Chapter 26: Driver's Ed

Kennedy straightened out from the curve and set her car in line for the next corner. That another car, drifting along behind her, had to make the choice between hitting her or backing off made no mind to her.

She set up easily for the corner, drifted around it, then accelerated away, now far ahead of the next nearest car. A few seconds later she took the checkered flag.

Only two laps, but hey, a race is a race! Winning wasn't just anything, it was everything! She loved driving these cars!

"My," Harvey, her crew chief, said, "you do like to win, don't you? Fuck the other guy!"

She smiled at him. "You got that part right. The part about them being guys."

"Kennedy, in a real race, two of the three would have hung in there to see if you really had the nerve. Odds are, about then there would be cars rolling down the track, spitting fire and shedding parts."

"And I had the inside, and they would have been at fault, right?"

"Having the right of way isn't going to mean much if you're broken and bleeding in the hospital."

"Let me get this right," she told him. "I have the right of way and they don't. If we crash, that's my fault because I refused to back off. Tell me, what is the point of the rules about right of way if someone challenges you, and you have to give way?"

"Common sense?" he said mildly.

"That's simple idiocy." She waved at the track. "Have you ever seen me break a rule?"

He sighed. "Just the one about how old you are."

"I'm twenty-one," Kennedy said with a laugh. "How many sixteen-year-olds can do this?" She pressed down on the cockpit and assumed what a gymnast would call the "pike" position, her legs parallel with the ground. She went to a handstand, then did a double flip, dismounting to the side of her car.

"I see an Olympic career ahead of you," he told her. "Unless you crash and burn in a qualifier."

"You have to understand, I have real problems when it's me following the rules and others don't and I'm the one considered at fault."

An hour later she was sitting in her trailer, a can of frozen orange juice pressed against her head. New York was never like this! Not a hundred plus degrees! California could easily have been Mars, for all that Kennedy was concerned.

There was a single knock and Emry came in and sat down at the table across from her. Emry was one of the reps from one of the big racing teams. More or less a talent scout.

He grinned at her. "In eight days, the Ontario 500 takes place."

"So?"

"So, that's a Sunday. Time trials run all week. On Saturday, as a warm-up, we'll do a rookie race. A hundred miles."

Kennedy didn't let any expression show on her face. "My class finished earlier today. I'm scheduled on a jet back to New York tomorrow."

"Like it will hurt your Daddy to have to pay for another ticket! What I don't want, though, is your Daddy on my ass. I'll see you get a ride in the race if you can guarantee me three things."

"You're not getting inside my pants."

He laughed. "No, simple things. First off, I don't want to hear from Daddy about his little girl being entered for a real race."

"You won't."

"Second, I don't want to hear from him, no matter how badly you lose."

"He doesn't give a shit."

"Last, if you're a fried tater-tot in the hospital, alive or dead, I don't want to hear from him then, either."

Kennedy laughed. "You should do your homework better."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, my father had nothing to do with this. This was a gift from a friend."

He raised an eyebrow. "Some gift!"

"A friend of a friend, if you get my drift," Kennedy told him. She could see at once, that he didn't get much of anything. "A mafia capo."

He choked. "Right!"

"No, I'm serious. Check with the school office."

He paled considerably. "And can I get the same deal about them?"

"Sure, no problem."

He nodded. "Kennedy..."

"You're still not getting in my pants."

"No. One thing. I was told to do this. I didn't understand why, because you're a crappy driver. I told them that. But, I'm offering the ride anyway."

"I'm a crappy driver?" Kennedy said, trying to keep the anger out of her voice.

"Yes. Technically, you are beyond compare. But, Kennedy, technique doesn't win races."

"I've won every competition, no matter what the form, in driving school," Kennedy told him.

"So? Like I said, that's not what wins races." He held up a sealed envelope. "Here, take this. Put it someplace safe. Open it after the race."

"What is it?"

"My evaluation of your driving in your first race."

"A race I haven't been in?"

"Exactly."

Kennedy sighed. "And you won't explain?"

"No."

"And you'll trust me with the letter?"

"Kennedy, you're either good or not. You are either trustworthy or not. I don't think you're a good driver, but if I had a million dollar stake to hold for a race, I'd get you to help me watch it."

