“What're you looking at?”
Back in the hallway and heading toward the main staircase. Walking by a couple members of the House, one alone, one with his girl. Meeting their stares and showing them my teeth. Down the stairs and into the entry. A burst of unmistakable anger and heat coming from the golden statue of the man holding his right arm aloft, directed squarely at me.
Don't you like my outfit? I put it together just for you. My blackened teeth on full display. Impossible to get along with this one. Not even worth attempting. A scraping of benches and stamping of boots from the dining room as they got to their feet to see what exactly was going on. Walking closer to the statue. What to even use as an offering? Probably be offended by blood.
“Luc-,” says the voice behind me. Riley. Coming up next to me, but with her attention on the statue. Chewing her lip, unsure, and then breaking the silence. “I take it your meeting didn't go very well. Can you even see?”
“It could have gone a lot better. And, yeah, surprisingly. Can you do anything to help me with this?”
“You're deliberately trying to make him angry.”
“I just wanted to let it know,” raising my voice to broadcast to everyone, “that its high priest is a worthless piece of dogshit and if he wants a war he's fucking got it.”
An intense burst of heat flowing from the statue, forcing both of us to take a couple steps back. Turning my attention to the gathering members of the House, their expressions mainly ranging from curiosity to amusement. Some concerned, but they're looking at the statue and not at me.
“Is that the girl Nico's dealing with?” says one.
“Crazy must run in the family,” says another, nodding sagely.
“The crazy ones can be real fun.”
“Definitely fun sized.”
“Which ones aren't crazy?”
“It's the normal seeming ones you've got to watch out for.”
“Yeah, they're nuts.”
Riley's expression changing as the comments flew. Horrified at my pronouncement, to confusion at their responses, to incredulous as they kept coming, finally looking back at me, completely at a loss.
“You're all on borrowed time.” Pointing at them. “But that's later, I've got a fight to win, first.”
“Heh, she's got spunk.”
“I've got some for her, straight from the tap.”
“Buckets worth.”
“Get an empty one and put it over her head.”
“I'm surprised, Nico doesn't usually go for butterfaces.”
“She's probably funny, too.”
By the end of that series of comments Riley had discovered the most appropriate emotion.
“Evie, I'm sorry.”
“You seriously owe me for this.”
“I know. I'll make it up to you.”
Riley looking back in the direction of her boyfriend before both of us heading out the double doors and into the inner courtyard. Coming up behind us, the jocular crowd from Stormhawk. A stormcrow followed by a flock of preening, chattering, housekept finches.
The courtyard has people in it, spread out in various groups, but by no means full. Magpie and Wolfe a few feet from the door, engaging in a conversation with three people, two of them members of the pact, and the third, Owens. Wolfe and the two pact members glancing over at my and Riley's entrance, all three with nearly identical expressions.
“Lucy,” Wolfe says, “what did you do?” Giving her a big smile. That didn't help. “Uh, well, I'd like to introduce you to these guys, I know them from the temple.” Shaking the two less than enthusiastic Empaths' hands. Owens not offering his.
“This is the best disguise I could come up with. I look nothing like me and this'll make for a great show. We should be out of here real quick.”
“I didn't realize you could use that to change your hair color,” says Magpie, looking at my face from all different angles. “You think you could do it to me?”
“Sure, what color?”
“Blonde. But, like, Evie's blonde, just to try it out. When I was fifteen I bleached my hair but the color didn't turn out great.”
“Hmm, that might be tough.” Looking at Riley's hair, trying to visualize the color. “Okay, think I got it, let me-”
“Oh, hold on,” says Magpie, her attention over my shoulder. Doing a quick walk in that direction and then yelling, “Hey, Sly.” Davos turning to see who'd called his name, and then being tackled by Magpie's hug. “Looks like I snuck up on you for once.” A huge guileless smile on her face.
“Magpie?” Davos, completely shocked, returning the hug, picking her up and spinning her around before setting her back down. “Of course you managed to sneak up on me, I can barely even see you all the way down there.” Putting his hand on her head. “How ya' doing, kiddo?”
“Great. Joined Ishtar maybe six months back.”
“Ishtar?” Making a face. “How's that?”
“They're cutthroat, but, you know, whatever. Blindside thought it'd be decent so we joined up together.”
“Hey, Davos,” says some guy next to him, “where you know this Ishtar slut from?”
It just appeared, the knife at his throat. “This girl is family. I knew her long before I came to this place and if you so much as breath a disrespectful word in her direction you'll be breathing through a new fucking hole.” The guy and the people surrounding him, taken aback, but some hurriedly grabbing their weapons.
