North of Seana, Eganene

Peter thought is was likely the middle of the night. He couldn’t tell with the house being closeted against the helstrom. Softly, as not to wake Elisabeth, he built up the fire again. Taking a seat in front of it, he let the flames warm his back.

He appreciated the few hours of sleep he’d gotten, but his mind was unsettled. With the headlong rush out of Delphi, their ambush in the woods and Elisabeth, he hadn’t really had time to process all that had happened. Anathema. How could he be Anathema? He’d been part of the Family almost since their birth. He shook his head thinking of how much had changed in just a few weeks.

Not that he hadn’t reinvented himself before. He’d done it once on the streets with Buddy and then again when he’d met Milly after the Assault. He frowned into the silent cottage.The time he’d spent with Buddy wasn’t a good memory, but it wasn’t his worst. Taking the house and moving off the street had been a turning point for both of them. Having proved himself, the other children followed him willingly.

Peter couldn’t have managed the operation without Buddy. The women who had stayed were grateful for his kindness, turning their tricks in relative safety. Peter knew some of the other boys were jealous of the way they acted around him. In retrospect, he supposed he could have been glamouring them, but he preferred to think it was his natural charm.

Not Buddy though. Buddy followed his directions to the letter, stayed with him as much as he could and watched his back. If anyone should have been jealous, it was him. Buddy was a barrel with legs, a man with a second smile knifed into this face.

Sometimes Peter had to do the meaner stuff. Occasionally, the other boys needed to be kept in line and once in awhile one of girls, too. He didn’t sleep much keeping an eye on everything. Surrounded by have-nothings and be-nothings, he worked to establish his house’s reputation.

No one got robbed and no one went missing. Buddy was invaluable. Peter had to sleep some times and the house was a twenty-four hour operation. The patrons noticed. The ones with a little money telling the ones with more money. Soon, Peter had customers he never dreamed of, ones with shiny brass buttons and belt buckles.

Peter had been surprised at the money. For years, anyone of means had been moving to the major cities, the lure of the Umbilicus and the wealth from another world, a seductive draw. The land there was safer there, too, the witches’ power guiding the emerging structures from the ground. The smaller towns, like this, had no such support. Peter wanted nothing to do with the politics, but the Family was a least making the streets a bit safer.

Brass turned to silver, and Peter grew nervous. He had the boys change their clothes, directing them to look nicer and neater. New girls started showing up, asking to be taken-in, but Peter turned them away. The ones he had were good to him, good to his boys, good for business. The girls were pleased with the money. They bought dresses and better food. But unfortunately, doing well got you noticed.

“I have to go,” Peter explained, leaning back against the brown velvet of his chair. It was almost morning, the only quiet time of the his day. Closeted in his chambers, he had a cup of wine in hand. “I would bring you if I could, but they said to come alone.”

“Really?” Buddy asked, his eyes flickering from the window to the door and back. “I told them that you weren’t interested. That you didn’t need their money.”

Peter rubbed a hand against his jaw feeling the stubble and longing for a bath. A trill of laughter echoed from downstairs and he wondered who was working the trick. He hoped it wasn’t Jenna. She was the only one who made a decent breakfast.

“When is the last time you slept?” he asked his friend.

Buddy shrugged. “Don’t remember. Probably yesterday. Why don’t you tell those guys to come here? Their boys know where we’re at.”

Peter grimaced and set down his wine. He needed to look presentable. “I don’t think it works like that. Whoever wants to talk is too important to come to us.” His only other clothes were clean, but threadbare, the stitching reworked over and over on the sleeves.

“Wish you had some buttons?” Buddy asked him with a grin.

Peter just grunted. The boys with the buttons were the only ones who ever gave them any trouble. The Family’s influence had been meteoritic over the past year. They now controlled much of the town. Peter wasn’t surprised. Majic was destabilizing the very world around them, and people craved order.

“Keep the boys on a tight rein until I get back. Have them leave the whiskey until later.”

Buddy smiled, “Sure, Boss. I got it.”

Peter watched him watching the door. “Buddy,” he continued, “if I don’t come back right away. I don’t think you should come after me.”

