Lane looked over the dinner table, scanning to make sure everything was in place. The turkey she spent all day basting sat on the warming pan under the domed silver lid, steam rising lazily where it escaped from the edges. The stuffing, redolent with onions, garlic, and spices, filled a separate casserole, cooked to perfection. The recipe was her mother’s; Lane had gone through four batches in the past month to get it right. The mashed potatoes had been easier, a recipe she stole from a cooking show. When the cocksure Asian chef had whipped together garlic, potatoes, cream, and pinches of salt and pepper, Lane’s mother had sniffed, but after tasting the concoction, she’d immediately converted. The cranberry sauce sat in its own tray, separate from the rest of the meal, condensation forming on the chilled metal server. Lane had overruled her mother on that one thing; the cranberry sauce wasn’t her mother’s old recipe, intended to be served warm. Instead, under the tray sat a sliced jelly, ridges from the can still evident.
The pie hadn’t made it to the table yet. It smelled way better than it looked, so Lane kept it in the oven, on warm, letting the aroma pervade the house.
The front doorbell rang once. Before Lane got halfway to the door, it rang again, this time jangling repeatedly, someone mashing the button like a kid hyped on sugar. Lane broke into a jog. If her mother got annoyed, the whole evening would be torturous.
She almost made it. She swung open the door, revealing Mary and Gwen. Gwen sat in her chair, her finger tapping the doorbell button. She looked up at Lane and grinned, ignoring the quelling look on Lane’s face. A moment later, all three girls winced as Melody Lake’s cutting soprano ripped through the house.
“Lane! Who is making that infernal racket with the door? If those carolers have returned, tell them to learn to sing the old songs properly or I will be forced to release the hounds.”
“Mother, my friends are here.”
“Which of the young twits insisted on waking me?”
“That would be Gwen, mother.”
“Hold her there. I am coming down to give her a piece of my mind in person.”
With that, the chair lift built into the stairs whined into motion. The noise covered a quick, whispered conversation between the girls.
“You have hounds?”
“No, Gwen. She would probably send me out to chase them off with a broom.”
“Should we go?”
“I’m not going anywhere. Do you know how hard it was to get this chair over here?”
“Did the motor burn out again?”
“No.”
“Then why was it hard to get here?”
“Oh, shut up.”
Melody’s voice echoed down the stairwell and cut the conversation off immediately. Her voice came louder with each word.
“If you are going to use that kind of language in my house, you may leave at once, and never return. Young ladies should behave as such, and not as soccer hooligans.”
At the end of the pronouncement, Melody Lake rolled into view. Her chair, like Gwen’s refurbished one, was motorized, but there the resemblance ended. The wheels were suitable only for rolling about indoors. The back, instead of storage for an extended battery pack, held a pair of medical oxygen tanks. Finally, where Gwen’s trim and upholstery shone with bright reflective neon red, Melody’s were sedate, conservative, and stylish blue.
The woman herself was a study in decrepitude. The first noticeable thing about her, after the chair, was the oxygen mask which hung about her neck. It dangled just loose enough for her to swing up and suck a breath from as needed, and occasionally emitted a sudden hiss of air on its own. Next one noticed the wrinkled skin of her cheeks. It had long since shrunk back to her high, prominent cheekbones, outlining deep-set eyes.
Inspections ended at Melody’s eyes. A blue so deep and dark they seemed to glow, they drew everyone who looked at them into their depths. Glints of green highlights showed beside her pupils, but a green so dark it might have been a mirage.
Anyone who managed to escape from the trap of Melody‘s eyes might notice her hair, which descended in thin, fragile waves to shroud her shoulders and part of her arms. Her arms, like the rest of her body, were thin by nature, and had atrophied from disuse from her time in the motorized chair.
Her eyes, however, drew observers’ gazes like magnets. Sharp, and clear, and older than the lochs and glens she claimed to have grown up swimming and cavorting in, those eyes tracked over her daughter, noting with distaste the jeans and brilliantly shined army boots Lane wore.
“Where are the skirt and pumps I laid out? Jeans and boots do not match that blouse and sweater.”
“They’re back in the closet. You locked the fireplace shut.”
Melody rolled her eyes heavenward, a prayer for patience and strength whispering through her lips. Her eyes turned to Mary, who stepped forward, her hand extended to shake. Melody stared at it as one might a snake, or perhaps some particularly loathsome form of vermin. Mary held her position, her smile undaunted, and greeted her host with a speech that almost didn’t sound prepared.
