“Welcome to my humble abode.” I said as we appeared in my lab, “Make yourself at home. Can I get you anything?”
“Just your glove.” Chloe said, glancing around. “Nice collection of weapons you have there.”
“I know, right?” I said, laughing. “Just a wee bit of blades, lass.”
Chloe looked at me, extending a hand. “Seriously, the glove?”
Evonne had by this time already placed Chloe’s glove in the glass case. Or I guess it was my glove now. “Okay, Chloe, I’m a man of my word.”
“No you’re not.”
“Okay, not really, but just this once, I am.” I removed my glove, gave it a farewell pat, then handed it over to the Russians. Ha. Yet another little bit of wit for you.
Chloe slipped in on easily, then made a face. “Gross. It’s all sweaty inside.”
I crossed my arms, “It was either from you trying to kill me the first time, the second time, your hot black leather jumpsuit, or just because of your charming Russian personality. Take your pick.”
Guess what she did. If your guess was that she glared at me, you are dead wrong, sir, or ma’am, maybe. I don’t really know or care. But no, she did not glare.
Chloe smiled.
“We interrupt this program to bring you the smiling Russian.” I chimed in a Bing Crosby voice, throwing my hands toward her theatrically.
“You’re insane.” She said, although I noticed her smile didn’t disappear. “I wouldn’t care if it was left on a corpse for a year. I’m just glad I have it back.”
This is a bit of an odd tale, huh? I mean, one minute Chloe's trying to kill me then the next we're laughing together and switching gloves no problem.
Too bad it didn't remain that tranquil.
Stepping a few feet away, Chloe began punching in a date. “Thank you, Jericho. You’ll never know what you’ve done for me.” Then her smile turned almost sincere.
Feeling kind of sheepish, I just shrugged. “I would say anytime, but that would be too much of a pun.”
Finishing the date, she hit enter, giving Evonne and I a wave. We returned the wave and waited for little Miss Russia to vanish from our lives for good.
Then she didn’t vanish.
Then she didn’t vanish again…
…Wait. That just made, like, zero sense.
The point is she didn’t go back to the future.
God, I really am not explaining this well, am I? Okay, start over. Chloe hit enter, waved, but then for some reason did not go forward in time.
Frowning, she glanced at the glove, punching at a few buttons on the touchscreen. After doing this for a second or two, and saying some very not-nice sounding words in Russian, she thrust her gloved hand at me in frustration, “What’s wrong with this thing?”
“You had it in your possession for a grand total of, like, literally twenty seconds, Chloe, and you’ve already screwed it up?” I scolded her while snatching the glove.
“I didn’t do anything. You’re the one who has had it for so long.”
“Yeah, but it always worked.” I muttered, examining the silver glove. “There’s nothing wrong with it.” I said, frowning, “Maybe it just doesn’t like you.”
Chloe didn’t think that was very funny considering she glar- man, I am really getting tired of saying that…
Chloe didn’t think that was very funny considering she, uh, you know, did that thing at me before taking the glove back. “Please try not to say anything else stupid for the next two minutes.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. Note: I did not glare. Distinction. She tried punching in the dates to take her home. When this attempt failed, Chloe lost it, man. Just how much she lost it, I cannot say, really, because I don't speak Russian and, honestly, I'm severely glad I don't because she seemed really upset about the whole glove-not-working-so-now-she-can't-save-her-father thing.
I ducked a sword that had somehow ended up in her hand before receiving the point against my neck as she backed me against the wall, “Что Вы делали к этому!” She screamed.
“I don't speak Russian!” I screamed back, holding my hands up in the air and turning my face away, eyes squeezed shut against her vehemence. “I really don't!”
“Что Вы сделали?!” Chloe tried again.
I sighed, opened my eyes, then looked at her. “Chloe. I. Do. Not. Speak. Russian. You'll have to threaten me in plain ol' English to get what you want, sweetheart.”
Shoulders sagging, Chloe dropped the broadsword, put her hands on her hips, looked into my eyes--then fainted.
I'm going to go with my being too shook up from her threatening my life with a 12th century broadsword to be quick enough to catch her before she hit the marble floor really hard.
Yeah. That's what I'm going to go with on this one.
And not to split hairs nor point fingers, but I didn't see Evonne jumping out like the freakin' Flash and saving her from face-planting the cold floor, either. Not like he was the one about to be decapitated by a crazed Russian psycho-chic... You'd think he would've been quicker on the draw, know what I mean?
Wait. That reminds me...
“And where the helheim were you when she snagged a sword and tried to kill your employer, Mitch? Taking a nap, or something?”
Since he knew that I was, in fact, shook up, as I so wittingly put it, Evonne didn't even answer.
Yeah, that's my pal, right there. He always knows just what to say. Or just what not to say, rather. “I'm afraid madam Chloe will be needing medical attention, Master Johnson.” And just like that, back to the awesome butler he is.
“No way. I'm not about to have any doctors looking after little Miss Russia from the future. She's probably blood type Z, or something weird like that, anyway.” And just like that, I was back to being my old awesome self. Ain't I grand?
I feel compelled to stop here in my tale and reassure whoever it is listening out there that I am indeed awesome. If you don't already know that by now, then stop this story right now, drop your itune way down, go kiss your mother, then go look in the mirror so you can get a firsthand look at what an idiot looks like. (And you also might want to keep going in the story because I get a lot easier to warm up to later. Honestly. Cross my heart and all that nonsense).
Alright. Now that I've weeded out all the non-believers we can keep going.
“Well, c'mon, Mitch, don't just stand there. Let's get her up to the house.”
See that awesomeness, non-believers? Oh, wait. You're gone already, huh? Nevermind then. Moving on.
“Where shall we be taking her, sir?”
Shrugging, I picked the crumpled girl up, tossing her over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. A extremely wonderful smelling sack of potatoes, at that. Funny how you miss how someone smells while fighting them for your life. “I don't know. That's you and Louise's thing. I just own the house, remember?”
“Might I suggest one of the three master bedrooms, sir. They are quite comfortable and also have all the facilities necessary to care for a patient.” Evonne was saying while following me to the elevator.
Stopping suddenly before stepping inside it, I turned slightly and asked, “How bad is this, Mitch, really?”
I waited for him to answer for a few seconds. At first I thought he wasn't going to answer at all and had just started to finish my entrance inside the elevator when I heard him say, “If all the girl says is true then I'd say this is indeed bad, sir.” He stepped in with me and pressed a button.
“That's what I was afraid of.” I said.
Chapter 10