Buddy’s scar twitched.

“You leave and these kids’ll get cleared out in a day,” Peter explained. “We got a nice thing going. I want it safe when I come back.”

Peter waited for a response, but Buddy continued to sit and watch the door, saying nothing. He wondered if the big guy hadn’t passed out with his eyes open. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Unsure, he walked over and stood in front of him. “Buddy, you heard me?” he asked, softly.

Peter saw his friend’s eyes scan towards the window, “Yeah, I got you.” Buddy shrugged out of the chair. “I’ll be downstairs with the girls. We’ll wait for you here, boss.”

Peter followed his broad back and left Buddy in the foyer, making his way quickly through the empty streets. There was little light from the rising sun, but he knew these streets well. He walked carefully to avoid the piles of leaves and refuse, hoping to get to his destination without being bothered. This time of day was pretty safe to travel. The worst men were passed out in the alleys.

The Family had taken the largest building in the area. Stone, it predated the witches, although it already had glass in the windows. Whatever local authority had once been here was long gone. Peter noted that the security guard at the door had silver buttons on his jacket.

Seeing him, the man stepped up quickly, hand against his side, “Help you, sir?”

“I have an appointment,” Peter said bowing.

The man smiled slightly, “And manners, I see.” He gestured behind him, “Go on in. The girl at the desk will help you. Just raise your hands a moment, please.”

Peter complied and was frisked. After receiving the nod, he entered and headed to the receptionist. The girl was young and pretty, maybe a bit older than himself. She wore her pale hair high on her head in a sort of twisted bun. Two huge silver pins laced it into place. He felt his breath catch and worked to focus on her face.

When he met her eyes, she smiled. “Can I help you, sir?”

Peter fought the urge to stare and won, “Yes, please. I have a meeting.”

“With whom?” she asked, batting long eyelashes. Peter thought it was curious that the Family preferred the new Earth styles. To see women in pantsuits was strange. Still, it was tight fitting, revealing perky cleavage and a trim waist.

Peter coughed and refocused on her eyes. “I’m not sure. I was only asked to the meeting, not directed to see anyone in particular.”

The girl leaned forward, the pins descending close to his eyes. “Yes, I understand. Please wait in the room to the right.”

Nodding, he left her, and seating himself at the table, sighed in relief. The girl’s hardware was worth more than he and his entire crew would make in a year. The room had large windows, and Peter watched the sunrise, wishing he was in bed. Thankfully, he didn’t have long to wait. He smelled coffee before he saw anyone. Salivating, he turned and stood.

The man behind him was of average height and build, with a pressed suit and silver buttons. Peter shook his hand and waited to sit.

“They told me you had good manners,” the man murmured in way of greeting. “Jones. You are?”

“Peter.”

“Ah, yes. I’ve heard of your establishment from some of my boys. Well run. A clean place they tell me.”

Peter leaned back slightly, “It is. I’m glad they were satisfied.”

“I should thank you for taking the time to see me,” Jones said after a pause.

Peter didn’t reply. The man was making him nervous, and his palms were sweaty. Rationally, he knew that if Jones wanted to kill him, he’d have been dead already. Still, it was best to wait.

After several moments, the man gestured to the window. Trying not to grimace, Peter followed his motion, noticing that the sun had fully crested the horizon. Hearing someone approach behind him, he wished for his knife. It was the blonde carrying a serving tray with delicate, porcelain cups filled with brown liquid.

It was the first time Peter had coffee. The girl served him a cup, and he drank when Jones did. After observing each other in silence for some time, Peter said, “This is delicious. May I ask what it is?”

Jones smiled, “Coffee, grown far from here.”

“Thank you for the chance to try it. Did you grow up there?”

“No, no,” Jones said. “You’re from this area?”

Peter shrugged, “To be honest, I’m not sure.”

“Oh?” Jones prompted, brown eyes evaluating.

Peter suppressed the urge to wring his hands, “I’ve been on my own since I was small. The house we’re in now has been ours for about a year.”

From all he’d heard about the Family, he knew they were organizing in many of the towns in the area. Men whispered to Peter’s girls that the Family was fair, but violent. Peter wanted to stay on their good side.

