word skills. All it took was seeing her in a new light.
'You OK?' Lott asked Lady G.
'I'm fine. Lott, he got a gun.'
'Who does?'
'Me,' the voice said from the air.
It was near enough for Lott to whir about. He stared in the direction of the sound. 'What you want?'
'Where's King?' The voice had the slightest of southern drawls. Probably from Kentucky originally.
'He ain't here.'
'I thought he'd be the one to come. She not important enough for him?'
'She…' Lott preferred to not think about her and King. Compartmentalizing his thoughts and feelings no matter the circumstance had become reflex. 'No one can get through to him. You got me instead.'
'That ain't the way this was supposed to go down.'
'So what you want?' Lott backed up a few steps, beginning to circle around, triangulating on the sound of the boy's voice.
'Let me think.' Garlan hoped his voice didn't sound weak. He hadn't been told what to do in the event King didn't show. Maybe this was distraction enough to see the other half of his money. He needed to make sure a clear message had been sent.
'Lott!' Lady G cried out.
Her scream pierced his heart. His attention immediately went to her, all of his fighting instincts focused on protecting her. A board broke over his back. Its force drove him to his knees. Lott wasn't one for chess-like maneuverings. For him, the best path was the straight line. Even if that meant going through someone. Lott stretched out his arms in a sweeping tackle, not knowing when or if he'd hit his target. He smacked into someone after only a few steps into his charge.
'What the-?'
Lott wrapped his arms low around Garlan, digging his fingers into his back as if a more secure purchase made him real. Garlan threw a flurry of punches. Lott stepped in closer. Covered up as best he could, his head ducked from side to side. He took the punches with no more than a grimace. Flexing his jaw, a fresh wave of pain jammed needles into his brain. The pain was there, but the boy had no steel behind them. He didn't know how to throw punches well though he could land them with abandon. The volley of blows caused Lott to release his grip on him. He raised his fists, prepared for another assault. Holding his ground proved difficult. The fine layer of dust and ash mixed on the floor left little traction to be found.
The ash smeared in a spot. The impression of a shoe. As if the weight had shifted to another foot. An impression formed and then another in rapid succession. Garlan circled him, preparing to launch another attack from a different vantage point. Lott gave no indication that he knew from which direction Garlan chose to come at him, his gaze firmly affixed on the dirt of the floor.
Lott charged him again, receiving a few blows thrown while off balance which bounced off his shoulders and back. The punches to the side were more swats than anything with power. Lott jabbed into the boy's gut. Garlan growled and launched himself at him then snapped his head up to catch the underside of Lott's jaw with his skull. He slammed through Lott's defensive stance. His eyes watered, Garlan staggered back and knocked over the round spindle the group of friends had once used as a table. Breathing hard, he could taste blood on the inside of his lip.
The tension left his body.
'We done?' Lott asked.
'We done.'
'You mind telling me what this was all about?'
'Just a job. Nothing personal.'
'Who hired you?'
Silence was his only answer followed by the sounds of retreating footfalls scooting across the floor in rapid succession.
'This was weird,' Lady G said. 'It was like watching you wrestle with yourself. Like you was wrestling your imaginary friend.'
'Who you tellin'? Let's get you home.' Lott allowed himself a moment just to take her all in. Without make-up, without a brush run through her hair, without clothes carefully coordinated, she was still the most beautiful person he'd ever known.
'Not just yet. Can we just… go somewhere?'
'Need to walk it off? Come down from the adrenaline rush.'
He took her hand and she rested her weary head on him.
'Let's end this,' King yelled. His Caliburn in hand, he ran toward Colvin. With each squeeze of his trigger, a Red Cap exploded, hit dead center or in the head. The gun was an extension of him; he didn't have to think or aim, he wielded it with the skill born of years of use. He cut a swath heading directly to Colvin. A tide of people lunged at him. Hurling Red Caps leapt like surprised children, their lashing claws swiped at the air.
The mad half-fey gestured furiously, his hand danced about. The occasional green gleam sparked, but dissipated as if shorted out. King strode toward him with furious intent. Colvin locked eyes on him, so focused he did not hear the click of a blade springing to life behind him.
Baylon fought for his throat, but Colvin twisted out of the way at the last instant. Not to be denied his opportunity, Baylon arced the blade again and buried the knife up to its hilt into the fey's belly. He turned the blade then drove it up, spilling his insides. Eyes splayed open in shock, his mouth agape as if pain was an entirely new sensation which caught him short, Colvin dropped to his knees.
'No!' King said.
Merle stumbled toward them, his coat wrapped around him. Bloodied and battered, Rellik approached but remained off to the side. Dred sidled alongside him. King knelt next to Colvin. A trickle of blood curled on his lips.
'It didn't have to be this way,' King said.
The rays of the rising sun spread like a bloodstain of a crime scene photo across the sky. The melody came to her heart like an ancient memory. A mournful dirge of the fallen, the loss of family, the breaking of the circle, the song rooted almost all of them to their spot. At her approach, Baylon slinked off. He didn't escape her notice, but her anger could wait. It would have been one thing to die at the hands of the Pendragon, but at the hands of an ignoble knight? It was an insult to the memory of the fey. The men parted as she neared. Dred moved toward her, but Rellik put out an arm to stop him. She joined King, kneeling alongside him before cradling the body of her brother. She stroked his beautiful face, lifted him with ease, and stalked off into the morning.
It was said that when the angels fell, the ones who fell on land became faeries and the ones who fell into the sea became selkies. She returned to the lake.
Rellik surveyed the damage. Rok's still form rent to shreds, barely recognizable as human. The bodies of the Red Caps turned to ash without Colvin's vitality to sustain them, leaving no evidence of their time on this plane.
'I'm not going back, King,' Rellik said.
'What do you mean?'
'I'm out. I'm done.'
King returned his Caliburn to his waistband. 'What does that mean?'
'The game done changed. This here's for you young bloods. I'm tired. I just want to go home.'
'To Wayne?'
'To family, yeah. Tell Wayne…' The words didn't come off his lips.
King nodded. Rellik wandered off in the general direction of Omarosa. All that remained of their group were Merle, Dred, and King. King remained kneeling, not sure if he mourned the loss of life or the death of the dream he once had.
'You must be beloved among men,' Dred whispered. 'All these people rush to protect you. Speak to your defense. Put their lives at risk for you. Lay down their lives for you.'
'I never-' King began, but words failed him also. They rang false to his ear before he finished. Who but he could have issued the call? Who but he would they have answered for? For what? More violence. More blood. More
