whatever Providence guided him would lead him to her. Examining the bed — no struggle, no scent of anything beyond hers… and he lingered at her smell — he spied the drawing. It was a hunch, a wild hope more than anything else, but he had nothing else to go on.
Lott hated walking up High School Road. A couple years back, he was minding his own business on a Saturday night when a group of teenage boys slowed down and hit him with a cup full of Mountain Dew from Taco Bell. Random white punks out doing random hateful shit, though it was dark enough out that they might not have known he was black. Every time he took to the sidewalk, the same edgy anticipation swept over him.
He hadn't eaten at Taco Bell since, either.
The church didn't appear disturbed. The boards remained intact. Cracks filigreed the near yellow walls. Scorch marks seared the outlines of doors and windows. A few more gang tags marked it: a spray-painted cross with a six-pointed star on it and two swords crossed behind it; a heart with devil's horns coming out of its lobes; a pair of dice, one with a two facing, the other with a six. Around back, planks of wood, water-damaged furniture, and bits of ruined dry wall filled a dumpster. A stretch of plywood had been pulled from the rear door. Steeped in shadows, the narthex devoured the wan light let in by the loosed board. Upon it falling back into place, the darkness reigned unabated. The room took on a sinister cast, as if befouled by an unwanted presence. Lott crept forward, his feet almost sliding along the granite floor layered in ash. A fine-ground debris. He turned into the main sanctuary. Slits of light filtered through some of the uncovered stain glass windows hear the top of the room. He marveled that no one had hurled rocks to shatter them. The thin light cast the room in gray murk. A couple of columns, more decorative than load-bearing, had fallen on one another.
Lady G stood next to one of the untoppled columns. Just standing there, not tied up, but with the awkward stance of someone under duress.
'That's far enough,' a voice yelled from nowhere.
Colvin wasn't plugged into a network, his ego obscuring the reality of his situation. His ambitions drove him to become a player, but he was too independent with no one watching his back. He'd always been that way. It was one of the reasons Omarosa chose to hit him. No trap car, traveling in thin traffic, Broyn was easy pickings. Colvin's entire operation was sloppy, amateurish. It was beneath who they were and he needed to be taken down a peg.
From her tree-perch vantage point, she watched the final act play out. She had been following Colvin since his rash raid on Rellik. Of all the feelings she could have had, after all he'd done, she still managed to feel sorry for him. He was her brother after all. She knew him, his ways, his weaknesses. Most times she couldn't be around him, not when he raged like this. Simple, brutal, and haphazard, he didn't think, only lashed out in his pain and anger. There were times when he had to bear the consequences of his actions, and she pulled away from him.
But he was still her brother.
A few of the tiny creatures stepped into view. Necklace of teeth. Painted bellies. Iron boots. Bracelets of sharpened edges of iron left burn marks where they rubbed against their wrist. Their caps varying shades of red. And they looked hungry.
To Rok's eyes they were half-naked midgets, more ridiculous than terrifying, and he choked back a snicker. Raising their legs like baseball pitchers, the tiny bulbous bodies tilted back as they sent another volley of elf arrows at them. Something whirred past his ear. Rok jerked his head to the side. It impacted against the tree like buckshot. Rellik and Rok opened fire immediately, not certain what their targets were. King took point, his Caliburn drawn but not firing. Dred began to chant to himself, his fingers locking, adjusting their configurations, then locking again. Baylon circled the periphery just outside the light of the hillside clearing. King, Rok, and Rellik took cover behind trees. They returned fire as best they could, pinned down by the advancing horde. Distracted.
'What the fuck are these ninja dwarfs?' Rok cried out.
'Red Caps. Feared among the fey folks.' Merle squat lower against a tree. He leaned over to shout, but elf arrows ricocheted passed his exposed face and he withdrew. 'Think of them as less personable pit bulls. With opposable thumbs.'
Rok's tree wasn't wide enough to provide much cover. He took careful aim at the nearest Red Caps shooting at him. Swallowing hard, he fired a few rounds. He was pretty sure he hit one, but the creature seemed to shrug off the wound. He concentrated on shooting back at them, he didn't notice the earth rippling toward him.