"And this makes sense to you?"

"It does. It's hope for you. Reschedule your flight or turn your slot over to someone who might be able to win."

"You don't think I can win?"

"Not a chance in the world," he told her. "Unless every other car in the race craps out."

Came the day, Kennedy was ready. More than ready. The smells of the pits, the racetrack were a heady wine. She loved it!

She ran around in a couple of circles, and qualified second. She smiled to herself, vowing that before the first turn she'd be in front!

She was, too! She held the lead until half way through the second lap, when one car went past her. Grimly, she matched her car's performance with her own. Two laps later two more cars were in front of her.

In a forty lap race, you can't afford to lose a second. She checked her fuel status and she was doing well. She glanced up as she flew past her pit crew: no problems with the tires. She'd skip the pit stop!

At that point, six of the sixteen racers were ahead of her. Cars pulled off for their pit stops, but two of the cars ahead of her didn't. They ran tight lines, not jockeying for position, just content to wait. Since there wasn't a second between them, she was sure it was going to work for them. She, on the other hand, was halfway to being lapped.

Twice she surged forward, only to fall back at the tortured howl of the engine. One of the guys who'd stopped came up behind her, and she was all but frothing in rage. She did everything in her power to block him. And in doing so, let someone else pass them both.

Then came the checkered flag. She'd finished fourth. It was enough to make her chew nails. Still, she had to be back in Scarsdale the next day, or miss the opening of school.

On the airplane, she took the envelope and read what was written there.

"Kennedy is a competent driver, skilled in the basics. She has never blown an engine, she's never had mechanical or brake failure. She routinely finishes her competitions with more fuel than nearly anyone else.

"In light of this, it is my opinion, she should not be given a spot on the team. It is my belief that she will routinely finish from fourth to eighth, depending on the depth and nature of the field.

"The fuel numbers are the most damning: she doesn't push her car. The engine failure record repeats that: if you don't push an engine to its max, you can't win. She is overly cautious, more concerned about maintaining her fuel state and the mechanical state of her vehicle than winning. A little of that is okay, but Kennedy is extreme."

It was humbling, because she knew he'd written it before her race.

She sat contemplating things, resisting the urge to pick up the phone on the plane and unload on Emry.

Pipes was there to greet her, along with Mr. Glastonbury.

"Well, Miss Kennedy," Mr. Glastonbury asked, "did you have a lot of fun?"

"Everyone else there was male. I didn't get laid. Ergo, I didn't have that much fun."

"You won races?"

"Not the one that counted," she told him.

Pipes touched her sleeve. "Kennedy..."

"Tell Clarice I appreciate learning how to drive. Everyone can relax; I'll never practice my Formula One skills driving in town."

"Was it a good experience, Kennedy?" Pipes asked her flat out.

"Pipes, up here in the back of my head," she pointed at the spot, "there's a computer that keeps track of the art of the possible. It won't even let me try the art of the impossible. And if it decides that it's more impossible than it looks, I can't do that, either."

She turned to Mr. Glastonbury. "Once upon a time, I dreamed I met the First Slayer; I thought I was to be Chosen that night, but that she decided I was too young. Now I know the truth of it. I'll never be chosen, Mr. Glastonbury. Never. A Slayer fights even if there is no hope. I've never felt like that, so I didn't realize the truth.

"I learned the truth on the race track. I could tell when I was pushing too hard, where the car might break, or where if I went faster the engine would use too much fuel. I didn't push it.

"When the king of the gypsies had Rosalie throw that spell at us, I thought I was ready, and I did what I thought I had to. But when I realized that it was much stronger than I expected, I stood paralyzed, unable to move. I couldn't think of even one more thing to counter it that I hadn't already done.

"The visions I've had of Slayers dying? They died fighting. I never got the message, not until now. If someone had been in my head that day, they'd have seen me die with my head bowed, waiting for the inevitable."

Mr. Glastonbury smiled thinly. "Miss Kennedy, that's what we all do. We put our best effort even if things go awry. A friend of mine had a brother who was a bomber gunner in World War II. One night over Germany his plane was hit. They were on their way to drop incendiaries on a German town, instead those bombs started going off in the plane.