“What happened?” the man asked, pouring another cup.

Peter grimaced. “I have no idea. I wish I did. I don’t know if I have family in the area. Or anywhere for that matter.”

Jones smiled, “Yes, I can see how that could be distressing. Family is important.”

Peter returned the smile, understanding. “I would like to have family in the area, Mr. Jones.”

It didn’t take long for the offer to be made. The Family would take ten percent of earnings, and Peter would have their protection. When he got back to the house, Buddy was dismissive of the deal, wondering what kind of protection the Family could give that he couldn’t. Peter didn’t want to talk about it so he went to sleep.

He woke to screaming. Throwing on his pants, he rushed out of the door, hollering for Buddy as he went. The commotion was coming from Jenna’s room. Peter burst through the door, his eyes on the red ribbons of skin that had been stripped from the girl’s back. Her hands were tied to the bedpost.

Peter grabbed the man and threw him to the side, his naked body smacking against the wooden floor. Screaming drunkenly, Jenna’s trick pushed himself to his knees. Peter kicked him once in the side to leave him breathless. Quickly, he untied Jenna and wrapped her in the sheet, pushing her out of the room as Buddy arrived.

“Watch him,” Peter said, leading the weeping girl down the hall. Once he found help, he gave instructions how to wash and bind the wounds. Hurrying back, he could hear fists on flesh.

The man’s arms were tied behind him, saliva hanging from his open mouth. Buddy had him against the bed post, red welts peppering his back and stomach. They would be black and blue by morning. Unconscious, with eyes glazed and open, the man was in a bad state.

“Enough,” Peter said. “Let’s not kill him.”

Buddy stepped back, “Jenna?”

“She’ll live,” Peter confirmed, toeing the pile of clothes beside the bed. Black shirt and pants. Silver buttons. “Shit. Was he alone?”

Buddy shrugged and left the room. He was back soon, the knife in his hand keeping a second man’s attention.

“He with you?” Peter asked.

The second man focused on the bleeding body tied to the bed and then Peter’s face. More sober than his unconscious friend, he took in the scene before replying. Peter noted that the pants he wore were new looking.

“What happened?” the man asked at last, stepping into the room.

“Your man hurt our girl,” Buddy supplied, closing the distance between them. “Peter doesn’t like when people abuse his girls.”

The man frowned, but said, “You know who we are?”

Buddy gestured with his knife, “Doesn’t matter."

The man adjusted his pants, wiping sweat from his chest with the palm of his hand. Peter’s guess was that he was in his forties, grey hair marking his temples. Handsome, but not obnoxiously so, the man wore his hair long and unbound. Thick eyebrows framed intelligent eyes.

“Get his things,” Peter said to Buddy. “He’s good to wait here.”

The man looked between them in confusion, but stayed standing where he was. When Buddy left, he asked, “What’ll you do with him?”

“Nothing more. You’re not welcome back here,” he said, pointing at the door. “Neither of you.”

“She’s just a whore. Who cares if he carved her up a bit? His money is good.”

Peter sighed, “We’re under Family protection. He broke the rules. We broke his face.”

He grasped one of the wooden chairs, upended it as he ripped off one the legs. “Understand, if I had my way, I’d kill him. It was requested that I show leniency on morons like him, so he gets to leave breathing.”

Before the man could respond, Peter bludgeoned the naked man over the head. Buddy handed the second man his clothes and threw the unconscious man over his shoulder. “With me,” he told the second man, leading them from the room.

Returning with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, Buddy poured them both a healthy amount and sat down on the bed. Peter repaired the chair, knocking the post back into place and then came to join him. Buddy grinned and handed him a drink. “You thought you were gonna sleep tonight.”

Peter shrugged, “I was certainly hoping for it.” He grabbed the man’s clothes from the floor and checked his pockets. They were well made and dark, probably about his size. He would keep them and see if they didn’t fit. He’d never had any silver buttons of his own.

The man hadn’t been lying. There was enough cash in his pocket to buy several women and do what he pleased. But not here. Everyone was told the rules when they came in.

