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It worked. It actually worked.
I leaned my head against the scythe’s giant blade. Its metal was a cool sensation on my head, chasing away some of the pain. “Everyone lived. We did it.” I coughed then folded over from the pain a single cough created.
The roof under my feet creaked, and I felt it buckle through the soles of my boots.
Oh, it’s about to cave in.
The roof cracked, and for a moment I thought I was going to fall through the hole.
But my gut instincts—still alive and well—roared to life. I threw myself to the side, rolling down the dome, and nearly impaling myself on Truck in the process. (Charon had taught me a lot of weapons. Scythes were not one of them.)
I was half concerned I was going to roll down the entire roof, but I smashed into something hard that stopped me.
There was the guttural heave as the dome roof collapsed—or at least the portion I’d been standing on.
When I finally recovered, I realized I was plastered against Noctus’s chest, who was holding me very carefully so he didn’t brush Truck.
“Thank you. I’m pretty sure I was going to swan dive headfirst if you hadn’t stopped me.” I strained my arm trying to hold Truck away from Noctus, but then let myself face plant into his chest. “You already know Truck.”
“Destruction, yes,” Noctus said.
Truck uttered a new “woo-woo” noise that still had that spooky many-voice quality to it—most likely his way of saying hello. I’d be grateful to have Noctus act as my interpreter until I got to know the weapon better.
“…what was that?” Noctus said.
“Truck talking?” I said, confused by his confusion.
“Weapons don’t talk,” Noctus said.
“Ker said they did.” I peeled myself off Noctus long enough to look up at his face, then to look at Truck. “She said they can communicate with their wielder.”
Truck made a happier sounding “woo-woo” noise that inspired a whole new furrow of wrinkles on Noctus’s brow.
“Not like this,” Noctus said. “It’s usually an inner kind of understanding.”
“Oh.” I stared at Truck. I swear the jewels on the scythe were sparkling more than they should have in the morning light. “Maybe he’s having to adapt, because I’m a shadow so I don’t have all the elf qualities he’s used to?”
Noctus was quiet for several long moments. “Sure,” he finally said. “That must be it.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“Frankly, I’m not going to question anything about you and the Mors’ family heirloom. You survived what you shouldn’t have. If Destruction wants to call itself Truck and start talking, I’m certainly not going to deny it anything,” Noctus said.
I laughed, then coughed, and finished with a cringe. “Oh. That hurts. I’d love to just sit here in your arms, but I need a fae potion. Pretty sure I burned my lungs.”
“Will it hurt you if I carry you?” Noctus asked.
“Nope. I’d appreciate it, in fact. I think my legs are about to give out—oop, yep.”
As if on cue, my legs started to fold underneath me, and Truck fell from my hand.
Noctus caught me, so I was free to watch in comfort and surprise as Truck glowed, then disappeared. My armor faded away, too, leaving me in the clothes I’d worn to my Book Nookery shift.
“He’s fine,” Noctus said. “He just went back to storage. You’re too weak to keep him out.”
“Oh, good,” I said. “Though I didn’t say goodbye to him.”
“That’s important to you?”
