Page 63 of Crown of Tides and Fury

They didn’t come along the road. They came out of the ruins. Silent, soot-covered, crouching until they formed their own little mobs, then they marched forward with their chins high.

The rag-tag remnants of Muirsglen carried axes, shovels, shotguns and swords. Some held broom handles with pointed tips. One kid had a hoe, but the curves had all been straightened. Now it looked like a bardiche—a pole weapon that hung on the wall at Hope House.

They massed together and surrounded us. Curious, but with jaws set too hard to care why we were there. If they needed to put us down, they would do it. In fact, they seemed eager. Maybe they were relieved to find their weapons would work against today’s opponents.

One man moved to the front and pointed a menacing pitchfork at Urban. “For all we ken, these are facades, and the beasts lie beneath.” He shouted at Urban. “Drop yer weapons!”

Urban took a step forward, instead, and swung his broadsword in a circle. “We’ve learned the monsters like to blether,” implying the man’s tongue had given him away, that he might just as well be a monster in sheep’s clothing.

Wickham put his weapons away and raised his arms. He moved calmly to Urban’s side but said nothing.

A few seconds later, the man slapped his pitchfork to the ground as he knelt before Wickham and bowed his head.“Seanair!”

Some of the others followed suit, but for the most part, these people were far too wary to be bearing their necks to anyone. They were poised to fight, just as we were, and Wickham’s presence wasn’t enough to ease that tension.

A woman pushed forward and headed for me, kitchen knife in her hand, her eyes wide with rage. I shook my head to warn her, and backed up, giving her more time to come to her senses and to realize my modest sword was much longer than her vegetable chopper. She stopped suddenly, her raised arm stayed where it was, and she looked at it, as if it belonged to someone else. I was confused too, until Persi’s body appeared between us, her left arm holding the woman’s wrist.

The latter blinked rapidly. Tears flooded down her cheeks.

Persi took the knife, then released her. After a few deep breaths, she handed the knife back. “Careful with that,” she said. “Can’t let you hurt my friend, you know?” Then she disappeared again.

The crowd took a collective step back, all eyes scanning the air around them. They couldn’t possibly know how many Persi’s we had among us.

I glanced at Kitch, who was struggling not to smile.

“Brilliant,” he whispered.

“I thought so.”Persi’s voice came from between us.

I realized this was one of those perfectly happy moments we’re supposed to pause and appreciate, a moment to remember. You see, I might not know why I was standing there in Muirsglen with weapons in my hand. Might not understand why Wickham could possibly need a moderately trained human coffee-pourer in his ranks. Might not have anything special about me except a fancy pet rock collection of one. But I did know I was Persephone Ward’s friend, and she was willing to do anything to defend my right to breathe.

In fact, they all were. My whole little Scottish/American/Irish/Welsh/Tunisian family.

And though I’d known it for some time, now, it really was nice to hear it out loud and see it in action—and not against some mindless monster that needed to die whether I was involved or not.

* * *

Including men,women, and children, two-hundred thirty-three souls had survived the major exodus, the attack, and the burning of Muirsglen. While half of their adults always stayed behind to protect the children and youth, the other half moved through the city in search of stragglers, and to make sure the creatures were well and truly gone.

“Havenae seen an Anubis for thirteen days,” one man said. “Killed a pair of toothy gits four days ago. Caught in a barn, left behind. Bumpots, all of ‘em.”

“Cannae kill a big bastard without cutting off its head,” another man explained, while moving rubble from the Grandfather’s ruins. “Then the arsehole of Hell comes to swallow its remains, ye see.”

“Ye can kill them with silver,” Urban told them, then handed over his small dagger. “Take it. We’ll get others.”

The rest of us did the same, along with advice. “They like to talk. If ye need to distract one,” Kitch said, “ask it about itself. Ask it anythin’.”

We had little more information to exchange while we dug down to the original floor of the old man’s house. Wickham was sure there would be a metal box buried there, somewhere, that would be protected from the hottest fire. And while half the mob moved on to do their daily sweep of the city, the other half remained to help theirSeanair.

We told them about the people we’d managed to rescue during the aftermath. No one seemed to recognize the names. No one suggested Davey’s or the girl’s parents were still alive and looking for them, but they promised to pass the word.

We’d uncovered half the floor when the sun started going down. Like someone had flipped a switch, the people set down their loads and started to leave.

“We’ll come again, in the morning,” their leader said, then escorted us to a house where we could spend the night. “Dinnae use any light. And dinnae come out again until the sun is full up.”

They might have recognized Wickham as their rightful chieftain, but they weren’t ready to share their hiding places even with him.

I found a propane tank on a grill in the backyard and heated a pan of water. My hands were raw and sore, and though I believed Hank would help them heal quickly, I wanted to be able to pull my own weight in the morning, when we tackled the rest of that house. There was plenty of water so the others could at least wash.

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