Chapter 21: In Which Our Heroes Prepare for a Rescue

Daphne leaned against the wall of the corner alley and watched the passersby with vague interest. Here, a scarred and dangerous looking man with a hand bristling with rings; there, a reedy civilian with a purse a little too bulging at his hip. Her eyes went straight to the goods, she realized, and if she hadn't had so many other worries on her mind, she might have giggled to think of what a thief she'd become.

Megan sat on the cobblestones behind her, resting her cheek on her drawn-up knees. She looked a bit paler than she had when they'd first left Raife's apartment, and every passing minute she seemed to wilt a little more in the fading heat of late afternoon. Otto was nowhere to be seen since he'd slipped into the store across the street, and that seemed like it had been ages ago. Daphne wasn't sure what was taking him so long, but she was starting to get antsy, and the skies were beginning to lose their sunny glow. Much longer, and it'd be twilight.

Daphne cast a quick glance at Megan, but her friend seemed lost in thought.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked at last.

"Huh?" Meg lifted her head. "Yeah. Fine."

She didn't look fine. She looked exhausted. And sick. And something else Daphne found a little difficult to define—a little crease in the center of her brows was the only sign of that, and it seemed to deepen whenever Meg closed her eyes or zoned out like she was now. Otto had assured her that the final health potions had completely healed her, so whatever this was, it wasn't exactly malady, though it sure seemed to have taken the wind out of her.

"You just look really tired, is all."

Megan's jaw twitched; her eyes narrowed. "I'm fine."

"Okay." Daphne glanced out across the street at the store front again, but there was still no sign of the kid or the supplies he swore he could get for cheap from some contact he claimed he had. "I hope Otto knows what he's doing," she muttered.

Megan huffed and straightened out her knees, rubbing her face with her hands as if scrubbing the weariness away. "I'm sure he doesn't," she said. "I'm sure he's got a wonderful new plan to get himself—and us—into trouble."

Daphne shifted her weight. She was getting tired of standing and waiting. She itched to get moving. If Gus were at Gormalt, any number of terrible things could have happened. What would the Hammerites want with a giant Karras robot, anyway? Didn't they hate that stuff? Maybe they'll take him apart, she thought, and it made her heart sink to think of Gus' in pieces. And if Gus was at Gormalt, then the chances were good that Sherry went to get him out, and the thought of her friend alone in a Hammerite cathedral—knowing more now than ever before what they were capable of—made her a little sick to her stomach.

"He's been helpful sometimes, though," Daphne replied. "He's not stupid—inexperienced, definitely, but not stupid. You have to give him that."

Megan's lip curled and she hunched down into her shoulders like a cornered tabby cat Daphne had once seen in the back shed at the local farm stand. It was a mean, low look; if Meg had the ears for it, they would have been flattened back against her head.

"I don't have to give him anything," she growled.

Daphne prickled at the sudden flare of temper, and felt a wave of dizziness sweep across her. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall, breathing as smoothly as possible. She could sense the tension radiating from her friend, even through the sightless red darkness behind her eyelids, and it crept like roots under her skin, tensed her up.

"He's just trying to be helpful," she said, carefully measuring the tone of her words to ensure that no other voices joined her own. "He feels really bad about what happened at Northermeed."

"Who doesn't?" Megan snapped. "Don't try and tell me how everybody feels bad about that. You have no idea what it was like—"

"I have no idea?" Do you remember who you're talking to?" Daphne opened her eyes and glared across the street. "It wasn't like Otto and I were having a picnic or anything while they were—" She cut herself short and shook her head. "I've never been so scared in my life. I couldn't even get angry enough to stop them, because every time I started to get worked up, I'd—I'd hear you, and just…lose it."

A cough made her look back down at Megan in time to see her friend's shoulders shiver and tears begin to slide down her cheeks as buried her face in her knees and hugged them, trying to hide. Daphne's chest tightened, and she sank to her knees, put her hand on Megan's back.

The touch made Megan shudder, cough, and choke back another sob. "I'm so scared," she said, her voice breaking into pieces. "I can't—Every time I close my eyes, I—" Her hand was up at her temple, picking at the spot where the faded scar mingled with the boiled ends of burnt hair. She cried like Daphne had never seen her cry before, not here in the game or back in real life.

Daphne slid her arm around Megan's shoulders and gave them a squeeze. "Hey… Hey, it's okay. We're safe now."

Megan shook her head against her knees, heaving a gasp through her tears. "We're not. We're not safe. We're still here. Here. Here. Here. Oh, Daphne," she sobbed, "I want to go home!"

Daphne felt her eyes sting, but she blinked quickly to chase away any sympathy tears. She wasn't used to having to encourage Meg and make her feel better. It was almost always the other way around. But something had changed the dynamic of their relationship back there at Northermeed, and Daphne felt it acutely. Somehow, through everything, she had emerged the strong one, and Megan had been broken. She only hoped that with time, the old Megan would fight her way back to the surface so this scared, sobbing, shaking Megan could fade away.

"We're going to get home," Daphne said, forcing a smile and shaking Megan by the shoulders. "We're going to get home! We will. I promise you we will."

Megan shook her head again, but when she spoke, her voice seemed steadier. "You can't promise that."

"Yes, I can," Daphne replied. "I can feel it. We're going to be back home sooner than you think, and we'll throw away every copy of this game we have so we'll never, ever, ever come back here again, and then all of this will be like it never happened. Okay?"

For a moment, it seemed like her words had shored up Megan's strength a little, but then, out of nowhere, the tears came back in a violent rush, and Meg pressed her hands to her face with a bitter laugh.

