Vassals: Return of the Striders

By G Russell Gaynor

Taylor Prince, a high school Sophomore, has all the issues one would expect in a young man of this age. He has girlfriend issues, conflicts with several upper class men, and a test in History he's not quite prepared to take.

He's also dealing with a few problems that are outside of the norm. Taylor lost his twin brother, Tyrone, to a drive-by shooting - and it seems that everyone in the family is not quite over it - his father was a realtor when the housing bubble burst, and, oh yeah, Taylor's been possessed by a Dragon! There may be a very good reason why his Anger Management is not going as well as hoped,

Old world definitions are shattered by new world realizations as the realms of the Dragons, the Seraphi, and the Fae collide with the realm of Humans. This is the Return of the Striders!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sylver Quill Press
• Release date: Mar 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393071815

Book preview

Vassals:

Return of the Striders

To the Panel at Dragon*Con 2014 –

... Thanks for the Inspiration!

Keep up with this exciting author at

http://grussellgaynor.com

Get Insider Information, Exclusive Bonuses, even FREE books!

And find more to read from the authors of the Confederacy of the Quill, an international writers’ cooperative HERE:

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Note from SylverQuill Press:

This story begins in SylverMoon Chronicles Volume IV in the short story: Prelude to a Kill

––––––––

© SylverQuill Press, 2020

Cover Art by: Madolyn Locke

VASSALS:

Return of the Striders

By G. Russell Gaynor

Table of Contents

A Few Words

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

A Few Words

from the author...

Here you are! You’ve waited in the Q-Line long enough, trying your best to keep gum off your shoe and not look too pressed by the long wait you’ve been made to suffer. After all, you’ve got to remain presentable. That most vexing piece of eye-candy smiled for a brief moment when your eyes met. No, you never said anything... but the sheer possibility made for a pleasant distraction.

SKIP AHEAD AT YOUR PERIL!

That is your option, but you can’t say you were never warned.  Your wait in the line is over and you’ve taken your seat in the coaster-car. It’s now my job to make sure the seatbelts are fastened and pulled tight; gotta lock the Human Press Bars into place so you don’t fall out when this ride flips you... because it’s going to flip you! As you are spun about, we will try to provide a means on how you can always maintain which way is up. In other words, here come the facts of the storyline.

Needless to say, this isn’t the first soiree into dimensional travels. It is simply another perspective and in order to grasp it fully, imagine this particular metaphor: an ordinary deck of playing cards. Take the deck, with the cards face up and arranged in order, where the Ace is considered to be the number one, according to their individual suits. Everything in the suit of Clubs is the Earth Dimension. The world in which you live is in the range starting at the Six and going up to the Eight of Clubs. There are equally sized ranges above and beneath the Earth Dimension (please note the words ‘above’ and ‘beneath’ are not reflections of a hierarchy, simply a delineation). How many cards each sub-dimension takes up is a mystery unraveled in this series, but what can be revealed are three places, in the suit of Clubs, that will be of particular note in this first book.

Infolia is such a place.

One could call this the Realm of Dragons, but that would be presumptive and not entirely accurate. Still, it is a place ruled by Dragons. And... at the risk of sounding too much like a writing hero of mine... a word regarding Dragons:

To call them powerful creatures would be akin to describing the sun as bright. One need only look upon either to see what is blatantly obvious. They are incredibly simple creatures, making them impossibly complex in the very same instance. It is not the aim of this series to bring the motivations of Dragons into Human understanding. The passages found in these pages are your first (and probably last) Paul Revere warning. The Dragons are coming! Scratch that, they’re already here!

But I digress...

Dragons are driven by what they call their Inner Song. It is a truth they have studied to some depth, and deemed worthy of their time and attention. Dragons then dedicate their lives to the substantiation of that perspective.

One other note of import – to Dragons, anything containing even a single drop of Dragon’s blood is a Dragon. This accounts for the Dragon-Men that attend the Rookery and the Royal Line of the throne of Dragons. Once one receives that drop of blood, the recipient has access to the thoughts, feelings, and powers of the Dragon. Of course, the sharing isn’t simply one way, but again, this is one of the things to be ferreted out at a later point in time.