“Sly, thanks, but don't worry about that shithead.” Magpie, putting a hand on her sword hilt, regardless. “I don't want you getting in trouble with these people.” Davos staring the guy down and then sheathing his knife. The others relaxing, letting go of their weapons. “How's Stormhawk treating you?”
“It's alright,” he says, continuing to stare him down, and then, satisfied, turning to Magpie. “What are you doing here?”
“Mac asked me to come. Moral support.”
“Mac? He's still around? After what he stirred up, I figured he skipped town.”
Lane hadn't told him. Surprising, but maybe it shouldn't be. We'd known each other for a very long time, even if we'd had a more recent falling out. Lane wouldn't want to take the risk, but that's probably going to change real soon.
“What?” says Magpie, “No, she's, uh. Oh.” Putting her hand up to her face. “That's a long story. Anyway, I've been hanging out with these girls. She's actually fighting a duel today with one of your guys.” Pointing at me. “I'm tagging along for that and then we're all going to hit the graveyard.”
“The graveyard? Good for you. Wait, she's the one? Oh, I see, Mac put you two in contact. Why does she have all that, uh...” Davos gesturing at his face.
“For the duel. Mind games.”
“I guess I shouldn't be surprised,” he laughs. Turning over in my direction, “Good luck, today!”
“Thanks.” Waving at him, and Magpie getting a kick out of that.
“When is this thing starting, anyway?” Davos says. Magpie shrugging and looking over at me.
That's a good question.
Scanning the crowd and finding Wilde on the other side of the gathering, gesturing with his hands while talking to some of his buddies. Getting a number of looks while heading over.
“Get a load of this freak,” says one of the people in Wilde's group, pointing at me. The rest of them looking. Wilde with no hint of recognition. Giving them a real cheerful wave and showing them my painted black teeth.
“Hey, Nico, good morning.” Realization dawning.
“Uh,” he says, looking at me, and then at them, “this is her.”
His friends nearly doing a doubletake. Not even bothering to contain their laughter.
“Not what I expected,” says one.
“You're telling me,” Wilde says, and then, to me, “you look like you're taking this a little more seriously than I thought. It's tough even looking at you.”
“You prepared more than me, looks like. How much did that armor set you back?” His friends sharing a glance again. “But this?” Tapping my face. “Don't worry about this. It isn't for you. And this,” tapping the smiling sun on my cloak, “this is for that piece of shit Lane.”
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Lane. Coming to a sudden realization. This conversation may be one of our last, untainted ones, and here's me wearing a scare mask to protect myself from being identified in the future. Looking into his eyes. Our relationship had started as a means to an end, a defense mechanism, a lark, but it definitely had become something more. Trying to swallow the lump. Either it will survive, or it won't. And, if it doesn't, if this is the end, then this is the end. Another piece of tinder added onto the pile, only serving to make everything burn all the brighter.
“Lucy, you there?” says Wilde. “What are you talking about?”
My eyes focusing again and his worried expression coming into view. Still tongue-tied and unable to speak, as nothing reassuring comes to mind. Vesper using the opportunity to push his way between us. Whe wolf radiating clear and obvious disapproval.
“Hey, Vesper,” kneeling down to break eye contact, “don't be so worried. This is a bonding thing we're doing.” He definitely doesn't believe that. “Listen, bud, I want to let you know, it was great hanging out with you. After this little thing we're doing today we'll go out again, I promise, but keep an eye on Nico for me, huh? He needs someone to watch his back.”
“Now she's talking to your pet,” says one of Wilde's friends, nudging him in the ribs.
Nothing like a cleansing, searing bout of hatred to put everything back into perspective. Giving Vesper a couple solid pats on his side and getting to my feet.
“Nico, I'm going to act like a completely insane person this fight. You didn't do anything to deserve it. Nothing at all. I'm sorry that I have to do it. I'll try to make it up to you.” Reaching my hand up to touch his face. “I have to go. The longer I stand here the more tempted I am to cheat.”
Ignoring the ensuing comments and returning to where Riley and Wolfe are standing, with Magpie still nearby chatting with Davos. Putting my pack down, setting aside the knife with the red glow and replacing it with a new one. Stretching my arms real quick and then a last check. Everything enchanted and my boots lucky. Walking out toward the middle of the dueling area.
“Hey, Nico,” yelling and pointing at him with my hatchet, “you're the one who wanted a rematch. You agreed to my terms. What's the holdup? I swear, Stormhawk is nothing but a bunch of chickenshits and losers.”