"Hey!" Daphne shifted to face her, hugged Megan's knees to her side. "Hey, what's wrong? Don't you believe me?"

"Stupid!" It came through Megan's hands as if through a wall, and Daphne felt a twinge of frustration that only dissipated when Meg leaned back and let her hands fall free. She was almost smiling, but it was a strange, unpleasant smile, like the smile of someone dying. It chilled the momentary flicker of heat in Daphne's chest as surely as a bucket of ice water. "I am so stupid," Megan said again, shaking her head against the wall; her hair scraped the stone, and she let out a phlegm-y cough of a laugh.

Daphne waited as Megan sighed, brushed her cheeks dry, and closed her red-rimmed eyes. Her cheeks were blotchy from crying, and she wiped her running nose with the heel of her palm. She shook her head again, and then drooped, exhausted from the tears and whatever thought had brought the little crease back between her eyebrows.

"What makes you think you're stupid?" Daphne asked. "You didn't know what was going to happen on Northermeed—none of us did. We couldn't have done anything to stop—"

"Not that," Megan said, and she let out that sharp, bitter laugh again. "I kissed Raife."

"You what-?" Daphne shrieked. Passersby turned their unsavory, narrow glances on them at the exclamation. It made Daphne's skin crawl, so she leaned in close, and in the most forceful whisper she could muster, "When? How? Where? Details! Was he a good kisser?"

Megan didn't have to answer: the blush that enveloped her said as much. "Well, he kind of kissed me first. But I kissed him back."

Daphne bit back a squeal and shimmied closer, hunching over Megan's knees. "When? When? When!"

"Just before you and Otto came back. But you saw how he was. It was…It was just so weird. It wasn't how I imagined it-" ("Not that I have," she added when Daphne eyebrows arched knowingly, "but just saying, you know, if it had crossed my mind before—") "And it happened so fast. I was just…I was talking—apologizing, actually, for the Keeper thing, and for yelling at him, and all than nonsense—and then he was there, kissing me."

Daphne could feel her face curling up on itself into a Grinch-like grin, but she couldn't help it. Her stomach was full of butterflies and the thought of her friend making out with the undeniably cute thief was just too much to hold inside in any dignified manner. She giggled and bit her lip. "With tongue?"

Megan's eyes went wide, and the blush deepened, if it was even possible. It went all the way down to her throat, and her ears were bright red. "Daphne!"

"Oooo, I knew he was a tongue-kisser!" Daphne squeaked. "I just knew it. You know, some guys you just look at, and you just think, Yup, he's a Tonsil Teaser—"

Megan punched her—somewhat lightly—in the shoulder. "Stop it!" she hissed through her teeth, but it only made Daphne chortle.

"Ohmigawd!" she cried, clapping her hand over her mouth. "I knew he liked you. I just knew, knew, KNEW it! Did I call that or what!"

"Shh," Megan hissed again. "Keep your shirt on. It wasn't—It was—I don't even know if he was really thinking about it. I mean, he probably just did it to get me to shut up. And besides, he's probably kissed lots of girls that way!"

Daphne rolled her lips between her teeth and snickered through her nose. "Megan and Ra-aife, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-"

Another punch, this time, considerably harder and less friendly than the first, jarred Daphne enough to make her lose her balance and fall back on her butt. "Ow! Hey!"

Megan had lost a little of the blush and looked a bit stronger than she had a moment before. She leaned forward, keeping her voice low. "I said stop it! This isn't funny! I—I really—" She hesitated, clenched her teeth, and crossing her arms, leaned back again. "Never mind. Forget it."

The maniacal mirth that had overtaken Daphne vanished in a split second at the sight of her friend's somber face. "Oh. Oh, my g-d. Are you in love with him?"

Megan jumped. "No! No, that's not—I don't even know if I like him, let alone…" She stopped abruptly, shook her head and took a deep breath. When she spoke, she spoke softly, carefully. "No, that's not true, either. I do like him. A lot. Too much. I haven't been able to get him out of my head, and it hasn't just been today. It's been almost since we first met him. At first, I thought it was just because he annoyed me so much, but it wasn't that. And then, when he kissed me today…" She was blushing again, and she pressed her hands against her cheeks as if to hide it. "I just—I… I don't want to like him."

"What do you mean, you don't want to like him? You do!"

"I know, but Daphne—" Megan raked her hands through her hair and let out a gust of a sigh. "I don't know anything about him. I don't even know how old he is!"

"Might be forty," Daphne suggested.

Megan gave her a dead-eye glare. "He's definitely not forty."

"He's got some grays!"

"He does not! And even if he did, you can have some grays and still be in your twenties, can't you? From like…trauma or something?"

Daphne tilted her head and returned the blank stare. Megan squirmed and hugged her shoulders. "Okay, maybe late twenties. That's still kind of young, isn't it?"

"Whatever you say," Daphne said. "But hey, who cares, right? You like him. He obviously likes you. It's not like you're going to marry the guy, so who cares how old he is? He's hot. And I'll bet he looks amaaaaazing without his shirt on—" She jogged her eyebrows at Megan, who only rolled her eyes. "Use him and lose him. Have some fun! It won't matter once we get home anyway."

"I can't do that."

"Sure you can!" Daphne shifted onto her knees. "Why can't you?"

"I just…" Megan sighed and shook her head. She looked about to say something, then hesitated, then said instead, "What's the point? Like you said, once we get home, we'll forget all about this place. But if I—if I really let myself feel like that… What if you only get one One? You know? What if this is my shot at true love, and I blow it, and I never find anybody else, because I won't want to forget him?"

