CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

 

 

 
Naptown Red was quite specific in his task for Garlan. He needed to disappear Lady G, King's woman, but not harm her. Leave her in a place where she could be easily found. Not one of those megalomaniac types, those control freaks who believed in only telling folks as much as they needed to know, Red had a different philosophy. The way he believed, the better you understood why you did things, the less you questioned them. Or him. He was on their side, after all. The object was to distract King, knock him off his game. Let him know that he or his people could be got at any time. Naptown Red wanted that knowledge playing in King's mind. Like a game of chess, it was about misdirection and getting in people's heads.

  Garlan pulled into Breton Court in his Impala, a mint-green whip more boat than car. He sank into its driver's seat in a lean so fierce his eyes were barely visible above the dashboard. Early Sunday morning was the most peaceful time in any neighborhood. All the fiends, gangstas, hood rats, playas, and freaks had done called it a night. All the church-going folk popped their heads out, like rabbits on a savannah plain, unburrowing themselves to venture out. He waited for the large woman to leave the crib, a blackfaced little boy in tow. Everyone knew where King stayed. Like it was his throne in a court, guarded by the power of his name. Just like folks knew Lady G stayed across the way. She deserved what she got, playing hooky from church and all.

  Garlan twisted his ring. When he peered into the rearview mirror, nothing reflected back from the seat where he should have been. His sense of self was completely annihilated and no one noticed. Complete eradication, gone with no one caring about his absence. He was capable of doing anything and going anywhere. Some days he went places and just listened. His duties slipped, though he wondered if anyone knew. Of course he went to the high school gym to hang out in the girls' locker. Grabbing some tit and pinching some ass. Whacked off more than a few times. Loath as he was to admit it, pussy became boring. Surrounded by it, but no one knew he was there. He didn't exist to them. He didn't matter. They'd never hold him. Laugh at his jokes. Spend time with him. Do his hair. Make him a sandwich. Suck his dick. Nothing. He didn't matter to any of them. He didn't exist. He was a ghost intruding on their lives. Not even an intrusion, just a ghost. One time he twisted his ring to appear among them. They scattered in squeals, a hail of "get out" and "what the fuck?" Running out, he didn't care. He just wanted to matter. To be seen.

  Other days he listened to his men. How they talked about him. Their ambitions. The ruminations on the minutiae of their lives. Pussy. Cars. Pussy. Sports teams. Pussy. Music. Pussy. Money. Pussy. Speakers. Pussy. That was all of life to them. And he'd appear, make sure they were on point, but his mind was no longer on his work. He had disappointed. A blank spot where a person should be. A lifetime of learned shames reducing him to what he already believed himself to be. Nothing. And nothing could do anything.

  Creeping out the car, he made his way to the back patio. The rear wall was no obstacle. It wasn't too many years ago he used to run along the patio walls just like these, chasing his friends and playing tag. Running and jumping from them for the sheer exhilaration of being alive. Part of the thrill was watching those drawn to their upstairs windows by the nearby racket and seeing knucklehead children dash past at nearly eye level. Right now, anyone peeking out their window would only see their patio. Nothing special or out of the ordinary. Nobody important.

  All of the condos had the same set-up, either a back window which led into a kitchen or a sliding back patio door. This place had the sliding door. Thing was, few of them latched properly. A few years of use and kids slamming them too hard either knocked them off their tracks or knocked the latch too far in to catch properly. Most owners of such doors had a security bar which acted as a lock. Those security bars cost money, about a week's worth of groceries, and the needs of an empty belly were always more pressing than the possibility of a bogeyman breaking in. Most made do with a stretch of fitted broom handle popped into place. No cost, same function. Thing was, there was a little-known workaround to the broom-handle lock: a swift, strong kick could usually displace it.

  As was the case here.

  Garlan slipped in. Though no more than a couch, a love seat, and a couple of chairs around a coffee table, all centered around a television, the room had a warmth to it. The furniture was well worn but not ratty. Care was taken in their arrangement, in the placement of knick-knacks and photos. The room had been cleaned, things put away, except for some scattered toys in the corner, but even those added a sense of life to the space. The room exuded family.