The ground surged at their feet. All around them, the thin layer of leaves erupted. Hands clutched at them, like a horde of vengeful demons upon them. Soil sprayed in all directions, a cloud of earthen shrapnel. Bodies pressed against his, dragging them to the ground. Red Caps burst out of the ground.
Rellik remained quiet. The fey assassins rose up, a rising tide of hands he let wash over him before he began firing. His bullets wouldn't be as effective far away against their tough hide, he knew, but up close, it wasn't as if they were invulnerable. Fending off gnashing maws, he trained his gun on their skulls and squeezed the trigger. A tiny head exploded, spraying the remains of its face across that of its brother faeries. Claws scraped against his back as he scrabbled out of their grasp and fired.
'Why are you doing this?' King pressed his back to the tree, but leaned around to shout at Colvin.
'Fortune favors the bold.'
King expected something along the lines of Colvin wanting to draw out his enemies, maybe testing the resolve of the fragile and tentative coalition. A young un bucking to prove himself. Little of that seemed to be in play. Colvin simply did because he had to. Because he didn't know any better. He dreamed big but didn't have the patience and didn't want to put in the work required. He wanted what he wanted. Now. Damn the consequences. Without thought, King's hand reached for his Caliburn. The action felt right and natural, the situation just and warranted.
Colvin chanted to himself and the air shimmered. A green seam appeared, a surgical scar opening up as another half-dozen Red Caps poured out.
'Can you do something about that?' King shouted.
'We're on it.' Merle turned and tripped over a branch. Remembering that he hated the woods, especially his fear of snakes, he scrambled out the way of charging Red Caps.
His gaze flicked from side to side.
'Cut off the head and the body dies.' Dred questioned the strength of King's resolve.
Panic rose in Rok and settled on him, freezing his legs as he fired wildly. The arms grappled about him. Tiny hands fastened about his ankles. Rok fired at the ground. An explosion of pain ripped across him as an elf arrow glanced against his ribcage. At the searing pain, he dropped his gun to clutch his ribs. More hands appeared, tugging at him like a furious riptide of flesh. As he toppled to the ground, a Red Cap leapt on his back. A feral gleam in its eye, it revealed its shark-like teeth and tore into Rok's neck. The creature bore down in a grim trajectory through muscle and ricocheted off bone, through his carotid artery, channeling through his neck, a cloud of arterial spray spurted.
'Mama!' the boy cried out, then fell still.
Scarlet streaks splattered across Rellik's face. Pain drummed behind his eyes in tune with his ragged heartbeat. A talon grazed his temple as pain arced across his skull. Staggering back a few steps, a Red Cap leapt upon him. Teeth tore eagerly into the soft meat of his upper arm. The creature chewed with relish, then bellowed as bullets from the Caliburn ripped through it. Ignoring the pain in his arm, a murderous glint of rage in his eyes, Rellik's balled fist pummeled the sneer from another creature's face. He pivoted to strike another, the bones of its neck snapped in his grasp. Three more pounced on him. Razor-sharp claws drove down toward his snarling face. Drops of spit flew from his mouth as he struggled against the creature.
Surveying the scene, Colvin grinned with a smile devoid of mirth.
There was a time when Lott didn't particularly care for Lady G. They had found themselves at Outreach Inc. at about the same time. Outreach was beginning its flirtation with the idea of using arts to have the kids express themselves. Lott entered the room, baggy pair of blue jeans whose cuffs dragged along the ground, white T-shirt, a set of gold grillz, and a light blue hoodie thrown up to cover the earphones plugged in. His head bobbed ever so slightly, his fingers tapped out percussive notes in the air as he let words come to him. Lady G and Rhianna couldn't content themselves with their drawing or inane chatter, nor could they pass up a boy at peace. They threw wadded-up paper at him, driving him to such distraction, he ended up jumping out of his seat, cussing at them then storming off. The girls giggled in delight. Luckily, Wayne was there to smooth things over. It was one of the first times Wayne had really spoken to him. Eventually, he had the three of them sit down and do a poetry exercise. Lady G read a piece about fires and mothers which caused Lott to soften towards her, though he did make fun of her
