“Some things I wouldn’t let you take, but that’s like, uh, that gun there, it’s the first gun I bought for myself, personal attachment. And that sword right there is impregnated with the blood of a fox-woman. And maybe that obsidian knife, unless you had a specific use for it, it’s sort of niche, and it’d be a pain to replace. Just about everything else, well, if you lost it, it’s an excuse to get a replacement, or it’s less clutter. Win win.”
She ran a finger along a length of pipe from the gun drawer. “Sometimes all you need is a good whacking stick, huh? I know one goblin who could stand to get hit by this thing.”
Wordless, Andy picked up the pipe from the rack. He showed it to her.
“No freaking way. That works?”
“Yep.”
“I’ll take it. And I’ll take that, thank you, and, if you’re sure I’m not being greedy here-”
“No. Just so long as you don’t come after Eva later on.”
“-Promised. I’ll take that too.”
■
The highway divided the older part of the city from the new. Only Harcourt led under it, and the north end of Harcourt was a ways from the twin’s place.
The town seemed to be fighting her more, now. It reminded her of being in Mara’s woods. Everything got in her way. There were barely any people on the streets, but the woman with the two small dogs on a leash just so happened to be on the sidewalk in front of her, and even when traffic was so light kids might have played ball hockey in the middle of the street, two cars just happened to pass by just when she realized she couldn’t walk around the lady with the dogs, who were yipping and zig-zagging so violently that a disaster seemed inevitable.
The wind pushed against her. The snowbank devoured her leg to the knee when she tried to walk over it, trapping her, doubly hard to extricate herself from when her other calf was injured. Then the ground on the far side was frozen, covered in gravel, making it more slippery, as if she’d stepped on marbles scattered over ice.
Her sight was having a harder time seeing reality over the spirit world. Not an intense difficulty, but enough that she noticed.
Then, topping it off, the goblins showed up.
Broad daylight meant they had to be furtive. They moved when her head faced the other direction. Lurked in the shadows that were available, eyes gleaming in that reflective way that animals had.
They were more secretive this time around. Kept more of a distance, watching and waiting for an opportunity.
They gathered in greater numbers, perhaps in hopes that if another woman with a troll arrived to back her up, they could scare the troll off.
They even, she suspected, might have spread the word that the girl who’d hunted goblins was now vulnerable. United in a common cause.
Hatred, of course.
They made a move as she reached the bridge.
Shadows, a lack of traffic…
A dozen pairs of eyes that she could see. Some clinging to the roof of the bridge, others lurking at the sides, or in crevices. Most were small, cowardly.
She recognized the goblin who barred her way.
“Buttsack,” she said.
“When you’re dead by my hands, I’m going to cut the skin off your face,” he growled, “and I’m going to make it a thong. I’ll wear it so your lips are stretched tight against my butthole, and your eyes will have a close-up view of my cock, with balls bulging out one hole and schlong out the other.”
“That’s an amazing mental picture,” she said, managing to keep the tremor out of her voice. She drew the section of pipe.
Hope this works.
Buttsack held out his shiv. Not a knife, per se, but a piece of metal in a knife-like shape, ragged. “We’ll make your death so bad it makes a dozen ghosts, and I’ll fuse the ghosts to my new thong so you can feel it. So it’s just a little bit alive. Moving, kissing my puckered brown ass all day long.”
She slapped the pipe against her palm.
Then she pointed it at him, walking toward him.
He cackled.
The one pipe was actually two pieces of pipe, one smaller pipe sliding into the other with a healthy amount of WD-40.
The smaller pipe, in turn, had a shotgun shell stuck in the end.
The big one had a blasting cap welded to the end.
She slammed the small pipe against the big one.
It fired. Butsack went down, one side of his face and his shoulder a bloody mess.
Not quite dead.
The smallest goblins scattered.
The big ones-
They weren’t moving.
If they did move, she could probably make a run for it, but it wouldn’t be fun.
When she drew the stiletto, it was partially for their benefit. Because seeing her draw a weapon in front of their wounded pseudo-leader would hold their interest, keeping them watching rather than participating.
She moved Buttsack’s hands, fighting him as he moved weakly. One hand over the other.
She stabbed both at once with the stiletto.
The goblins lurking at the dark corners of the bridge watched in silence as she dragged Buttsack into Johannes’ realm.
Into twisted, narrow streets.
What little she could make out of the real world was quick to fade.
This was another realm entirely.
She thought, but wasn’t sure, that she could hear screaming.
A child ran by, with rat ears and a long rat’s tail.
An ogre, ten feet tall and built like a cartoon caricature of a high school bully turned real, lumbered into view. Fat, broad in the shoulder.
She didn’t flinch, didn’t show fear.
“I’m a practitioner,” she said. “You can’t touch me. Johannes’ rules.”
When the ogre spoke, it was with a British-ish accent. “Not for long, little girl.”
She set her jaw and continued forward, moving more easily, even with her limp and bleeding burden.
8.06