“Happy Holidays, Mrs. Lake! I’m so glad to finally meet you! I’m Mary Drake, I play lacrosse and field hockey with Lane. Thank you ever so much for inviting us over for dinner!”
Melody, her expression no more impressed than it had been before the greeting, lifted one hand and gripped Mary’s between forefingers and thumb. Her grip, like a pincer, startled Mary, and her smile dropped for a split second when Melody spoke.
“It is Miss, not Mrs. Lake. I never married Lane’s father. My people would have objected most strenuously. When I think of all the sports,” the word came out like a curse, almost spit to the side, “my daughter plays, I sometimes regret that. Her older brother’s father spent time with him, he was much more well behaved. I didn’t invite you. This was my daughter’s idea. Be welcome, Artemis Mary Drake, daughter of Ulysses and Imogen, to my home.”
Mary stared, unbelieving, at her hostess. After a moment or two, ingrained habits of courtesy overcame her shock, and she shook Melody’s hand gently, replying as she did.
“I thank you, Miss Lake, for your welcome.”
She stepped in. Once she passed Melody, she pulled off her long coat, exposing a blouse and skirt combination eerily like the one Melody had selected for Lane. Lane took the coat and headed for the hall closet to hang it as Melody turned to face Gwen, who sat squarely in her chair, just outside the threshold. Again, she reached out her claw of a hand, this time to be met by Gwen’s wiry grip. The two chair-bound women stared at one another over their clasped hands. After what seemed like ages, Melody shocked all the girls with a caw of sudden laughter.
“Gwendolyn Black. I didn’t expect you this soon. It was you ringing my bell, was it not?”
“I don’t use that name anymore, Miss Lake. Both the MacAdams and I are too old for the MacAdams to adopt me formally, but I changed my name legally when I hit eighteen. I haven’t answered to Gwen Black for years.”
“You mean you haven’t used it. You still answer to it, and will answer to it until it answers to you. You're the reason my daughter is no longer in danger of failing out of that school I pay so much for?"
"All I did was give her a little guidance, Miss Lake. She's done all the work herself."
"Pah. I never doubted her ability to work. I've often feared for her ability to think. Be that as it may, I thank you. Be welcome to my house, Gwendolyn Black-MacAdams, daughter of Gwendolyn and Jameer. Be safe while you are here, and as safe as you can once you leave.”
“Thank you, Miss Lake. I hate to ask, but could you back up a bit? The all-terrain wheels Lane put on give this thing a pretty wide wheelbase. Great for handling, difficult for getting through doors, horrible for getting past obstacles.”
“I am an obstacle now?”
“You always kinda have been, haven’t you?”
“I prefer to think of myself as a facilitator.”
“Really?”
“Do you remember any tests? Any ‘what is your name, what is your quest, what is your favorite color’?”
While she bantered with her fellow wheelchair-bound woman, Melody maneuvered herself backward into the entryway, backing to the point where the hall opened out to the dining room. Lane and Mary already in the room, Lane showing Mary where they stored the good China. The two of them set the table as Melody and Gwen continued to banter back and forth, quoting old television shows all the while.
“You’ve got to admit though, that’s not a way to go about choosing a government. What, you’re in charge just because some watery tart threw a sword at you?”
“I will have you know, young lady, that I have never thrown a sword at anyone. That would be far too dangerous to the recipient, not to mention disrespectful to the sword.”
“Gwen, please tell me you don’t watch those old britcoms too.”
“Don’t whine at our guests, Lane.”
“Yeah, Lane. Stop with the whining and bring me my pie!”
“The pie is for dessert, Gwen.”
As Melody told Gwen that the pie was for later, Lane walked back into the room carrying one steaming pie in each hand. The one on the right had a bubbly, lumpy crust, the smell of cinnamon, sugar, and apples wafting from it. On the left had a was smooth, orange and brown top, and smelled of pumpkin, cinnamon and cloves. Lane placed both on the table on either side of Gwen’s place with a flourish. With another flourish, a serving knife appeared in her hand.
“Which one do you want first?”
“Gwendolyn Black, you will not eat pie before dinner in my house. What would your mother say?”
“My grandfather said that you should eat dessert first, so you don’t have to save room for it. Mom told me so.”
“So be it. Girls, bring out the dessert plates. We shall have pudding before our meat, and convention shall be stood upon its ear.”
***
“I do hope Gwen is all right.”
