Jesse snarled.

Sweat kept stinging her right eye, no matter how many times she blinked. A trickle ran onto her upper lip and she licked it, tasting the salt. Then her lips spread far apart again, baring her teeth locked in place, jaw muscles tightening painfully.

The girl in front of her blinked once, but quickly recovered and began to smirk once again. She had seen angry opponents before.

"Hey, Hamilton," she whispered. "I think you got something in your teeth there - oh, sorry. It's just ice, from the last time you tried to block me. Think you're gonna do better now?"

That was it, Jesse decided. I wasn't gonna get off the bench again anyway after this game. Time to make her eat that smile.

The forward's eyes widened at the sudden grin on Jesse's face, but before she had time to react, it was too late. With a cry of frustration that had been building since the first quarter, Jesse's stick swung in an awful arc. The blade was a blur as it smashed into the girl's face, continuing in its path unhindered, now accompanied by teeth, blood, and plastic.

The girl's face seemed to distend and expand in slow motion, as the rest of her body stuggled to overcome its inertia and keep up with the movement that her head was now forced to follow. Jesse's howl seemed to lower in pitch as her senses accelerated. She watched individual droplets of sweat and blood fly in various parabolas, trajectories determined by the conservation of momentum. The girl reached out a gloved hand, slowly, as if she were pushing her way through suddenly thickened air, reaching out in an attempt to break her fall against the ice. Her hair slowly rose up, eerily floating as her body fell, loose strands poking out frizzily from the braid.

Time began to speed up a bit as the faces of her opponents flashed surprise and then anger. As the forward's arm and head smacked against the ice, spraying bloody saliva and sweat, the two closest girls bore down and attacked, raising their sticks high in the air, the one on the left leaping her teammate's injured body in a rush. At least three more players behind them were beginning to react.

Watching the sticks held almost vertically in preparation for their attack, Jesse saw for an instant a position she had learned with her sword, Jodan-no-kamae. Her slow, low howl flowed into a "Yeaaaahhhhh."

Her hands slid subconciously on her handle as she skated backward, twisting and bringing the weapon up into a horizontal position, giving herself time to react. The grip of the stick shot up as she twisted her hands again, catching one girl's attack, the reactionary forces pushing Jesse's own body to the side and off the line of opposition. With a shove she pushed the girl's stick just enough to drive her attackers together, the far girl attempting to compensate to Jesse's changes in position. They were offbalance for a split second, their arms too far off line to be brought forward in time. Jesse was sliding backward and had only a thought's time to counter before they would be out of her reach, but the follow up circle with her stick was already almost complete. The blow clotheslined one girl and struck the other hard in the cheek, crushing her own stick against her and upsetting her balance enough that she could no longer resist the dead weight of her toppling ally. The two went down in a pile on the ice.

Jesse had no time to appreciate watching them fall. She was already turning to meet the next wave, having released the stick with her right hand in order to let its momentum spin her around as it continued past the two fallen girls. Only a few seconds had passed since she had started the fight, but already some of her own teammates were approaching from behind, no doubt mostly hoping to pull her down and keep her from getting permanently thrown out - although a few were frustrated enough at the progress of the game to jump in the fight, especially at seeing the opposite team advancing on her in a rush. Out in the crowd, she could distantly hear Becky yelling "Go, Jess! Yeah!" and her coach's cry of "Stop it you idiot!"

Jesse had no intention of stopping it. She wasn't even thinking any more.

In the end, it took five of her own teammates to pull her down, and some of them would be missing teeth for their efforts. Jesse's own face was smeared with her blood and one of her eyes didn't seem to be working any more. The satisfaction of seeing nine of the opposing team's girls down on the ice, sobbing and holding their injuries or just laying still and bleeding, more than made up for her discomfort. She felt her wrist snap under the pressure of the bodies above her, bent farther than it could take in the wrong direction. She smiled a bloody smile.

Dad was going to be pissed.

"What's your favorite Player?"

