Border, KS

CHAPTER 14: A TRANSFER OF POWER

Walter was almost prepared for how fast Ninja Grandpa was. Having his hands on iron helped, and having seen more Faeries fighting helped—especially Morgan and Tania, who blew the Ninja Grandpa away with their skill and speed. Of course he wasn’t anywhere in their league either, but the experience at least helped him prepare.

The fact that the young man attacked very predictably didn’t hurt either. He lunged right for Walter with rage on his face, far beyond simply indignation. He had been called out in front of people whose support he desperately wanted, possibly even needed, and he was prepared to grind the person who had done it in to dust.

Hooray, I got him to want to kill me, Walter thought, but now he’s trying to kill me! Walter swept his one of his knives in the way to deflect the white-haired man’s attack, and quickly stepped forward. Ninja Grandpa’s momentum kept him from stopping immediately, which left Walter on his exposed flank. Walter lashed out with his blade as fast as he could, trying to end the fight quickly by driving it between the Faerie’s ribs; unfortunately the other man turned too quickly. The kid had apparently been practicing some, or was just that angry, because Walter was pretty sure that would have been a killing blow the first time they met.

Still the slice opened up a long line of red in the other man’s side, and he cried out in pain. Walter tried to step in to press his advantage, but Ninja Grandpa stepped back too quick away and out of range. He hissed, holding his hand to his side as if it burned while he considered Walter with rage in his eyes.

“You’re young,” Walter said to him, echoing their earlier conversation as the other man held a hand to his side that came away with blood. “This is your first war, isn’t it?” Walter watched the flicker in the man’s—the young man’s—eyes. “You’ve got what…centuries to look forward to, a thousand years to live? Morgan—Mab, whatever—is seven hundred.” Walter’s eyes flicked down to the blood on his knife, and then back up to the man’s. “I’ve been a young man at war, son. You look at me and see a mortal, but you should see an old man in a game where lot’s of men die young. You choose to walk away and you can see all those centuries; you fight me and I will find some way to end you, I promise.” His voice wasn’t angry or raging, just quietly serious. He tried to give it the weight of authority of someone who had seen more blood and death even in a human lifespan than this young man could imagine, and from the hesitation he saw it looked like it had landed. In the moment when there was softness and fear in the man’s eyes, Walter couldn’t help but shake the image of a lost teenager in over their head; of Antigone or Siobhan without someone to guide or help them.

That cracked something in Walter’s heart, that terrifying moment of comparison. Who knew why the man had signed up. Maybe it was knowing, maybe it wasn’t—but no one really knew what they were signing up for in a war until they had fought it. He had done terrible things, murders if he was a part of the Three Stripes killings, and maybe worse; but that look in his eyes was lost and alone. They said that war never changed, and he had seen enough to know it was true; it was always lost men and boys in the fields of mud and sand with guns and terror and death. And Walter couldn’t bring himself to kill another confused child in a man’s body lost in war, clinging to any raft of sanity or explanation in the churning and blood soaked tides.

Shit, Walter thought. Now I have to beat him without killing him.

Then the look in the other man’s eyes hardened, and he put on what to Walter was very teenage liking sneer. “Oh I’ll see centuries, old man, don’t you worry.” He came forward again this time, but now he was more cautious—he’d seen what happened when he charged in recklessly. He did have training, it just wasn’t as extensive as it could be. He moved smoothly in for a moment, but then he jerked suddenly to one side as if second guessing his own movements. Walter recognized it as the young man’s brain getting in his own way, and watched for it as he backed away. They danced across the main courtyard of the school and on to the grass while the full on Faerie battle ranged on behind them, not crossing blades as they gauged one another.

Don’t watch the head, the grizzled Sergeant who had taught Walter advanced knife-fighting had said, ‘cause you lie with your mouth and your mouth’s in your head. And shoulders can lie because they’re tricky. But a man doesn’t lie with his hips. Of course, when Walter had questioned what was so tricky about shoulders, he had gotten thumped—the peril of unofficial, extra-curricular training was slightly older methods of discipline.