Then there’s the Coleegium.

Among the smaller sub-dimensions, the Collegium is a place that, when it was first named, was dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge. It’s been a few ages since then, but much of the initial passions remain, and the Collegium is the home of the Siralocs, a tribe of men who are dedicated scholars. Among their many intellectual pursuits are Alchemy and Sorcery; they are considered masters of both crafts and are capable of mind-bending feats.

Near the center of the continent is a place called Blackstone Hall wherein is contained a library that would make the best attempts of Alexandria seem paltry in comparison. The ages of man have changed the face of Earth – even the face of the Collegium – but Blackstone Hall remains untouched and, if so optioned by the Custodian, untouchable. He and the Gargoyles have complete control of the mountains where the Hall is found, as well as the knowledge contained within its walls.

Last, but by no means least, is Rúberden.

The Blood Wolf Clan is another grouping of Man that has come across great power. Though they are not scholars, per se, they are by no means brain-addled. They have taken to the pursuit of Wizardry and have become so graced with that ability that they now hunt the Dragons... effectively.

This might be somewhat confusing at first, as both Sorcery and Wizardry are expressions of Magic, but take this point into consideration. Sorcery is the art of enchanting an object, be it a quill that is made to move on its own and write a dissertation, or a statue that is suddenly animated. Wizardry doesn’t require a target object; it is the manipulation of energies that can open doors through the dimensions or channel inter-dimensional energies. A Sorcerer could enchant an existing cloud to make it start raining, but a Wizard could do the same thing on a clear and sunny day... and the range of the downpour, generally speaking, would be greater with Wizardry applied.

The Blood Wolf Clan, who took the name Sangchien, makes their home in the sub-dimension of Rúberden, a place that is guarded by the strongest of magics and also serves as a focusing point of magical energies. That might have had something to do with why the place was chosen.

Hopefully this will be of some help to you as you embrace this world. And no, it didn’t slip my notice that the other three suits went without mentioning. In time, eager traveler... all in due time!

Now the coaster is ready to go. Don’t bother trying to hang on to the bar. It’s there to keep you in your seat, nothing more. Throw up your hands, scream, and turn the page!!!

Prologue

The Prince is dead! 

The two men, emissaries of Infolia, stood in front of the large cremation oven, not wanting to believe what they were seeing. The truth, however, was a stubborn thing. It was the truth they had been sent to find, and a grim truth now stared back at them, daring them to flinch.

Uh, I’m really not sure who you guys are, the technician said as he took hold of his clipboard. "... or who exactly is in there... but according to this paperwork, there’s a female in there right now... so your prince might still be alive."

"Perhaps it would be best not to speak aloud amongst the unblooded," Ailbert suggested.

It would be a considerable exercise for me to care less about that man or his opinions, Beau grumbled, leveling his blue eyes at the technician who suddenly collapsed, falling into in a catatonic state. Rookery Lord Beauregard Montclair then looked back at the large, quiet man. I will cleanse his mind and rearrange his memories before we retire.

Of course you will, milord, Ailbert said with a slight bow. His body jingled with all of the buttons he wore on his full-length, pink linen coat that matched the baseball cap pressing down his thick red-brown hair.

You look like an utter fool in that regalia, Guardsman, Beau commented, with his old Southern accent marking the depths of his disgust. He swept his long, straight, blonde hair behind his ear and tugged gently at the jacket of his tailored blue suit. 

I am trying to look the part of a tourist, Ailbert explained, defending his ensemble. He straightened his coat and flashed a smile at the last of the Montclair family line.

You could have achieved that by simply wearing a camera! Beau shot back, his eyes squinting as he pressed his mind to try and understand the elder Dragon-Man. The reason for being in this place was trying enough. The Rookery Lord reminded himself why he had wished for the Commander of the Rookery Guard to not be assigned this particular mission. "This may not be the age to which you were born, Ailbert, but you must embrace it nonetheless.