“Dear, you saw what Lane did with her chair. It’s got most of the drive train of one of those new electric cars in it.”
“John, no matter how big she gets, she’ll always be my little girl.”
“I don’t know how big she’ll get.”
“I know. What did the doctors tell you last time?”
“She’s about two years past where they thought she would live when she was diagnosed. Let’s not talk about that, ok? She’s with us now, and we need to keep up a brave face while it lasts.”
“She’s not here right now, John. I wanted to know the truth. I’m… I don’t know. I can’t help it, I love her like she was our own, but it scares me so much. I know she’s going to die before us. No parent should have to bury their child.”
“That’s been said before, love. Probably by every parent that did.”
“I wish we didn’t have to.”
The MacAdams froze as a voice black as the pits of hell seeped through the room. It shrieked like the caws of ravens, it oozed like clotting blood, it set off the hindbrain like a spider creeping on the back of the neck. Unable to move, unable to blink, paralyzed by fear, held by their own reactions, held doubly by magic so ancient it was thought myth by any but those exposed to it, they watched as the owner of the voice, still speaking, swung into view. Long, apelike arms ending in cruel talons gripped the light fixture, pulling its misshapen hindquarters along behind it. Tusks and fangs thrashed as the thing spoke.
“Wish... granted.”
***
The forlorn castle on the frozen moor showed more activity than it had previously. It still looked like it had been left to decay, but now it looked as if a legion of dead and dying horrors had taken it as home. From every shadow a stunted limb, a lolling head, or a bloated body protruded. Even on the still, frozen plain the reek seeped through the castle. Within, the inhabitants noticed and commented.
"Thor's tits, who forgot to put the lime in the midden?"
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
"Surtr, we don't have a midden. We're gods. We don't have to poop, so we don't need a midden."
"So why does it smell like a dirty one in here? Did you get some bad cabbage?"
"Surtr, I don't like you. I don't pretend to like you. I tolerate you for Hel's sake, but if you continue to keep that up, I will convince myself that she won't know the difference if I reanimate your decaying corpse."
"Look, Psycho, I'm just trying to find out what stinks. I'll even pitch in and clean it up."
"You? Work? It might be worth being civil to you just to see it."
"Yeah, she's not likely to feel real cuddly with this stench in the air."
"And again my estimation of you is appallingly unable to keep pace with your ability to offend. Sadly, you can't fix the problem."
"You think?"
Surtr blinked, and the air itself smoldered. Heat waves shimmered, and for a moment the smell of near frozen rotting death disappeared. Annan looked at Surtr, a first since he'd entered the room. Speculation danced in her eyes, and a grin formed on Surtr's face.
Then the stink of burning rotting death hit them.
"You dumb brute! Cut that out!"
"What is that stench, anyhow?"
As he spoke, the shimmer and smoldering disappeared. Both immortals stopped breathing except to speak.
"I would leave you ignorant, but you'll only make it worse. It's the trolls."
"Trolls? They didn't used to smell like this."
"They didn't take the consolidation well. Stupid mortals have mostly forgotten them, so they've become something different anyhow. Don't go near them without armor on."
"What?"
"They'll attack and eat anything. They can be directed, sort of, but if you have nothing to point them at, they'll start in on you. Keep fire and steel handy."
"So why are they here, of all places?"
"The next portal will be from here, just to mix things up. The trolls will keep coming through until we decide to close it."
"I don't get it."
"That's because you're stupid. The wand of banishment sends things here. The portal back to the mortal realm will be here."
"Won't she notice?"
"Fortunately, she is slightly stupider than you. If you want to know more, go find out for yourself. I'm going to bed. If you try to join me, I will kill you."
"So that's a no on sex then?"
***
The dormitory dining hall at Richard Mentor Johnson echoed emptily, only one table of the hundred in the room in use. The cafeteria for the school during the semester, the students who lived at the school ate there in the evenings and some weekends as well. The young men who had no homes to return to and no friends willing to put them up spent much of the winter and summer holidays in the great hall as well.
Eight young men, varying in every aspect except age and gender, clustered around a ninth, the newest of their number. With rapt attention, they listened to him spin tales of daring and death. With each tale he bound them to him more tightly. With each tale he seduced them, told them how they were better than the weaklings who had run home, better than the ones who left them to the side, better than the girls who shunned them all for being different, or awkward, or poor.
Not long before dinner was served, the headmaster arrived and called Mort aside to speak with him privately.
