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She laughed. “You think I fear death? I’m four hundred fucking years old. I welcome death.”
Beau made a strangled cry and flung the crossbow to one side. He dropped to his knees and bowed his head. “You want revenge for your kin. Kill me.”
Athelinda looked down at the axe in her hands. She licked her lips, gold incisors glinting. Then she shook her head. “You don’t deserve my fucking mercy.”
She threw the axe to the ground. Beau grabbed it.
“Oh, shit.” Barbara started down the steps, but she was already too late.
Beau swung the blade back at himself, slicing deep into his own neck. Blood spurted. His head flopped backward, tendons and muscles severed, throat gaping in a violent scarlet howl. For a few seconds, he remained kneeling, head lolling on his spine, eyes staring at the stormy sky. Then he collapsed sideways. Gurgling noises bubbled from his ravaged throat. His hands flapped limply around in the bloody snow.
Athelinda stared at him. “You stupid old fuck.”
With a heavy sigh, she marched over, snatched up the axe and brought it down cleanly on Beau’s neck with a soft, wet schlop. She bent and picked his head up by the hair.
“Wait,” Barbara shouted, stumbling into the street. “What are you doing?”
“Taking him,” Athelinda said flatly. “You can have him back when the rest of my kin are returned.”
Without waiting for a reply, she strode away down Main Street. Halfway along, she paused and stared at the sparkling Christmas lights, as if only just noticing them. For a moment, illuminated by twinkling stars and prancing reindeer, her face seemed aglow with a childish wonder.
Then she glanced back at Barbara: “Your Santa is jerking off. You might want to do something about that.”
And as Barbara watched, she disappeared into the snowstorm, small boots leaving faint bloody marks in her wake.
60
48 HOURS LATER
The storm had passed. Outside, a pale sun made the snow glisten.
“So, I guess you’re heading off then?” Rita said.
Barbara nodded. “Al’s on his way. He’ll drive me to Talkeetna. Then I’m on the plane back to Anchorage.”
“You going to visit Nicholls?” Rita asked.
“I thought I’d drop in, take him some grapes.”
“He hates grapes.”
“Oh.”
“Take him some Saltwater Taffy. He loves Taffy.”
“Okay.” Barbara smiled. “You going to be all right here?”
“I’m sure we’ll do just fine with Tucker holding the fort.”
Barbara glanced at Tucker. His nose was bandaged, but his face didn’t look too bad. Only she knew how much of a beating he had taken. Otherwise, well, questions might be asked.
“Maybe you could stick around?” she said. “Nicholls needs a deputy.”
“I’ll think about it. For now”—he picked up a large crate—“I’ve got a delivery to make.”
They all looked at the crate. “Athelinda will be happy to get them back,” Barbara said.
“And make sure you come back with Beau,” Rita said. “Jess wants an open casket, and I’m having trouble putting her off.”
