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“Yeah!” Anita fist pumps my statement. Nina looks a little more reserved.
“It’s not as easy as you think. There are forces of evil…”
“Of course. There are always forces of evil. That doesn’t mean you let yourself be turned into a prisoner.”
Crichton is still here, listening with a quiet smile. The alcohol has made me feel more brave and forthright than before. I hold the tumbler out to Crichton, indicating I am ready for more. He obliges by refilling my glass once, twice, three times. I don’t usually drink. I don’t usually need to.
Nina and Anita are discussing something or other about stuff and perhaps things. My mind is full of recursive thoughts that have only one possible conclusion: something must be done. These dark misogynists must be confronted.
“Where are you going?” Nina asks the question as I wobble my way toward the door.
“Who cares, I’m following,” Anita declares.
I have a little entourage of the confused, concerned, and amused behind me as I stalk the halls of Direview like a vengeful spirit, though one that actually exists because I am real and they are not.
“THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS GHOSTS!”
I make my thesis statement as I roll through the door somewhat sideways. I meant to open it but I find my shoulder making contact first and then I just sort of go with the motion, spinning myself into the midst of the Brotherhood.
I stand before the men in my beige attire, my hair tied back behind my head, barely a trace of makeup on my face to distract from how eminently fucking sensible and rational I am.
“I AM A FREE WOMAN,” I declare. “And you are mad cultists!”
Cosmos tries — and fails, to hide his smirk. I’m sure any of the others here would get up and try to shush me, but in spite of being a murderous psychopath, he’s not the kind of man to silence a woman. I appreciate that about him. Also, he continues to be incredibly fucking hot.
“Holy shit,” I hear Anita whisper behind me.
“Cosmos,” Bryn says. “It would seem your wife is feeling unwell.”
“I’ve NEVER felt BETTER,” I disagree.
“You’re drunk,” Bryn growls. He doesn’t like this interruption. He doesn’t like this attitude. He doesn’t like a woman who knows her mind. He prefers a nervous young woman with all the self-determination of the average bit of wet toast.
“I am drunk,” I say. “But in the morning, I will be sober, and you will still be a cult leader.”
“Cosmos, take your wife to bed before I take her to my office and cane her,” Bryn says.
“I’d like to see you try! Cosmos is teaching me to fight!”
“We haven’t actually started any of those lessons,” Cosmos reminds me.
“I watched you today,” I say. “How hard can it be?”
And then, suddenly, unexpectedly, there’s a sword in my hand. Fuck knows where that came from, but I can feel the silk-wrapped grip against my palm, and the shine of the blade catches the candle lights of Direview with an anachronistically threatening gleam.
Everybody is staring at me, and I do mean everybody, from Cosmos to Bryn, to the unflappable Crichton himself. I find myself the center of stunned attention, caught right in the middle of complete silence.
Thor leans over to Bryn. “That’s an angelic blade.”
“I know,” Bryn says. “My god, I know.”
I swish it about and it cuts through reality. Bits of existence peel around me. Worlds float about the place in slivers of possibility, and shards of time tinkle around my feet in a cascade.
The Brotherhood start panicking immediately. There’s cursing and flailing and the sound of things they probably don’t want breaking being shattered in multiple dimensions.
I can hear Bryn’s desperate cry over the sound of everything being ruined.
“Get that off her before she destroys the world!”
“Easy there, little one,” Cosmos purrs. He’s suddenly behind me, and his hand is on my wrist, controlling me. “How about we sheath that?”
His other arm is wrapped around my waist, snugging me back against the hard lines of his body. I feel him anchoring me to the world I know, pulling me back from the brink of madness.
Just like that, the sword is gone. I don’t know where it came from, and I’m not sure where it went, but four tumblers of brandy make that a concern for another day.
“Christ,” Thor curses. “I have never seen anything like that in my life.”
“You have a hammer that brings down the fury of the heavens,” Cosmos reminds him.
“That’s a real artifact. She summoned that sword out of thin air. I’ve never seen that done before. It’s written about in some of the very ancient tomes, but the power it takes to actually do it…” Bryn is impressed.
I am sleepy. A yawn escapes me as my head rolls back onto Cosmos’ shoulder. He’s supporting me, holding me up. I feel suddenly exhausted. And soft. And warm. And happy. And okay. It is as though a tight string that has been held taut inside me for years is suddenly cut. I’m free.