"Happy Holidays, son."
"Merry Christmas and Happy Yule, Headmaster."
"There are more holidays than those two at this time of year."
"I can never remember them all."
"That's why we use the generic one."
The Headmaster paused, staring at Mort as if trying to clarify his intentions. Mort gazed back, his visage the pure, unworried look of an innocent or a sociopath.
"Mort, I appreciate you bringing the other boys together, keeping their spirits up, but I must warn you against fomenting anything untoward."
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, sir."
"We work very hard here at Johnson to ensure that no hint of racism, sexism, or any other prejudice is allowed to take root."
"An admirable goal, sir."
"Despite my sympathy for your situation, my appreciation of your hard work in catching up, and your prepayment of your tuition, I will not hesitate to expel you if I find you are deliberately fostering any such noxious ideals."
"I understand sir."
"Those stories you've been telling. I understand why the boys like them. They're adventure stories, and young men like adventure. Had you thought about the underlying messages in some of them?"
Mort, who had thought of exactly that when selecting them, maintained eye contact with the headmaster, his gaze open and unblinking.
"I didn't realize they had them, sir. Honor? Duty? Glory?"
"Those are fairly common in adventure stories, son. The ones I'm speaking of are perhaps a bit more subtle. Inferiority of women, with the distrust and disdain that normally comes packaged along with it. Disregard of life, especially innocent life, even more so if those innocents are another color, creed, or gender than the adventurer."
"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't realize. They are just old stories where I'm from. I suppose I could look some other ones up in the library."
"Please do."
The Headmaster looked around the hall, his eyes taking in the decorations thinly coating the utilitarian cafeteria. The moment the headmaster's eyes left Mort, he moved his fingers across mother’s amulet, watching for the telltale twinkle in the headmaster's eyes. The headmaster's gaze swept across the long folding table set up for the wintering boys with a bittersweet smile. Finally, he looked back at Mort.
"The first year we had students stay over the holidays, my wife and I took them in ourselves. I miss those times."
"Why don't you do it now, sir?"
"We're too old to host, and our town house isn't large enough to host more than two guests at any rate."
"You could come here."
"I'm afraid not. Not only is my wife rather frail, I know that with us here, the tone would change. If I can't give you lads the benefit of an old fashioned family holiday dinner, I'll at least give you the fun of an even older fashioned great hall feast."
"I see, sir. Thank you, sir."
"Well, I'll leave you to it then. My cell phone number is posted in the dorms if you need me."
"I've a copy in my pocket, sir."
"Good, good. Good night then. Just remember, son. The highest honor that can be attained in this life is to serve others."
As he watched the headmaster walked down the hall toward the parking lot doors, Mort muttered low enough that the doddering old man couldn't hear him.
"And in that one belief, you show your weakness."
***
"That was fabulous, Miss Lake. Thank you for having us."
"Thank you, Artemis, but you should compliment my daughter. She did the cooking, except for that horrid concoction she tries to pass off as cranberry sauce."
"I did that too, Mother!"
"You decanted it, you didn't cook it."
"However it happened, everything was wonderful. I hate to do this, but could I steal Lane away for a few minutes? I've been meaning to talk with her about some things from school, but I can never find the time when we're there."
"Pah. First pudding before meat, now talk of business at a social gathering."
"I'm sorry, Miss Lake. I'll just catch up with her another time."
"No, no, you girls have important matters to discuss, I am sure. Do not let the anachronistic whims of an old woman come between you and your duties."
"Thanks, Miss Lake. We'll just step outside for a short chat, so we don't disturb you two socializing, ok?"
"Are you sure, Mom?"
"What are we, invalids?"
"Don’t answer that, Lane. Go. We'll be fine."
Lane and Mary left the room, leaving the two wheelchair-bound women. One young, one old, they stared at one another while they listened to the other pair work their way into boots and jackets.
Isn't this special? Just like a real holiday dinner.
Gwen watched the older woman carefully, seeking any sign that she might be other than the physically frail older woman she appeared. Frustrated, she wished she could bring out her laptop without upsetting her host. For a moment, she considered steering the conversation toward technology in general and computers in specific, and getting the laptop out on that pretext, but she doubted the woman would accept watching Gwen work as a demonstration. She would at least want to see the screen, and if Melody Lake was actually a seventy something invalid with a daughter born far too late in life, Pey might be a little much for her to take.
The front door thumped shut, and Gwen felt energy surge through the room.