"Awwww…" Daphne wriggled with warm-fuzzies and clasped her hands at her chin. "Maybe we can take him with us."

At this, Megan scoffed. "Right, and what would he do there? He's a thief. Can you imagine what would happen to him if he stepped into our world—assuming that's even possible? You think he'd stop doing the only thing he knows how to do when he got there? He'll get thrown in a high security prison for armed robbery and probably murder! And anyway, he's not exactly the kind of person I've ever thought about, you know… settling down with. Does he seem like the settling down type to you?"

She had a point there. Still, Daphne could imagine how smexy the thief would look in ripped jeans and a black T-shirt…maybe with a dark leather jacket… on a street racer… with that long, long hair of his tied back like it always was… Mmmmm….

"Hey. Earth to Daphne." Megan snapped her fingers in Daphne's face, and Daphne came back to the moment with a frustrated sigh.

"Sorry," she said. "I still think you're writing him off too easily. He'd be hot with three t's in the modern world. Criminal or not."

"My parents would be thrilled, I'm sure. Can you imagine him at prom?" A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, but when she shook her head, it vanished. "Anyway, none of this even matters, because he probably doesn't even feel that way about me. He probably just kissed me to shut me up or make me feel stupid. He does that, you know."

"He wouldn't do that."

"Oh yeah, how do you know?"

"Because he—" Daphne caught herself and hesitated, watching Megan's face for a long moment, wondering if she should say what had just come to her mind. She'd been hoping to avoid this little detail of the events at Northermeed, but sooner or later it was going to slip out, and it was probably better just to tell her up front. If she found out later because of something Otto or Raife told her, Daphne had no doubts of the indignant vengeance that would follow.

"Because he…what?" Megan's eyes narrowed.

Daphne exhaled the gust of air she'd been holding, and said, "I probably shouldn't tell you this, but…whatever. He was dying, okay? Just remember that. I was only trying to give him something to hang on for. And…and you didn't see the way he took care of you, or how angry he was when he saw what the Hammerites had done to you. It was really sweet, actually. I don't think I've ever seen him that gentle before."

Megan's frowning stare was intense. "What did you do." It wasn't a question, and it wasn't all warm and fuzzy like Daphne had hoped it might be. She felt a stab of fear in her gut, reminding her of that terrible moment when she thought for sure she was watching Raife die in front of her.

"I didn't mean to hurt him," Daphne said quickly. "I just couldn't stop myself, and it got away from me, and before I knew it, I was… You know how I get when I'm like that, only this time it was worse. I was so angry at them for what they did to you that something just…snapped. I lost it. And with the enforcer there-!"

Megan's eyes widened, and she dug her fingers into Daphne's arm. "There was an enforcer? On Northermeed? When? Where-? Did it follow us?"

"It must have," Daphne said. "But wherever it came from, it found us there, just after we'd gotten you out, and it went after him, and—You have to believe me: if I'd been able to stop sooner, I would have, but it was like driving on the highway at night in a snowstorm. The more I slammed on the brakes, the more I lost control, but I did get it under control, and I stopped, but—Oh, Meg! I almost killed him. He was in the way, and I didn't realize it was him until it was too late. I could see him dying right in front of me—he was bleeding, and I—I've never seen him so bad. Even after we fell out of the window, he wasn't that bad. I thought he might not make it, and I, I wanted to…to give him some hope, you know? Something to reach for. And I just said the only thing I could think of at the time. So I… I might have… I told him you loved him."

It came out in a gust, and Daphne clenched her hands at her lips as if willing the words back. "You're not too mad at me, are you? It's just… that's how I know he wouldn't have done that just to make fun of you. He knew you liked him. It'd be too mean, and—well—he may be a jerk sometimes, but he's not really cruel like that."

Megan stared at her in silence, all the blush faded, her face left waxy. Her hands slipped to her lap as she looked off at some distant place over Daphne's left shoulder and sagged back against the wall.

"Please say you're not mad," Daphne whispered. "I didn't mean to hurt him, and then I just—I panicked…"

"I'm not mad at you," Megan said softly. The crease between her eyebrows was back, though it faded when she shook her head. "It just doesn't make any sense. If he knew… if he felt that way… I mean, you saw him when he left. Did that seem remotely romantic to you? It seemed like the instant he kissed me, all he wanted to do was to get away from me."

Daphne shrugged. "He is a bit dramatic. Maybe he's just as confused as you are."

"Maybe…" Megan didn't seem convinced, but then, out of nowhere, she shivered violently and sat bolt upright, gripping Daphne's arms again. "The enforcer-?"

"Dead, maybe. Or out of the way, at any rate. Garrett saved Raife at the last minute."

Megan blinked at her, and then closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Sorry, I think I'm more tired than I realized. I thought you just said Garrett saved Raife."

"I did say that." Now she had Megan's full attention, wide-eyed in disbelief. "I know! I thought that at first, too, but… Oh! Here!" Daphne dug into her shirt pocket and pulled out the crumpled parchment Raife had given to her. It was stained brown in places, and as Megan took it from her, Daphne watched her friend eye those spots dubiously.

"Is this… Is this his-?"