The Players stood beside and behind the fat white candle which crowned the mantlepiece.��Thirteen small painted pieces of cardboard, about the size of her dad's hand, supposedly painted by him years ago, although she'd never seen him paint except in school.

"I don't have a favorite, I like all of them", Heather lied.

Heather's favorite was the Glass Maiden.��Dad said that one reminded him of Heather's mother, and that was one reason.��But Heather liked the way her face was shaped, too.��The Maiden's head was tilted slightly upward, trying to catch the light with her closed eyes.��The crystal block she was trapped in made her hair seem damp and dark, but if you looked long enough, you could tell it was pale, white blonde, even paler than Heather's.��It swirled around her head in a chaotic storm.��Everything about her said she was a fighter in the middle of a battle - her armor, her muscles, her fingers searching blindly for the sword hilt just inches away.��But her face was calm and still, not worried at all.��She looked like she was dreaming about some perfectly quiet, happy place.��That was what Heather liked, her ability to be so calm in danger.��Someday I'll be like that.��I'll make my mother's spirit proud.

"What's your favorite, Sarah?"

"I like the Princess.��She's so pretty, and she looks smart too.��I bet she wouldn't put up with some stupid husband telling her what to do."

Sarah had recently become very annoyed with boys.��Holly had whispered to Heather last Saturday night that Sarah had broken up with her boyfriend, John.��Apparently, she had decided to swear off boys for good.

I bet the Princess of Dawn likes boys just fine, Heather thought. The Princess looked like one of those kind of girls.��Still, she did look very intelligent, and her hair seemed to be made of gold, shining in the dawn light.��Her mouth was open wide in song, and she was dressed fairly simply, in short, tight clothing that revealed more than was proper and suggested more besides.��The only contradiction was her feet, bare and muddy in the thick grass at the bottom of the picture.��All the Players had some strange quality that didn't seem to fit, like the Maiden's face and the bunch of daisies hidden in the Warrior's belt.

"They aren't normal, you know."��Sarah whispered this news with a sneaky look.��

Heather frowned.��"What do you mean?"

"I mean normal people don't have the Players.��Not even the Aunts and Uncles, or Grandma.��They just have the Santa Claus stuff. Millie's family never even heard of them.��They thought it was some kind of Satanic magic."

"Millie's family's retarded", Heather said absently, chewing on a strand of hair.��"What do they know about Satan anyway?"

"Nothin.��I convinced them it was a European tradition.��They think Dad's from Germany anyway, you know.��And they aren't retarded, they're just...Christian."

"Same dif."��Heather wasn't paying that much attention to the conversation anymore.��Christianity was boring, but Dad's weirdo customs were always intriguing.��Especially the ones the Aunts and Uncles didn't do.��None of them were Christian, except Norris.��They were all weirdos in some way or another.��That meant the Players were something really strange.

Heather shook her head, ignoring Sarah's rising ire.��"I don't care about Millie's family anyway.��I just can't imagine Christmas without the Players.��What do they do on the Solstice then?"

"Nothing.��They didn't even know it was the Solstice, until I told them. I guess Aunt Jennie does some stuff sometimes, but most people aren't interested.��It's just another night for them."

Heather's forhead bunched.��"So they just have Christmas then?"

"Yep.��They have this little thing called the Nativity, it's a Christian thing, with the baby Jesus in his barn..."

"That's so weird."

"Not so much.��I mean, that's what the name Christmas comes from, it's Christ's birthday.��Or at least when they celebrate it.��Aunt Jennie says it's just based on the old pagan Solstice celebration anyway, and they think maybe Jesus was born in summer or something."

"Whatever."��Heather was definitely going to have to ask about this one in her next Religion class.��Or maybe sooner, since school was out until after New Year's.��"Where's Dad?"

"Caitlin says he's out at the oak tree tonight, working on a new bat form."

Heather nodded.��He'd be back before too long, then.��She could ask him then.