And Ailbert... you are aware of cameras, are you not?

Ailbert Gordon quickly nodded. His large brown eyes blinked as he moved. Oh yes, milord. Very aware of them in fact!

Forgive me if I... do not take you at your word.  Beauregard sighed, looking down at the technician he had placed in a mindless state.

The picture on the clipboard was that of Isabeau Benoit, a young girl Beauregard had never met, but a person he had been charged to monitor, if only from afar. The task of direct observation of the girl had been assigned to Cortanza Antius, but the two men had already seen the body of the Guardsman – or rather, the remains of what had once been her body. The explosion must have been tremendous, but the Rookery Lord could not fathom how anyone could have placed an explosive device so close to a woman of Cortanza’s nature and ability.

We have collected all the information we can here, Beau concluded, receiving only a pressed-lip sigh from his colleague. It has become our sorry responsibility to be the bearers of very bad news.  Turning on his heels, Beau lifted his cane from the floor and took hold of it just under the handle. He gestured toward the thought-locked technician, quickly standing him up and straightening his clothes with telekinesis before wiping his immediate memory with telepathy. Thank you for your time, good sir.  The technician was still shaking his head and coming to a clear sense of mind when the door closed behind Ailbert.

*****V*****

Leslie Shubert stood at the window, gazing out into the night... staring at the city just outside her office. She lifted the cigarette to her lips, taking a long drag on the butt. The heat of the smoke and the flavor of the tobacco mixed on her tongue. She took the smoke into her lungs and held it, closing her eyes. She blew out long and slow, breathing in slightly to blow out the remainder of the smoke. Lifting the cigarette from her side, she looked at it and her eyes blinked as if she was just seeing the thing for the first time.

Therapist, heal thyself, she whispered. She chuckled, turning to crush the butt out in the ashtray. Any delusions she wanted to sell herself were quickly dismissed, looking at the amount of ash, the count of cigarette butts in the lead crystal ashtray. "Yeah, might need to schedule a session with Ishita.

No, Leslie said after a moment of reconsideration, I need someone to talk to who’s going to hold my feet to the fire. Not someone who’s looking to hook up with me. Right, and you have the nerve to say that like the feeling isn’t mutual. Leslie pictured the middle-aged Indian woman and closed her eyes as memories of their last passionate embrace moved to the forefront of her mind. She was soothed by the images of her own blonde hair and her lover’s jet black weaving in and out of impassioned knots. "God that woman’s tongue should be listed as a lethal weapon!

Focus, Leslie, she whispered. "Say what you have to say... write what you have to write... and just maybe you can get out of the way long enough to save a young man’s life.

"Taylor Andrew Prince," she thought, turning to look at her desk. Her recorder and her pad were there, stacked beside her nearly-empty drinking glass, waiting for her guiding voice and hand. Thinking of the full name of her patients often helped Leslie take control of her thoughts... and she needed to take tight hold of the reins of her mind for this patient, especially after the session that had just ended an hour ago.

I can’t keep lying to that woman, Leslie whispered, walking to her chair. "I’ve got to tell her the truth... and promptly get fired, probably reported. But hey, it’s part of the game, right?

That woman and her husband love their children, she stated. "But I can’t help thinking their love is only going to continue to lead them into making bad decisions. The PT drills were one thing... but simulated combat maneuvers?! Recovery can be tough, but I think all they’ve managed to do is make little solider-warriors out of their kids.

And who’s taken from them since they started the training? Leslie asked herself, recalling the police reports. "What happened at the park was bad enough, but it wasn’t the only incident... just the only one where the Prince Family suffered terrible losses.

Screw it! she sighed, picking up the recorder. As the red light started flashing, she flipped the pad to the page where she had started taking notes about Taylor Prince.

Session thirty-seven, she said in a dry voice. She cleared her throat and drank the last of the water in the glass. "Taylor Andrew Prince, fifteen years of age, suffering from PTSD and quite possibly developing a second personality as a coping mechanism. The only problem is that this other personality is chaotic and...

