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CHAPTER TWENTY

Stunned silence settled over the kitchen. The only sound was Lillie, working furiously at cleaning the stains off a jam jar.

“Wait. So the woman in charge of protecting the sword also gave it to Freya in the first place?” I asked. “Explains why she was a bit dodgy back there.”

“How many people know this?” Tembo asked. “Esther and I have discussed the end of the war many times. She has never mentioned Runa’s role beyond her betrayal of the valkyries, and the signing of the peace.”

“That’s because Runa has tried to bury her past, just as she buried my friends,” Hildr said. “Not even Esther knows of her role in the forging of Totenschreck. I would not be surprised if she already knows who is doing all this. In fact—”

“There is a man in the garden,” Lillie said, quite suddenly. She was standing straight as an arrow, the jar forgotten in her hands.

“Of course there is a man in the garden. It is that zombie man, the Brit,” Hildr reminded her.

“No. A different man. He looks very . . . dramatic,” Lillie answered. “Like a dirge in the shape of a man.”

Knight Watch stood as one. Tembo rushed to the window, with Bethany at his side and Gregory close behind. They crowded Lillie out of the way.

“It’s him,” Tembo confirmed. “How did he find us?”

“You probably led him here. You or that damned draugr,” Hildr said as she swept the shotgun off its stand. The old valkyrie cracked the breach, checked the load, then snapped it shut again. “I’ll see the bastard off.”

“Let the heroes do their jobs,” I said, stepping forward. With a shrug I slipped my shield off my back. It crawled down my arm on leather legs that spun around my wrist, securing it in place. “If he gets past us you can fill him full of buckshot.”

“Magic shield, eh? Never thought much of magic shields,” Hildr said. “You can only protect yourself for so long before you must strike. I prefer a good sword.”

“The lady knows what she’s talking about,” Gregory said with a smile. He whipped the zweihander from his back, the silver blade slithering like a razor sharp snake in the kitchen’s harsh light. “Let’s get out there and cut this moron down to size.”

“Patience. There’s no way he’s alone out there,” Tembo said, flicking the kitchen curtains aside to get a better view of the garden.

“He looks pretty alone to me,” Bethany answered. “In that kind of performative loneliness sort of way.”

I shouldered my way to the front of the small mob that was crowded around Lillie’s kitchen window. The view was entirely rural, except for the looming profile of a swordsman standing in the middle of the garden path. He wore the same black, hooded cloak that I had first seen at the Mickleville Convention Center, but now it seemed to fit him better. A glimmer of steel around his eyes revealed that the cheap Halloween mask had been upgraded again, and I could see more traditional armor plating at knee and elbow. He could be wearing full plate under that cloak. With sword out to one side, and his off hand held waist high with palm facing the sky, it looked like he was posing for us, waiting to be seen.

“However he got here, however he found us, this has gone on long enough,” I said. “Chesa, you and Tem stay close to the house. Give us whatever support you can without getting too close. Remember what that sword did at the convention. One cut and you’re down.” I drew my sword and tested the fit of the shield against my shoulder. A few pulls on the cords wrapped around my hand and the shield grew into a full bulwark, tall enough to protect me from head to toe. “Greg, you and I are going to go out there and see what this guy’s got. Bethany, see if you can get behind him without being seen.”

“My kind of plan,” Gregory said. “Give me one good swing at him and he’ll be totenSHRIEKing, heh.”

“And who made you team lead?” Bethany asked.

“He made himself lead,” Tembo said. “We have you, warden. Be careful.”

“If mind-numbing fear is careful, then careful is my middle name. You guys ready?”

“Sure, whatever.” Bethany flipped up the hood of her cloak and disappeared into a cloud of swirling shadow. Tembo gave a stiff nod.

“There an upper window I can shoot from?” Chesa asked as she strung her bow. Lillie nodded and led Chesa out of the kitchen.

“Are we going to wait for her to get in place?” Gregory asked.

“I don’t think we have that kind of time,” I said. “Tembo can provide air support until Chesa finds her spot. And I’m pretty sure Bee’s already out there. Right, Bee?” There was no answer, and she hates being called Bee, so Bethany was definitely already in the garden somewhere. “Let’s get moving.”

We came out of the kitchen door and spread out, with the saint, Tembo, and Hildr guarding the house while Greg and I made straight for the black-clad swordsman. Low clouds swirled overhead, and the wind was picking up. My steel boots sank into the thick mud of the garden path. There was no sign of Bethany, or Percy, or anyone else. Just the swordsman and the storm overhead. The man tilted his head in our direction, almost in greeting. The blade was a peculiar black merging into deep green, without any sort of reflection on its surface. Silver-sick mist wafted off its trailing edge.