"And a'course, there's the Jews.��They don't do Christmas at all, they have something called 'Hanaka', with lots of candle holders or something...I hear they get lots of presents anyways though."

Heather had never met any Jews.��"So what's 'Hanaka' for?"

"I dunno.��Some kind of being free from Egypt thing, probly.��Dad says that's the big thing to Jews, how they got freed from Egypt."

Heather made a humph sound.��"I wouldn't want to be in Egypt either.��I'd get sunburnt for sure."

"I think they were just happy not to be enslaved any more.��Makes more sense than Jesus, if you ask me."

Heather humphed again.

Caitlin closed her eyes and sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. She rarely noticed when she was chewing on her lip unless someone pointed it out to her. And this riddle was really hard.

Caitlin thought and thought, pushing her eyelids closed as hard as she could, but as always, it failed to make the answer come. Her right foot connected with the unyeilding surface of a curb, and she opened her eyes in shock, trying not to fall over. The riddle flew out of her mind as she righted herself and looked around. She was already at Gates Memorial High. Time seemed to rush by her whenever she was thinking. Or trying to think.

Caitlin hated the fact that she thought so slowly. More than anything else in the world, Caitlin wanted to be fast. Or at least faster than she was. Caitlin seemed to move, think, talk, and generally live as though she were buried in thick syrup. Every time she looked around from what she was doing she saw everyone else leaving her behind. Of course, it didn't help that her sisters were some of the fastest people around when it came to thinking and moving, but even the normal kids she went to school with were faster than her.

Between her agonizing slowness and her strange family, Caitlin always seemed to see the rest of the world through some invisible glass barrier. She could look at normal people and imagine what it might be like, but she could never enter that place and become one. Caitlin never really seemed to be a part of the group in school, and soon she was going to be graduating without having known them. Well, assuming she could pass Mr. Harding's biology exam, anyway.

Caitlin sighed and looked around at the empty schoolyard. She had learned a long time ago that the only way she could make it to school on time was to leave herself twice as long as she ought to need. Inevitably she would otherwise be distracted by something she encountered along the way, or stop to think about some problem, and end up being late. Today her attention had been occupied by the riddle book, and aside from a few episodes of clumsy stumbling brought on by her attempts at concentration, she had made it here quickly. Now she would have to stand around and wait before the doors would even be opened for her classroom.

Well, that was fine. It might give her enough time to solve this riddle. Yeah, I doubt it. There aren't enough hours in the day for a doofus like me to solve one of these riddles. Still, there was no point in giving up. Giving up never got anybody anywhere, Dad always said.

She had forgotten the wording of the puzzle, so she opened the book and looked around until she found it again. You always had to look at the exact words in a riddle, she had found. Sometimes there was a silly trick, like the way the words were spelled, and you had to look out for it.

He who uses me doesn't care... What on earth did people use without caring? And who made something they didn't want or bought something they didn't need? The whole thing was nonsense, but she had the feeling that if she thought hard enough, she could almost guess...

After about ten minutes of staring at the words, Caitlin suddenly shook herself and realized that she had been thinking about making food when she got back home. She could never seem to concentrate on the riddle long enough to get anywhere. Not that she was getting anywhere anyway.

Oh, forget it, I can't get it. Let's see...She turned to the back of the little worn textbook, where the answers to all the troublesome riddles hid.

Mmmm, let's see, what number was it again?She growled in frustration and turned back to the riddle. Thirty-seven...let's see... She ran a thick index finger down the list of answers and came to number thirty seven. A coffin. A coffin? Oh wait...suddenly, as they always did when you knew the answer, the riddle seemed obvious.

Damn! I'm so damn...stupid! Caitlin let out a long breath, trying to calm down. She always had a good hold on her temper, but trying to get smarter was so difficult. Holly had mastered the riddle book in about a week, and Jenni hadn't even bothered to read it.

It's not fair! I try so hard and they have it so easy... She forced herself to breathe slowly again. We're all strong in our own way, she thought. It always helped to say something like Dad would say at times like this. Reading this stupid book is the only way I'll get any better at this stuff. I just have to be patient.