Dammit, Leslie! she hissed, throwing down the recorder. "Who the fuck do you think you’re kidding?! The kid’s got issues, sure. You don’t survive what he’s been through and come away unscathed.

But who develops a resistance to hypnosis? she asked, getting up from her seat. She massaged her left hand with her right, pacing around her office. I could’ve flipped through pages of a graphic novel the first time I put him under. But now I’m up to reaching for techniques that could get my license revoked!

Leslie continued to pace, thoughts racing through her mind, and she shook her head for a moment, trying to deny the conclusion her training brought her to making. "Unless of course it’s not a second personality.

What are you saying, Shubert? she snapped, walking over to the large window and leaning against the windowsill. You put Taylor under and something else comes forward?!

Shit, she sighed, turning to look at her desk... and the bar that was behind it. I need more than water!

Chapter 1

Taylor Prince definitely preferred the taste of Keisha’s lips over his own blood. Still, it wasn’t hard to follow how the act of kissing the girl had led to the splitting of his lip. He softly spat the red matter from his mouth as he waited, crouched low in the shadows of the locker room shower stall. He could hear the outermost door opening, the footsteps, and voices of the P.E. Class as they came in from playing volleyball. It wouldn’t be much longer.

"Cedric, Taylor thought, seeing a pudgy young man come running inside the locker room and up to his locker. He stopped at the tall, slender door and looked up, making the same old hand gestures. Yeah, it’s always thirty, fourteen, twelve, man!  It’s been that way since for two years, damn!

"Don’t know the Oriental kid, Taylor thought. I mean the Asian kid, he quickly corrected himself as he started looking over the other students entering the room. When did the word Oriental become bad anyway?  Everybody’s trying to be so damn PC all the time!  ‘No, you’re not overweight, you’re dimensionally challenged. You’re not stupid, you’re differently-minded. You’re not ugly, you simply possess a unique appearance stature’!  Shit! 

"So what do you say to a fat-ass, dumbass, ugly-ass fool? he asked himself. Welcome to the ass-trifecta?! 

"And speaking of asses..." Taylor thought as his eyes found his reason for cutting Geometry; the reason why his lip was bleeding. He smiled coldly and stood up from his crouched position, his right hand tucked slightly behind his right leg. He walked out of the shower room, moving directly to Denzel Ericson who only saw him after he had stopped walking. Taylor had his range and he definitely had his target.

Giving Denzel a rising head nod, Taylor’s smirk turned into a cold smile. "Denzel. ‘Sup?

Don’t look around for your boys, Taylor said only after Denzel looked to his left and right. They’re not here to help you... this time. They’re not even in their classes.

What do you want, Prince? Denzel asked, putting his hands on his hips. It was a typical reaction, and it was all Taylor could do to keep from cackling. Denzel was a junior, rising to the untouchable senior status in a few weeks, and Taylor was only a sophomore.

I was kinda hoping to finish our conversation... bitch! Taylor spat back, gaining the attention of all the other young men in the room. Colby Whitmore quickly silenced the ‘ooohs’ and caught the attention of three of his classmates, sending them to close the doors before any of the coaches or teachers could see what was already a showdown of serious merit. It was clear what the lunchroom gossip was going to be about today. An underclassman had posted up in the shower stalls waiting for a junior to come in after class. Colby knew Taylor; the younger boy was fast and fearless on the football field, and it was clear to many that Taylor had a very good shot at playing varsity next year. You and your boys interrupted me and Keisha this morning.

Damn, he took Keisha from you, D? asked one of the students.

Shut up! Denzel exclaimed, pushing the student away. He then came around with a wild hook. Taylor kept his smile as he took one step backward and leaned back. The fist passed in front of his face and Taylor opened his right hand slightly, allowing most of the sock to fall from his palm. He ducked down as Denzel threw another wild hook. The older boy winced in pain as three bars of new soap hammered down on his instep. He staggered back, trying to keep his feet. Taylor stood up with a backhand uppercut with his right hand. The soap bars in the bottom of the sock caught Denzel in the crotch and he was in too much pain to scream. He curled up in a fetal position, grabbing his genitals.

