"Here, let me get these cuts on your back. This one just missed your faerie."
"Good faerie today." She winced at the burn. "The buck, Mal. He saved me. If he hadn't charged that way, I don't know what might've happened. And he was bleeding, he was hurt. Hurt a lot more than I am. I wish I knew if he's okay."
She snorted out a laugh. "I was going to mop him up with a bunch of Kleenex. How dopey is that?"
"I bet he didn't think it was." Wanting to take inventory of her friend's hurts, Malory stepped back. "There. That's as good as it's going to get."
"My face isn't too bad, is it?" She got up cautiously, turned to the mirror over the sink. "No, it's okay. I guess I'm snapping back if I'm worried about my face."
"You look beautiful."
"Well, some lipstick and blush would help." She shifted her gaze, met Malory's in the mirror. "He didn't beat me."
"No, he sure as hell didn't."
"I got somewhere. I don't know exactly where, but I did something right today, took some step, and it's got him worried."
She turned around. "I'm not going to lose. Whatever it takes, I'm not going to lose."
In the high tower of Warrior's Peak, Rowena mixed a potion in a silver cup. However troubled her mind, her hands were quick and sure. "You'll need to drink all of this."
"I'd rather a whiskey."
"You'll have one after." She glanced over to where Pitte stood, scowling out the window. He was stripped to the waist, and the gouges on his side were red and raw in the light.
"Once you've taken the potion, I should be able to treat the wound, and draw the poison out. Even with this, you'll be tender for a few days."
"And so will he. More than tender, I'd say. More of his blood spilled than mine. She wouldn't run," he recounted. "She stayed and fought."
"And I thank all the fates for it." She stepped over, held out the cup. "Don't frown at it. Drink it, Pitte, all down, and you'll not only have whiskey, but I'll see that there's apple pie for dessert."
He had a weakness for apple pie, and for the look in his lover's eyes. So he took the cup, tossed back the contents. "Damnation, Rowena, can you make it any more foul?"
"Sit now." She opened her hand, held out a thick glass. "And drink your whiskey."
He drank, but he didn't sit. "The battle lines have changed again. Kane knows now we won't stand back and do nothing, bound by the laws he's already broken."
"He risks all now, too. He banks on the power he's gathered, what he's twisted and surrounds himself with. If the spell can be broken, Pitte, if he can be defeated, he won't go unpunished. I have to believe there is still justice in our world."
"We'll fight." She nodded. "We've made our choice, too. What will you do if this choice keeps us here? If this choice means we can never go home again?"
"Live." He stared out the window. "What else?"
"What else?" she replied, and laying her hand on his wound, she cooled the burn.
Chapter Eleven
He had to work at being calm, to strap himself down so he didn't march into Zoe's house and start spewing orders. That, Brad knew, was his father's way.
And it was damned effective.
Still, as much as he loved and admired his father, he didn't want to be his father.
All he really wanted at that moment was to assure himself that Zoe was all right. Then to make sure she stayed that way.
And there was Simon to think of, Brad reminded himself as he pulled up in front of Zoe's house. He couldn't go shoving his way in, spouting off about how reckless she'd been in running off on her own, putting herself in the crosshairs, with the boy around. He wasn't going to frighten a child while venting his own fears and frustrations.
He would just wait until Simon was in bed, then vent.