Knights and Daes Excerpt

Chapter One

Most nights it rains. Others, it storms. Those are the nights the games begin. Those nights the darkness is alive with laughter, lightning, and canons of thunder. Tonight there is only silence in the absence of rain on the rooftops or the soft hum of hoverboards. The stars and the moon shine like beacons in the darkness, beckoning me out into the stillness of the night. It’s nights like this I can still smell the bloodred roses in my hair, feel the spring breeze in my face, and hear summer chimes in the distance.

I slip my feet into a pair of shoes, pull my gray sweatshirt over my head, tug a black face mask over my mouth, and move to the window. Through the glossy windowpane I can see a thin fog blowing through the yard, seeping in and out of the forest trees like spirits. The window whines as I carefully slide it open and punch out the screen, trying not to wake anyone. I duck through the windowsill and climb onto the roof of the porch. With one deep breath, I slip off the edge, the grass squishing under my feet when I land. I take, one, two, three steps and run, heading straight for the woods.

The wet air lingers on my reddened face as I duck under low tree branches and leap over fallen logs. Still, my mind is full of nonsense, almost as infuriating as the hum of hoverboards in the middle of the night. The trees thin and I enter the clearing, approaching the ancient, thick-barked tree. A drop of water slips down my neck as I reach into my sweatshirt pocket and wrap my fingers around the stems of flowers.

Under the starlit sky, I lay the white carnations beside their names and run.

Lights from nearby homes cast ghostly shadows through the trees and onto the path. A dog barks in the distance, interrupting the silence of the night. I pick up my pace, ignoring my numbing legs and raw lungs. I run until I reach the outskirts of the Dawson property, marked by the wooden fence that extends for a mile in either direction. I slide my fingers along the peeling wood until I reach my hut tucked between the trees on the other side. I slip through the bars of the fence, remove the key hidden in my shoe, unlock the doors, and reach for the lamp on the desk to flick on the light. I rummage through stacks of sketchbooks and canvases scattered on the floor and work desk until I find the one piece I’m looking for hidden beneath a bunch of blank canvases. I run my fingers over the dry paint before I roll it up tightly and shove it in the bag stashed in the corner. I zip the top shut, sling it over my shoulder, and walk back into the night, making sure to lock the gate behind me.

Crickets and bullfrogs are loud on the water when I reach the wood bridge a half-mile away from the hut. I lay my bag at the center of the bridge, unzip the top and pull out the rolled up mural. I unravel it and admire it for a few brief seconds before I flip it over and dig in my bag for the glue. I pull my face mask down around my neck and twist the cap to the glue off with my teeth. Careful not to step on it in my muddy shoes, I dance over the mural with the glue cap dangling from my mouth, letting the glue drip onto the canvas’s edge. I pick up the canvas and turn it over, sliding my fingers over the mural to pop all the bubbles while the glue dries.

I stand at the edge of the mural with my back pressed up against the rails and stare down at my latest masterpiece. A week of work and it finally gets it showcase. I smile slightly, the glue cap swooping upward in the air between my teeth.

“Well, if it ain’t the Blue Jay.”

The cap falls from my mouth and drops to the ground with a clink before it rolls into the river with a plunk. I whip around to find none other than Sean Argon standing at the base of the bridge.

“Sean!” I breathe loudly. My heart batters against my rib cage. I tug at my black face mask, remembering it wrapped around my neck. I keep my hood up just in case. “How do you always manage to appear out of nowhere?”

He smiles his goofy sideways smile. “I got my ways. Y’know that better than anyone, Blue.” His accent is thick. He usually allows it to bleed through whenever he’s around me.

“Quiet,” I tell him as I grab the glue, angry that I lost the cap, and toss it in my bag. “Someone might hear you.”

Sean flicks his eyes to darkened houses situated at the edge of the river. “It’s three in the morning, Jaycie. Ain’t nobody gonna hear us.”