Page 86 of Beyond the Cottage

A clever idea, except the parlor held no such decor. Only lamps and a clock, all bolted to the furniture. Train robbers might not think much of a case full of bottles, but it was hardly a foregone conclusion.

Brakes squealed. Ansel lurched, bracing on the chaise. The train scraped along the tracks before chugging to a stop.

“They made it to the engineer car,” Philip said.

Gretta leapt to Ansel with her arms out. “Give me the case.”

He held it fast. No doubt she’d defend it with her life, which wouldnotbe happening.

“Ansel, give it to me!”

“I’m bigger than you. They’re less likely to fight me for it.”

“They’re less likely to shoot a woman!”

His blood chilled several degrees, and he raised the case above his head. She reached for it, feet hovering off the floor, but she didn’t get far since her dust hadn’t fully replenished.

“Letgo,” he said, twisting.

“Give it!”

Philip pressed his ear to the door and retreated. “They’re coming.”

The knob rattled. Three ticks of the clock, then the door burst open with a crash. Ansel slid the repellent under the chaise. Gretta palmed her dagger, and before he could insist she put the damn thing away, a brawny woman in dented armor sauntered in.

A helmet shielded her face. More metal covered her calves and forearms. Her shoulders were broad, her arms thick, but it was the giant sword strapped to her back that concerned him.

Violet eyes peered from a slit in the helmet as she glanced around the car. A leaner man wearing similar armor trotted in behind her.

“Nice digs,” the woman said. “Been a while since we’ve seen one of these.”

“No slumming it in coach for this lot,” the man snickered.

Philip raised his blade.

The woman’s head tipped up and down, leisurely perusing him. “Lose the knife.”

Philip hesitated. He tossed his weapon on the floor, clearly deciding he was outmatched.

“The hood, too,” she said.

Another brief hesitation, then it fell.

The woman whistled low when she saw his face. “Rough luck there, sport. For what it’s worth, you cut a fine figure in that cloak.” Dismissing him, she gave Ansel a quick once-over and stopped in front of Gretta.

The daggers in Gretta’s eyes gleamed sharper than the one in her hand. It remained at her side, but she clenched it so tight the leather hilt squeaked.

“Are we going to have a problem, munchkin?” the woman asked.

Gretta fanned her fingers off the hilt and gripped it harder. Sweat slipped down Ansel’s temple. Metal rasped, and the woman settled her sword on Gretta’s shoulder.

A growl came from deep in Ansel’s chest. Instead of the woman, he saw the Eater with her cleaver pressed to Gretta’s wrist after they’d stolen apples from the pantry. In his childish weakness, he’d cried, begging the bitch to spare Gretta’s hand, to take his instead.

I’m not a child anymore…

He lunged, and the sword swung to him. With a deranged smile, he stalked the woman backward, letting the blade’s tip dig into his sternum.

“Wait!” Gretta cried. Her knife clattered to the floor. “We’ll cooperate.”

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