"Um, yeah," Daphne said, feeling a little blush of embarrassment pinch the skin of her cheeks. "But he's fine now. Just remember that. Obviously fine enough to stick his tongue down your throat, so that's good, right?" She tried to laugh, but it came out shrill and manic. "He gave that to me, and I—I couldn't help it. I read it. I never knew you wrote to Garrett to apologize for—"

She hadn't finished her sentence by the time Meg snatched the folded note from her and tore it open. She held it close to her nose, scanning the lines of her own hand-writing and down to the very bottom of the page where under the sloppy signature, there was a sentence in another hand—a vicious style scratched out in thick, un-blotted black ink—which was signed with a single G.

Daphne knew what it said. It wasn't hard to memorize eight words: I will meet with her once. Thank Basso.

Megan's eyes hung on that line for a long time.

"Everything's even now, isn't it?" Daphne ventured after the silence had carried on a bit too long. "Raife's safe, we're safe—or, at least, safer—and you and Garrett are kind of…well, not friends exactly, but squared away?"

"Did he talk to you? Did he do this?" Meg's eyes hadn't move from that single G.

"On the boat from Northermeed, yeah. We had…well, it wasn't quite a conversation in the traditional sense, but he talked. I talked. We shared ideas."

"Wow," Megan said softly.

"I know, right? I hadn't expected anything like that from him, but he really saved our tails back there. And he didn't have to. Like it says, Basso must have convinced him."

"What'd he say?"

Daphne did her best to explain, about the ritual in Old Quarter being really a resurrection of some strange patchwork man, or something like that, and Garrett's assertion that there might actually be more of them drawn into the game than initially thought. "And I was thinking about it after we talked, me and Garrett, I mean, and I was thinking that maybe, you know, there was one with the Keepers, one with the thieves (that's you), and one with the pagans (that's me, unfortunately), so that would leave—"

"One with the Hammerites."

"Exactly!" Daphne grinned. "Exactly!"

"So what are we supposed to do? Does he know how we can get back?"

Daphne's stomach sank. "Well…no. Not really. He wasn't very helpful in that department. He just said we should talk to Artemus again."

"Great advice." Megan folded up the parchment and tucked it into her shirt just as a shadow fell across them.

"That's what I said." Otto set his armful of what looked like reams upon reams worth of dark fabric on the ground at their feet. The bundle clicked on the stone as things made of glass shifted inside its dark folds. "The man's back with the bacon, ladies."

Daphne thought about smacking him upside the head for a moment, but when he flipped back the corner of the cloak and she got a peek at the haul, she couldn't help but be a bit impressed. Nestled in the bundles of fabric were three invisibility potions, a pair of health potions, one slow-fall potion, a trio of daggers in leather-bound sheaths, and a few apples.

Even Megan leaned forward, her fingers brushing one of the green-blue flasks of invisibility. "How… How did you manage to get all this?"

The kid shrugged casually, but the first hint of a smug smirk was beginning to wear down his professional solemnity. "I know a few people. Folks who owed my father a few favors. You know."

"This is really great, Otto," Megan said, "I was a little worried when you said you had some contacts, but you really—"

"Water arrows! Neat!" Daphne snatched up a shimmering blue crystal attached to a long fletched shaft, waggling it in the sunlight. The light caught in the trapped water and cast bright, shimmering ripples of illumination across their faces. "Now we're really prepared!"

"Would you stop that?" Megan snatched at the arrow, but Daphne leaned back just out of reach. "Do you want everybody in the city to know what we're about to do?"

Daphne sighed and sat back on her heels. "Geez, you're no fun sometimes, you know that?"

Otto folded the cloak over the goods again and with a quick glance behind him toward the open street, he lowered his voice to say, "We should get going. Gormalt's a good ways away from here, and it'll take us a while to walk." He glanced at Megan. "Are you sure you're up for it?"

Her friend gritted her teeth and forced herself to her feet. "I'll be fine. Just get me moving."

The sky was still bright, but the sun had sunk below the city rooftops, bathing the streets in blue, dusky shadow. The heat of the afternoon had already faded, leaving in its wake a chill, damp breeze that seeped through the winding roadways.

As they gathered up their things, Daphne noted the way Megan's knees seemed still a little wobbly beneath her, and the pallor of her face was still a few shades off from healthy. No health potion, not even Otto's healing glyph, had seemed to take the nervous edge away from her, though the final potion had at last erased the vaguest remnants of the scars.

But there was something still off, and she was pretty sure it wasn't just the drama with Raife. It seemed deeper than that, a weariness, a hopelessness that had set in after Northermeed, and it scared Daphne more than the screams from the purification chamber. She hated seeing it, but wasn't sure what to do to help.

So instead, as they began to pick their way down the shadowed streets, she asked quietly, "You'll tell us if you're too tired, right? I mean, if you just don't feel like—Nobody would blame you if you didn't want to—"

"I'll be fine." Megan leveled a thinly-veiled glare at her. "I'm not an invalid or anything."

"Okay. If you say so."

Daphne glanced up at the sky. There was still light, so there was still time. It made her wonder if Sherry could see the sky at that moment. She hoped she could. She hoped they might get to Gormalt Cathedral and find her waiting there for them, irritable but safe. But some of that weird dread that seemed to cling to Megan as closely as a thief's cloak seemed to rub off on her, and Daphne found her capacity for optimism dampened even beneath that bright afternoon sky.

His name was Matthew Grayson. He was sixteen years old, a junior at Lansing High, a rising soccer star (it was obvious, whether or not Coach Mathey agreed), a shop class whiz, and last year had been voted "Best Smile" by his classmates. He still had his duct tape wallet with a mint-condition Michigan driver's license, a couple of five's, and a twice-folded magazine page of a nearly naked Megan Fox tucked away behind the dental insurance card his mother had loaned him for a cleaning.