Jenna didn’t make breakfast in the morning. The other girls were real talkative, happy the man had been beaten bloody, worried for their friend. She had smoked some kind of medicine and was out cold. Buddy gave them a play-by-play, and they were effusive with their compliments. Peter thanked them and then brought his food to his room to finish eating.

Unable to sleep, he waited in the foyer for the men he knew were coming. He sat at a table, sipping whisky and watching the lace curtains flutter against the window. Buddy was resting on the nearby couch. The fire was roaring in the hearth, and someone had left the window open to help eliminate the smoke.

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“Peter?” the man asked as he entered.

“Buddy, I’ll be back later. Take care of the girls for me.”

“I don’t think they want to talk.”

Five men had been sent to get him, the fire’s light reflecting on the barrels of their pistols. The man who had spoken entered slowly, the others fanning out behind him. Their eyes raked the place for hidden dangers. “I need you to come with me,” one said.

Upending the glass, Peter drank deeply, letting it burn his throat and savoring the moment. He was wearing the assailant’s clothes, so when he stood he was indistinguishable from the Family men.

Before the man could reach for his arm, Peter was moving. Making it to the door first, he led them men out of the building. His sense of accomplishment was short lived. As soon as they were outside, one the men kicked him in the small of the back and sent him to his knees.

“Don’t act like an idiot and I won’t have to shoot you.”

Peter grunted and followed. When they arrived, the pretty blonde with the enormous silver hair pins was not at the desk. A dour looking gentleman sat in her place. Peter’s guides took him upstairs to a different room where he was surprised to find several people waiting.

It was easy to recognize the man they had beaten, the side of his face was purple and his rage was palpable. Beside him sat his friend. The second man seemed curious, watching Peter as he entered the room.

Men he didn’t recognize were seated in the other chairs. The big man who escorted him remained behind him. The rest left. Jones, looking displeased, watched him sit.

“Peter,” he said, sounding sad. “I was disappointed to hear of the events of last night. My colleague here tells me you accosted him in your establishment, stole his possessions and left him naked on the street. Obviously, as you are wearing his clothing, he was accurate.”

When Peter didn’t respond, Jones continued, “I thought that in our meeting, we were clear with our expectation of your treatment of Family employees. As you can see, I’ve assembled several of us. You can consider this a trial, of sorts, an honor only given to those who are Family.”

The man spread his hands wide, “Despite the fact that you have been one of us for less than a day, which must be some record, you are being accorded the rights. If you have anything to say for yourself, please do it now.”

Peter hadn’t expected this. The stories he’d heard about the Family detailed their rigorous adherence to honor and the rule of law. Still, he was surprised it applied to him. Peter swallowed his spit. It tasted like whiskey.

“Gentlemen,” he began, counting his heartbeats. He had to be calm, had to look sure of himself. “I hope you’ll accept my apologies. Unfortunately, as Mr. Jones has described, there was an incident in my establishment. As requested by Mr. Jones, I allowed the assailant to leave my property alive. Under normal circumstances, he would be dead. My actions are a direct result of the care and honor I do my Family, all of them, even those who seek to do me and mine harm.”

“Elaborate,” one of the men ordered.

Peter demurred, shrugging gracefully.

“Ah, but it necessary, son,” an elderly gentlemen said from beside him, and Peter smiled inside. “You must explain yourself fully, if we are to understand your actions.”

Peter raised his gaze and nodded respectfully to the old man. Then, he redirected his attention to Jones. Studiously ignoring the man he’d beaten, he said, “Yesterday you encouraged me to join your organization. I believe we have a mutual respect for order, efficiency and cleanliness.”

“This man,” he gestured, “entered my home and business and abused my property. He agreed to a verbal contract when business commenced. Unfortunately, I was made aware of his ill intent until he was peeling skin from my asset’s back. She has not yet woken from the ordeal. I wonder if she will be useful to me anymore.”

Peter was under no illusions that any of these men would care about the girl, but they would care about property. Peter fought the urge to wring his hands while he waited for a response. The man he had beaten squirmed in his chair, his bruised face darkening.