You want to know where your boys are? Taylor hissed as he kicked Denzel in the face. Don’t worry, when you wake up, they’ll be there with you!  Taylor lifted his hand and moved to hammer down on Denzel’s face. His wrist was caught. The strength of the grip kept the hand; the strength of the arm kept him from dropping down to the floor. With ire in his eyes, Taylor looked up into the large brown eyes of Mark Graye, another junior, a starting offensive lineman, and a person of very few words or actions.

He’s done, little man, he said calmly. You made your point and trust me, he’s not doing anything with Keisha. Can’t dance, and he damn sure ain’t tappin’ it!

"You want to let me go, white Blindside?!" Taylor warned.

You want to get a hold of yourself, Prince, Mark returned, completely unmoved by the anger in the younger student’s eyes. Fighting’s one thing. Coach Drew likes fight in his boys. But you keep going at Denzel... you could really mess him up. You said he had you three-on-one. Looks like you’re still walking. Give what you get, little man.  Taylor pulled against the grip, but it was clear he came free only because Mark had let him go. Give what you get.

Taylor wanted to swing on Mark, but at least three other boys had moved to stand behind the gigantic student-athlete. He was more than one of the best lineman in the county, respected by nearly everyone in the school. The nickname Blindside had been given to him when he played Junior-Varsity football. Though the team hadn’t gone to the playoffs, they only suffered four sacks all season, and none of them came from Graye’s side of the line. Taylor dropped the sock and backed up a step. Mark simply nodded with a soft smile on his face and moved to the side, giving Taylor free access to the door that was opening.

You boys know these doors are supposed t– Coach Alan Hemming walked into the room and looked down on the moaning and rolling Denzel. He gasped at the sight of blood coming from the young man’s face. He then saw the blood on Taylor’s face, and the fact that he was not dressed like any of the other young men in the locker room. Class had just ended and he knew of no one who could change their clothes that fast. What the hell are you doing in here?!

Having a little chat with Denzel, Taylor replied to the gasps of shock and the snickers of laughter coming from the other boys.

Alan’s hand flew, taking hold of Taylor’s shirt and easily pulling the boy close as well as up on his toes. Are you the reason why we’ve got two students with the nurse right now?!

How badly do you want to know? Taylor asked, and hands quickly covered mouths at the implication.

Why you little sh– Alan drew back his fist when Mark took hold of Taylor, partially blocking the younger student from the coach and teacher.

Let me take him to Osark’s office, Coach, Mark volunteered.

Alan Hemming looked into Taylor Prince’s eyes. "Will you get a load of this little bastard?! he thought, remembering when he had last seen such a glare. It wasn’t devoid of emotion. A person didn’t have to look hard for that at all. But there wasn’t any fear. None!  It was like looking into the eyes of some of the soldiers he had treated in Fallujah; only with their wounds there had at least been some fear of death. Taylor’s bumps and cuts appeared to be minor. Let him go, Alan. Keep your job and forget this miserable piece of shit!

Get him out of my sight, Alan commanded, releasing his hold of the boy. And take him to the front office, up to Principal Glennon. I’ll talk to Principal Osark and tell him we need to call the police.

You got it, Coach, Mark replied before putting his T-shirt back on and ushering Taylor out of the locker room.

"Nothing, Alan observed. I say the word ‘police’ and he didn’t even blink!  What the hell is wrong with that kid?!"

You lookin’ to be the next Abraham Lincoln or something? Taylor asked as the two of them walked down the corridor.

That does it! Mark said, taking hold of Taylor and lifting him from the floor. With very little effort he tossed the full weight of the boy. Taylor landed and stumbled back into the wall. Mark was quick to press and placed his hand on Taylor’s chest to keep him there. You seem to have an eye problem.

