Page 5 of Chivalry is Not Dead

“When exactly did you die?” I avoid his gaze, feeling slightly lightheaded amid all of this new information.

“The thirty-first of October.”

Yesterday. But then⁠—

“In the year 1415.”

I need to sit down. I pivot around this six-hundred-year-old knight and plop into the chair he was previously occupying. It feels so much bigger than when he was sitting in it.

He kneels before me, and I can see it. See him in battle over six centuries ago. See him in this very position when he was knighted before the king—at least I assume that’s what happened. I’m realizing I know very little about fifteenth century knights.

“Penelope—”

“It’s Penny.”

His brow furrows. “Penelope. I can see you are distressed.”

My head tips back and I cover my eyes with my forearm. I can’t keep looking at him like this. It’s too distracting. “Of course I’m distressed,” I murmur. “You’re dead.”

“I am not. At least, not currently. Feel.” He gently brings my free hand to his, sliding our palms together. It’s erotic in a way it shouldn’t be, and he is indeed fully corporeal. “And you just did magic—I should be the least distressing thing you have seen today.”

“Magic is normal! Dead people are not.”

He slowly slides his palm away from mine, and I miss it instantly. “I am in need of your help, Penelope.”

“With what?”

That seems to startle Sanders into silence. “I—with… with dying, I suppose.”

“How am I supposed to help with that?” I finally uncover my eyes, and he’s in the exact same position I left him in. I’m desperate to know what’s under all that armor after seeing his face. So desperate, I almost miss his next words.

“You are a witch, Penelope. Surely you can break this curse.”

I bark out a laugh. “Sanders! You saw how long it took me to change your vocabulary into modern English. I’m a terrible witch—only a drop of magical blood in me, my grandmother says.”

He leans in slightly. “But you are the only witch I know. Alive, that is. And you have more power than any witch I have ever encountered.”

“You encountered witches in—where are you from?”

“Britain. Specifically Wiltshire, England.” He places a hand over his heart. “We had many witches in my time. Though they have been harder to come by as the years have gone on.”

Smacking my hands down on my legs, I give him some good news. “Thankfully, there are quite a few witches in Auraria. I’ll find you someone who is better than me. Let’s go.”

The costumes will have to wait. I need to get some fresh air and figure out what the fuck is going on.

I maneuver around his large body as best as I can, hooking my bag back over my shoulder and beelining toward the door. Sanders catches up with me surprisingly quick for someone so laden in armor.

“You will break my curse, Lady Penelope. Of that I am sure.”

Right… “This way!” I reply, a cold dread creeping up my spine at the thought of disappointing him with my magic. Disappointing myself. Again.

I don’t wait for him to follow, just start marching toward the only place I can think of that will possibly help—Madame Selene’s.

An Auraria establishment, Madame Selene’s is the oldest tarot and palm reader in the state, and probably the nation. She looks like a strong wind would blow her over, though that’s entirely a facade. In reality, she’s one tough bitch. And the most powerful witch I’ve ever met. Selene took me under her wing when my magic began to manifest itself. I spent so many nights in her jewel-toned shop, I practically lived there through my teenage years.

The familiar scent envelopes me as soon as I push through the door. A chime alerts Selene of the presence of customers, but of course she already knows it’s me.

“Penny, darling,” she drawls from behind the curtain that separates the odds and ends from her reading room. “You’ve brought a friend.”