  A telltale squeak gave him away as he stepped on the first step of the stairs. Frozen, he waited to see if anyone stirred from bed. He pressed himself to the wall and spider-slinked up the stairs.

  Feigning sickness, Lady G had stayed home. Solitude, a chance to think and sort things out in peace was what she required. Propped up by pillows, she colored, as Rhianna had convinced her would help clear her mind. Not quite ready to get out of bed, Lady G drew a picture of a church in her book. She scorched its doorway with streaks of brown and black, traced a crack down its windows, and canted the cross hanging above its archway until the building resembled the abandoned church where they first convened their little circle. When it was just them, the core, before things got so big and drifted from what she thought they would do and be. To her, it would always be their special place. The place where the magic happened. When they believed nothing could get in their way.

  The crayon ceased its scribbling in mid-scratch. Some primitive part of her brain alerted her with a prey's warning. Nothing she could point to, not unlike sensing the footfalls of a cat padding across carpet. Merely the nearness of another. Considering the racket made when she came home filled with the Holy Ghost, Big Momma and Had were still at church.

  "Who's there?" Lady G asked the air. Suddenly too conscious of how her braless breasts hung through the thin material of her T-shirt, she drew up the bed sheets. The familiar click of a gun being cocked paralyzed her. Cold metal pressed against her temple.

  The idea of being known, of being revealed while so carefully hidden intrigued Garlan. "How'd you know I was here?"

  "I just knew is all. Just have to pay attention to what's going on around you." Lady G closed her eyes and took a deliberate breath. She wondered what her death would feel like. A sharp pain as the bullet exploded from its chamber and slammed into her skull. If she'd hear the splintering of bone and the shattering of her skull. If she'd feel the bullet tunnel through the soft, great pulp of her brain. What the sensations of life being extinguished would be. If she'd see a bright light or fade into the darkness of eternal sleep. She prayed the end would be quick.

  "You scared right now?" Garlan withdrew the pistol from her skin.

  "Make you feel good knowing I was?" The bravado of her words couldn't hide the shake in her voice. It wasn't the first time a gun had been pointed at her, but it wasn't an experience she longed to repeat.

  "Heh. Come on, we need to go somewhere."

  "I ain't going nowhere with you."

  Garlan jabbed the gun at her head again. "See, you thought that was a request."

  "Can I get dressed?"

  "Go head."

  Lady G backed across the other side of the bed. Piles of jeans stacked at her feet. "You looking?"

  "You want me to lie to you?"

  Lady G turned her back to the direction of the voice. She pulled the top pair of jeans up quickly, doing a bit of a bounce to get her full behind into them. She thought about how best to maneuver into a bra. A hand brushed the side of her breast. Not caring about his gun, not being able to see it anyway, Lady G lashed out, shoving at the area the intrusion came from.

  "Hands off the temple."

  Garlan slapped her with an open hand which she could neither see nor defend herself against and sent her sprawling into the standalone lamp. The bulb flashed with a lightning burst and went out.

  "Girl, have you lost your Goddamned mind?"

  "You gonna kill me, do it now. But you ain't get to just touch me any which way."

  "Come on. Let's go."

  Lady G grabbed a sweater and a jacket. "Where we going?"

  Where were they going? Garlan hadn't thought that far ahead. Lady G's colored page caught his eye. "I know a place."

 

The sky charged with a dull luminescence. Threatening clouds like glaring corner boys. Assuring them that he knew how to find Colvin, Merle led the group to the bus stop in front of the church. An Indy Metro idled at the stop. Though it was five o'clock in the morning, the bus was still driverless. What few passengers that waited at the stop behaved as if they didn't notice it. Or them. The six of them boarded the bus. None of the bus stop throng gave them a first glance, much less a second.

  "There are people all around us," King whispered. "What's up?"

  "Relax and act natural," Merle said.

  "I don't get it," Rok said, "there ain't nobody fixin' to drive this mug."

  "They won't have to. No one living travels these lines," Dred said.

  "Do what?"

  "These rides ain't for the living," Dred repeated. "Didn't you notice the people? They seemed more concerned about their own affairs than anything we were up to."

  "So?"

  "These are the dead lines. The ghost lines of the Metro Buses. Those in the know can simply board them and travel along the unlit paths. You sure you know what you doing, old man?"