“I’m sorry if I’m disturbing your vacation,” the edgelord said. His voice scraped through the air like quiet thunder, a lot different from the earlier squeaky indignation. With one gloved hand he drew back his hood. The skull mask was now a full skeletal helm, with only his mouth uncovered. Bright blue eyes stared at us from the skull’s empty sockets. “But you have taken something of mine, and I want it back.”

“Then you should have brought help,” I said. “Cuz we’re ready for you this time!”

“Do I look like a fool?” Edgelord asked.

“You look like a prop from a heavy metal album cover shoot,” I answered. “The kind of guy who had one good song but never realized everyone was making fun of him the whole time.”

“One good song? Well, then you’re going to love the sequel,” he said.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be talking? Maybe we should skip directly to kicking his ass?” Greg asked. “I’ve heard enough of his preening.”

“John! John, you idiot!” Chesa yelled from overhead. I craned my neck around until I found her, balanced on the edge of the porch roof. Lillie watched from an open window behind Chesa. My ex pointed to the sky. “Air support!”

Black wings circled in the clouds. A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, and the rolling thunder that followed sounded a lot like war horns.

“Stay tight,” I snapped at Gregory, then charged forward.

The edgelord didn’t move until I was close. The tower configuration of my shield didn’t really lend itself to charging heroically through a domestic garden; the bottom edge kept snagging on the grasping branches of a row of barberry bushes, and every third step the top of the shield would bang against my forehead. But that guy’s sword was deadly, and I wanted every inch of steel between me and its cursed edge as I could manage. Even so, he nearly took me off guard once I got to him. His first strike swept at my front leg, forcing me to ground the shield. I tried to poke at the dark knight with my sword, but he battered the blow aside and followed up with a series of quick downward swings that rang off the top edge of the shield like a tolling bell.

“Give us some space, Rast,” Gregory snapped as he came around me. “Just make sure he doesn’t get to the ladies.”

“Greg, wait!” I shouted, but the handsome knight was already on the attack.

“I like the enthusiasm,” the edgelord said with a smile. “But you should listen to your cowardly friend.”

“Glory is for the strong!” was Gregory’s only answer, as it usually was, in all things. Typical.

Greg’s sword was impressive, just like the rest of him. He wielded a zweihander, or two-hander, of specific German stock. The blade was nearly four feet long, made of a length of wavy metal that was designed to hook enemy blades and leave gruesome wounds in its wake. He kept it in constant motion, a whirring disc of deadly steel that snipped a scattering of branches from the cursed barberry and pushed the man back. The black-clad swordsman tried to parry Gregory’s assault, but there was so much weight and speed behind that blade that it was impossible.

Impossible, but also unnecessary.

“Back, you pathetic sop! Away from this sunlit land!” Gregory advanced in a series of shuffling steps, cutting off the edgelord’s retreat and driving him toward a thicket. “You will taste my steel! I shall—UNGH!”

The zweihander lost momentum and speared into the muddy earth as it slipped from Gregory’s hands. His opponent stood nearly still, arm extended, the tip of his sword barely nicking the inside of Gregory’s bicep. A thin trickle of blood leaked down the blade, before soaking into the unnatural green steel like rain into thirsty soil.

“A palpable touch,” the edgelord said with a growl in his voice. “A very palpable touch.”

“But my . . . my . . . ” Greg’s voice faltered and his skin turned gray. Then he collapsed to the ground in a clatter of honor and pride.

“You bastard!” Bethany screamed as she burst out of the thicket, behind the dark knight’s looming form. Much closer and he would have been a dead man, but it took her a handful of steps to close the distance, and the swordsman didn’t have to worry about the strength of his blows. She ran straight at him, glowing daggers overhead, her face twisted in fury.

The edgelord twisted around just in time, bringing his sword up to bat away Bethany’s first blade, then driving the pommel into the wrist of her second attack. That dagger went flying, but she was already counter-swinging with the first, and it was only luck and armor that kept the man moving. I was trying to close the distance between us, but Gregory had pushed the swordsman well back, and I had to get around his limp body. Just as I reached them, the edgelord caught Bethany’s dagger with the guard of his sword, twisted, then levered the blade’s tip down and into Bee’s shoulder. She sucked in a sharp breath, then stepped backward, her retreat covered by a wake of shadows. I thought she was going to escape, but just then she collapsed against a tree, one hand pressed against her shoulder.

“Damn it,” she muttered, pulling her hand away from the wound. Her palm was slick with blood. “I always knew it would be a goth.”

The color drained from her face and she tumbled forward. The edgelord turned to face me.

“Alright, little man,” he said. “Now it’s your turn.”


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Framed