I Should Die

armory.

FIFTEEN
    “VERY WELL DONE,” ARTHUR SAID AS HIS SWORD clattered to the armory floor. Georgia smiled and, placing one hand on her hip, circled her sword in a victorious flourish, causing Arthur to duck to avoid grievous bodily injury.
    “Hi, Katie-Bean!” she yelled, spotting me coming down the stairs. “Guess what? I totally rock at sword fighting! Just wait till all those haters see me do this—” she said, lunging in a crazed Three Musketeers move, forcing Arthur to skip nimbly out of the way.
    “Vincent’s back!” I announced, powerless against the wide smile spread across my face. “Or at least his ghost is. Violette’s freed him for three days.”
    “Oh, Kate, that’s wonderful!” Georgia squealed and, dropping her sword, ran over to throw herself on me. “And even better,” I continued, once she stopped jumping up and down and let go of me, “Bran has heard of wandering spirits like Vincent getting their bodies back. I mean, it’s a story that he heard a long time ago, but they’re going to start researching it right away.” I didn’t mention that I was going to go in search of that story in a couple of hours. Georgia would definitely want to join me.
    “That’s very good news,” Arthur commented. “I can’t wait to talk to Vincent myself.”
    “I just sent Ambrose up to the library to meet with Jean-Baptiste,” I told Arthur. “Your ‘presence is required,’” I quoted JB.
    “Please excuse me,” he said to Georgia, bowing slightly.
    “Only if you promise me more . . . ,” she said with a crooked smile. Arthur promptly turned bubble-gum pink and choked on whatever he was about to say. “More sword lessons, that is,” Georgia said, her smile widening as she saw him sputter.
    “It’s urgent,” I prodded.
    “Yes, of course,” said Arthur. He left at top speed, taking the steps two at a time.
    “So where exactly is our lover boy?” Georgia asked.
    “Upstairs talking to JB and Gaspard,” I said. “Revenant business.”
    “Then do you wanna practice with me?” Georgia asked, posing her sword tip on her toe, and then recoiling as it went through her shoe. “Ouch!”
    “Um, yeah. They’re sharp. Why don’t you practice with one of the blunt-tipped practice epées,” I asked.
    “Oh, please,” Georgia said. “I’m not a complete wimp.”
    “Well, I’m not a complete idiot,” I said and, opening the wardrobe, got out my hard-to-slice Kevlar workout suit. “If I’m getting anywhere near you with a sword, I want protection. I won’t be able to do much, though, with my battle wound,” I said, touching my collarbone.
    “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you,” Georgia said, slicing wildly at the air while I suited up and chose a weapon. As I approached, she got into starting position, her lightweight sword held in her right hand as she leaned forward, left knee bent.
    “You’ve got good starting form,” I encouraged her. Taking it very slowly, with exaggerated moves, I let her swipe at my weapon while shuffling forward and back, following her own clumsy movements.
    “You see?” Georgia said after a few minutes, breathing hard with effort. “Arthur said I was a natural. I’m just as good as you are, and you’ve been training for months!”
    I shook my head, and with a quick lunge I swung lightly—careful not to put weight on my injured shoulder—hitting her sword near the hilt and sending it flying through the air. As it clanged off a wall and onto the floor, Georgia righted herself and put her hands on her hips.
    “What the hell was that?” she cried.
    “Georgia, you’re not good—yet. Arthur only said that because he’s got a major crush on you.”
    My sister looked hurt.
    “That doesn’t mean you won’t get better if you keep training,” I quickly added as I registered her expression.
    Her smile returned. “More,” she said, and walked over to pick up her sword.
    “Georgia,” I said, moving my sword from one hand to the other and back, enjoying the feel of its weight in my palms. “What’s this all about? The fight training, I mean. Is it just a ploy to get nearer to Arthur? Because I can promise you that’s not necessary. He’s already totally into you.”
    “Of course not. I don’t need to make a fool of myself to attract a man,” my sister said, looking defensive.
    “Really?” I said, biting my lip so I wouldn’t laugh. “How about that Southern accent you put on whenever cute guys are around?”
    Georgia