Yeah, whatever."

In a few moments, Kennedy was alone with Lauren. "Do you want to give me a preview of what you want to say tonight?"

"Sure, Lauren. We're turning into guys. It's disgusting. We drool at each other. We undress each other with our eyes. We pursue with more enthusiasm than we should. I think some of the fence-sitters are making choices based on what they think is popular, not what they really want."

"That would be a difficult topic to discuss, given that at least half the girls are more than fence-sitters. They're in the other camp. Remember, it was you who wanted Clarice in Charlotte's cabin."

"Yep. And I'm not worried about Clarice. Like I said, she's self-confident and self-sufficient. She plans on knocking a few eyes out on Friday -- and then hold them up in a mirror so they can see themselves drooling."

Lauren grimaced. Kennedy smiled at her. "Lauren, they're going to rehearse. There are, I think, a half dozen of them, who are going to go wandering around in nighties on rehearsal days. All of them are nesters who are tired of getting hit on. They want to rub people's noses in it."

"I'm not sure how that's going to work."

"Because it's a parody. It's ironic. It's going to be humiliating to the droolers when they tell everyone at the end that they aren't available."

"And what is your plan?"

"Simple. We're not guys. A nice general speech about respecting each other. Nothing about... sitting at the table in your cabin and making love to your friends."

She sighed. "Go for it. I'll think about the other, as well. You're right. I might be able to run a couple of years like that, but eventually someone would get pissed and that would, very messily, be that."

"Yep!"

"Are you really okay?"

"Yeah, I'm not sure what Rosalie did, but instead of the dart putting me to sleep I wanted to go out there and bash a few heads. I knew better, so I stayed put."

"What can I do to repay you for protecting the girls?"

Kennedy laughed. "Once, Lauren. I'm adventurous about some things once."

"I'm crushed that you could even think such a thing!" she smiled when she said it.

"Well, I need to get up to the cabin. Amy is much better, but it's supposed to be my job, too."

"See you at dinner."

It was funny, Kennedy thought later. Clarice and her friends modeled nice dresses in the rehearsal. Kennedy had no idea why someone would bring any dress, much less a nice one, to summer camp. Of course, she had the same difficulty about the concept of bringing sexy underwear, too. It was clear that Clarice and her friends were going for a major surprise.

Of course, this year there was no Ferinc and no clever idea for something Kennedy could participate in.

Marcie and Rosalie appeared half way through the evening. "We've been talking," Rosalie told Kennedy.

"Okay," Kennedy said. Marcie couldn't get in much more danger than she was already in and Rosalie wasn't in a much better position.

"We want to do something with you. Both of us."

Kennedy decided to yank their chain. "Okay," she agreed. "I'll have to ask Amy though if you can use her bed tonight, though."

She said it with as straight a face as she could.

Marcie giggled, while Rosalie blushed. "Maybe later," Rosalie said, clearing her throat. "We meant a skit or something."

"I can do many things," Kennedy told them, "but I can't sing, I can't dance, and while I can read a line, I'm not much of an actress either."

Marcie seemed the most surprised. "Surely you can think of something. You're Kennedy!"

"Kennedy, yep, that's who I am. At my high school they call me the crazy girl from Scarsdale who likes poetry. You see, in their eyes, liking poetry means you're crazy."

Deb had been a few feet away, and she cleared her throat. "Crazy girl who likes poetry, eh?"

Kennedy looked at her friend and nodded.

"Well," Deb replied, "that it just so happens I have an idea. What's really cool about it is I don't have to do much of anything. Been there, done that already."

"What do you mean, Deb?" Kennedy asked.

"A few years ago I got really carried away with water color art. I would do three to five pieces based on a theme. I did three pieces from 'Annabelle Lee.' That's a poem by Edgar Allen Poe."

Rosalie looked at Deb and decided she had to say something. "I'd think 'The Bells' or 'The Raven' would be better."

"Annabelle Lee needs a pair of lovers, a wicked kinsman and a narrator. That's four. Artwork, that's me. Five."