  "I got this," Merle said.

  "The toll's yours to pay, then."

  "Where are we going?" King asked Merle.

  "When the bus stops, we've arrived."

  The city landscape passed in gray and brown blurs. Through the bus windows, the city took on an alien aspect. The buildings canted at odd angles, the geometry of the city bent by shadows. Though they passed though areas of the city they knew intimately, the landscape was as unfamiliar as the moon's surface. For nearly an hour they rumbled along 38th Street, occasionally stopping to take on and drop off passengers while the night held its grip.

  The door of the bus sighed shut. Still with no driver, the bus slowly shifted into gear. Rellik never considered himself a pessimistic individual. Life was darkness, so his history had taught him. All pain, loss, and death. And he had walked so long in its darkness, the light had to appeal to him, if he could believe in it at all.

  King hated quiet moments, to be trapped with his thoughts. Unasked, they drifted to Lady G and his feelings for her; to Prez and how he failed him and looked for redemption for them both; to his vision for his mission and how things seemed to drift. Instead, he focused on the task ahead: how best to deploy the men, guessing what Colvin might do, how to turn the situation to his advantage. His life had been reduced to the next problem, the next mission, the next tussle. With dawning realization, he smiled, a rueful grin. He wasn't living, he was distracted. Adventure, busyness, was his drug of choice. Better the problems of his neighborhood than to wrestle with the issues in his own life. How long had it been since he'd seen his little girl, Nakia? Just thinking her name, he couldn't help but think that he was his father's son. Running the streets rather than being there for his child. His friendships with Lott and Wayne. He loved them, but they hadn't hung out, just hung out, in ages. He wondered if they saw his leadership as him treating them as equals or as servants to be ordered about. And he felt strange going off into a battle without them.

  And then there was Lady G.

  Theirs was a complicated mess of a relationship. But when didn't he have a complicated mess of a relationship? If he'd ever had a normal one, he couldn't recall it. Things had to be sorted out. And her him. But was it enough? Was it healthy? Was it the best for each of them? This was why he hated quiet moments.

  "Something on your mind?" Dred asked him. "You look… distracted."

  "Just thinking about Colvin."

  "And what you're prepared to do in case he don't see the light of your wise ways?"

  The bus turned up High School Road, passing what they knew to be Breton Court, though none dared glance at what they called home through the tainted glass of death. High School Road stopped at 56th Street, the bus swung left then slowed to a halt in front of the entrance of Eagle Creek Park. With a nod, Merle led them from the bus. Its gears groaned and the bus sighed as it pulled away, scurrying away before the light of the rising sun.

  An early morning mist settled along the woods, creeping along the forest floor with a cold dampness that seeped into the bones, ached joints, and sapped strength. The woods took on a life of their own. Tree limbs like gnarled hands raised in praise against the night sky. Light pollution drained the velvety pallor from the blanket of night, leaving it a tepid gray-blue curtain. The moon baked to a warm orange glow. Again King wished Wayne was by his side as he was at his best at this time. Although he relished the adventure of the situation, King's face remained solemn as duty and his shoulders weighted by obligation. They marched in an insolent stroll.

  The sounds of crickets and tree frogs and other things moved in the night. Countless creatures populated the woods. Deer. Badgers. Foxes. Owls. Coyote. Snakes. All manner of predators and prey. The Eagle Creek Reservoir had suffered a series of algae blooms during the summer. They'd gotten so bad, it had affected the drinking water. The chemicals that the Department of Environmental Management dumped in to treat the problem did nothing to kill the taste. To Rellik, it tasted of seaweed. And reminded him of hair greenish with algae. Rellik hadn't visited Eagle Creek Park in well over 20 years, but even then he'd had to relearn the paths each trip. The trees had a way of shifting. "What's the plan?" Dred asked. He measured each man with his steady gaze. Merle shifted with an antsy energy as if searching for a missing friend. Rellik had his brother's beefy mien, ready to rumble into whatever. Rok was the least prepared,

a squire among wolves. Dred challenged and dared with each word. He followed only so long as King's interests matched his own. Baylon worried him. He certainly didn't want to depend on him. All of them looked to him as if that were the natural order. "We go in. We take him down."

