“I take it this is what you wanted me to see?” he asked the bird, who was now perching on a tree branch and consuming yet another insect. The bird looked at him with its bright, intelligent eyes, two sets of beetle legs kicking and thrashing out the side of its beak. “I thank you for your assistance. Assuming, that is, you’re not leading me to something heinous.”
He looked closer at the scene before him. To the left of a stream, a large camp of tents was splayed along the slight rise of one of the hillocks, like a large bull’s-eye made from tents of every hue. To the right of the stream sat another tented encampment, this one made up wholly of black tents that glittered with touches of gold in the morning sun. Those tents weren’t laid out in any order, and if he squinted, he could make out tiny figures moving to and fro.
“That’s interesting.” He started walking toward the camps. “And not at all in keeping with the pastoral setting. It almost looks like two camps about ready to battle.”
The bird flew in front of him, then disappeared into the distance, obviously finished with him. He wondered idly if all the animals in the afterlife had agendas.
The sense of martial strife, which grew stronger as he approached the center area, was aided not a little by the fact that the sky darkened from its clear topaz blue first to a dusky purple and then to reddish gray. Little snakes of lightning streaked across the red and gray sky, causing reciprocal tingles along his skin. He paused, waiting, and as one of the flashes spread out above him, he raised his hand and called it down. The lightning obeyed, encasing him in long, delicate tendrils of static that jumped and snapped with a familiar tingle. He embraced it for a moment, then released it into the earth.
What was this place? He narrowed his eyes on a mound just this side of the stream that had been blackened and scorched until it was nothing more than bare earth. Two figures stood there, one of whom was clearly a man in armor. The other was almost as tall, but held himself with less grace. It wasn’t until he caught sight of the hand moving as the latter talked that he realized the figure was a woman.
As he moved closer, he recognized the black hair of the woman as it fluttered behind her, lifted by a breeze. She, too, was in armor, but seemed much less comfortable with it, holding herself very still.
Relief swamped him that the thugs and Death hadn’t found her before he did, and he sent a mental thank-you to the bird for pulling him off the path and setting his feet in this direction. That emotion was quickly replaced by anger, determination, and no little amount of admiration for how gracefully Gwen gestured while being encased in armor.
As he strode up behind her, he overheard her say to the man she was facing, “How about I go get us a little light refreshment?”
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said with grim finality, stopping immediately behind her. “Not again. Not on my watch. And yes, I mean that literally, although this little stunt of yours is likely to cost me my job.”
Gwen whirled around and stared at him with wide, startled eyes. He could have sworn that they were as innocent as a newborn babe’s, but he wasn’t going to allow himself to be fooled again. He placed a proprietary (and prohibitive) hand on her arm.
“Gregory? Goddess above, what are you doing here? And what do you mean, I’m going to cost you your job?”
“I’m here to arrest you, Magdalena Owens,” he said firmly, fighting back the need to take her in his arms and kiss the startled look right off her face.
“You can’t arrest me!” she protested.
“On the contrary, I can. I may be a probationary member, but I am fully able to arrest denizens of the Otherworld.”
“I’m not Magdalena Owens!”
He turned a deaf ear to her claim. He wouldn’t be fooled again. “I arrest you in the name of the Watch for the abduction of a human woman, and for the sale of magic to non-immortal individuals.”
“Look, you annoying man, I just told you: I’m not Magdalena Owens!”
“Pardon me,” said the man in knight’s armor. He had a slight Welsh accent and raised the visor of his helmet as he spoke. “You are interfering with our battle. This warrior and I are engaged for the next . . .” He consulted his wrist, swore, then cast a look at the red and gray sky. “Another hour. Kindly step off the battlefield so that we might commence our battle.”
“And I just told you that I’m not a warrior,” Gwen told the man.
“Who is this?” Gregory asked Gwen, nodding at the knight.
“His name is Douglas.”
“It is not!” the man declared.
“Well, that’s what I call him,” she amended, giving Gregory a conspiratorial smile that he felt down to his toes.
“She named me after a rabbit. A toy rabbit!” Douglas said, clearly outraged by this fact.
“It was one of my favorite toys. My mother says I used to suck on his soft, velvety ears while I was teething.”
The man made a disgusted noise of protest.
“If you don’t like the name, surely you don’t have to use it.” Gregory couldn’t help but be distracted by the odd situation. “I wouldn’t care to be named after a rabbit, either, although I wouldn’t mind if you sucked on my ears.”
Silence fell following that statement. Gregory felt all shades of awkward, an emotion he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. If ever.
Both Gwen and Douglas were looking at him with doubt.
“Dammit,” he told Gwen, “I am a very erudite man! I am known for my smooth personality, my very polite manners, and my blond good looks. My cousin’s wife insists that I’m really a cover model! Erudite and smooth potential cover models do not say things that make people look at them the way you two are looking at me.”
“Sir Cover Model,” the knight said, gesturing with his sword. “You just told the warrior that you’d like her to suck on your ears. I take it you two are a couple?”
“No,” Gwen said quickly. Too quickly for his taste.
“We have a complicated relationship,” Gregory told Douglas.
“No, we don’t. We don’t have any relationship short of a casual acquaintance. We just met a few days ago.” She gave him a look that spoke in no uncertain terms. “And I have no intention of sucking on his ears.”
The knight pursed his lips. Gregory looked over her shoulder into the distance and fought to keep from smiling.
“Shall I say it?” Douglas asked. “I will. Ahem.” He looked at Gwen and said in a tone that implied he was finishing her sentence, “Or anything else?”
Gwen’s expression darkened. She walloped Gregory on the arm. “Stupid men and their penises!”
“I said nothing,” Gregory pointed out, rubbing his arm. “I mentioned no penis. He did!”
“No, but you were thinking about it. And probably snickering to yourself. It’s just a very telling point when you can’t even mention sucking someone’s ears without grown men turning into ten-year-old boys giggling about their penises.”
“My apologies, Gwen,” he said, his abused hand on his chest as he made her a bow.
“Stop being erudite and smooth at me,” she snapped. “I don’t like it at all. Why did you say I was ruining your job?”
“Alas, the discussion the two of you are having—fascinating as it is—will have to wait for another time. We must battle now, or you will forfeit the fight.”
“What fight?” Gregory asked at the same time that Gwen said, “What happens if I do that?”
“Forfeiting a fight means that you have failed to do your lord’s duty and are released from his service.”
“Well, hell, I’m totally on board with that,” Gwen said, handing Gregory her sword to hold while she pulled off the metal gauntlets. “I only did this to keep from being put back in prison.”