Walter saw Ninja Grandpa’s hips move, and then the man was a blur of motion. His knife came for Walter’s throat, and only the fact that he had known exactly when the attack was beginning saved his life, as the knife ended up raking across his shoulder. Burning pain spread from the site of the wound, but he was already moving for his own improvised plan of attack. He was dropping down, almost falling to the ground really, and dropping the extra knife he had picked up. He put his hand on to the back of his now solo knife as he fell, to drive it home deep in to the grass.

But not before it pierced the leather of Ninja Grandpa’s shoe, and straight through his foot. It sunk in until the hilt was pushing down the top of the leather boot, and the blade was deep in to the dirt like a tent stake. The young man howled in absolute agony, shock driven from his face by pain. But Walter wasn’t done.

All of his momentum had been spent driving the knife down in to the other man’s foot, so there was nothing to put in to a spin or pivot to gain momentum. But he was significantly lower, kneeling where Ninja Grandpa was standing at his six foot full height. So Walter went up instead of around, getting both of his legs fully underneath him and pushing up as hard as possible. As his body pulled up he brought his arm into a loose curl, and pivoted his hips. The uppercut plowed into Ninja Grandpa’s chin like a run-away train, every ounce of power and every minute of training Walter had ever received going in to that one blow. He felt bone crack and shatter, and he was certain that at least some of it was in his own hand as well as the other man’s jaw. The sound of splitting bones filled the air of the courtyard, followed by two separate screams of pain.

Ninja Grandpa fell to the ground still screaming in agony, until Walter reached out and grabbed his other knife, and whipped him across the face with the flat of the blade. Two times did the trick, and the other man slumped against the soft grass unconscious, his red blood making a pattern like macabre Christmas decorations against dying grass. But he was breathing.

Walter looked up at the men who had come with Ninja Grandpa, who stared in shock. “I win; who wants to be next?” He asked, advancing on them slowly. They stared at him, splattered with blood and with grim determination etched in to his face. Whatever spell it was his visage cast on them lasted long enough.

The Border, P.D. crashed into the courtyard in vehicles with sirens blaring, and hit one of them with their car.

Walter cursed and jumped back as a form flew out of the doors of the school. He heard Morgan shouting something but couldn’t make out exactly what she said. Whatever it was, the last word couldn’t have been Sparta, he thought. It was only after a moment that Walter realized that what had flown out of the doors of the school was Ninja Grandpa, his nose bleeding and his arms wrapped around his torso while he groaned in pain. He was followed a moment later by Morgan wielding a longsword, who in turn was followed by five faerie warriors and a dog the size of a small pony. The warriors were not on her side, but were apparently giving her plenty of room as they tried to gauge how to attack her. The hound, if anything, looked confused.

Morgan’s eyes clearly fell on the battle going on with Tennyson and Tania against Oberon, and they hardened. “Can you take care of this?” She asked as she started to walk past him toward the bigger battle. Walter considered for a moment, before shrugging.

“I guess we’ll find out. Any way I can get it one on one?” Walter asked in return as the five men drew up with Ninja Grandpa, who had just gotten up to his feet. Morgan’s eyes flickered over to the Faerie man that Walter had shot, and she raised an eyebrow.

“If you killed him…then maybe,” Morgan murmured softly in response. “Anyone who kills a Knight of Faerie in a legal duel or lawful war is automatically considered a freeholding citizen of the Court of their choice. As such they can issue a challenge to a duel against any citizen or challenge another knight for knighthood. Nobility can only be challenged by Knights or other nobles, but knights can be challenged by citizens. We consider them rebels, but they consider this a legal war. Play up his cowardice if he refuses, and he may be forced to fight you. Good luck.” Morgan’s voice was sotto voce and matter of fact until the end, when it stayed every bit as quiet but took on more of a heart felt air.

“You got the soul stealer or whatever they were?” Walter asked softly, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder.

“One…apparently I lost one in all the costume changes in Nightmare. It will have to do,” she responded, her brow furrowing in concern.

“If not we’ll make a back-up plan,” Walter reassured as the enemy started walking toward him.

“If this doesn’t work, Walter, we lose,” Morgan said with a shake of her head, as she drew the small black knife that was the goidte dubh she had made from Oberon’s Sword. It was slender enough she had it in a pocket.