"One second he was in the aircraft, the next second the plane blew up like a skyrocket. It literally blew the man out of his clothes; he was stark naked. Needless to say, his parachute was gone, too.

"He fell and fell, knowing he was dead. He made what peace he could with God, then, seconds before the impact, he closed his eyes.

"He went into a drift of snow that had formed near a hedge. He opened his eyes and realized he was still alive. In fact, he'd never hit the ground at all. He nearly froze getting out of that snow drift and the Germans thought him mad, but when he was finally repatriated the RAF officially recognized that he'd fallen from the bomber. A dozen other pilots had seen his aircraft fireball; the entire crew had been written off as dead.

"Miss Kennedy, you said it yourself. Your brain measures the art of the possible. I'm sure when it comes down to it, if there is any possibility of victory, you'll go for it. A car race? Miss Kennedy, a car race isn't a matter of life and death. Oh, for the drivers, I suppose, but they aren't in it to kill or be killed. Those are the sorts of fights you fight. Where did your 'art of the possible' computer come down on the notion of bearding a clutch of armed kidnappers in their den? Or wading into the heart of a nest of vampires, outnumbered twenty-five to one?"

"I had a plan. I was sure I was as safe as I could be."

"Miss Kennedy, I suspect if you had to race where the losers all died and only the winner survived," Pipes told her, "I have a feeling you'd finish first."

Kennedy smiled slightly. "First, I'd try to change the rules."

That was pretty much that. Once or twice a month, on a Saturday, she'd go into Manhattan and have lunch at the restaurant and play poker. School was a minor distraction. Her teachers knew she was coasting, and most of them took that as a good reason not to challenge her, academically.

Harriet was seeing someone and seemed happy; Amy was happy with her own girlfriend. Kennedy paid attention to a couple of girls at school but there was no magic spark.

Vampires and kidnappers seemed to have gotten the message and avoided Scarsdale and Manhattan.

Towards Christmas Kennedy started tutoring Juan Baptiste and Nita. Nita was well along in her pregnancy and hated going to school where she was getting some rude comments. Kennedy wanted her to name names, but Nita wouldn't reveal them. So Kennedy did some skulking and got a couple of names on her own. Abruptly, the rude comments stopped.

In late April two things happened that changed the routine. Mr. Glastonbury stood one morning, watching her work out. He didn't say a word, not until she finished.

"Miss Kennedy."

She turned to him as she was putting Lady Kennedy back in the case.

"This year May Day is on a Tuesday, and the Faire will be open from the Saturday before to the Sunday after. I have been asked to perform some archery exhibitions on both weekends, and Duke Roger asked me if I'd like to do some on May Day as well."

Kennedy shrugged. "So?"

"So it's not like you need the class time. Would you like to come? Duke Roger was asking about you."

"Is this your way to get back in my good graces?"

He shook his head. "We both know how impossible that will be. You tolerate me; we both know that. This is a simple invitation. You can come up for one or both weekends, or stay the entire time. Or you can stay here."

"Okay, I'll go," she said abruptly, not sure why she'd agreed. Maybe, she thought, just to get out of the house.

The second thing was the advent of Victoria. She knocked on the practice room door and Kennedy had looked up.

"Victoria."

"Hah! You remembered who I am! Sometimes I'm not sure. I mean, no Christmas cards, no birthday presents ... none of that."

"I don't do those ... and unless someone is intercepting my mail, I don't get them from you, either."

"Well, hey!" She patted her stomach. "That's a case of the pot belly calling the kettle belly black!"

With a start, Kennedy realized Victoria was pregnant.

"Thanks, Victoria," Kennedy said evenly.

"Thanks for what, Kennedy?"

"Well, I wasn't invited to the wedding. Thus, no reason to send a wedding present nor anniversary presents."

"Hah! Like you would! Besides, I'm not married and I'm not going to be married."

Kennedy smiled thinly. "I could talk to him."

Victoria slapped her thigh. "You would, wouldn't you! Kennedy, please ... lighten up. I'm okay with this. It's my choice. Fuck everyone else."

Kennedy nodded. "My theory, pretty much. Although I don't think our father would approve."

"I thought he was 'Pete?'"

