“That’s it.”
The rifle shot again, but he was already moving. He smashed the knuckles of his right hand into Machete’s throat, hooking his foot with his right as the man fell, swiped the weapon from his fingers, rammed his elbow into the Edger to his left, and hurled the machete at Baxter. The knife hit the shooter between the eyes. The blow wasn’t hard enough to kill, but the oversized blade cut at the man’s scalp. Blood poured into Baxter’s eyes. He screamed. As William broke the arm of the Edger to his right, he saw the rifleman take off into the brush.
William lost himself to the flurry of punches and kicks. Bones crunched, people howled, someone’s blood wet his knuckles. It went fast and was over too quickly. He tossed the last man at Cerise, just for the fun of it. She reached out and very carefully popped the Edger on the head with the hilt of her sword. He went down.
William strode to her. That’s how it’s done. Drink it in.
She surveyed the carnage behind him. “Did you have fun?”
He showed her his teeth. “Yes. Now they won’t take you anywhere.”
Cerise stepped closer to him, so close he only needed to lean in and dip his head and he would kiss her. Since he saved her, maybe he could just grab her and— “That was the stupidest thing you have done since I’ve met you,” she ground out through her teeth.
Belay the grabbing.
“You’re an outsider. Your kind exiled our kind into this swamp. We hate bluebloods. Right now Baxter is out there telling wild stories about the blueblood who came to kill the Edgers. By nightfall, it will be you and some friends, who attacked defenseless locals. By morning, the whole town will be out looking for the mysterious army unit of bluebloods Louisiana sent in to exterminate us. They will hunt you down with torches, like a dog. Stay here, hero, while I fix this.”
She strode over to Machete and crouched by him, the tip of her sword resting on the ground. “You’re alive, Kent?”
Kent moaned something.
“Tell Lagar that he isn’t the only one who can hire mercenaries. When we hire someone, we get the best. He would do well to remember that.”
She rose from the crouch and nodded at William. He took his fish and followed her down the road.
Cerise’s face was dark. “What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that six against one wasn’t a fair fight. I evened the odds a bit.”
“You call that evening the odds? You demolished them.”
Demolished. He liked that. “I left you one.”
“I noticed.”
“I promised to share,” he told her. “Manners are very important in the Weird. Lying would be quite impolite.”
Her mouth trembled and she hid a smile. It played on her lips for a second, lighting up her face, and vanished.
Want.
“I just told them that my family hired you,” Cerise said. “Now instead of thinking you’re some blueblood hell-bent on causing destruction, the locals will view you as a mercenary. That makes your presence a private matter between my family and the Sheeriles. Either way, you signed your death sentence—Lagar Sheerile will turn himself inside out to kill you now. Lagar isn’t a pushover like those clowns. His brother Peva once shot the hearts off a card at a hundred feet with a crossbow.”
“I’m very scared,” William told her. “Are playing cards a real nuisance in your part of the Edge?”
She snickered.
“Shooting cards is dumb,” he told her. “What is he, five? Or is he doing it to get women?”
Cerise waved her hands. “Never mind. You have two choices: you can either stay here and let them hunt you down while you look for your doohickey, or you can come with me to my house and wait until this blows over. We can probably smuggle you out once this mess dies down.”
He wanted to jump up and down and pump his fist. “To your house? In the swamps?”
“Yes.”
Play it cool, play it cool. “Hmm.”
Cerise glared at him, her dark eyes bright. “What do you mean ‘hmm’? You think I invite just anybody to our family home? If you’d rather be dead because you decided to play the hero and save me, you’re welcome to it.”
“What about your family? Won’t they mind?”
“Until we get my parents back, I’m in charge of my family,” she said.
The road broke through the trees, and they entered a small town. Wooden buildings, some on stilts, some on stone foundations, formed narrow streets. Somewhere to the left a dog bayed. The air smelled of food and people.
“Decide, Lord Bill. Yes or no?”
“Yes,” he said.
“We might get killed along the way,” she said.
“Nice of you to mention it.”
“My pleasure.” She pointed left. “Come on. Zeke’s place is over there. We have to go that way anyway, and the more people see us together now, the better. It will reinforce the idea that you’re working for me. And we can get rid of that awful thing.”
He won. He won, he won, he won. He could see the method in Declan’s madness now. Playing a hero had its advantages.
“I happen to think the fish head is an impressive specimen,” William told her.
“It stinks.”
“You wore a jacket full of rancid spaghetti for three days.”
“It was a disguise! Nobody pays attention to homeless people in the Broken.”
“Why were you in the Broken?” he asked.
“None of your business.”
She stuck her chin in the air and strode down the street. He snuck a glance at her ass—it was a remarkable ass—and followed her.
EIGHT
ZEKE Wallace’s shop occupied a large wooden structure that in the Broken would’ve been a barn. In the Edge, it must’ve passed for a respectable storefront, William decided, since it had a giant gator head above the door and a sign that said ZEKE’S LEATHERS under it.