He should have been driving the 70's Mustang his father had bought him for his birthday, or shot-gunning a Budweiser behind a 7-11 with his pals Chris and Nathan, or lounging in bed with his Audiotechnica headphones blasting 110 decibels of Glitch Mob directly into his brain while skimming updates on Facebook posted by people he didn't really care about, or screaming through the bathroom door at his dumb-ass sister for spending three hours to slop on makeup and straighten her hair into burnt straw.

Instead, he was in a stone room in a stone tower in a stone city, staring into a cold hearth as big as his kitchen table had been back home. Instead, he was trying to get into character, trying to play out the game he'd started a week—was it a week?—ago, first by accident, and now by design. Instead, he had an entire religious sect eating out of his hand. Instead, a trio of heavily armed men with three-foot mallets stood waiting in silence, hanging on the chance to obey one of his instructions. Instead, he was—and he didn't doubt Coach Mathey would agree on this one—possibly the most powerful person in the city, outside of a particular thief.

He liked the change.

"The Pagans have annihilated Northermeed. They snuck in under our very noses, stole the Eye, and destroyed our holy sanctuary." He turned sharply, and felt a jolt of pleasure when he saw them shift nervously under his gaze.

He did his best not to blink. He wanted them to feel his unadulterated wrath. The middle of them, a man they called Artech, glared back without shame for a few seconds, but finally glanced at the ground.

"The Pagans now have the Trickster's Eye. The war is upon us, and still you are not ready. I asked you to install my spy mechanisms in the hallways. Where are they? I asked you to gather as many able-bodied brothers and sisters as would answer the Builder's call to arms. Where are they? I asked you to build me a weapon that might stand a chance against the Trickster himself—Where is it?" Matt began to pace in front of the hearth. He wished there was a fire in it, even though the afternoon had been so stiflingly warm and the sun was not yet finished setting. A fire behind him would have been a nice touch; he had a taste for dramatic flare.

"The Builder sends me to ready his army, to gather his holy forces against all that would destroy the world, and yet—" He came to an abrupt stop and lifted an arm, as if surveying a great and empty expanse. After a moment, he let his arm drop with a heavy sigh. Anger was useful, but disappointment worked best with these kinds. "Sometimes I wonder if there is even one among you who has the true heart of a Hammerite. If all my efforts are to be thwarted—not by our enemies, but by ourselves—perhaps it would have been better not to come to you at all. Perhaps this city was meant to fall. Perhaps the Builder knew this, and is only testing me."

He flicked his gaze back to the sober men, and of them, only Artech dared raise his eyes, and even then, only for a moment before they fell back to the carpet. Beside him, Prolan's jaw twitched as if he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. Farrus hung his head like a whipped dog.

Matthew clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing again. "The final battle draws near," he said, keeping his voice low so that the others had to strain to hear him, as if they were covertly overhearing his own thoughts aloud, "and there is no time left to waste, no time to hesitate. I will do everything I can, sacrifice whatever it takes, to secure and defend this city against the hoards of the forest. I can only hope you intend to do the same."

"Thine commands shall be obeyed, Holy One," Prolan said. He held his chin high again, but still would not meet his eye.

"And you, Artech?" The man straightened upon hearing his name. "I can feel your doubt as surely as if I could touch it with this hand."

Artech was no wimp, that was obvious. He had gall, and he had height. He was easily six inches taller than Matthew, hands-down. But Artech was only one man, and he was the Builder's Hammer to these idiots, which mean of the two of them, it was Artech who should be watching his back.

"I am without doubt, Holy One," Artech said carefully, but it was clear to everyone—even to himself, it appeared—that the words rang hollow.

"You lie to me, even now." Matthew couldn't help smiling slightly. "Honesty met with dishonesty at every turn."

He could feel the tension in the room mounting. To stir it, ever so slightly. He was tired of the man's insolence, of the rumblings of doubt he made through the halls of this sacred place. Matthew knew couldn't very well take over the city if he had to watch out for Artech's inevitable betrayal.

"Tell me," Matthew said, and he took a step closer. "Your father. Who were his people again?"

Artech's face flushed red-hot in the blink of an eye. Matthew could practically hear his teeth grinding behind his tightly sealed lips. "He was a good Hammerite."

"But he came from woodsman stock. Didn't he?" Matthew met and held Artech's searing glare. "He came from the forest, from a family of dirt worshippers."

Artech's lips could barely keep his teeth restrained, and the effort not to grimace tugged fiercely at the muscles of his face. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and low. "My father didst leave those heathens behind when he didst come to this city. He carried the Builder within his heart."

"And you, Artech? Do you carry the Builder in your heart? Or does the blood of those wretched ancestors still flow in your veins?"

Artech's nostrils flared, and his fists clenched at his sides, but he did not take so much as a step forward in defiance. It was rather impressive, Matthew had to admit. "Mine whole soul belongs to the Builder," the man said, very low, very soft.

Matthew leaned forward, looked up at the man with a pitying smirk. "I don't believe you."

It only took a hunch of a twitch, but the intensity that had built between Artech and the other two was strung so tight that even that hint of aggression was enough for Farrus to catch his one arm and for Prolan to immediately catch the other, locking Artech in place.

"Take him to a prayer room, and there, lock him in with bread and water to last several days." Matthew stepped up to the man to clap him on the shoulder. "I have not given up on you yet, Artech. And your ferocity is something the Builder values, should it be focused in the correct way. A beam of light—insubstantial in its own as heat itself—can burn through walls with enough focus. Perhaps with a little time to center yourself, you will come to understand."