"Not since he grounded me."

"I heard about that. The staff was all aghast. A battle of the titans! I'm surprised no one realized that no one ever wins that kind of battle."

"Maybe ... But if you surrender, you lose by default."

Victoria blinked. "I never thought of it quite like that."

She looked around. "It's April; I'm here until Memorial Day. Any bad guys on the horizon?"

"Not that I know of."

"Good! Let me know if that changes."

"Okay."

"Any cute maids?"

"She left."

"Bummer, Kennedy. Bummer! I sent her some money after she got hurt at your party. She sent it back."

"It's called 'stiff-necked pride, '" Kennedy told her. "It's all the rage among those of us who accept responsibility for the things we do."

"Tit for tat, Kennedy," Victoria told her. "You owe me."

"I owe you for what?"

"One ruined party. I want you to come to my 'Spring Fling' on Memorial Day."

"I don't think so."

"It'll be downstairs, Kennedy. That's assuming you'll let me hold it here."

"It's your house," Kennedy told her.

"Not so far as father is concerned. He says if you say no, it's no."

"Well, yes. But I can't imagine going."

"I went and played poker with your friends. I came to your New Year's Eve Party, Kennedy. You owe me."

"If you insist."

"I insist. You will, for that matter, not spend the time standing around the fringes. You will dance, do you understand?"

"Oh, Victoria!" Kennedy said with sarcasm. "I live to obey your every whim!"

"Kennedy, I had a pleasant chat with a very refined woman that night. Then she died, killed in front of me. Then a girl, maybe a little chunky for my taste, but still, I'm sure she was nice ... she was murdered in front of me too, just like that very nice woman. To be honest, I don't remember much after that, as I was barfing in the corner. I do remember seeing you heading towards the guy, I remember you standing in an empty quarter of the room a second later, no guy to be seen."

"Wow!" Kennedy told her.

"So, you will come to my party and you will dance. At least twice, for the number of people I saw killed that night."

"Then, I will dance eleven times, for those two and all the others. Plus twice more for those who were hurt." Kennedy smiled thinly. "Not counting you, of course."

"You can invite a girlfriend, but only one of the two dances I require will count with her."

"Victoria, you may not have noticed, but I'm neither outgoing nor popular."

"Kennedy, keep talking and I'll start inviting some of your friends."

Kennedy shut up and a few moments later, Victoria was gone.

Kennedy took Lady Kennedy with her to Faire, and once again mustered with the watch. Duke Roger looked her up and down.

"You're looking well, Lady Kennedy."

"Thank you, sir. Do you suppose I might have the petting zoo again?"

He laughed. "Oddly, few volunteer for the duty, and then, never more than once."

"Duke Roger, sir, it is my intention never to pull my blade this weekend. I have no desire to show off, demonstrate, duel or anything else. Just my duty as one of your constables."

"The petting zoo will only be open on the weekends and May Day. Could I interest you in a couple of hours of general patrol on the other days?"

"Okay," she told him, uncertain if this was a step up or down. Well, on reflection, she had to admit that anything different than the petting zoo had to be a step up -- because there was no way to go down from the zoo.

She went over to the shopkeepers' booths and got a hug from Harriet. "Can you imagine it?" Harriet bubbled over. "All these years and here we are! Juniors in high school, next year seniors and then off to college!"

"Well, I'm not sure about college," Kennedy told her, "but yeah, I am looking forward to it."

"I have a stepfather," she said out of the blue.

"Is he nice?"

"Nice enough. He keeps Mom happy, and that's a good thing. She met him here, at Faire; he's a science fiction author."

"Cool!"

"Yeah! Except now we go to conventions as well as Faire. It's making for a busy life!"

"And how's Rachael?" Rachael being Harriet's girlfriend.

"She's fine. She's got an orchestra thing this weekend, but she'll be here next weekend."

Harriet's mother appeared, saw Kennedy and did a double-take. "You!"

"Me!" Kennedy agreed.

"Stay away from Harriet!"

"Mother!" Harriet said, outraged.

"I have and I will, but, now and then a hug from an old friend is just what the doctor ordered!" Kennedy hugged Harriet one last time and tried to ignore the press of their bodies.