"What do you mean by art?" Kennedy asked.

"Oh, call them sets. Backdrops for the story."

Kennedy shrugged. "Deb, there's no way we could do even one full backdrop in the time we've got, even if we had help."

"No problem. Aunt Lauren has a projection gizmo. I can project the paintings the size of a scene flat; that's no trouble." She waved at Kennedy. "Do you know the poem?"

Kennedy shook her head.

Deb started reciting the words and Kennedy listened. When Deb finished, Kennedy nodded. "That's just great. Of course, it all depends on the visuals. There's not much scope for acting."

Deb giggled. "Which is why I thought of you, Kennedy, as narrator."

Rosalie and Marcie both giggled.

"It's always good, Deb, to be thought about," Kennedy said, trying to make it seem like she wasn't laughing too.

After the rehearsals, Deb asked Kennedy to come down to the office to see her artwork. There wasn't much to the idea, beyond a good speaking voice and decent artwork. Kennedy was impressed by the pieces, particularly because in one of them there were two lovers fleeing a demon. It was clear from the picture that the two lovers running were Rosalie and Marcie and the pursuer was Professor Walsh.

When Kennedy heard that Deb had painted the three pictures years before she met any of them people in them she was stunned. The paintings gave Kennedy a lot to think about.

When Kennedy and Deb got back to the cabin, Marcie and Rosalie were still sitting at the table, their heads down, deep in conversation.

"Want to see something magic?" Deb whispered with a giggle at the end.

"I have a feeling I know what you're talking about, Deb. Sure, go ahead. My ego will stand it."

When they were several yards from the two younger girls, Deb laughed softly. "It's going around, I guess."

"What's going around?" Kennedy asked.

"They don't see us."

Kennedy looked at Rosalie and Marcie and frowned.

Deb tugged on Kennedy's hand and pulled her back to their room. "No, it's not really magic. Hormones, Kennedy, not magic."

"You mean..." Kennedy stopped and giggled.

"Yes," Deb said, then laughed herself. "The other day, you and Mr. Waterman made a mistake about my tears."

"How?"

"I saw the two of them married. It was a gloriously beautiful church wedding, with bridesmaids and everything. They were so lovely in their dresses and they kept looking at each other the same way they are now. It's as if the rest of the world didn't exist."

"And the tears?"

Deb slapped her thigh and laughed. "I always cry at weddings."

Amy stuck her head in the room. "What are you two laughing at?"

Kennedy waved towards the main room.

Amy smiled. "Rosalie and Marcie?"

Kennedy nodded.

"Good for them! But I'm not sure why you're laughing at them."

"I'm not laughing at them, I'm laughing at kismet, fate, whatever. I'm laughing at how foolish it is to assume what someone else is thinking," Kennedy replied.

Amy nodded. "Kennedy, I know this will sound strange, but would you sleep with me tonight?"

Kennedy looked at her. "Be still, oh my heart!" Kennedy whispered, half to herself.

Deb put her hands on Kennedy's shoulder. "Go, girl."

Kennedy got up and followed Amy towards the other bedroom. Rosalie and Marcie had stopped talking, and were exchanging shy kisses and were no more aware of the rest of the universe than they'd been before. Kennedy could only smile as she remembered the year before when she and Deb had made love to each other at just such a table.

Amy closed the door behind them, then sat down on the bed cross-legged. "Can we talk, Kennedy?"

"Sure, Amy."

"I don't know what I want," Amy said baldly. "You, I think. Then I think about Monique and I want to cry. It's not even a month, and already I'm looking at someone else the same way I looked at her."

"Amy, I like you a very great deal. I thought we worked this out last year. I'm content to be your friend."

"And if I'm not content with that?"

"I'm not a very good choice for a girl who wants to nest."

"You've said that. Now, I want you to look me in the eye and tell me why you're not."

"As you may have noticed," Kennedy said dryly, "I'm a trouble magnet. Monique, from what I understand, didn't die because she was your friend."

