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“To serve,’” she agreed. “To do the honorable thing. The right thing, even when it’s hard. Even when it hurts.”
She bent and picked up her bokken, which had fallen to the floor. Nix looked at it for a long moment, then turned slowly toward Benny. She looked tired, frightened, and stressed, but beneath all that an old, familiar green fire burned in her eyes. She took a breath and gave Benny a single, decisive nod.
“Then let’s do it,” she said. “Let’s go be samurai.”
71
“HOW FAR IS IT BACK TO THE PLATEAU?” ASKED LILAH. SHE HAD TO LEAN close to Joe’s ear and yell.
“Two miles,” he said. “We’ll be there in . . . oh crap.”
He jammed on the brakes, and the quad skidded to a dusty halt. Grimm, who had been loping along beside the quad, stopped dead and uttered a low growl.
Lilah looked past Joe’s muscular shoulder.
“Oh,” she said.
The path through the forest was blocked with reapers. An even dozen of the killers. They had all turned at the sound of the quad, and their expressions quickly changed from curiosity, to confusion, to an ugly delight. The rasp of steel as they all drew their weapons was louder than the idling motor.
“Can we go around?” asked Lilah.
“We can,” said Joe, “but we’d lose a lot of time, and from what you said, this is the route your friends would most likely have taken. If we go around, we could miss them entirely, and that crowd of bozos might find them.”
Lilah grunted.
“Then we fight,” she said.
He turned and grinned at her. “I admire your spunk, darlin’, but you’re in no shape for a brawl.”
“I can shoot.”
“There’s that.” Joe dismounted. “Tell you what,” he said, “you can play target practice with anyone who gets past me and the fuzz-monster.”
“There are too many for you,” she said. “Even with Grimm.”
The dog looked from her to the advancing knot of reapers and back again and almost seemed to smile. He gave a discreet whuff and held his ground.
“Just watch our backs,” said Joe, and began walking toward the reapers. Lilah watched him. The man sauntered down the path as if he was taking a leisurely stroll on a spring evening. Grimm walked beside him. Joe’s sword was still slotted into its rack on the quad and his gun was in its holster. The man was insane.
The reapers thought so too. They grinned at one another and puffed out their chests as they strode forward to share the darkness with this sinner.
Joe stopped when he was twenty feet away and held up a hand, palm out. Grimm sat down next to him.
“Okay, kids,” he said loud enough for the reapers and Lilah to hear, “before you go all wrath-of-God on me, let’s chat for a bit.”
The reapers slowed and stopped, looking wary. Their eyes darted from Joe to the dog and back again. One of them, a tall man with a head tattoo of hummingbirds and flowers, stepped out in front of the others.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“Doesn’t matter who I am,” said Joe.
“Have you come to accept the darkness?”
“Not as such, no.”
“Then what do we have to talk about?”
Joe shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. How about we see how devoted you guys are to the whole joy-of-dying thing.”