An eye problem, dog?

An eye problem, Mark repeated. You see everything in black and white.

Is that right?

That’s it exactly, Mark affirmed. And maybe in your book I ‘haven’t evolved yet’, but this is one potential human in your face telling you you’re full of shit!

So you’re quoting Farrakhan now?! Taylor exclaimed. What the hell do you know about Farrakhan?!

Not a damn thing until you told me! Mark replied sharply. He could see confusion register on Taylor’s face. Oh, you forgot I was in your History class first semester? he asked, and Taylor quickly remembered. "That’s right!  You did one of your reports on Louis Farrakhan. In fact, you did all of your reports on black people!

And before you even try to go there, I–

The Dalai Lama, Taylor interrupted, looking down before nodding. I remember. It was a good report too.

So were all of yours, Mark commented as he took a step back. Too bad you didn’t get around to Morgan Freeman though.

Why’s that?

He was interviewed by Mike Wallace. Gave the best line I’ve ever heard on Black History Month. Said he didn’t want it.

He said what?! Taylor asked, very surprised and somewhat angry.

You should look it up, Mark suggested. "It was really good!  Maybe you can watch it while you’re waiting to find out what’s going to happen to you.

And guess what else... whatever they tell you to do, you’re going to do it! Mark claimed.

Whoa, are you smoking something and not sharing?!

Not one bit! Mark replied, shaking his head as he stepped closer. He smiled as he whispered. You’re going to do whatever they tell you. And you’ll say ‘sir’ to the men and ‘ma’am’ to the women. And do you want to know why?

Yeah, I think I do want to know why!

Mark tapped his finger on Taylor’s chest. Because if you don’t and you blow your shot to play next season... this is one white boy who’s gonna be all over you in the worst kind of way!

What is your particular damage, man?!

Coach was talking about moving me over to defense, Mark explained. Didn’t think I’d like it.

But you had two sacks against Independence, Taylor recalled. How many times did Coach put you in on D?

Three, Mark answered, and Taylor’s eyebrows lifted. "We’ve got Wayne getting healthy, Shawn, Joe, and me. That makes the front four. We can stop the run and get into the backfield... and that leaves them throwing the ball. You play safety.

So, don’t get it twisted. This is not a discussion, Mark said calmly. And I won’t need two people with me. You mess this up, I’ll come at you straight, and you’ll know before I get there. It won’t be racial, but it will be prejudicial!  Now let’s get to Glennon.  Mark took hold of Taylor’s shoulder, snatching him from the wall to forcefully usher him down the corridor. They walked a few steps before Mark smiled, looking at the back of Taylor’s head. And if anything, I’m looking to be the next Teddy Roosevelt!

Chapter 2

What did he do now? Franklin Prince muttered, turning into the parking lot. So close to the end of term too. Dammit!  Looking at Olympic High School, Franklin closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. He didn’t have all the facts; it was too soon to panic. He focused on his driving as he pulled into an open slot.

Taking another calming moment, Franklin turned off the engine and got out of the car. "Listen to yourself, Frank. Throwing your own boy under the bus!  It can’t be that bad, because it isn’t that bad. It’s been rough, yeah. But who hasn’t had their share of bad patches?  You get a call from the school and you just immediately imagine the worst. You need to get a hold of yourself.

"But then again, maybe I just knew what was coming, he thought, looking at the police car and the ambulance. Is there a chance those cars are not in any way involved with my son?  Dammit, Taylor!"

Excuse me, young man, but would you mind sitting up straight? Mr. Udall asked as he gathered the scattered pages of the newspaper that had been left on the table. Taylor looked up at the man and recognized him immediately. He was a fixture at the school, a regular icon of order, manners, and all things chivalrous. Clarence Udall volunteered at the school, going from office to office in what seemed to be a tireless effort to keep the administrative face of the school neat and very tidy. It was spring now, so the long-sleeved sweaters had been put away. Still, he wore his sweater vests along with his shirt and tie. His graying hair was parted just over his right eyebrow and combed over to the left. Taylor did not like many of the administrators in the school; they were too busy trying to be paragons of authority. But when Mr. Udall explained why he always opened the doors for women, it had brought a smile to Taylor’s face. Coming to the end of his second year at Olympic High School, Taylor found that talking to Mr. Udall in the early mornings was often an engaging pastime.