"Thou art a fraud," Artech whispered, his glare as intense as if directed through a magnifying glass at just the right angle. He spoke it so softly, the other two didn't seem to have heard it at all, for they twisted him around and directed him out of the room without hesitation, without further outrage.

It wasn't until Matthew heard their footsteps fade down the coiled stairs of the tower that he let out a sigh and ran his hands back through his hair. He was tired. Hungry. The fading afternoon light cast the imprint of the stained glass window across the floor at his feet, and even as he watched it, he could see the outline of the heavenly hammer quickly fading on the carpet weave. The room was growing cold. The night was coming on. Matthew shivered.

Things were happening in the city. Things he didn't fully understand.

And he didn't like it.

With the afternoon sun long gone, the twilight evening was cold and made Megan shiver as she followed Daphne and Otto through the streets, not unintentionally falling slightly farther and farther behind. It seemed as if they'd been walking forever, endlessly trailing along roads that went nowhere or split off into a dozen different paths. The city streets had never seemed so complicated in the game, but now, in person, they seemed labyrinthine and maliciously crooked. Designed to throw the out-of-towner into confusion.

Every so often, the rooftops above them split apart, and she thought she could make out the tower of a cathedral somewhere in the distance ahead of them, but it was always only a brief glimpse before they plunged back down a hill, wove along the canal, cut through a series of back streets, leaving her completely disoriented. It made her dizzy, and she hated that. She was just starting to feel better. But the next time the shadowy tower of the cathedral popped into view, her stomach lurched, betraying her with a vicious wave of nausea that sent her diving for the nearest gutter. But without having eaten for some time, the gutter wound up no more fouled than before. Megan stumbled to a short flight of nearby steps, and sank onto them. She drew her cloak tight around her shoulders, yet it seemed to provide no protection from the chill in the air. Leaning her burning temple against the cold stone wall made her head ache, but at least it was sturdy. Several of the glass bottles in the cloak's hidden pockets clinked out a tuneless melody against the steps through the folds of fabric.

She hoped the other two would realize she was no longer with them and come back for her, but at the moment, with her stomach lodged somewhere up in her throat and her heart beating so hard in her chest she could feel every pulse in her gut, she only barely cared if they did. Even the frustrations from earlier, which had driven her to clench her fists and dig deep to find the strength to keep up with them, had turned brittle and cracked in the cold. Now, she was too tired even to be bothered with the humiliation.

I can't do this, she thought. The butterflies in her stomach danced in mad, spiraling circles. I can barely walk. I feel like I'm dying, but there shouldn't be anything wrong with me. I'm healed. I'm healthy!

But she felt sick and exhausted. Even with her eyes closed, blocked by walls upon walls of city streets, she could still sense the shadowy presence of that cathedral tower off behind her right shoulder blade. Her stomach clenched like a fist.

The heel of her felt-soled boot slipped off the edge of the bottom step, making her knee drop and jarring her upright. Her head swam, and though she tried to sigh, the air seemed locked inside her chest like air in a balloon. She couldn't hardly breathe. Her heart beat so hard and so fast her ribs hurt.

Don't get sick, don't get sick, don't get sick. But she couldn't breathe, and that made her heart pound faster, made her temples feel as if someone were slowly sliding a knife blade right into her skull. Her whole body was shaking.

Just get moving again. It'll pass.

With a huff, she forced herself up onto her wobbly feet, gripping the railing of the stairs so tightly she could feel her fingernails grate against the stone. The tiny vibrations up her fingers made her stomach lurch again, but this time, she swallowed down the impulse.

A cold hand on her arm made Megan jump, but it was only Daphne. "There you are! Thought we'd lost you for a minute."

"Sorry," Megan replied. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her dry mouth, and her lips felt as if they would crack at any moment. Had they been that dry earlier? The thought made her wince.

Daphne frowned at her and gave her a hand off the stairs. "Are you okay? You look awful."

"Thanks."

"Hey, where'd you go?" Otto's voice sounded sharper in her ears than it ever had before, and she wished everyone would speak more gently. Every loud noise seemed to resonate in her brain, echoing long after the initiating sound itself had faded from her ears. "One minute you were right behind us, and the next—gone!"

"I'm not sure your coming with us is a good idea, Meg," Daphne said softly. "I think you're having a panic attack. Maybe it's just too soon to be—"

"It's not like I'm the only one who suffered at Northermeed," Megan snapped. A twinge of indignation had sparked inside her, loosening up some of the frozen air in her chest. "Nobody else is freaking out about it."

"Yeah, but they… I mean, maybe it's just hitting you now, you know? You've been through a lot, and—"

"Don't patronize me. I'm not a child. I'm as adult as you, and I'm sure as hell as adult as him—" (She tossed a crooked thumb towards the kid, who flinched, scowled, whined, "Hey-!" Daphne's concerned frown had hardened slightly under a single raised eyebrow.) "If you and he are all right with it, why shouldn't I…?"

"We're almost there, at any rate," Otto said to Daphne. "We could just find a place for her to hide out of sight and lay down for a while…"

"Don't do me any favors."

The kid shrugged and turned away, and Daphne sighed. "Meg…I'm just worried that you're only going to put yourself in danger if you come with us. There's no shame in being scared."

No shame? Megan felt the last little bit of her energy drain out through her feet, absorbed into the stones of the street. She knew Daphne meant she'd put them in danger, and she was right, wasn't she? She could barely walk; how was she supposed to slip into a Hammerite cathedral without being detected, especially when just a glimpse of the building sent her into terrified spasms. She hated to admit it, but she knew if the positions were switched, she'd feel the same way. Better for her to lay low and safe, even if it meant swallowing her pride and accepting defeat. But it rankled her, and made her irritable, which she knew was a waste of energy even as she knew she wouldn't try to hold it in or hide it.