"If you insist on playing with that infernal contraption of yours, I will be displeased."
Ouch.
"I'm sorry, Miss Lake. Was it that obvious?"
"You are an exceptionally ignorant girl. I suspect this has always been the case, and has often been a cause of your troubles."
"Excuse me?"
"You are ignorant of basic social niceties. I have asked you to be welcome in my home, yet you hesitate to even ask me whether you can commune with your little electronic familiar."
"You mean you wouldn't mind?"
"Of course I would mind. Whether you will admit to it or not, you have rescued my daughter academically. As your athletic counterpart has never been able to do so, I can only presume that you are the intellectual of the trio."
What? Does she know, or is she just batty?
"I'm not sure I understand, Miss Lake."
"As you might realize, I am trapped in this chair. What you might not realize is that I am, for all intents and purposes, trapped in this house. Not by any nefarious actions, mind you, but by my own infirmities. Any place I might wish to go would likely be unsafe for me."
"Just go anyway."
"When my Lane is out of school, into her majority, and employed gainfully enough to support herself, I no doubt shall."
"Even if it means you might die?"
"Young lady, do not be disingenuous. You would no more allow yourself to be trapped than I would. I am simply more a creature of duty than you."
Damn it! Why is she playing verbal games with us? Is she more than she seems? Or is she just what she looks like, a lonely old woman with no one to talk to?
"I'm sorry if you think I'm not dutiful, Miss Lake. I try to be."
"You are not home with your parents this night."
"I'm not really much help with the dishes."
"So be it. Perhaps it is for the best that you are not. It has been an age since I was able to converse with someone in a manner approaching freely."
"Oh?"
"With my daughter I must constrain myself."
"Why?"
"My daughter is not, as you might have noticed, the most intellectual of creatures. Were I to engage in unrestrained philosophical banter, she would likely wander away or fall asleep."
"And you think I won't?"
"As I said, young lady, don't be disingenuous."
With that, Melody hit the switch on her chair and proceeded to the sideboard. Reaching inside, she pulled out a cut crystal decanter and a pair of matching tumblers. Into each, she poured three fingers of pale amber liquid.
"As I also may have said, despite your intelligence, you are ignorant of the basics of behavior in polite society. If you were not, you would have realized long before that I ignore them myself."
***
Lane followed Mary, mind blank. The snow crunched under her boots. Mary muttered something under her breath, arguing with herself. Between the muffling of Mary's hood and Lane's pulled-down watch cap, Lane couldn't quite make out the words. They reached the end of the drive, and Mary kept walking, talking to herself more vehemently now. Lane caught a word now and then.
"Champion... Need her... Not worth it... Can't do it... Have to... Matter what I...."
Lane watched the road markers. When she had walked half a mile, Mary stopped, head still down, muttering to herself. Slowly Mary turned, but she still didn’t face Lane. Her gaze remained locked to the ground in front of Lane's feet. Lane waited, staring off into the trees. Something wasn't right, but she couldn't tell what it was. Part of her felt like someone or something was watching her, but most of her felt wrapped in thick, insulating blankets. She dismissed all of it from her mind. What happened later could be dealt with later. Nothing was happening now.
She stared at the top of Mary's head when Mary finally came to a decision and raised her gaze. Taller than Mary, Lane's eyes were, for an instant, pointed straight down her friend’s cleavage. In that instant, she saw a tiny charm, dagger shaped, black like obsidian, nestled between Mary's breasts.
"Lane, I have to know. Tell me."
"Sure. What do you need to know?"
"Don't play around Lane."
"I'm not."
"Who have I been talking to the past half hour?"
"Yourself, mostly."
"You weren't listening?"
"You muttered. Facing away from me."
Mary's hand moved of its own accord, covering her eyes, rubbing at her forehead.
"You mean I've just spent half an hour pouring my heart out to you, getting more and more upset that you wouldn't talk to me, and the whole time you couldn't hear me?"
"'Bout the size of it."
"Next time I'm muttering and you can't make it out, smack me, OK?"
"Sure."
"God, what do I ask you first?"
"The first thing."
"Sure. Are you coming back to the team?"
"No."
"We got our heads handed to us most of this season. These girls don't know how to give and take a hit. I can't carry the team by myself."
"So play without hitting."
"That's not funny coming from you."
"Not joking."
"Whatever. Why won't you come back?"
"I don't have time. If I don't study, I can't work on the Willys. If I'm not working on the Willys, the time studying is a waste."