"No, Monique's mother sent her downstairs to get some milk from a store across the street. It was in the middle of a Saturday afternoon. It was New York, but it wasn't that bad of a neighborhood. Some gang bangers were desperate for money to get high on and she had some. Ten lousy dollars!"

Kennedy reached out and touched Amy's shoulder. "Ruby died because of me, Amy. The guy who killed her brought her to me, so he could kill her in front of me. He killed his own aunt, right in front of his uncle, to hurt him as well."

"And you killed him."

"I killed him," Kennedy told her flatly. "He was gone a few seconds after he killed Ruby.

"How did you kill him?"

"Amy, we're getting to that dangerous place."

"I'm not stupid, Kennedy. I know that guy last year wanted you, not Deb. If I'd sent a woman old enough to be my grandmother packing after talking to her for a few minutes, I'd be bragging to everyone about it -- but you didn't do that. And you didn't say anything to anyone about last year, either. And those guys sneaking around the other night... They were after you, weren't they?"

"Like I said, I'm a trouble magnet.

"Do you really want me to tell you the truth? Knowing that if I do and you tell people, you could get yourself and them killed? Your family? And that the truth is something so far from what you believe that you'll have trouble accepting it?"

"So what? I don't know if I could like someone very much who kept that kind of secret from me. Even as a friend. Like I said, I'm not stupid. I know there's a lot going on at this camp besides girls getting it on with each other. I don't pretend to understand, and I make a point of not being nosey about that sort of stuff, either. But that doesn't stop me from being curious."

"And if I told you that Camp Wanakena is run by a gypsy who has convinced her fellow gypsies that she's fleecing the parents of rich kids... would you believe that?"

"Fleece how? This camp has more activities than most summer camps I've read brochures for; they pay the staff better, and the cost is very competitive. Plus, there are scholarships for inner city kids from New York. That's how Monique got here."

"Damn," Kennedy whispered. "You should have told Lauren."

"Why?"

"She'd have fixed it up so she could come last year."

"Why?"

"Why? Because Lauren is a gypsy with a soft heart, a romantic by nature. Like I said, her fellow gypsies, most of them, think she's stealing your parents blind."

"That's bizarre! Don't they do any research?"

"Amy, the average gypsy is a lying, cheating, thief who thinks that everyone else is the same way. Deb told me last year that her family is encouraging her computer studies in the hopes that one day she'll turn on the money spigot at every ATM in the country."

"That's crazy!"

"You bet. And Rosalie out there... she's a witch. So is Steffie. Except Rosalie is, so far as I can tell, a thousand times stronger than Steffie. She's engaged to the king of the gypsies, not that she had any say in it. He's planning on having her use her magic to rub out those who oppose him. Rosalie's father plans on having her rub out the king instead, so he can get himself appointed regent, then he'll rub her out and be king all by his lonesome."

"I know I'm repeating myself, but that's just plain nuts! Is it true?"

"Cross my heart, Amy, I swear."

"Magic? A witch? Two witches?"

"Did you hear Jurassic Park music the other night when those guys were here for me? Did you hear the crashing trees, the swishing of leaves as if something huge was walking through them?"

"I thought it was the wind playing tricks."

Kennedy shook her head. "It was Rosalie playing tricks."

Amy was silent. "None of that is about you, though, is it? Except peripherally."

"That's right. Tomorrow, I'll get Rosalie to show off for you. Magic is real, Amy."

"And what about you?"

"Could you describe Mr. Waterman to me?"

"You're changing the subject again."

"No, we're coming to that. First, you have to understand the world as it really is. A world where things you think are fairy tales or boogeyman stories to be told around the campfire are real."

"And what has Mr. Waterman got to do with that?"

"Sometime go down to the boathouse and ask him to take off his hat. Try not to run screaming back up the hill when he does."

"He's ugly? I figured he got burned when he was younger. That's why he doesn't show his face."

"He doesn't show his face for the reason I just said. He's a Sofai, a water demon."

