Salia carried him around the village in silence, casting occasional glances back at the beanstalk.

It was strange. Despite the impact, and subsequent redecoration, no-one had come to check what the noise was. Salia wasn’t subtle, either: the ground trembled beneath her feet. So where was everyone?

The sun had begun to dip as they reached the lake, and Jack scrutinised it as she set him down.

He hoped the Lady didn't hold grudges.

Kneeling, Salia threw water over her face. Jack drank, gargling the metallic taste from his mouth. He couldn’t stop peeking over, watching as she sighed in contentment, her chin dripping.

“So,” he said, “what made you change your mind?”

She looked back at him and smiled. “One of the stories you told me.” She splashed more water, closing her eyes. “For a long time, I thought shutting myself away was the best option, the only one I really had. But you were right. I trapped myself in a cage, and ripped off my own legs out of fear. So now I need to see for myself what the best choice is—peace, or freedom?”

Nodding, he sat cross-legged before her. “I wish it was an easy answer.”

“Would it be worth finding if it was?”

A gagging sound emanated from within.

“Besides,” said Salia, “how could I resist the cutest human I’ve ever met?”

His cheeks flushed, and the gag became a retch.

What the hell is wrong with you? he thought. I came down the beanstalk; I’m doing what you wanted, right?

“My problem is with the company.”

He sighed internally. What’s it gonna take for you to realise she’s harmless?

“Perhaps it appears that way to you.” She projected an image of herself scowling. “But this won’t end well for anybody.”

“Jack?”

Yeah, says who? Seems like it’s going alright so far.

“For now.”

“Jack?”

Maybe an explanation for the stupid?

“If I told you, would you bother listening?”

What’s that supposed to mean?

“Jack!” Huge, inquiring features centimetres away interrupted him. Razor faded to the background, and he rubbed his scalp.

“Yeah, sorry,” he said. “What is it?”

“What were you thinking about?”

“What to do next,” he lied. “I need to find a magus, but they’re probably all hiding since this is the back-end of dark ages nowhere.”

She cocked her head. “Why do you need magic, anyway?”

“To get home. It ain’t exactly somewhere you can just walk to.” He rose, stretching, and inspected the hills. “Kinda like Mordor, but with more smackheads.”

“What’s a ‘smackhead’?”

He started. “Never mind.”

Suddenly, a chill crept up his spine, his arm hairs erect. A block of people had snuck up on them. The sunset behind them appeared as a blazing halo, illuminating pitchforks and clubs and scythes gripped in white knuckles.

They all stared at Salia.

At their point was a short, bald man in black robes.

“Padre,” said Jack, grabbing Razor, “fancy seeing you here.”

“Jack,” replied Father Joshua. “You survived, then.”

***

Rain thundered against the window. Each noise stretched Rooney’s already-frayed nerves, his forehead twitching.

It had been two hours since the others left. Not a long time, all things considered, but it felt like forever. They had a time machine. Thus, they could have reappeared five seconds after they left, if they chose. In fact, he couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Such a long wait meant something was wrong. They’d become trapped—or the HARDON had malfunctioned again—and they’d presently be ruining the timeline. Past-ly? Future-ly? Someone needed to invent adverbs for time travellers.

He steepled his hands beneath his chin. Amanda napped on the sofa opposite him—she retained her human form even when sleeping. It occasionally flickered, though, showing visages of different people. He’d have to research that.

Without Lizzie, though, he had no idea what the MSG would do. Sure, it had been his idea, but their leader was the one who kept them all together.

There was no need for her to risk herself like this.

Still, she’d dived straight into the time-space continuum with a party of fools, so all he could do was have faith. That she would return, and that she wouldn’t destroy time.

Of course, he worried for Jack, and his intestines knotted thinking of his friend's predicament. Jack had been one of those who saved him from a life of endless war, after all. They’d ripped him from underneath Titania’s thumb and thrown him to Earth.

There, he was invisible. The Seelie knew nothing of him at that point, and he’d give both kidneys, a lung, and his spleen to keep it that way.

That’s why—no matter the tragedy of losing him—he couldn’t abide any alterations. It only took the smallest change to catapult him back to his nightmare. His indentured servitude. The stench of blood and corpses.

Despite that, he was still there, so they probably hadn’t stepped on any butterflies—yet. If they were bothering, though, he felt they should succeed. They should bring him back.

Jack was one of his best customers. Silver bullets and religious charms flew off the shelves when he was around.

A sickly scraping pulled him from his reverie. His gaze snapped up, focusing on the spot the HARDON had disappeared. Amanda jolted awake, rubbernecking.

The phonebox materialised before them.

Bolting upright, Rooney strode over, wrenching the door open. Lizzie fell out, coughing, and surveyed the room.