The older man coughed into his handkerchief. “Gentlemen, we did not come to dispute a contract. If our man broke faith, he deserved what he got.”

Others at the table nodded. Peter looked expectantly at Jones, trying not to let his relief show.

“Do you dispute this account?” Jone asked the man Peter had beaten.

“Just a whore,” the man grumbled.

Peter directed his attention to him, “My property.”

Jones nodded, “I agree. You have seen to the core of the problem. If no one has anything left to add, I should like to adjourn the meeting and send everyone home with my deepest apologies for their wasted time.”

The beaten man’s friend cleared his throat and all eyes swung to him. Mr. Jones asked, “Yes? You were also at Peter’s establishment last evening.”

“These wounds,” the man said, pointing at his colleague, “were not Peter’s doing. Why isn’t the other man here? He is the one that did this. I would hear his story.”

Jones looked surprised, “You didn’t do this?”

“I,” Peter started, thinking quickly, “take responsibility for the action.”

The elderly man beside him shook his head, “Each man owns his actions.”

Peter swallowed his spit, “Again, I take responsibility. My man…”

Jones coughed, interrupting him, “He will need to give his testimony.”

Peter could feel his face drain of color. He had agreed to a contract with the Family. Buddy had no such agreement. “No, sir,” he said at last.

Jones turned back to Peter, his eyebrows raised. “Order your man here. Now.”

He shook his head, panic leaving him mute.

The old man prompted him, “It is part of the proceeding.”

Peter just shook his head. There was no way he’d order Buddy here. These men owed him nothing. They’d known him for only a day. He couldn’t give Buddy up.

His continued refusals did not earn him any grace. The last thing he saw was the beaten man’s broken smile. Apparently, he had lost a few teeth. That memory was not the greatest of consolations in the time to follow. Torture, endless pain, sleeplessness, followed by more pain and sleep deprivation. It broke him. Over and over, it broke him.

Eventually, he told them he would do it. He penned the letter to Buddy and asked him to join him, told him it was necessary, explained that he needed him. The torture stopped after that, and he was allowed to sleep. They told him he would get a chance to prove himself, that Buddy was coming, and he almost wept for joy. They were watching, though, and he knew better than to let them see him cry.

Of course he had cried and begged while he was being tortured, but that was different, separate, almost like it was not him, had never happened to him. They let him bathe and gave him clothes. They weren’t the clothes he’d taken from the Employee, but they were clean and free of blood and urine. It was like heaven.

They gave him food and clean water, and he ate and drank as though it had been days. It was possible it had been. He had no idea the passage of time. Sometimes people came and asked him questions, but they did it without pain.

Jones came back and told him they had a test for him, just one test. Buddy was coming. Peter agreed eagerly, following Jones out of the cell with a sense of wild abandonment. He prayed to Wul and Rae, and although he wasn’t a particularly religious man, sent them thanks from the center of his soul.

Jones brought him to a courtyard. It was cold; his breath steaming from his mouth and from the top of Jones’ head. A small dais had been raised and members of the council waited there for him, their old hands warmed before small braziers. Blankets were set over their shoulders and the smell of mulled wine was recognizable.

He didn’t see Buddy at first. His scar had all but disappeared beneath the layers of lumps and bruises. He was skinnier now, like he too had been hungry for many days. He was tied to a post on the opposite end of the courtyard, hands behind his back, gagged, his eyes watching Peter.

Peter wanted to say something, to tell him it was going to be fine. They were going to get out of this, that the Family understood-- Buddy had just been doing as ordered. He was loyal. They both would be freed.

He didn’t know if that was true. Why had they brought him here to this arena? Why was Buddy tied to the post, broken?

Peter didn’t have long to wait. The members on the dais recognized him, their conversations halting, dying in their mouths. The blonde girl was there. She was the only one not wearing black. Instead she had on a white dress, seemingly whiter than the tiny flakes of snow that swirled down from the dirty, grey sky. A dark shawl wrapped her upper body, and he wondered what she did with those huge silver spikes when she slept.

