the base of walls and towers, larger white obelisks set upon blocks of rose granite. Each memorial flew its battalion’s flag and bore the names of the fallen around its base. Max gazed at the Trench Rats’ standard flapping in the wind. He counted four hundred and eighty-seven names inscribed beneath it. When he murmured the number aloud, Scathach spoke up.
“I’m no mathematician, but I believe that means there are over seven hundred names
“It’s still too many,” said Max.
“How many more would there be if you hadn’t trained them, or fought with them, or acquired that iron on their behalf? Your losses were half that of the other trench battalions. They were volunteers, Max. Their deaths are sad, but they are not tragic. Look at me.”
He did so, studying the sharp planes of her face and the shining gray eyes that studied him in turn.
“You are no stranger to war,” she said. “You are grieving, but there is something else bothering you. What is it?”
Max nodded and quietly told Scathach how close he had been to summoning Astaroth.
“I’m glad you did not,” she remarked. “A blood debt is ugly business and you must not play the Demon’s game. There is a reason he chose you for such a thing, my love. I do not know what it is, but it was no accident. You must be wary of his words.”
“I am,” said Max, bowing his head. “But there are times, Scathach, when words don’t matter to me. There are times when I could turn the entire world into that dead black chasm. It scares me.”
“It should,” said Scathach sagely. “Some people are born great, but no one is born good. That is a choice they must make for themselves. You were born greater than others. Your choices will be harder and you are not infallible. I know … I’ve read your poems.”
Max grinned and pressed his forehead against hers. She kissed him as Old Tom chimed eleven o’clock. When it had finished, she smiled and gazed for a moment at her shadow on the grass.
“Come,” she said. “We have honored the dead. It’s time to honor the living.”
Max would have known the healing ward blindfolded. He knew the number of steps down its hallway and the acoustics of its high ceilings and archways, but most of all he knew the smells. The air in the ward was always warm and faintly scented with the aromas of hearths and oils and innumerable herbs that were laid on tables and patiently mortared into medicines.
The ward was crowded, but it was easy to find the bed they sought. It was in the back, separated from the others and walled off with panels of runeglass whose sigils gave off a soft white glow. Walking quietly to it, Max and Scathach slipped between a slender gap in the panels to gaze at William Cooper.
The man was fast asleep, lying peacefully beneath a white blanket stitched with Rowan’s seal. Miss Boon was also there, snoring lightly in a bedside chair and half mumbling some sentence from the tome that was slipping from her fingers. Stepping lightly forward, Max took the book from her hands and laid it on a table. Cracking open her eyes, Miss Boon sat up abruptly.
“I must have dozed off,” she said, blinking and looking about. “Forgive the mess.”
She gestured absently at several coffee mugs and plates of half-nibbled sandwiches.
“David’s had a bad influence on you,” Max teased, offering the other chair to Scathach. “How’s our guy?”
“Remarkable,” she declared, taking Cooper’s hand. “He opened his eyes for the first time last night. And whenever I read aloud to him, he groans. It must be therapeutic. It’s very nice of you two to visit, but do be careful, Max—you’re about to step on Grendel.”
Glancing down, Max spied the Cheshirewulf lying at the foot of Cooper’s bed. The animal was almost wholly translucent as it dozed, only appearing now and again when it exhaled. There was something standing atop its head, however, perched like an Egyptian plover upon a crocodile. Looking closer, Max saw that it was indeed a bird, a brightly colored kingfisher with mismatched eyes.
“And who is this?” he wondered.
“That’s my charge, Aberdeen,” explained Miss Boon, laying her wrist on Cooper’s forehead. “I was afraid Grendel would eat her, but they get along famously! She chirps; he growls. It’s very charming.”
Stepping carefully past the two, Max stood over Cooper’s bed and looked down at him. The wound from YaYa’s horn had closed and the pentacles upon his skin had faded away entirely. His head had been shaved, but already there were scattered patches of short blond stubble. The man’s countless scars, boxer’s nose, and grisly burns would have appalled many a stranger, but Max merely smiled. William Cooper looked precisely as he should.
Miss Boon reached for the book on the nightstand. “If you two don’t mind, I’ll continue reading him some
Tossing slightly, Cooper groaned as if having a nightmare.
“Quick,” said Max. “Start reading!”
Mistaking his urgency for a shared love of George Eliot, Miss Boon quickly found her place. “
Gasping, Cooper suddenly opened his pale blue eyes.
“William!” cried Miss Boon, flinging the book aside and taking his hand.
The man grimaced as he struggled to sit up.
“Prop some pillows behind him and give me a hand,” ordered Miss Boon, tossing one to Max and helping Cooper lean back against the headboard.
For a few seconds, Cooper merely looked at them, his eyes going from Miss Boon to Max and then to Scathach, who was sitting quietly by the runeglass.
“I know you,” the Agent muttered in his flat Cockney accent.
“We haven’t officially met. I’m Scathach.”
Cooper nodded slowly, as though emerging from a very long and horrid dream. He glanced up at Max. “I cut you,” he muttered, his inflection teetering between question and statement.
“I’m fine,” said Max. “Scathach came to my rescue.”
“And Grendel …,” continued Cooper, horrified.
“Grendel is lying at the foot of the bed,” said Miss Boon. “Aberdeen is keeping him company.”
Cooper blinked at the ensuing, unseen chirp.
“Xiumei,” he whispered, staring at his hands. “I killed her.”
“No, you did not,” said Miss Boon firmly. “The
At the mention of the Atropos’s name, Cooper sat straight up and stared at Max. “There are clones,” he said. “Clones of you. And they’re working for the Atropos. The leader gave them my compass … the one that points toward you.”
“I’ve met those clones,” replied Max grimly. “David buried them under half a palace near Bholevna. They’re probably dead.”
“Don’t you believe it till you’ve seen the bodies,” muttered Cooper darkly.
“That’s what I keep telling him,” said Scathach pointedly.
“You,” said Cooper, turning to her once again. “Who taught you how to fight like that? You fight just like Max.”
Scathach shook her head and smiled. “I beg to differ,” she replied. “Max fights just like me.”
The Agent stared at her, nodding ever so slightly as he came to understand. “You’re from the Sidh.”
“I was,” she replied. “I live at Rowan now. You might even say I report to you.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Cooper, frowning.
Pulling back her sleeve, Scathach displayed a small red tattoo on her wrist.
“You’re in the Red Branch?” exclaimed its commander.
“The Red Branch needed a replacement for Xiumeei,” Max explained. “Ms. Richter was confident that you’d find Scathach qualified and appointed her in your absence.”
“Shoot,” muttered Cooper, sinking back against his pillow. “From what I’ve seen, Scathach should be running the damn show.”
The man sat quiet for several minutes, periodically gazing at his visitors as though still skeptical that the entire episode was not a dream. At length, he cleared his throat and nodded up at Max. “Gotta question for you,” he said.