  "That ain't much of a plan." Dred always pushed him, always questioned and cut him no slack.

  "I want to try to talk to him first. Give him a chance to back down."

  "Out to save him?" Dred asked.

  "Give him an opportunity," King said. "Merle and Dred hang back a bit in case some weirdness goes down. Rellik, you and Rok with me. Baylon, keep out of sight in case we have any surprises."

  "Sounds better."

  "Didn't know you wanted the details."

  King's smirk collapsed into a scowl as he spied the flashes of green light. The pale glimmer from a small hill unsettled him. It turned his stomach, an offense to the surrounding nature. The woods took on an alien quality in the luminescence, a ruin of forest circling the clearing. The trees gnarled, burnished gray like aged stone with an unpleasant quality. Their outlines grotesque, limbs bent at odd angles. Sweat cooled on his forehead. His heart thundered in a measured pace. As if the anticipation of combat calmed him. Tendrils pushed in at the edge of his mind, threatened to worm their way into his thoughts.

  All sound ceased except for the sound of their own footsteps as they crunched along the dead leaves piled along the ground, a thick carpet of brown that crunched under heavy footfalls.

  "Come on in." Colvin barely took notice as he met them, their faces grim and alert.

  The excitement in his eyes wouldn't hesitate to squeeze a trigger and spray his brains along the tree line. They stepped into the clearing. "Something you want to say to me?" The muscles of Colvin's wiry frame nearly danced as he moved. His tan-brown skin, like calf's hide, made King's appear darker in contrast.

  "This is madness. Come on now. You out here on your own. When was the last time you saw folks united? We poised to make a real difference." More of a gauntlet thrown rather than a statement. They glared at one another in established enmity. King's heart saddened that things had to come to this. But it was what it was. King was still somewhat self-conscious of the broadness of his nose and the deepness of his cheekbones. The twists of his hair jutted skyward in defiance, the sides and back of his head freshly shaven. His physique boasted a brawn now tested with regularity in the streets. He got real serious behind shit like that.

  "That the thing: the only difference I aim to make is to my wallet."

  Something about the set-up wasn't right. Rok couldn't remember if he'd ever been surrounded by so much green. He lived in a concrete world. The trees loomed taller and thickened, engorged on the foul emanations. They crowded against them. The muscles along Rok's stomach tightened and cramped. His mouth went dry. His palms slickened with sweat. Men like him, the kind of men he imagined himself to be, never carried fear like this. Their veins pumped ice. Their hearts didn't pound so hard their throats ached. He couldn't remember the last time he had a drink or took a leak, but needed to rectify both scenarios soon.

  "King?" Merle was the first to sense it.

  Dred sniffed the air as if catching a scent which disturbed him. He backed a few steps away from the circle, wary and on edge. Picking up on the tenseness coming from them, Rellik and Rok flanked King. They scanned the trees, not certain what they were watching for.

  Colvin gestured with his fingers. Furtive movements somewhere between flashing gang signals and issuing sign language. His lips moved though King heard no words.

  A green crackle of energy flared to life, a single flame suspended in the air above Colvin. The woods glowed as a few more flickered to life, emerald sparks which danced in an unfelt breeze. The flames mesmerized them, their breath half-held knowing they signaled only the beginning. The flames lengthened, trailing down, four strands of flame in the clearing. The light intensified, a flood of light bathed them. King visored his hand above his eyes, too late realizing that he couldn't see beyond the periphery of the light.

  "King!" Merle yelled.

  Shadows moved between the trees, advancing on them. Their sizes varied slightly, no more than a head's difference among the lot of them. Nearly a dozen of those they could see. A score of red eyes dotted the night and closed in on them.