"Okay," she growled. "Okay. Maybe you're right."

It made her face burn to say it out loud, and made the hollow of her stomach drop like a lead weight. Pathetic, she thought as Daphne took her arm over her shoulders and helped her down the street. She wanted to lay down and wake up in the sweltering heat of mid-day. She wanted to close her eyes and sleep for weeks and weeks and weeks, and wake up with the city crumbling from old age around her, overgrown with weeds and saplings and moss, a medieval Rip Van Winkle.

But most of all, she wanted to curl up in her own bed, in her own house, with her own family sleeping in the other rooms around her, knowing that when she woke up, she'd have nothing worse to fear than a late homework assignment, a grouchy boss, or a neglected physics project. She wanted to eat defrosted toaster waffles and glut out on marathons of cooking shows on cable; she wanted to get in a car that could carry her miles and miles and miles without the slightest effort on her part. She wanted the most dangerous weapons she carried to be a tiny can of mace in her purse and a fistful of keys.

They still had so far to go before they'd ever see home again, and that was assuming there was a way back at all. It seemed as though every step they took only drew them further away from where they belonged, and every day they spent within the game, the world around them seemed to become more and more real, and their own, less and less so. Hammerites and pagans seemed as plausible as police officers and nudists; credit cards and homework assignments as real as gold coins and hand-drawn maps; glyphs and prophecies and magic as believable as calculus, physics, and photography.

"Don't you miss gum?" she asked Daphne as they plodded along. She had long since stopped wondering what direction they were headed. If she thought about it, she could still feel that invisible, looming presence of the tower—though now, it felt as if it lay directly ahead of her.

"What?" Daphne asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Gum." It was such a weird word, now that she thought about it. "You know: Doublemint. Bubble Yum. Bazooka. Or toothpaste?"

"Deodorant," Daphne said with a laugh. "Or eyeliner or hand soap or Klondike bars?"

"Oooo," Megan sighed. "I could so go for a slice of pizza right now."

"A slice of what?" Otto squinted back at them.

Daphne giggled. "Or a hotdog!"

"No, a huge bowl of popcorn!"

"Pop-what?"

"I wish I could swim in my pool right now," Daphne said.

"I wish I could swim in your pool right now! I'd just float on one of your inner tubes and drink iced tea. And listen to the radio. Even the commercials, I don't care."

Daphne grinned beside her, gazing forward as if she could see her own back yard right then and there. "That would be great! KISS 108.7 W-Z-I-D!" she sang, and that cracked them both up again. "Of course, my dad would be working the grill for steaks or something, and it'd smell sooooooo good!"

"We'd have watermelon, too." Megan could almost taste it, just thinking of it. A little strength had seeped back into her, though whether it was the thought of the warm sunlight heating her back as she lay out to dry, or an actual warm shift in the night air, she couldn't be sure.

"What are you two talking about?" Otto demanded, dropping back to walk beside them. "What a watermelon? Or an inter-tube? Is this more weird otherworld stuff?"

Daphne giggled. Meg felt herself hoisted up again, and remembered to put her weight on her own feet. "Oh, Grasshopper," Daphne said, "there are so many things your little mind cannot even begin to comprehend."

"Like radar."

"And airplanes!"

Megan squeezed Daphne's shoulders. "Disney movies!"

"Disney World!" Daphne cried.

"Starbucks!"

"The Eiffel Tower!"

"iPods!"

"Tampons!" Daphne shrieked.

Megan couldn't stop herself from letting out a burst of laughter. "Don't—don't tell him about tampons," she said, gasping. "He hasn't even reached puberty yet. It might kill him!"

Otto snorted. "You're both completely nuts," he grumbled.

Then they turned a corner, and the cathedral's tower loomed dead ahead. They all came to a sharp stop, and Megan felt her heart catch in her throat. Before she could check herself, she shivered from scalp to toes. Don't freak out. Be strong. But she couldn't pull her attention away from the glowing stained glass window and its giant golden hammer shining down on the street.

The windows along the ground floor seemed to follow her like watching eyes as Otto finally led them a little ways down the street before stepping into a shadowed corner.

There, Otto plucked all of the contents from his pockets and laid his portion of the haul on the ground in front of them. Megan and Daphne exchanged a glance, and then did the same. The goods all lined up in a semi-orderly row on the cobblestones, Otto and Daphne stooped to figure out what they needed.

Megan stood off to the side, and glanced down the street towards the cathedral. Her skin prickled like she was being stared at, and she shrank back into the shadows to get better out of sight. At least the streets were empty and quiet. Every so often, she heard footsteps at a distance, but they always dissipated after a few heart-pounding seconds and vanished into the night.

On the ground, Otto and Daphne had started two piles: one for taking, and one for leaving. Megan noticed that the leaving pile was positioned closer to her.

Well, I'm being left, too, aren't I? The thought made her feel useless and childish, and she added mentally, with effort, I'd just hold them back and put them at risk. Daphne's right. They'll be able to get in, find Sherry, and get out. Done. I probably won't have to wait more than twenty minutes… Not that any mission thus far had ever just been "done" with so little hassle.

"Leave the flash bomb, too," Daphne said, crouching beside the boy. "I've never managed to use one of those without blinding myself in the process."