Like a dream, she walked towards him. Her fancy shoes crushed the new snow beneath them, erasing it completely. Peter felt the flakes hit his forehead, nose and chin. He felt them dissolve as he watched her approach, the swing of her hips in time with his heartbeats, the whole thing drawn out forever, so that when she finally got to him, he was surprised.

In her hands she held a long knife. He was surprised he hadn’t noticed that first. She handed it to him, using her newly emptied hand to caress his cheek, softly wiping the beads of water from his face. Her eyes were too bright, feverish. Peter recognized the look. The girls in his establishment got it sometimes when they wanted him.

Peter wondered what would happen if he told her no, and was surprised to find it distressing. Her desire was too intense. He could feel it from here, even as she walked away to retake her seat by the older gentleman who had once spoken to him in a room of crowded suits.

Her father, Peter assumed, wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She didn’t lean into him. Her gaze was locked onto Peter, and he repressed a shudder. There was definitely something wrong there.

Jones addressed him from the dais, the others quietly watching the proceeding, “Peter, you defied our assembly. You refused to order your man to be witness. I ask you now, would you like to return to us? To fight for your Family, to hold our values highest amongst your own? Peter, we would take you back into our fold. Transgressions erased. You would have the honor of being Family once more.”

Peter fell to one knee, hope rekindling, “Nothing would please me more.”

Jones nodded, “We would like a visible demonstration of your loyalty. Something to prove without a doubt that you are our man.”

From behind him, he heard Buddy’s muffled struggles. Internally, he shivered. They wouldn’t ask him to do that.

Jones walked forward until he was three feet from the tip of Peter’s weapon.

He thought about it. If he moved fast enough, he could skewer the man where he stood. But where would that get him? The other fifteen people would pull out their guns. No, that couldn’t be the way out. They had given him the weapon for a reason.

“We would like you to sever your old ties,” Jone said. “We brought your man here today. He was a good man, loyal and true to your desires. He searched for you, sent out men, but never left the house himself. He watched over it for you. We had to go in and get him. He would not leave no matter what we promised.”

Peter turned to look at Buddy. He had been the first to publicly support him, the first to back him. He had been the one who watched his back day and night for a year. Before the business, Peter had survived day to day. With Buddy, they’d taken a house. His success was based on his business, his honor and reputation. Buddy had helped him to create that. Without him, Peter would have been killed months ago.

“Sever your ties,” Jones said again.

Peter stalked closer to Buddy, his footsteps slow and deliberate.

Pausing before him, he took a single deep breath. The rush of cold air fortifying him. This was it.

He dropped his weapon at Buddy’s feet. While the crowd gasped, he watched Buddy’s face in the weapon’s reflection. Though the gag, he saw his friend smile. It wasn’t a bad way to go, not really. The Family would make it quick, professional.

He desperately wanted to live, would have fought them all, but he was a pragmatist at heart. He knew his death would be slower, more painful, if he resisted. These men had guns. It wasn’t just that the odds weren’t in his favor, there were no odds.

Peter walked back to the dais, and met Jones’ questioning glare. “My partner and I will share the same fate, Mr. Jones. I appreciate the opportunity. But, I can’t do as you ask.”

“Peter,” the man said, hands resting on two beautiful guns on his side. “I want you to think carefully on your decision here.

Avoiding the blonde’s gaze, he nodded, “I am.”

Silence enveloped the proceedings. No one coughed, no one breathed. Peter could feel his heart pounding against his chest. He didn’t want to die. Almost, he called out. He wanted to so badly. And if he had, what might have happened?

Instead, he dropped to one knee, his head handing. He thought he should feel ashamed, but the man behind him was…

“Family,” Jones called out, his voice booming off the high cinderblock walls and against the trunks of the surrounding trees. “We are here for Family. And what is Peter if not loyal? Our highest principles personified. This man is an asset to our company. He has created an efficient, clean and prosperous business, all while retaining the admiration and respect of those in his employ.”

Peter couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He looked up sharply, only to see the blonde’s eyes fixed on his. Everyone was watching him, even the Employee he had beaten, although his was a look of murderous rage. Peter smiled benignly towards him and saw the man’s face flush scarlet.