That got everyone's attention. And they're much less amused than earlier with the statue.
“What the fuck did you say?” A voice from the crowd. Several others voicing agreement or similar sentiments.
“I'll deal with your dumbass later. I've got plans after this and we're burning daylight. ”
Glancing around at the growing sea of angry faces. Magpie putting a hand over her mouth to hide her smile. Riley and Wolfe glancing around, much more concerned.
“Hey, you better shut the fuck up.” Some muscled goon coming over, a foot and a half taller than me, getting close, reaching out his hand and being intercepted by the shield. The crackling flash drawing even more attention, and then pulsing it, catching him flat footed, shoving him back a couple steps and almost causing him to lose his footing.
Doing a quick scan, my adrenaline pumping, making sure no one else is coming. My hatchet up and ready to strike if they were. Unable and, more importantly, unwilling to control the mocking laughter pouring out of my mouth.
“Worthless.” Looking over at Wilde. “Nico, you agreed to my terms. Fight to the death. Are you going to concede, or what?”
A lot of conversation and glances sparking up at my statement. Painting my face was a great choice. They don't see some harmless little girl - they probably don't even see a person - they see a maniacal, grinning fiend.
“Lucy,” yells Wilde, “we're waiting for Lane, he wanted to officiate.”
“Well, where is he?” Throwing my arms out wide. “Get one of these retards to do it. It's not hard. Make 'em useful for a change.”
Doing a slow, backwards circular walk. They had been angry before, but now they're furious due to my nonstop litany of insults.
Lane coming in from the side, he'd entered the courtyard from a different door, his look beyond disdainful, beyond contemptuous. The man gesturing at Wilde and the three of us gathering at the center of the dueling ground.
“Lucy, what the hell are you doing?” says Wilde
“Are you actually trying to galvanize them against you?” Lane says.
“I'm giving them a show.” Using both hands to gesture at my face. “I figure we're all a little bored of the current state of things. Which is why you're trying to fuck it all up, right Lane? I'm not going to hold back.”
“What happened.” Wilde glancing between us.
“He fucked up my deal with Sam.”
“Wait,” says Wilde, “your deal with Sam? Does that mean we're done?”
“I'd like to not be, I'd like to keep going out with you, but that's up to him.”
Lane, put on the spot, narrowing his eyes. How do you like being painted as the villain now, you fucker?
“Let's get this ridiculous duel over with,” he says. “What are you even doing this over?”
“It's a fight to the death.”
Lane giving me an exhausted look, and then giving Wilde a disappointed one. “Did you really agree to that?”
You know exactly who the members of your House are, Lane, you shouldn't be surprised when they make these kinds of decisions.
“Of course,” Wilde says, as if stating the most obvious thing in the world.
“Alright.” Lane isn't surprised, he's merely disappointed. The man yelling out, “Clear a space.”
His order to do so mostly redundant, people had been backing up since we'd started our conversation. The two of us moving five paces apart with Lane in the center. Wilde concentrating and his form blurring with greys and browns to better blend into the background. Reaching his arm out and his spirit weapon, the halberd, appearing in his hand. Getting into his stance. Waving at the crowd, prompting taunts and jeers, and getting into mine.
“Go!” comes Lane's yell, his arm dropping.
Wilde wasting no time, allowing me no breathing room whatsoever, and charging forward with a massive overhand chop of his halberd. The straightforward move entirely telegraphed, allowing me to easily dodge to the side to avoid it. Activating the shield to stop the strike and momentarily entangle the weapon, but the axeblade of the halberd striking the field of energy and cleaving right though, hardly slowed at all and burying itself in the ground. Reaching out again with the shield to grab the weapon and starting to move in, but Wilde's hands suddenly empty, adjusting themselves, and a spear appearing in them, jabbing at my face.
Stronger than me, with a longer range than me, and all the downsides of slower reaction and greater recovery times, negated entirely by the nature of his weapon. Striking, vanishing and then reforming as a different weapon altogether.
But that had been known beforehand. Treat the weapon like a giant's strikes: directly unblockable, but potentially deflectable. Batting the incoming thrust to the side with the shield and the weapon going wide, vanishing, reforming and the halberd's heavy axeblade slicing in. Knocking its momentum upward and grabbing my wand from its place and giving the twisted branch a flick. Mostly resisted, but the surge of magic causing Wilde to halt his attack, readjust his stance and hold his weapon defensively. The wand itself disintegrating into dust. Only two uses? What a gyp.