Not at all, Taylor replied as he pulled himself up from his slouch. Is that today’s paper?

Yes it is.

Would you mind?  It looks like I’m going to be here a while.

I should think so, Mr. Udall said, handing Taylor the paper. Fighting again, Mr. Prince?

A necessary evil, Taylor replied as he thumbed through the pages. By the way, you should know... the poem worked. Keisha loved it.

Clarence took on an air of realization as he lifted up off his heels. He folded his arms and his blue-gray eyes squinted. But it would appear that her affections were not... readily available. Those marks on your face and body... a testament that your rival is of the more unscrupulous sort?

Taylor chuckled as he looked at the front page. I love the way you talk, Mr. Udall. But I know what unscrupulous means, so there!

I did give you a desk set with a dictionary and a thesaurus for Christmas, Mr. Udall smiled.

Indeed... and I’ve used it on more than one occasion, Taylor clarified. I had to go back and find some of the words you’ve used before.

And the third item in the desk set, the book on grammar. Might I presume that its binding is still quite fresh and unchallenged?  Taylor looked up with a stymied look on his face. You have yet to open it.

Naw... I mean, no sir. Not yet. But consider... the gauntlet received!

Not bad, Mr. Udall smiled. Needs work, mind you. But not so bad after all.  Mr. Udall looked up to see Dr. Glennon hanging up the phone. Once again the Head Principal looked overwhelmed, and Clarence thought it best for him to be out of the picture. And it would seem that our time here has come to an end.

Good day, Mr. Udall, Taylor said with a slight smile. The swelling of his lips kept it from being fully formed.

Good day to you, Mr. Prince.  The door of the counselors’ office had just closed behind the stately man when Dr. Glennon’s door was snatched open. The well-dressed and normally mild-mannered woman stepped out of her office, her brown eyes taking inventory of the immediate area.

Are your parents here yet? she asked, glaring down at Taylor.

My father should be here shortly, ma’am, Taylor replied before the newspaper was snatched from his hands. That was rude.

You haven’t seen rude yet, son! Flora Glennon barked, pointing at the troubling youth.

Taylor shook his head in disagreement. While I understand the gist of what you’re saying, I have to take exception with your statement. Snatching the newspaper was rude, so, by definition, I have definitely seen rude behavior.

Surprised by the tone and especially the diction, Flora snorted a laugh as she put her hands on her hips. Mr. Prince, do you have any idea what kind of trouble you’re in right now?

Do you? Taylor fired back.

Keep talki– the door to the office opened and Franklin entered.

Ho boy, I know that look. Have you been winning people over with your incredible charm again, son?

Hey Dad, Taylor muttered.

If I could ask both of you to come into my office, please? Flora asked abruptly, and Taylor started to move when Franklin put his hand on his son’s shoulder to keep him seated.

Stay right there, kid. Have you been checked out?  Taylor shook his head ‘no’.

"Has he been checked out?! Flora barked. Mr. Prince, do you know what you son has done today?"

From what I’ve been able to gather, I’d say it was self-defense, Franklin offered, surprising both Dr. Glennon and his son.

What?!

I am sorry for taking so long to get here, Franklin said, stepping forward and offering his hand. ... but this isn’t my first time to this show. I didn’t exactly make a bee-line from the house to here. I stopped by the Attendance Office and requested to speak with one of the students here, a certain Miss Keisha Sanderson.

And next you’re going to tell me that Ms. Sanderson had something to do with the three attacks your son initiated today?! Flora asked.

Three?! Franklin repeated, looking down at Taylor who winced as he shrugged his shoulders.

"Yes, three!  He attacked Lawrence Penkins just