Jones continued, “The test is passed, Peter. Stand and meet your Family.” Gesturing towards Buddy, he said, “Someone let him down. He has earned his place here, as well.”

With the crowd watching, Peter stood straight, waiting for his friend. Buddy joined him and they exchanged glances. He looked as confused and overwhelmed as Peter felt. The blonde went and retrieved Peter’s weapon, handing it to Jones.

“This weapon, I give you,” he intoned as Buddy bowed before him. “It is a symbol of respect for your loyalty. I expect that you will show the same to all your Family.”

“I will.”

“And you, sir,” Jones continued, “I feel you have a great future ahead of you. There are many here today who would wish a word to help you decide those new pursuits.”He saw Buddy start and prayed for him to be calm.

Jones smiled, “It is only fitting that your friend be left in charge of your business, a caretaker and partner in your economic venture. You, however, are needed elsewhere.”

He held out another knife. Peter took it with trembling fingers, terrified of discovering it was not real. The metal was bitterly cold against his hand, like the smoothest glass. It was long and sharp. He inhaled slowly, afraid to blink.

“You have sworn your allegiance once, Peter,” Jones cried. “I would have you do it once more before gods and men.”

“I swear before all the gods,” he said in a husky voice. “I am a Family man, forever.”

A few weeks later, he was on his way to Orlenia to join the Assault.

A loud thump and violent crack broke him from his memories. Peter grabbed his guns from beneath his pillow and rolled away from the fire.

The men brought the helstrom into the cottage with them, the snowy wind driving the flames in the hearth to new heights, shadows writhing against the wall as though there were four attackers instead of two. Peter looked for Elisabeth, wanting to warn her to get down, but she wasn’t in her bed. She must have taken cover as well.

The intruders were covered in snow, white lumps of powder covering their coats, boots and legs. Peter looked for weapons, but the men wore heavy gloves. Peter didn’t hesitate, but ran at them, knocking the closest one off his feet. The second one didn’t have time to react before Peter swept his legs out from under him. Jumping up, he looked back at the first man.

Elisabeth stood over him, the Hand’s pistols aimed at his head. Peter elbowed his man in the face, feeling his nose break. Checking that he was out, he shouted back to Elisabeth, “You got him?”

“I’m good,” was the calm reply.

“I have to get the door!” Trusting the girl to watch his back, Peter shoved his gun in his waistband and went for the door. Without secure walls, the helstrom would kill them in no time. As quickly as he could, he slammed it closed, piling firewood in front as he tried to jam the frame back into place. Once it was stable, he ran back into the bedroom.

The couple was where he had left them, both sets of eyes concerned. Peter didn’t spare them a glance, but rushed to the man’s closet and pulled out his tools. He found a hammer and some nails, precious things. Surprisingly, the man didn’t protest as he took them. He must have understood what Peter was about.

Back in the hearth room, Peter took one of the kitchen chairs and broke it against the ground. Elisabeth didn’t turn, but he saw her shoulders twitch at the impact. Using all the wood, he secured the door and frame and covered the shattered boards as best he could. They would all die if the winds were allowed into the house.

“Is there more rope?” he asked Elisabeth.

“Left of the fire,” she reported.

Peter found it and bound his man’s hands and legs together, leaving him where he was on his side on the floor. He wouldn’t choke to death on his own blood. Next, he knelt beside Elisabeth’s man. The guy offered his hands willingly.

“Stand up,” Peter ordered. “Keep your hands together.”

The man complied, although his legs quaked and wobbled beneath him. Peter figured it was from cold or exhaustion. These men would have been in a panic, searching for shelter, knowing they would die out in the storm.

“Check him,” he told Elisabeth, but she was already holstering her guns.

“Yeah,” she replied, meeting his eyes.

Peter was relieved to find her focused and confident. She was getting good at this.

It didn’t take her long to pat down the man’s legs and torso. She found a knife and a pistol.

“You have anything else?” Peter asked him.

The man shook his head. Peter couldn’t see his face. He still had the hood of his jacket pulled tight around him.

“Take off your coat.”

The man grunted but stripped off his heavy coat, letting it fall to the floor.