Bringing up my hand to put a blot on him-
“Stop stop stop,” Lane yells repeatedly. The echoing roar of the crowd invading my senses. “What was that?” Pointing an accusatory finger at me.
“It's a fight to the death. That's totally fine.” The crowd disagreeing loudly. Yells of “cheat” gaining prominence. “You're all a bunch of fucking crybabies, you know that?” My admonishment earning me no friends.
Lane moving between us and gesturing at us to put down our weapons. The two of us walking forward again to confer while the crowd screams its bloodlust. Wilde resting the butt of his weapon on the ground.
“Lane, we agreed beforehand no flaring weapons. Everything else was permissible.”
“That's your problem right there, Macarthy. You know it's wrong and you do it anyway. Everyone would use a wand if they were allowed. They're not, and for good reason. I don't care if you somehow justified it to yourself, I'm not...going... to...”
A thrumming sound, low and in the background, barely noticeable over the shouts of the spectators, had been filling my head since we'd paused the fight. My heartbeat run amok? No, both Lane and Wilde now looking around as if they're hearing it as well. The curses from the ring around us, however, still flying my way uninterrupted.
“Lane,” says Wilde, in a strained tone, “he says he needs to speak with you.”
“Dominic, just relax.” Lane putting a hand on Wilde's shoulder. “Don't do anything rash. If you don't choose to allow him in, there's nothing to be concerned about.”
Lane's warning coming too late. The thrumming sound in our immediate vicinity coming to an abrupt end and a bright golden light filling Wilde's eyes, and the voice coming from his mouth deep and resonant and not his own.
“Lane,” the voice says, “my wayward child, perhaps my least devoted devotee, how long has it been since we last spoke? Six months? More? You've been avoiding me for too long.” Lane making no response and the thing inside Wilde continuing on after a moment. “You Outsiders are a headstrong bunch, I acknowledge, but after the agreements we've made – and we upheld our end – your assistance, your cheerful, unwavering assistance, I remind you, is nonnegotiable.” Lane still offering no response, merely glowering at the thing inside Wilde. “You should know by now that peace was never an option. Why are you not busy marshaling your people in earnest?”
“There's no enemy in sight,” Lane says. “My people are doing what's useful and necessary at the moment. They'll be ready when the time comes.”
“I think not,” the thing says, while looking around at the crowd. “You're frittering away your time and energy, you're allowing this-” the thing inside Wilde looking at the halberd, “jackal seems far nobler a title than this one deserves. Lane, why are you allowing this one to sully the field of honor and this sanctified ground? Must I step in to end this frivolity?”
“No,” Lane says, “that won't be necessary.”
“I'll fight you, you jumped up ear mite.”
“Macarthy-”
Pulses of heat being to emanate from Wilde's form, causing beads of sweat to accumulate on my brow.
“You're right,” the voice coming from Wilde's mouth says, “this jackal can be amusing, if nothing else.”
“You have to leave Nico's body.”
“Leave? Perhaps. If you win.” The thing inside Wilde flexing his gauntleted offhand into a fist. “This seems like such a suitable vessel, but honor dictates that terms of a challenge be significant.”
“No matter what happens.”
The thing offering no reply, only an unblinking stare.
“A moment, first, if I could,” Lane holds up a hand. “To discuss this with her.”
“You have two minutes before I smite the unworthy,” it says.
“Macarthy,” Lane says, as he leads me a short distance away, “I'm not exactly sure what your objective here is, but I'm beginning to understand just how wronged, and how suicidally angry, you feel about this whole situation.”
“You have no idea.”
“You should leave, and quickly. When you're no longer on the Stormhawk grounds I should be able to free Dominic.”
“Is it going to allow that? I'm surprised, actually, it doesn't seem to like you very much.”
Lane spending a moment brooding, staring off into space. “I should be able to.”
“But there's no guarantee.”
“You have absolutely no chance of winning.”
“Are you pretending to be concerned about me?”
“Hardly. The collateral damage will be immense. Mithra is nominally one of the good ones, but his wrath can be indiscriminate.”
His wrath. The heat had been growing with each passing moment. Wilde stands at the very center of the dueling circle, sand and hard packed earth, with bits of crab grass poking through that had started to smoke and ignite. The cursing and banter from the sidelines had puttered out and the circle of onlookers had started, almost unconsciously, moving a couple of steps further out. We'd also moved out with them as the heat intensified.
“I've never fought a god before.” Lane giving me a peculiar look. “At least it'll be a quick death.” Definitely not reassured. Looking to my right, to the girl whose face had gone pale, nearly the same color as her too white field outfit. “Evie, I really need your help.”