“Then we won’t lose. Go, I’ll keep these six off your back.” Walter turned to the people coming toward him, and holstered his pistol. They slowed down when they saw him drawing the railroad spike knives out of his vest, so Walter decided to waggle them in a menacing fashion. “You and me, Ninja Grandpa, we’ve got some business to settle.”

Ninja Grandpa sneered and began to walk toward Walter as if he were unafraid, although his eyes kept flickering back to the knives. The fact that Morgan had apparently just beat him senseless had put some caution in to him, which Walter figured could be good or bad; he wouldn’t have minded him overly cocky, to be honest. So time to piss him off some… “I have more important things than putting you in your place again, mortal…” The white haired man growled.

“Is that what you told everyone happened last time?” Walter asked, twirling the knives around his fingers idly as he pitched his voice to be loud enough for the other men to hear. “Cause I seem to remember it was a tie, and I’ve had nothing but time to come up with new ways of whipping your ass. But if you think I’ve got too much for you to take, you can always go try to fight one of the Queens instead,” Walter said with a lazy, predatory grin. The other man paled to match his hair, a twitch coming to his features as Walter stoked his anger.

Ninja Grandpa forced down the anger with a sneer of arrogance. “I’ll leave you to my men and the Hound, they’re more than enough for you, boy.”

“Right, leave me to your posse so you don’t get beat down again,” Walter snorted. As the men in question started to advance, he held up a hand to them. “Hold on boys, I’ve got yours coming in a minute. But you, we’ve got to settle this. A man can’t just come to my house, get his ass kicked and run without me wanting to finish business, you know?” Walter’s grin grew less lazy, and more predatory as he spoke. “You have offended my honor, sir!” Walter spoke in a high, almost sing-song voice. “I demand satisfaction! I challenge you to a duel for knighthood! Or stuff!”

“Loses something on the ‘or stuff’,” Morgan managed to call out from where she was fighting, her voice strained.

“The peanut gallery will focus on their own fight,” Walter ordered, before he looked back to Ninja Grandpa. The young (looking) man was stunned, apparently not having heard Morgan’s whispering. He let out a startled laugh as he processed Walter’s challenge.

“You must be insane, mortal…I’d as sooner respond to a challenge from a pig as from you.” His voice was less than sure as he spoke, however, and the men who had come with him stayed stopped completely.

“Sure, sure, except you can’t,” Walter said, examining his fingernails. “I killed that dude, and I’m pretty sure he was a Knight too. So that makes me a freeholding citizen, although after I kill you I plan to be a beerholding citizen instead. So I can challenge you for knighthood, and once that’s done go murder your boss. Then go home, get some sleep, Netflix and chill. You know. But if you can’t take it in front of your boys back there, feel free to keep on walking.” Walter stepped aside and held out his arm. “Of course that makes you a coward turning down a challenge during a lawful war…or maybe you don’t think the war is really lawful. I mean, it’s your choice.” Walter shrugged, but he looked up at the man with eyes flashing.

Ninja Grandpa sneered, his lips spreading wide over his teeth as a hiss of breath escaped from him. He went from pale to flushed, and in a moment he was holding an iron blade like the one dropped by the man Walter had killed—apparently brought so as not to harm a Faerie blade against cold iron. That thought made him reach out and grab it, since Tennyson had taken back his sword when Walter dropped it and was now using it. It was longer, and would give him a little reach. The notched bowie knife was well made despite the chip, and Walter settled in to an easy stance.

“I engage,” Ninja Grandpa sneered, as he began to launch himself forward.

“Bring it,” Walter responded as he brought his knives up to block.

END CHAPTER 13: FOLLOWING NIGHTMARES

Siobhan’s next attack was a flying elbow that took the woman in the stomach, and while it sent radiating waves of pain through her arm it also sent the blue-haired woman doubling over for a moment. Siobhan tried to keep seizing the momentum of the fight and brought her elbow up in a vicious uppercut that probably would have taken a human out of the fight. While there was a large crack, and the blue-haired woman stumbled back with a gasp of pain, Siobhan couldn’t be entirely certain the crack hadn’t been fron her own arm. Her fingers tingled, and the pain was intense—but she also knew that she had to press the fight or risk losing the woman.