"It might be nice to have if we get cornered by a large group of Hammerites," the boy said, picking up the metal sphere. "I think we should take it."

"Do you know how to use one? Because if not, it's only going to help them against us. Do you want to be blind and trying to dodge a mallet? Because I sure don't!"

"Fine!" Otto grunted. "Leave the damn flashbomb."

"Don't be like that. The invisibility potions will be more use anyway, and can't backfire on us. It's a better choice in this situation."

"Sure. Fine. Leave it." Otto scowled and set the flash bomb down so hard in the leave pile that all Megan had time to do upon hearing the whining snap was clamp her eyes shut, and not even that was fast enough to completely block out the sudden brilliance that erupted from the device.

"Good job, Einstein!" Daphne growled from somewhere in the speckled darkness. Megan blinked and shook her head, waiting for the sparkles to clear. The sudden disorientation made her balance unsteady, and with a hand she reached out to stabilize herself against the wall.

The black spots turned foggy grey, and through it, she thought she could make out Otto's stumbling shape. "I didn't mean to! The stupid thing just went off!"

"Yeah, 'cause you slammed it onto the ground!"

"Well, you got your wish, okay? We're not taking it."

"No, you're right! We're taking the blindness instead!"

Megan took a step forward and felt something hard grate against her toe, and before she could stop herself, she fell forwards onto what felt at first like rocks, and then, with a little study, she realized were just some short steps. The cloak had crumpled well enough to cushion her knee a little as she landed, and after a quick mental survey, she was pretty sure she wasn't too badly scraped up.

There was a hand on her arm, and then Daphne was suddenly right beside her. "You okay?"

"Fine," Megan said, but then let out a little laugh. "Bunch of clever thieves we are, flash bombing ourselves before we even get started!"

"I didn't do it on purpose," Otto said, and she could finally make out the features of his face as he frowned at the two little piles of goods. Hers consisted of a slow-fall potion, a single invisibility potion, the apples, and one of the daggers.

The blade she picked up and withdrew from its narrow scabbard, turning it over to examine it. It was heavier than it looked like it should be from its slender shape, and the edge was so sharp, she nearly cut herself just turning it over.

"I don't know why we even brought those," Daphne said, nudging the other two daggers with the toe of her shoe. "We don't know how to use them, and even if we did, those Hammerites wear—like—four layers of sheet metal to protect them."

Otto rolled his eyes. "A knife can do more than just stab somebody, you know. And besides, just having it will make you feel less defenseless. Confidence can put off fear."

"I'm sure feeling confident right now," Daphne muttered as they tucked their items back into their cloak pockets.

Daphne brushed off the dust that had collected on the dark fabric near her shoulder, and then swept clean—or nearly clean—the smudge that had stuck all along Otto's arm and around the back. Megan watched them with a twinge of envy. They looked like thieves, real thieves, with their hoods up. Daphne's grin took on a sinister shadowing beneath her cowl; Otto's scowl was so reminiscent of another familiar frown she blushed, shoved the knife back into its scabbard, and focused on attaching the leather scabbard to her belt.

Daphne turned in her getup, making the cloak fill and flutter with a snap of her wrist. "I feel more like a sorceress than a thief in this."

Megan shook her head. "It looks good. You look like Garrett."

"From a reeeeeeally far distance," Daphne said with a giggle. "I'm sure he'd be flattered to hear you say so."

"There should be some abandoned shop carts just around the corner, if they haven't cleared them away yet," Otto said. "You can hide out there while we're gone."

Megan nodded and pulled herself to her feet. "Just show me where. I'll stay out of sight."

The cart Otto had in mind was almost within spitting distance of the cathedral churchyard. There were several carts, in fact, though only one was in good enough shape to even think about hiding inside. They were all half-rotted from exposure, but the one Otto picked for her was draped with coarse, sour-smelling canvas which seemed to have taken some of the environmental beating off the cart itself. Still, there was little fear of anyone rummaging around inside of it. Megan scrunched up her nose at the odor. It looked as if no one had even wanted to move it for months.

Moss, which had once probably been green now squishy brown and crawling with flies coated the valleys of the canvas tenting where the water from rain runoff gathered. There was no standing water now, thankfully, just stains, and the air inside the crumbling wooden shell was cold enough to thin out the stench. A trio of mice scuttled away as Megan crawled inside, the joints of the cart creaking in protest around her.

"Scoot in a little more," Otto said, muffled through the barrier. "Yeah. Like that. Now we can't see your feet or anything. Nobody'll know you're there."

Megan pulled herself in a little further, pulling herself closer to a crack in the wood frame through which she could smell a slight draft of fresh air and see the front doors of the cathedral. Somehow, being able to see the courtyard made her feel a little more useful, as if somehow she wasn't just going to be sitting this one out, but contributing through observing.

"Are you okay in there?" Daphne stuck her head down by the hole Megan had shimmied through. "We might be gone for a couple of hours, depending on how well-guarded it is…"

"I'll be fine," Megan said, and tried to smile convincingly. "Go on. I'll watch from here."

"Okay. Just remember, you've got that invisibility potion if you need to get away from here."

"Somehow, I bet you'll need yours more than I'll need mine, but yeah. I'll remember. And you be careful."

Daphne gave her a thumb's up and disappeared as she stood. Megan shifted to peer through the crack and watched as her two friends walked away from her. The high walls of the cathedral stood out dark and ominous against the last remnant of fading blue light in the sky. She glanced back down to eye-level as Otto's glyph flickered against a wall shadowed by stone pillars, and then, in the next moment, they were gone.

And she was alone.