She tossed a casual hand salute towards Harriet's mother, turned and left.

Friar Geoffrey fell into step next to her. "You understand that with the exception of the current Slayer, most Slayers have no friends. They cut themselves off from their families, too. I understand the Slayer's younger sister has turned into a pesky teenager, living together has become quite a trial..."

Kennedy turned to him, confused. "The Slayer doesn't have a sister. Not unless this is a different Slayer."

"No, it's the same one. She always has had a sister."

"I can remember a half a dozen times where you told me that her parents were divorced and that her mother had worried a great deal about Buffy, until finally, one day, she found out about her being the Slayer. Now she's nervous, but accepting. You also told me the Slayer was living in her college dorm. Her first roommate was a demon, then she paired up with one of her friends, then the friend started rooming with someone else. Never a word about a sister."

"No, she's been at home for months and months. She's always had a sister."

Kennedy nodded. "Whatever."

He paled. "You think I'm lying to you!"

"Of course not, why would I ever think that? What could I possibly base that judgment on? Unless my memory is completely out of whack, that is. Is it?"

"I don't know. I just don't know ... I'm sure I told you she had a sister. I can remember several occasions where I told you. She's something like five or six years younger than the Slayer."

"Mr. Glastonbury, I swear, you told me the opposite. Not just once, but several times."

His laugh was harsh, short and bitter. "You realize I'll have to check this with the Watchers Council?"

"Hello! This isn't the surprise for me you think it is."

She looked at him coldly. "Trustworthy isn't something you can be one day and not the next. You are or you aren't."

"Miss Kennedy, I know we'll never be friends; I'm equally sure we'll never be teacher and student again. All I can say is that I'm not sure what I could have done differently, even had I been able to see the future."

"And that, Mr. Glastonbury, is why I treat you with all the contempt you deserve. I screwed up when I led the others to meet the king of the gypsies. Had I to do it over, there are any number of things I'd have done differently. You seem incapable of learning from your mistakes."

She spun on her heel and stalked off.

The petting zoo hadn't changed. She took great care not to pound a few of the two-legged visitors into the ground. At the end of her shift, Duke Roger met her.

"Sir?" she asked.

"There are people, Lady Kennedy, who have no guts and no honor. They do what they do from behind your back, and never let on that they were the one. Someone has told Sixteenth Cousin you're here this weekend. The fool has been practicing with a sword and now thinks he's as good as any girl, so he's going to show up tonight and challenge you to another duel."

"And I told you I won't draw my blade. Someone better tell Sixteenth Cousin just how bad it will look if I take him on barehanded, pull down his britches and spank his bare butt."

Duke Roger grimaced. "Lady Kennedy, I'm sure you could do just that -- but do you understand that one of my jobs is to make sure things never get that far? Sixteenth Cousin is upsetting my apple cart, but under our rules, he's got the right to challenge you. It's just that I'm as sure as I can be, he has no intention of abiding by the rules."

"So, if you're willing to let him break the rules, why not let me?"

"Two wrongs don't make it right."

"I suppose. How about if we simply go out behind the village and duke it out?"

"Lady Kennedy ... you know I can't let him fight against such odds."

"Even if that's what he wants?"

"Particularly if that's what he wants."

Kennedy sighed. "I'll think on it. I promise you, I won't draw a weapon against him. If he wants a fight, I'll do it bare-handed. If he draws a blade against me when I'm unarmed, I will make him wish he was never born, even though I won't leave so much as a bruise."

"I suppose that's the best I can expect. Lord knows, if I was in your position, I'd deck the bastard myself."

A short while later, Kennedy was sitting in the Inn, eating dinner. Someone nudged her shoulder. Unsure, she turned, wary.

Ferinc grinned. "Lady Kennedy, I presume?"

"Ferinc!" she said with genuine pleasure.

"I have brought you a present." He stepped aside and Kennedy could see Rosalie, Marcie and Harriet.

Kennedy whooped for joy, stood and grabbed Rosalie about the waist and twirled her in a circle.

"You never used my charms," Rosalie said with a good-natured grin.

"I thought of something better. Can I talk to you in a bit?"

"I swore off magic for Lent," she told Kennedy.

Kennedy laughed. "And how long has Lent been over?"