Peter heard Elisabeth inhale softly. He knew why. The man was wearing all black, the buttons of his inner coat shining silver.

“You’re Family?” she asked. She had put the man’s weapons on the table and was pulling her own guns from her holsters.

“Elisabeth…”

“Release me,” the man said. “You know who I am.”

Peter said nothing. He was curious to find out what she was going to do.

“What do you want?” Elisabeth asked, taking a step closer to the man. “Why are you here?”

The man laughed, “So you ask the questions, is that it? An interesting relationship.”

Peter met the man’s eyes, “I would answer her questions if I were you.”

“Who are you?” Elisabeth tried again.

But the man hadn’t turned away from Peter, his face scrunched up in confusion.

“Your name?” Peter asked.

“Who are you?” the man asked.

Peter shook his head, “She is asking the questions.”

He didn’t think the man knew him. The Dogs he’d killed in the woods hadn’t had much time to distribute their fliers before the helstrom hit. This man probably didn’t know he was Anathema.

“Do I know you?” the man asked instead, ignoring his directions. “You’ve had training.”

“Kneel,” Elisabeth said, her voice was low and dangerous.

Wisely, the man turned to her.

“Get down on your knees and put your hands behind your back.”

Peter secured his feet and hands together so that the man was forced to remain kneeling or fall over on his side.

Elisabeth took the remaining chair and sat down in front of him. She shot Peter a single glance, and he nodded his encouragement. She wasn’t asking for permission. “Why are you here?”

“We needed shelter from the storm.”

“But why are you here?” she asked again. “You know what I’m asking you. What are you doing in these woods? In this area?”

The man shrugged, “You speak strangely. What part of the country are you from? You recognized me as Family, but perhaps you don’t know what that means.”

“Enlighten me,” she suggested.

Peter appreciated the way she was handling the man. Back straight and confident, her pale hair was lit by the fire. She left the Hand’s guns resting against her knees, their barrels pointed at the man’s head.

He was watching her now, belatedly recognizing the threat. “I work in this area for powerful people. If they find out you’ve harmed me, they’ll send men after you. They will hunt you until they deliver justice.”

“Why would I harm you?”

The man looked confused, “You have me tied up. My partner is unconscious on the floor.”

“You broke into our house.”

The man nodded, “A misunderstanding, then. We were only trying to find shelter from the storm.”

“Let me ask you again,” Elisabeth said, determination fortifying her words. “Why are you here?”

Peter smiled to himself. He approved of this change in her, of her poise and deadly intent. As far as she knew, the Family was after her, sending assassins as she slept. She had to change, to adapt, in order to survive.

Elisabeth’s voiced cracked with anger, “This is the last time I will ask you!”

“I told you,” the man was saying. “I’m Family. You have no right…”

Peter stood, “My friend has been patient. She wants to know why you are in the area. Since you are sheltering in our home and she isn’t killing you, it would be in your best interest to answer her question.”

“You work for us?” the man asked.

Peter shrugged noncommittally, “I don’t have an interest in your death. However, my associate here seems quite bent on finding out the truth.”

The man sighed, “I’ll be released when this is over?”

Peter nodded.

“And my partner?”

Again, he nodded. He could feel Elisabeth watching him, but he didn’t turn to her. She knew what he was about.

“We are stationed a few days west of here.”

“Where?” Peter asked.

The man shrugged, “We aren’t close to a town. It’s hard to explain.”

Elisabeth holstered one of her weapons. “I want to know why you are here.”

“We were tracking a party when we got hit with the storm. Couldn’t make heads or tails which way we were going. We were lucky to find your cottage.”

“Why were you tracking them?”

The man shook his head. “I think I’ve told you enough.”

The girl put her other gun on the table, fingering her weapon and watching the man. Peter wouldn’t have wanted to be on the other end of that look. Whether or not Peter had promised to let them men go didn’t bind her actions. She looked furious.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked. “Did you come here for me?”

The man looked at Peter in confusion, “Should I?”

“You are part of the people following us,” the girl spit. “You are dressed the same as they were.” She was taking deep breaths, but her hand wasn’t shaking.

Peter frowned. There was no way they could let the men go, not now.