"And he works here at camp? A demon?"

"That's right."

"And no one notices?"

"Well, I noticed. It's a good thing for him that I wasn't carrying my sword the first time I saw him, because I'd have lopped off his head a second later. A lot of people I admire and trust explained to me that not all demons are bad."

Amy rocked back, clearly thinking. "Are you... a demon?"

"Well, no. Still, that doesn't mean I'm like you and the rest of the girls here, either."

"You're really strong; I know that."

"Amy..." Kennedy unfolded her legs from the bed, and moved a few feet away. She crouched down, jumped up, tap-danced for a fraction of a second on the roof, a half dozen feet over her head, then landed lightly on her feet.

"Bet you can't do that!" Kennedy said with a laugh.

"No, I don't think I can," Amy said cautiously.

"Over in Charlotte's cabin is the sister of the guy who killed Ruby. She found out I terminated his existence, so she sought me out. I had no idea who she was; she walked right up to me and slid a knife into my stomach."

"Oh God! At least it wasn't too bad!"

"Amy, it was a six inch blade. It went all the way in, and made a mess. Ten minutes later I'd stopped bleeding and the wound was closed. The next morning I was pretty chipper and the next evening I fought a pretend-duel with my sword. I didn't even feel a twinge."

"That doesn't make any sense."

Kennedy sighed. "It's why Ruby and I broke up. One night at Faire, I fell down a hill. I had cuts and bruises, and there was no way I could stop the doctor they had from seeing to them. I was pretty sore and I told Ruby we couldn't make love because I hurt too much. The next morning we showered together and all she saw was a few fading bruises and what looked like scratches. She assumed I'd lied the night before, that I didn't want to make love to her any more."

"And you did?"

"Well, cut me and I bleed. Bruise me and it hurts. I enjoy making love to my willing partner. It's just that I don't bleed or hurt long, but my heart breaks as easily as anyone else's."

"What are you, then?"

"That night, I didn't fall because I slipped. I fell because a vampire leaped on my back and sank his fangs in my neck."

Amy blinked, her jaw dropped in astonishment. "You're a vampire?"

Kennedy couldn't help giggling. "No, Amy, I'm not. The technical details of how a vampire creates a new vampire are a little gory. First, they have to drain your blood. That takes a few minutes. He had about two seconds and then he was gone."

"Gone?"

"It's called 'dusting.' When you kill a vampire it's just like in the movies. Some movies. It turns to dust. That's how I could kill the vampire at my New Year's Eve party and there was no trouble. There was no body."

"Wow!"

"If I could lasso a vampire, particularly one who's been around for a while, I could ask it what it fears the most. The answer would be given as a sneer, mostly, braggadocio of the worst kind. They're not afraid of people like me! No, of course not!

"The person they fear, and they do, believe me, is called the 'Slayer.' The Vampire Slayer. There's a lot of magic involved, a lot of other things. Slayers heal fast, they are much stronger than normal. Sort of like me."

"Sort of? It sounds just like you!"

"Trust me, Amy, sort of like me. I can jump about six feet up into the air. The one Slayer I met could get up about twenty feet. I'm what's called a 'Potential.' When the current Slayer is killed, one of us Potentials gets tapped for the job. I just have more than average skills."

"Does that make it more or less likely you'll get the job?"

Kennedy shrugged. "I have no idea. About two years ago I think I was close to being promoted, but I think that the powers-that-be decided I was too young."

Amy looked at her, then reached out her hand and touched Kennedy's. "There's something you're not telling me."

Kennedy smiled. "Slayers and Potentials have folks called 'Watchers' who do just that. Watch over them. Mine is Mr. Glastonbury. I'm always telling him the same thing. He's of the opinion that there are some things even I'm better off not knowing. Like, for instance, what the record survival time for a Slayer is. The average is a couple of years, but I'm pretty sure that some of them get killed really quick. Not so long ago two vampires broke into the house to kill me. We're not sure why, but they thought I'd been Chosen as the Vampire Slayer."