Max let out a long sigh and closed his eyes. “I’ll go with you,” he said.
Billie raised an eyebrow. Stealth crossed her arms.
“Give it a rest,” he said. “You’re right, okay? George is right, I’m a cowardly pessimist, let’s move on while there’s still time to save the world.”
“What are you thinking?” asked St. George.
Max shrugged. “I’m the only other person remotely protected from Cairax. I can draw some of his attention, maybe. Give us a little more time.”
“You don’t sound too confident,” said Billie.
“Honestly, two of us aren’t going to confuse him much more than one.”
“Well,” said St. George, “then I guess we hope the guys find a good sword.”
Max nodded. “Maybe I can make something up for you. A simple shield spell or a glamour. Something so he can’t lunge right into you.”
St. George felt smoke trickle out of his nose. “If you can do that, I could’ve gone to get the other sword.”
“No, you couldn’t,” said Max. “This’ll be a one-time-only trick, and I’m not even sure it’ll work the one time.”
“This should have been mentioned before,” said Stealth with another glare.
“Yeah, real sorry about that,” Max said. “I was going under the stupid assumption we didn’t want anyone marching out to a horrible death.”
They stared at each other for a moment. Then Billie gathered an armload of blades from the table and headed back into the Mount. “I’ll check on the guys,” she told St. George.
He gave her a nod and looked at the sorcerer. “How soon do you want to head out, then?”
Max looked up at the sun, then traced a few paths across the sky with his eyes. “We’ve got a little over seven hours, if all goes well. Odds will be slightly in our favor if we go earlier and maybe catch one of them before they start to bond. We should go see what your guys have found for weapons so far.” He stopped and looked around. “Do you hear something?”
“There is a crowd approaching,” said Stealth. Inside her hood, her head turned to the west. “I would estimate between thirty and forty people.”
As she spoke, the crowd flowed around the south corner of Gower Street. St. George guessed there were three dozen of them, and spotted a few children holding hands with parents. At the front of the crowd was Christian Nguyen. She was talking with a few people around her, and every few steps she’d raise the Bible in her hand a little higher for emphasis. When she saw the heroes she waved.
“They are all members of the After Death movement,” Stealth said.
“Great,” said St. George. “Any idea what they want?”
“With Ms. Nguyen’s aggressive nature, I have been expecting them to make some list of demands under the grounds of religious freedom. There are several possible things they could be prepared to ask for.”
“Or maybe they’re just all out for an after-lunch stroll?”
Stealth looked at him. “I find that unlikely.”
“At least they’re not carrying torches and pitchforks,” said Max. “That’s always a plus in my book.”
The crowd got closer and St. George took a few steps toward them. “Christian,” he called out. “Always a pleasure. What can we do for you After Death folks?”
“We don’t use that name,” she said, closing the gap between them. “It’s a term others have applied to us. We just think of ourselves as Christians.” She held her Bible with both hands and gave a thin smile. “No pun intended.”
“Of course not.” It occurred to St. George that he kind of missed the old Christian, the one who just hated the heroes and fought against anything they suggested or any action they took. She was troublesome, but she was predictable. Since she’d found religion, talking to her always gave him the sensation of walking in a minefield.
“We have a request,” she said.
Stealth shifted her posture enough to make her cloak ripple. “This cannot wait until the district meeting next Tuesday?”
“I plan on bringing it up there as well,” she said, “but many of us felt this was a matter of extreme urgency.” There were nods and echoes of agreement from the crowd.
“George,” said Max, “we’re on a tight schedule here.”
“Mr. Hale,” said Christian, “you of all people should appreciate our worries. This is a matter of immortal souls.”
He blinked. “What?”
“You’re living proof the dead can come back,” she said. “You can lead the way for all our loved ones. The girl, Madelyn, is a flawed creature, but you’ve returned unharmed.”
“I’m two inches shorter and I’m missing a tooth,” said Max.
Christian let her gaze slide back and forth between St. George and Stealth. “We’d like you to stop shooting the exes outside the Big Wall.”
St. George coughed in amazement. It came out as a puff of smoke threaded with yellow flames. “I’m sorry?”
“Perhaps explore some nondamaging way to stop them,” said the former councilwoman. “We’re concerned you may be injuring them spiritually, and perhaps ruining their chances of returning to this world.”
Max snorted. “They aren’t coming back.”
His words threw Christian for a moment, but she recovered. “You can bring them back,” she said. “With enough time and help, you could bring all of them back and restore the world.”
Max glanced at St. George. The hero gave a faint shrug.
“Look,” the sorcerer said, raising his voice, “I get that you need to cling to something. But those things out there aren’t your loved ones, and I can’t turn them into your loved ones. They’re just meat. The people you knew are dead. They’ve moved on.”
“Like you did?” A faint glimmer of something familiar crossed Christian’s eyes. It was her old haughty, confident look, the one she used to give in council meetings. The one that showed up when she thought someone had made a mistake she could exploit.
“Maxwell was a special case,” said Stealth. “He should be considered the rare