Rooney regarded the trio still inside. “No Jack, then?”

“Naw,” replied Lizzie. “We had a little problem wi’—

As she spoke, the door slammed shut, blocking Hannah and Lydia’s exit. Then, the nails-on-chalkboard sound resumed, wide eyes staring out the panelled windows.

The HARDON dematerialised.

Lizzie blinked. “Aw, fuck.”

***

Tightening his grip on Razor, Jack noted the size of the mob. At least twenty people, all armed. Plus a sinister priest.

“Sounds like you had something to do with that Jill business,” he said.

Joshua raised an eyebrow. “An unfortunate occurrence. However, we don’t like people who ask too many questions.”

Jack scoffed. “You sound like my old teachers. You know no matter how much you sin, no demon can give you your hair back, right?”

“Sin?” said the priest, bristling. “You call it sin for a shepherd to protect his flock from outsiders? Especially when they prove to be the type who would consort with monsters.”

“The only monster here’s in my pants, you bastard.” He drew Razor, pointing her tip at his nose. “This don’t have to end bloody; just turn back and end it here. You can even keep the jewels you stole from her.” Craning his neck, he peered over his shoulder, seeing Salia frozen in place. Her tension was such that a breeze could snap her. “That’s where Ronan got them, right?”

“Indeed, we have explored the top of the beanstalk before.” Joshua curled his lip. Those behind him looked as tightly-wound as the giant, ready to spring forward. “The monster was warned to remain where she was.”

“That true?” He locked with her slippery gaze. There had been things they hadn’t shared, but this seemed too important to leave out.

How much had these people traumatised her?

She nodded, contemplating her feet.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“Don’t apologise.” Turning back to the mob, he readied his stance. Talk came later—for now, they only had one course. “Just means we have to fight.”

“B—but…” Frowning, she hugged herself. “I don’t want to.”

“Then stay back,” he said. “I’ll protect you.”

Joshua sneered. “Is that so?” He waved, beckoning the group forward. “In that case, this will be your grave.”

“Yeah,” he replied, batting away the wild swing of a club, “cause that went so well for you last time.”

They surrounded him in an instant, forks poking at his abdomen. Weaving aside, he hacked the ends off a couple as they pressed in. He grit his teeth. As well as weapons, they had the sense to rely on their numbers.

This was trouble.

“Jack…”

I know, he thought, leaping to the right.

A single slash sliced through four midsections.

Until the last breath trickles outta my body…

Blood sprayed as he darted through the gap, sticky crimson splattering across his cheeks. He wrinkled his nose as a coppery smell drifted up.

Now he was in front of them.

I won’t stop fighting!

Roaring, the crowd rushed over their fallen brethren. They were innocent, mostly; sheep who followed the command of their shepherd. He didn’t want to kill them.

Unfortunately, they wanted to kill him and Salia, and he knew where his priorities lay. Slipping away, he allowed the momentum of several club wielders to carry them. They stumbled. One he beheaded. Another lost the weapon hand. Yet another, he pierced the heart.

Razor was sharp enough to cleave through bone like butter, but he still felt it. Each blow jarred his arms, their weight punching his shoulders. Acid surged up his throat.

“Stop,” whispered Salia. Her voice grew as she said, “Please stop killing each other!”

He swallowed. As much as he wished he could, that meant death for both of them.

He kept moving, dancing around their untrained charges as they tried to pin him down. In a fight against so many, their winning strategy was obvious. They’d started with it.

Surround him.

However deftly he dodged, he still had blind spots. Before, he’d punched a way out before they could overwhelm him, but that wouldn’t happen again. Every muscle screamed at him to stop. He panted and huffed, his shirt plastered to his back.

If they cut him off, it was over.

Because of this, he had to keep hopping back toward Salia—who stood frozen—and the lake. Only a few feet left, and eight men menacing him from the front.

Wait, eight? They’d had twenty, and he’d taken out seven.

Where were the other five?

A pair tried to sneak around his right, so he shuffled back. They grimaced. He tried not to show the rising panic on his face. The water was inches away.

“Stop,” called Father Joshua. They did as he told, all eight backing off. He glared at Jack. “There’s not much else we can do.”

“I can think of one thing.” Jack willed his glower to lop the man’s shiny dome off. “Get out of my sight.”

Father Joshua sneered. “Archers, ready!”

His shoulders tensed. Archers? Scanning the area, he noticed five men in a line behind the vicar, preparing arrows on longbows.

Where had they got those from? More importantly, why were they on fire?

One of the earlier fighters walked between them, holding a torch to each one.

“Loose!”

Twang! Five blazing arrows arced through the air.

Straight at Salia.