 

Lott's mind raced with dark possibilities. Life had a way of jumping off in a variety of ways. There were so many ways for pain to intrude upon them. Robberies. Beatings. Rape. Death. Try as he might to focus on the task at hand, the possibilities for brutality drove him to distraction. Big Momma let him in and got out of his way as he bounded up the stairs. He surveyed Lady G's room. They already knew the police wouldn't have done anything. Not even Cantrell. To their minds, a teen – a homeless teen at that – threw a fit and ran off. They'd be lucky if a pen even found its way to a report. Yet Lott's next instinct was to call King, but he hesitated and wasn't sure why. Maybe he was too proud to ask for help. Maybe he wanted to be the hero. Lady G's hero. Shaking himself, he made the call anyway. A small part of him was relieved when the call again went to voicemail. Again he left a message. It was now firmly on record that he tried. The mind had a way of shaping circumstances it wanted to happen, as if he could will his desires onto life. Still, he was no detective and had few resources to speak of. He prayed that whatever Providence guided him would lead him to her. Examining the bed – no struggle, no scent of anything beyond hers… and he lingered at her smell – he spied the drawing. It was a hunch, a wild hope more than anything else, but he had nothing else to go on.

  Lott hated walking up High School Road. A couple years back, he was minding his own business on a Saturday night when a group of teenage boys slowed down and hit him with a cup full of Mountain Dew from Taco Bell. Random white punks out doing random hateful shit, though it was dark enough out that they might not have known he was black. Every time he took to the sidewalk, the same edgy anticipation swept over him.

  He hadn't eaten at Taco Bell since, either.

  The church didn't appear disturbed. The boards remained intact. Cracks filigreed the near yellow walls. Scorch marks seared the outlines of doors and windows. A few more gang tags marked it: a spray-painted cross with a six-pointed star on it and two swords crossed behind it; a heart with devil's horns coming out of its lobes; a pair of dice, one with a two facing, the other with a six. Around back, planks of wood, water-damaged furniture, and bits of ruined dry wall filled a dumpster. A stretch of plywood had been pulled from the rear door. Steeped in shadows, the narthex devoured the wan light let in by the loosed board. Upon it falling back into place, the darkness reigned unabated. The room took on a sinister cast, as if befouled by an unwanted presence. Lott crept forward, his feet almost sliding along the granite floor layered in ash. A fine-ground debris. He turned into the main sanctuary. Slits of light filtered through some of the uncovered stain glass windows hear the top of the room. He marveled that no one had hurled rocks to shatter them. The thin light cast the room in gray murk. A couple of columns, more decorative than load-bearing, had fallen on one another.

  Lady G stood next to one of the untoppled columns. Just standing there, not tied up, but with the awkward stance of someone under duress.

  "That's far enough," a voice yelled from nowhere.

 

Colvin wasn't plugged into a network, his ego obscuring the reality of his situation. His ambitions drove him to become a player, but he was too independent with no one watching his back. He'd always been that way. It was one of the reasons Omarosa chose to hit him. No trap car, traveling in thin traffic, Broyn was easy pickings. Colvin's entire operation was sloppy, amateurish. It was beneath who they were and he needed to be taken down a peg.

  From her tree-perch vantage point, she watched the final act play out. She had been following Colvin since his rash raid on Rellik. Of all the feelings she could have had, after all he'd done, she still managed to feel sorry for him. He was her brother after all. She knew him, his ways, his weaknesses. Most times she couldn't be around him, not when he raged like this. Simple, brutal, and haphazard, he didn't think, only lashed out in his pain and anger. There were times when he had to bear the consequences of his actions, and she pulled away from him.

  But he was still her brother.

 

A few of the tiny creatures stepped into view. Necklace of teeth. Painted bellies. Iron boots. Bracelets of sharpened edges of iron left burn marks where they rubbed against their wrist. Their caps varying shades of red. And they looked hungry.

  To Rok's eyes they were half-naked midgets, more ridiculous than terrifying, and he choked back a snicker. Raising their legs like baseball pitchers, the tiny bulbous bodies tilted back as they sent another volley of elf arrows at them. Something whirred past his ear. Rok jerked his head to the side. It impacted against the tree like buckshot. Rellik and Rok opened fire immediately, not certain what their targets were. King took point, his Caliburn drawn but not firing. Dred began to chant to himself, his fingers locking, adjusting their configurations, then locking again. Baylon circled the periphery just outside the light of the hillside clearing. King, Rok, and Rellik took cover behind trees. They returned fire as best they could, pinned down by the advancing horde. Distracted.

  "What the fuck are these ninja dwarfs?" Rok cried out.

