Page 92 of Down and Dirty

“Hey, that’s life.”

“Do I have you to thank for the classes?”

“Me and the commander. Next month WEALS will go into half-day sessions in the classroom. We knew you’d never make it with your… background.”

“I feel so lackwitted.”

“No, don’t say that. You’re just in a new culture. Anyone would be the same. In fact, you and Sammy are in the same boat. He’s being tutored, too, but on a rudimentary level. Reading, writing, basic numbers. Even at his age, he’s aware that he’s different from other kids. He should be okay by the time school starts next semester, though, assuming he’ll be able to go to school.”

Yea, there are similarities betwixt me and the boy. Lost souls in a new land. Struggling to fit in. Not sure what the future will hold.

“Who cares for your son tonight?”

“Danny.”

“Does your brother come to help you often?”

“Actually, no. I usually don’t see him for months on end. He’s probably worried about me.”

“Because of the danger?”

He grinned. “Nah. Because having a child is crimping my social life.”

She smacked his arm for making jest with her.

“Still having the dreams?”

“Yea, but they vary now. Betimes the blood and carnage I see is from the good nuns. But, in other dreams, it is my father and brothers and their evil cohorts who lie lifeless at the hands of a band of warrior nuns, led by one particular nun.”

“Like Boudicca?”

Britta was familiar with the Celtic warrior queen, as she’d once told Mother Edwina. “In some ways, but Boudicca was not a nun.”

Zachary stiffened. “Is that nun in the dream you?”

She understood his dismay. If she saw herself in that dream, it must mean she would be returning. “Nay, ’tis not.”

He relaxed visibly.

“Still, the dreams are horrifying and confusing. And they are pulling at me.”

“Pulling?”

She nodded. “As if I could be pulled into a dream.”

“I still say that you need to talk with Madrene and Hilda. They might have insight, having traveled the same path.”

“I will… when I get a chance.”

He stood, took a big swallow from his long-necked bottle, placed it on the table, then took her hand, pulling her to her feet. “Come on, let’s dance. The music is slow now.”

“I cannot dance.”

“You were dancing with the dickhead.”

“Who?”

“Dylan.”