She was stepping forward again when the blue-haired woman looked up, her eyes actually flashing ice blue as she apparently decided to join the fight in earnest. She came at Siobhan in a flash, and her knife-like sword flashed out. Siobhan cried out in pain as she felt slices to each of her arms, and then to each of her legs. She just couldn’t get her blocks out in time to keep the knife from scoring her, and the pain in her legs almost sent her stumbling to the ground. She backed away and found herself in a corner, eyes wide as she looked at the woman who had just drawn blood from all four of her limbs in less than four seconds.

“Ryan!” Antigone cried out, as Blueberry walked slowly toward Siobhan. The Faerie woman had regained a little of her smirk, although it was tempered by the fact that her jaw apparently still hurt. The bowie sized knife she held dripped a single drop of scarlet blood as it gleamed in the misty light coming from the doorway.

“Shit…” Ryan cursed, as he fired furiously and tried to get back to them. The firing stopped, and from the sounds of grunting and the meaty thunking sounds, it had turned in to hand to hand. “Coming!” Siobhan knew that he wouldn’t be there fast enough, from how close the blue-haired woman was getting to her.

Antigone started to come toward them, as did Monica and Lacey, but there was no time. The blue-haired woman was already advancing toward Siobhan too quickly. Siobhan did stumble to the ground now with a cry of fear as the blue-haired woman raised the blade as if to consider it, or worse to show it to her. “I don’t know how you got the juice to hit me, little girl, but I don’t tend to leave people alive who get the drop on me. Sorry.” The smirk on her face was not very sorry at all, and it stayed frozen on her face as she raised her knife-like sword above her head.

Siobhan saw the keen edge of that blade as it bega to come down to her, almost in slow motion. Her brain felt like it was firing a thousand times faster than normal, like she could think of a way out of any problem. But she couldn’t make her body move to match the speed of her thoughts, and she knew in a horrible way that the knife was going to kill her. It already had her blood on it, and the cascading fear spreading down her spine was sure it would be joined by a lot more far too soon.

She didn’t want to die. She had known that before, of course—she liked to wear skulls and joke about sleeping in coffins, but while she had certainly gone through a very dark time right after her mother disappeared she had never seriously considered death. That desperate desire to live spread through her like a warmth as she watched the knife coming down toward her. It would take her in the side of the neck. Carotid artery or jugular vein were what she knew the goals were, but those didn’t seen to matter because there was enough force coming at her to just about rip her head off.

The warmth kept spreading through her body, and it brought with it an almost electric tingling that shot through her limbs. It was the desire to move, to act, to force her limbs into action and protect her. At first she wondered if it was normal to feel that heat, that fiery and building tension, but then it started to grow too much. She felt for a moment like she was going to burst from within as the tip of the knife drew within a foot of her body. The blade had a chisel tip like a katana, and for an eternity that can’t have been more than half a heartbeat she focused on that.

Siobhan didn’t like killing, and she wasn’t even that fond of actual fighting. She had trained for years to be able to do it well, but that was as much about focusing her energy as the actual expectation that she would need to use it. She had felt the horror at what she had done a few moments ago, and she knew that she probably always would. Siobhan knew in that moment that was part of what had taken her father out of the military when he left, and why he had tried to find a different life. And in that moment she knew that part of what gave her strength, part of who she was, would always be the capacity to take a life and the horror at having to do it.

The electricity burned in every part of her, and she felt like she should glow with the fire burning in her core. The knife drew to within six inches of her body, and the dam broke within her.

**** ****

A thunderclap rolled through the room, a physical force that hit Antigone in the chest and knocked her to the ground. She landed on her ass and started to scramble, until she realized what she was seeing. Then she gasped.

The knife tha thad been about to kill her sister stopped in mid-air. It was only after a moment that Antigone realized it was because Siobhan had reached out at the very last minute and grabbed the blue-haired woman’s wrists, stopping her cold. No, that wasn’t right…she had grabbed the knife by the long handle! A second later she pivoted, yanking the woman off balance and pulling her forward into the space Siobhan had been in just a moment before. The knife actually drove deep in to the brick, but the blue-haired woman didn’t have any time to react. Siobhan was on her feet in an instant and continuing her pivot around in a full spin. As she brought her arms down they seemed to glow, and that glow went through the still shocked body of the blue-haired woman.