  "Red Caps. Feared among the fey folks." Merle squat lower against a tree. He leaned over to shout, but elf arrows ricocheted passed his exposed face and he withdrew. "Think of them as less personable pit bulls. With opposable thumbs."

  Rok's tree wasn't wide enough to provide much cover. He took careful aim at the nearest Red Caps shooting at him. Swallowing hard, he fired a few rounds. He was pretty sure he hit one, but the creature seemed to shrug off the wound. He concentrated on shooting back at them, he didn't notice the earth rippling toward him.

  The ground surged at their feet. All around them, the thin layer of leaves erupted. Hands clutched at them, like a horde of vengeful demons upon them. Soil sprayed in all directions, a cloud of earthen shrapnel. Bodies pressed against his, dragging them to the ground. Red Caps burst out of the ground.

  Rellik remained quiet. The fey assassins rose up, a rising tide of hands he let wash over him before he began firing. His bullets wouldn't be as effective far away against their tough hide, he knew, but up close, it wasn't as if they were invulnerable. Fending off gnashing maws, he trained his gun on their skulls and squeezed the trigger. A tiny head exploded, spraying the remains of its face across that of its brother faeries. Claws scraped against his back as he scrabbled out of their grasp and fired.

  "Why are you doing this?" King pressed his back to the tree, but leaned around to shout at Colvin.

  "Fortune favors the bold."

  King expected something along the lines of Colvin wanting to draw out his enemies, maybe testing the resolve of the fragile and tentative coalition. A young un bucking to prove himself. Little of that seemed to be in play. Colvin simply did because he had to. Because he didn't know any better. He dreamed big but didn't have the patience and didn't want to put in the work required. He wanted what he wanted. Now. Damn the consequences. Without thought, King's hand reached for his Caliburn. The action felt right and natural, the situation just and warranted.

  Colvin chanted to himself and the air shimmered. A green seam appeared, a surgical scar opening up as another half-dozen Red Caps poured out.

  "Can you do something about that?" King shouted.

  "We're on it." Merle turned and tripped over a branch. Remembering that he hated the woods, especially his fear of snakes, he scrambled out the way of charging Red Caps.

  His gaze flicked from side to side.

  "Cut off the head and the body dies." Dred questioned the strength of King's resolve.

  Panic rose in Rok and settled on him, freezing his legs as he fired wildly. The arms grappled about him. Tiny hands fastened about his ankles. Rok fired at the ground. An explosion of pain ripped across him as an elf arrow glanced against his ribcage. At the searing pain, he dropped his gun to clutch his ribs. More hands appeared, tugging at him like a furious riptide of flesh. As he toppled to the ground, a Red Cap leapt on his back. A feral gleam in its eye, it revealed its shark-like teeth and tore into Rok's neck. The creature bore down in a grim trajectory through muscle and ricocheted off bone, through his carotid artery, channeling through his neck, a cloud of arterial spray spurted.

  "Mama!" the boy cried out, then fell still.

 

Scarlet streaks splattered across Rellik's face. Pain drummed behind his eyes in tune with his ragged heartbeat. A talon grazed his temple as pain arced across his skull. Staggering back a few steps, a Red Cap leapt upon him. Teeth tore eagerly into the soft meat of his upper arm. The creature chewed with relish, then bellowed as bullets from the Caliburn ripped through it. Ignoring the pain in his arm, a murderous glint of rage in his eyes, Rellik's balled fist pummeled the sneer from another creature's face. He pivoted to strike another, the bones of its neck snapped in his grasp. Three more pounced on him. Razor-sharp claws drove down toward his snarling face. Drops of spit flew from his mouth as he struggled against the creature.

  Surveying the scene, Colvin grinned with a smile devoid of mirth.