"Drat! You're not supposed to know those things!"

They all shared a laugh.

A few minutes later Kennedy explained what she wanted. Rosalie put her hand on Kennedy's. "No."

"No?"

"Okay, I didn't swear off magic for Lent. I did swear off magic that hurts people or changes people. You want me to leave him in the dust."

"Okay, that's no problem," Kennedy told her, then whispered her next plan.

Rosalie smiled. "Just a swirl of air?"

"And a little dust, even if there is otherwise none."

"No problem."

"And I swear to you, not so much as a physical bruise."

"Leaving out the great huge hole you're going to poke in his psyche?"

"Rosalie, this is Ren Faire! Slaying dragons is the stuff of legend! He'll have his shot! To win, all he has to do is stand his ground!"

Ferinc insisted on hearing what Kennedy proposed and when he heard it, he could only shake his head. "Your mind is diabolical, Lady Kennedy. Terrible and diabolical."

A while later they were in front of campfire. Kennedy was burning marshmallows, while the others were singing lustily about wenches and knaves.

Sixteenth Cousin appeared walked up to Kennedy and slapped her face. Kennedy laughed at him.

"Don't you dare mock me!" he demanded.

"You challenged me. Bare-handed then, my champion against yours."

"Your champion?" the boy exclaimed. "What a crock! You, girl! You and me!"

It appeared then. Thirty feet tall, scarlet red, fanged, clawed, wings perhaps sixty feet long when unfurled.

The dragon leaned down and roared in Sixteenth Cousin's face.

Sixteenth Cousin wasn't the only person to fall on his ass in the next second.

As quickly as the dragon appeared, it was gone. Kennedy bowed her head. "Sorry, my champion got a little ahead of himself. I've told him to stand down, until you decide if you'll fight yourself or name a champion."

Kennedy could see the spreading stain down Sixteenth Cousin's front, the smell of fresh diaper was wafting in the evening air. "Perhaps after you clean up," Kennedy said, twisting the barb.

She turned to the duke. "Sir, while what I drew wasn't blood, my honor is satisfied."

"How did you do that?" someone demanded.

Kennedy faced the crowd, a small smile on her face. "I probably broke the fire regulations. That was a firework, it goes up twenty or thirty feet and leaves pretty sparkles in a swirl."

There was a lot of talk, turning ribald, mostly, and for Sixteenth Cousin, serious aspersions on his manhood.

Kennedy spent the time talking quietly with her friends, catching up on the gossip from her other friends from camp.

When it was time for sleep, Kennedy slid into her tent, and has she had done several times, lay on top of her sleeping fur, her chin pillowed on her hands as she watched the goings on.

Not much later, Friar Geoffrey appeared and sat down just outside her tent.

"I've never told you, but I keep a diary."

Kennedy looked at him without saying anything. It's was impossible to do a good "who cares?" shrug while lying down.

"A long time ago, a friend of mine put a spell on it, making it look like book on ancient Aramaic. I spent a while reading back entries and you're right, there's nothing there about the Slayer having a sister. I write down information like that, so it should have been there.

"My first thought was to call the Watchers Council and ask for them to check themselves."

Kennedy couldn't suppress a snort of derision.

"Yes, I know. It was just a thought. So, instead, I called the Slayer's former Watcher. Guess what, he's Watching again, but this time more or less as a freelance. I asked him about the sister and he said he couldn't tell me anything about that, but did I know of an ancient enemy, a nameless enemy from before there were men on the planet, and who was now going by the name Glory?"

"And your answer?"

"No, I've never heard of anyone like that. Then he asked me why I was curious about the Slayer's sister and I told him my Potential was immune to any but the strongest magic, hurled directly at her, and she doesn't remember his Slayer having a sister. He told me to tell you to belt up, that you don't know what you're talking about."

"Belt up? That's your English version of hush my mouth?"

"Yes. Miss Kennedy, I hope you won't tell anyone else about your suspicions. I won't either, not even the Watchers Council."

"Particularly the Watchers Council," Kennedy replied.

"I don't know if I mentioned that the Watchers Council has used their chemical cocktail on her twice now. The first time it worked adequately, this last time it barely worked at all."