Well, that was her. Patient and slow. Good old Caitlin, her sisters called her, because she was dependable. Like a rock. A big, slow, stupid rock.

Alright, enough of that. It's not worth crying over. Let's try the next riddle.

Ca-chank!The front door of the school opened noisily to the janitor's key. Mr. Mansfield pushed the door all the way open and waved at her familiarly. This was not her first time being early for school.

"Good morning, Caitlin! Beautiful day, isn't it?" His voice rang all around the schoolyard.

Caitlin smiled. Mr. Mansfield always thought it was a beautiful day. He also always acted very happy to see her, which most people didn't do. She envied him his simple existence, pushing big fuzzy brooms and mops and wiping windows. He always seemed to enjoy his job tremendously and had been doing it, according to Mrs. Larson, "forever".

"Good morning, Mr. Mansfield. Yes, it is a beautiful day." Caitlin began walking toward the large, red double doors of the brick schoolhouse.

"Come early to see me again, have ye?" Mr. Mansfield said with a grin. His leathery skin was stretched into a strange battle between wrinkles. His moustache and hair were both equally frizzy and white, and his blue coveralls were worn and patched but, generally, clean. His back was stooped a bit and he had to be over eighty years old.

Caitlin laughed nervously. She never knew what to do when someone complimented her. At least Mr. Mansfield had never tried to kiss her, like Tommy Perkins. Tommy had false teeth in front now, and his jaw didn't quite work right, so he sounded and looked strange when he talked. He was always polite to Caitlin now. The control over her temper had limits.

"Well, you've had your look. I got to be gettin back to work. School don't clean itself, you know."

"I know, Mr. Mansfield," Caitlin said. She reached the bottom of the cement steps that led to the doors and began to climb, one step at a time, as the janitor propped the door open and retreated back inside to his cleaning solutions and dustbins.

Caitlin had made it about half way up the stairs when she heard a car pull in at the curb behind her. She turned and saw her friend Amelia getting out of a red Volkswagon Jetta that was so new and shiny that it had to have been polished the day before.

"Hey Caitlin!", Amelia called to her, waving. Caitlin reversed her direction and began striding back down the steps to the car.

"Nice car, Ame," she said somewhat dishonestly. Caitlin thought that red was a stupid color for a car to be, and anyway she liked trucks better.

"Oh, thanks! I think it's so cool. It's my graduation present early from Daddie. He says hi."

Caitlin smiled, barely. She didn't understand why Amelia called her father Daddie, and she didn't like him much, but there was no need to hurt anyone's feelings. Caitlin didn't even know if her dad was going to get her anything for graduation. He seemed to be of the opinion that getting to leave school was the greatest present a girl could have, and Caitlin agreed. Amelia's father always seemed to give Amelia anything she wanted though. Their family was what dad called "softies", but Caitlin got along with Amelia anyway. Sometimes, dad said, you got along with people for no good reason at all, and that was just the way things worked.

Caitlin almost asked Amelia for the hundredth time why she drove to school when she only lived a mile away, but instead she decided just in time to say something more polite and less familiar. "So, why are you here so early?"

"Didn't you hear? Oh God, Cat, you're so out of it. Tim Evans and Johnny Sparc are going to fight on the basketball court in ten minutes, before any of the teachers get here. Everyone's coming early."

Oh, Caitlin thought. As usual she was the last to know something. She wasn't particularly interested in watching two football players slugging it out, but Amelia seemed to think it was the greatest thing that had happened in years. As soon as Caitlin got close enough, Amelia grabbed her hand and began to pull her toward the impending arena. Caitlin could easily have resisted if she had a good reason, but there really was nothing else to do except bang her head against the little riddle book. At least this way she would be doing something the others were doing. She wished it was someone who really knew how to fight, though. It was pretty unlikely she'd learn anything interesting from these two.

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