 

There was a time when Lott didn't particularly care for Lady G. They had found themselves at Outreach Inc. at about the same time. Outreach was beginning its flirtation with the idea of using arts to have the kids express themselves. Lott entered the room, baggy pair of blue jeans whose cuffs dragged along the ground, white T-shirt, a set of gold grillz, and a light blue hoodie thrown up to cover the earphones plugged in. His head bobbed ever so slightly, his fingers tapped out percussive notes in the air as he let words come to him. Lady G and Rhianna couldn't content themselves with their drawing or inane chatter, nor could they pass up a boy at peace. They threw wadded-up paper at him, driving him to such distraction, he ended up jumping out of his seat, cussing at them then storming off. The girls giggled in delight. Luckily, Wayne was there to smooth things over. It was one of the first times Wayne had really spoken to him. Eventually, he had the three of them sit down and do a poetry exercise. Lady G read a piece about fires and mothers which caused Lott to soften towards her, though he did make fun of her word skills. All it took was seeing her in a new light.

  "You OK?" Lott asked Lady G.

  "I'm fine. Lott, he got a gun."

  "Who does?"

  "Me," the voice said from the air.

  It was near enough for Lott to whir about. He stared in the direction of the sound. "What you want?"

  "Where's King?" The voice had the slightest of southern drawls. Probably from Kentucky originally.

  "He ain't here."

  "I thought he'd be the one to come. She not important enough for him?"

  "She…" Lott preferred to not think about her and King. Compartmentalizing his thoughts and feelings no matter the circumstance had become reflex. "No one can get through to him. You got me instead."

  "That ain't the way this was supposed to go down."

  "So what you want?" Lott backed up a few steps, beginning to circle around, triangulating on the sound of the boy's voice.

  "Let me think." Garlan hoped his voice didn't sound weak. He hadn't been told what to do in the event King didn't show. Maybe this was distraction enough to see the other half of his money. He needed to make sure a clear message had been sent.

  "Lott!" Lady G cried out.

  Her scream pierced his heart. His attention immediately went to her, all of his fighting instincts focused on protecting her. A board broke over his back. Its force drove him to his knees. Lott wasn't one for chess-like maneuverings. For him, the best path was the straight line. Even if that meant going through someone. Lott stretched out his arms in a sweeping tackle, not knowing when or if he'd hit his target. He smacked into someone after only a few steps into his charge.

  "What the–?"

  Lott wrapped his arms low around Garlan, digging his fingers into his back as if a more secure purchase made him real. Garlan threw a flurry of punches. Lott stepped in closer. Covered up as best he could, his head ducked from side to side. He took the punches with no more than a grimace. Flexing his jaw, a fresh wave of pain jammed needles into his brain. The pain was there, but the boy had no steel behind them. He didn't know how to throw punches well though he could land them with abandon. The volley of blows caused Lott to release his grip on him. He raised his fists, prepared for another assault. Holding his ground proved difficult. The fine layer of dust and ash mixed on the floor left little traction to be found.

  The ash smeared in a spot. The impression of a shoe. As if the weight had shifted to another foot. An impression formed and then another in rapid succession. Garlan circled him, preparing to launch another attack from a different vantage point. Lott gave no indication that he knew from which direction Garlan chose to come at him, his gaze firmly affixed on the dirt of the floor.

  Lott charged him again, receiving a few blows thrown while off balance which bounced off his shoulders and back. The punches to the side were more swats than anything with power. Lott jabbed into the boy's gut. Garlan growled and launched himself at him then snapped his head up to catch the underside of Lott's jaw with his skull. He slammed through Lott's defensive stance. His eyes watered, Garlan staggered back and knocked over the round spindle the group of friends had once used as a table. Breathing hard, he could taste blood on the inside of his lip.

  The tension left his body.

  "We done?" Lott asked.

  "We done."

  "You mind telling me what this was all about?"

  "Just a job. Nothing personal."

  "Who hired you?"

  Silence was his only answer followed by the sounds of retreating footfalls scooting across the floor in rapid succession.

  "This was weird," Lady G said. "It was like watching you wrestle with yourself. Like you was wrestling your imaginary friend."

  "Who you tellin'? Let's get you home." Lott allowed himself a moment just to take her all in. Without make-up, without a brush run through her hair, without clothes carefully coordinated, she was still the most beautiful person he'd ever known.

  "Not just yet. Can we just… go somewhere?"

  "Need to walk it off? Come down from the adrenaline rush."

  He took her hand and she rested her weary head on him.

