I saw a flash of a smile on her face. I’d disarmed myself. She had her victory.
My focus, however, was on grabbing the longest bit of pipe that I’d kicked out into the hallway. Moving towards her, bending low to grab it.
The thing was so rusty and grimy that the actual pipe itself was hard to make out.
The hatchet couldn’t be my weapon. Ghost inside it or no.
Could this?
She’d stopped moving to strike at the thrown hatchet. I had the pipe. I tried to read her expression, to see if there was any glimmer of fear, any sign that this weapon could hurt her.
Nothing. Her expression still held that faint smile that suggested she was utterly confident of her victory. She started approaching me.
“Yes, Mr. Thorburn,” I could hear Ms. Lewis from behind me. “I think that’ll suffice.”
With those words, the Faerie stepped back. Her sword had somehow found its way in front of her.
The point leveled my way.
No reason to play fair.
“Ornias,” I said. “Ornias.”
She lunged, and I ducked into the room we’d vacated, hopping over the mess. I landed awkwardly, stupid for such a little jump.
“Ornias!” I called out, in her direction.
Damn me, I could feel it now. Once more, and he’d come.
The Faerie entered the room, sword first.
“Blake! What are you doing?”
Rose.
“Ambush,” I said. There was a bit of a waver in my voice.
“Draw a line, then!”
I didn’t even think. I ducked low, scraping the back of my bloody, gritty hand against the concrete floor. Blocking the connection.
I immediately regretted it. Would it matter, when we were this close? Would it help obscure her perception of me? I had to climb to my feet-
I staggered, dropping onto all fours instead.
Dizzy. Drained. I’d given too much of myself, for too little.
She’d entered the room. Through my peripheral vision, I could see her hesitate, losing her forward momentum.
The stuff from the barrel I’d kicked to the floor. I’d almost forgotten.
Before she could get her bearings, I managed to find my feet.
She would be harder to hit. She was nimble, already setting her weight to spring back.
“Stupid, fucking, impractical sword!” I hit the weapon instead. As she leaped back, she couldn’t move it out of the doorframe. One downward swing, and the pipe struck the blade.
It broke in four different places along the length.
Nevermind, I thought, that it had withstood worse impacts over the course of this skirmish alone.
I looked at her, saw her staring at the short stump of a sword that still stuck out from the hilt.
She moved her free hand over, and I could see the blade growing, repairing itself.
Fragile?
I struck out at it. Not fancy, no style. If she was the stylish, fighter, I was the brute, the barbarian, the madman. Swinging with little caution or sense. Picking a target, then swinging at it with all the strength I could spare.
I hit the weapon, and I hit her hand.
She dissolved, breaking down into sparkles, specks, and dust.
A trick? An illusion?
When? Where? How?
No, it didn’t matter. I needed to bring her out of hiding, and I knew I had only one thing that would get her to.
“Orn-” I started.
A hand reached around me, fingers jammed into my mouth. Stopping me from speaking in the most base, simple way possible.
I bit, turning so I could see her. In the doing, I wrenched the fingers I was biting, forcing her to partially bend over, arm twisting. She still felt pain, apparently. Quick and nimble as she was, there wasn’t a lot she could do once I had my teeth in her.
She still held the sword, and was drawing it back to thrust into my gut, delayed by the pain and imbalance I was causing with my teeth on her fingers.
I still held the pipe. Except I was already bringing it around, driving it into the side of her stomach.
The weight of her falling down pulled her fingers out of my mouth. I hit her prone body with the club.
I did it a few more times for good measure. Hitting her sword-hand, head, shoulder, leg. Meaty sounds.
“-nament,” I finished. “Ornament.”
No fucking way was I ever saying that name a seventh time.
I dropped the club, staggering away. When I dropped to all fours to throw up, it was equal measure exhaustion and revulsion.
Too many bad memories. Fights that had gone very much like that one had, at the end. Base, violent, ugly.
“I think I see why she might have picked you,” Ms. Lewis said.
“Blake was picked, then?” Rose asked. “It’s not just him being the second heir?”
“I already said too much. Take your prize, Blake.”
I looked up at her. She held a box in her hands.
“What’s that box you’re holding?” I asked. I wiped at my mouth with my clean hand.
“Safety measure. For your sake. I did promise you would walk away unharmed, but for harm you brought on yourself, and that little brawl of yours could have gone either way.”
I closed my eyes. Opening them took some effort. Not because I was that tired, but because the way my head was swimming made me feel like I would like to keep my eyes closed and be still and quiet for the next few hours.
“I would hurry,” Ms. Lewis said. “The others are outside, there is another familiar there. They’ve called help, and the help will arrive within the next few minutes. We’ll start running into the first of them as we leave the area, and if we get slowed down, the rest are going to catch up.”
I mumbled a reply. I wasn’t even sure what I was saying.
“You okay, Blake?” Rose asked.
I could still hear that meaty sound of pipe hitting flesh. I looked at the Faerie.
She was breathing, still.
“She’s not dead?” I asked.
“No,” Ms. Lewis said. “Like most Others, the Faerie are very resilient, and she’s drawing a kind of power from her master as well. Take your prize.”
“What? What do I take?”
“Go with your instincts. I might take the heart, in your shoes, but I’m not in your shoes.”
“Just carving the damn thing out?” I asked. “To do what?”
“Eat it. But it hardly matters. Let’s hurry on our way.”
“No,” Rose said. “The agreement was that we would duel the Faerie. What if I challenged her now?”
“She’s not able to accept,” I said.
“She already did,” Rose said. “So… if I declare it’s my turn… can I take a prize?”
“That’s sketchy,” I said, “And it feels like it’s begging for heaps of bad karma.”
“Some,” Ms. Lewis said. “But you reaped some as well. The question would be whether you could defeat someone who is already defeated.”
“Oh,” Rose said. “Right.”
“I’m not saying it’s impossible. It’s very doable, actually, but it requires time, and it requires you to come up with other ways of defeating her than physical.”
“I don’t understand,” Rose said.
I ran my hand through my hair. “She’s talking about torture, Rose. Torture the Other I just bashed until you beat her on some mental or emotional level, then claim a prize.”
“I don’t- how can I even, being inside the mirror?”
I ignored her. I grabbed a piece of the broken sword, weighing it in my hand.