"So drop both."
"I'd rather work on the Willys than play."
"Fine. Whatever. Stay in your exile in the garage. I'm keeping you on the team roster; when you finish the jeep, you can come save us."
"Sure."
"Lane, I know you're not this stupid. Why are you acting this stupid?"
"It's cold."
"Your brain's frozen?"
Lane shrugged her answer, eyes leaving Mary's and scanning the thin forest around the road. Something moved in the forest. A crackle reached her ears. She stared at the spot, but nothing happened. Mary spoke again, pulling her attention from the woods.
"I know it's cold. It's so cold I'm getting a headache just standing here, but if I walk in front of you, you won't be able to hear me again."
"Speak up."
"Look, I'll deal with the cold. Do you know?"
"Know what."
"You two found me behind the garage back when... You know, when that big lizard thing was on campus."
"Yeah."
"Since then, Gwen's come back to train the cheer squad and work with the field hockey team, but she hasn't told me if she made the connection."
"What connection?"
"You saw the knight jumping around the school grounds both times monsters attacked?"
"Yeah."
"You saw the knight jump behind the building?"
"Yeah."
"You found me behind the building?"
"Yeah."
"So you know who the Queen's Knight is, right?"
"Maybe."
"Maybe?"
Lane shrugged. Logic puzzles weren't her thing. She looked around again. There was something in the woods, something that wasn't normally there. It hid, which meant it waited for them to split up, or for her guard to be down. Mary kept talking.
"Lane, I am the Queen's Knight."
"No you're not."
Mary stood staring open mouthed. She seemed to be at a loss for words at Lane's simple denial. After a few moments of working her mouth, words started coming out again.
"Lane, you found me where the knight fell, right?"
"Yeah."
"What, do you think the knight put me there?"
"Maybe. Not really."
"So you know it was me in that armor?"
"Yeah."
"So you know I'm the Queen's Knight?"
"Nope."
"Why do you keep saying that?"
"Dunno. You're just not."
"Right. You know I'm the one in the armor, right?"
"Yeah."
"OK, good enough. You have to stop killing the things that are showing up."
"Why?"
"You foul the school grounds when you do. If any but the Queen's Knight slays them, they can return to this plane."
"You're talking like her now."
"Who?"
"The woman in armor."
"I am the woman in armor, Lane. You get that, right?"
"Sure."
"Lane, are you drunk? On drugs? Did you get hit in the head and get stupid?"
"No."
"Then what the heck is wrong with you?"
"It's cold. The woods are creeping me. I don't see a lot to talk about."
"So you're not coming back to the team, you know I'm the woman in armor, and you're going to stop killing the things that show up?"
"No."
Mary's shriek was muffled by the snow piled everywhere. She fell to her knees and started beating on the pile beside the road, her fists sinking deep into the snow. After over a minute of pounding her frustration into the snow, she looked up at Lane.
"Look, I didn't want to tell you this, but my animal companion says not to trust you."
"I guessed."
"You know about my animal companion?"
"No."
"Stop being monosyllabic."
"Huh?"
"Full sentences. Explain yourself."
"My turtle says not to trust you. If mine says that, I figure yours probably is too. I wonder if Gwen's is?"
"Your turtle?"
"Yeah. He stays at the garage."
"You were going to list your turtle amongst our assets when?"
"It never came up."
"Look, are you going to stop killing them?"
"Probably not."
"Why?"
"They hurt Gwen. They nearly killed Mr. Josephs. They keep coming at us, and they're not going to stop because we ask them nice."
"Even though I'm telling you that if you kill them, they'll just be back?"
"I don't care, as long as they don't hurt anyone else."
"Right. I guess I... Look, just try not to get in my way when I'm in armor, ok?"
"Sure."
"I don't want to hurt you, Lane. I like you."
"I like you too, Mary. I mean, not that way, but... You’re my friend. Gwen's too. I'll be there when you need me."
"I need you on the team."
"No, you want me on the team. You need someone watching your back."
"Yeah." A breath, steaming in the icy air. "Yeah. Let's go back inside and have some hot chocolate or something."
They started walking, their feet crunching in the snow once more.
"Mulled wine."
"I don't drink, Lane. Neither should you, really."
"Mom's from a different place, a different time. Where she's from, the water's not for drinking."
"I don't like it, but I guess I understand. You don't drink all the time, do you?"
"No. Just on holidays. I'll make you hot chocolate. I can give a little, sometimes."