 

"Let's end this," King yelled. His Caliburn in hand, he ran toward Colvin. With each squeeze of his trigger, a Red Cap exploded, hit dead center or in the head. The gun was an extension of him; he didn't have to think or aim, he wielded it with the skill born of years of use. He cut a swath heading directly to Colvin. A tide of people lunged at him. Hurling Red Caps leapt like surprised children, their lashing claws swiped at the air.

  The mad half-fey gestured furiously, his hand danced about. The occasional green gleam sparked, but dissipated as if shorted out. King strode toward him with furious intent. Colvin locked eyes on him, so focused he did not hear the click of a blade springing to life behind him.

  Baylon fought for his throat, but Colvin twisted out of the way at the last instant. Not to be denied his opportunity, Baylon arced the blade again and buried the knife up to its hilt into the fey's belly. He turned the blade then drove it up, spilling his insides. Eyes splayed open in shock, his mouth agape as if pain was an entirely new sensation which caught him short, Colvin dropped to his knees.

  "No!" King said.

  Merle stumbled toward them, his coat wrapped around him. Bloodied and battered, Rellik approached but remained off to the side. Dred sidled alongside him. King knelt next to Colvin. A trickle of blood curled on his lips.

  "It didn't have to be this way," King said.

  The rays of the rising sun spread like a bloodstain of a crime scene photo across the sky. The melody came to her heart like an ancient memory. A mournful dirge of the fallen, the loss of family, the breaking of the circle, the song rooted almost all of them to their spot. At her approach, Baylon slinked off. He didn't escape her notice, but her anger could wait. It would have been one thing to die at the hands of the Pendragon, but at the hands of an ignoble knight? It was an insult to the memory of the fey. The men parted as she neared. Dred moved toward her, but Rellik put out an arm to stop him. She joined King, kneeling alongside him before cradling the body of her brother. She stroked his beautiful face, lifted him with ease, and stalked off into the morning.

  It was said that when the angels fell, the ones who fell on land became faeries and the ones who fell into the sea became selkies. She returned to the lake.

  Rellik surveyed the damage. Rok's still form rent to shreds, barely recognizable as human. The bodies of the Red Caps turned to ash without Colvin's vitality to sustain them, leaving no evidence of their time on this plane.

  "I'm not going back, King," Rellik said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I'm out. I'm done."

  King returned his Caliburn to his waistband. "What does that mean?"

  "The game done changed. This here's for you young bloods. I'm tired. I just want to go home."

  "To Wayne?"

  "To family, yeah. Tell Wayne…" The words didn't come off his lips.

  King nodded. Rellik wandered off in the general direction of Omarosa. All that remained of their group were Merle, Dred, and King. King remained kneeling, not sure if he mourned the loss of life or the death of the dream he once had.

  "You must be beloved among men," Dred whispered. "All these people rush to protect you. Speak to your defense. Put their lives at risk for you. Lay down their lives for you."

  "I never–" King began, but words failed him also. They rang false to his ear before he finished. Who but he could have issued the call? Who but he would they have answered for? For what? More violence. More blood. More death.

  "And now what? They all gone. Went down protecting you. Loving you. All the people who love you? Gone. They all fucked and you fucked them. It's just you now. All alone."

  "This ain't over," King said.

  "I know. We've got plenty of story left to write, you and me." Dred turned his back and walked away.

  "It's not true, you know," Merle said, but in the end this battle was between him and Dred. The last temptation of the Pendragon.

  "What's not?"

  "About you being alone. You'll always have me. Well, sorta."

  King searched about. "Where is he?"

  "I, too, have wondered about Sir Rupert. Always underfoot when not wanted. Not a brown hair to be found once bullets start flying."

  "Baylon." King's voice was without patience, joy, or strength.

  "He's gone. I fear he thinks he has disappointed the crown he sought to serve. He stays under the bridge by the Mexican joints by your house. But… perhaps it'd be best to let things lie. To let some truths, some realities, go unknown."

  A quizzical stare etched on King's face. He hated the moments when it felt as if Merle read from a script only he was privy to. A script he could only hint at rather than say anything directly about. King made a circle with his finger and Merle nodded that he'd clean up the mess. An anonymous call to the authorities, from a homeless man who had stumbled across a body in the woods. He'd be held for questioning, no doubt. But it meant a free meal. Maybe two.

  Better than the days ahead for King.