Blood and other things splattered horrifyingly on the ground, and Antigone gasped and gagged. The corpse of the blue-haired woman fell to the ground in two different pieces. What had been white hot light that seemed to be growing out of Siobhan’s hands had solidified into a sword made of the odd and gleaming silver material that Tania and Morgan’s were made of; except hers was three feet long and curved, like the swords that she had been trained with. The blood dripped off of it, running too quickly like it wanted to be off the metal.

Siobhan whipped the blade around, and all of a sudden there was a sheath on her hip that she lid it in to. She gave the horrifying corpse of the blue-haired woman a polite bow, as if this were just another match. Then she slumped, as if a great energy left her. “No one tries to kidnap my sister,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “Time to get the door closed, Annie.”

Antigone, her eyes locked on what the corpse of the blue-haired woman had left behind, rewarded her sister’s heroism by bending over and retching in the corner of the room, before she staggered back to the door. She screamed as she saw through the door, in the distance, an angry man without a horse charging toward her.

“Incoming!” Ryan Aquino called out as mist continued to fill the room. The sounds from beyond the door were getting louder and more insistent, and for a moment they had masked the sounds of more Faerie warriors coming down the stairs toward them. Fortunately, Ryan had noticed before they had made it all the way down. “You both good?”

Siobhan looked at Antigone, and the two shared a look. Her eyes traced around the room, and for a moment the only thing she could see was blood. While Ryan had done by far the majority of the mayhem in the room, Siobhan knew that not a small amount of the blood on the floor was hers. She realized that it was on her as well, and suddenly it felt hot. She could taste it in her mouth, metallic and harsh, and smell it all around her. Her hands started to shake and she first almost dropped the sword, and then almost threw up. Her throat burned, and Ryan moved over to her.

“Siobhan, I know what it feels like, but you can get through this. Right now you have to get through it, as a matter of fact, because I’m running low and you’ve got my sword,” Ryan said softly. The footsteps got closer, and he raised his rifle to the stairs. Siobhan stared at her shaking hands, breathing in deep. The cold air and mist felt good on her throat and lungs, which burned with bile and horror, as her whole body quivered with the after effects of adrenalin. She was about to say something, when she felt a hand on each of her shoulders.

“Make sure they don’t come down the door,” Monica’s voice said. It was scared, her voice, but it was also steady. Ryan looked at her but then nodded, moving up to take a kneeling position and brace his rifle on his leg. Siobhan felt hands turning her, until she was looking at her sister and both of her friends. All three of them were pale, Lacey was actually crying and Antigone was shaking. After a moment of looking at one another, Monica spoke.

“Siobhan, I know this can’t be easy for you…God above, I’m going to have nightmares about it until the day I die. But I also know how strong you are.” Monica looked her in the eyes, and gave her a nod. “I can’t do what you have to do, but if you don’t do it we’re all going to die, so you have to do it.” Her voice broke a little bit at the end there, her own panic coming through, but she managed to squeeze Siobhan’s shoulder meaningfully.

“Bonnie,” Antigone said. Her terror was more open, and hearing it the iron banded Faerie hound nuzzled her leg gently. “I don’t know why we’re here, and I don’t know if we’re going to make it out. But it’s you and me, and that’s the way it was always meant to be, right? Ever since we ate that triplet in the womb,” Antigone even managed an old joke, and Siobhan felt herself let out a laugh that was as much related to a sob as it was to mirth. Behind them they heard the report of Ryan’s gun firing, not nearly as loud in the small room as it hand been before—which was likely not good for their hearing, Siobhan thought bleakly. The Eisenhund began to snarl, and launched itself off join in the burgeoning fray. “So let’s do it just like that, you and me. I’ll find my mojo and close the door, and you’ll protect me, and we’ll be okay. We’ll cry later and make Morgan pay for everyone’s therapy, right?”

Siobhan gave a slow nod, swallowing another breath of air. Their words, especially Antigone’s, helped. They were a lifeline to normalcy, a reassurance there was still some sanity despite everything happening around them. “Cry later, Morgan pays for therapy, and we eat ice cream until we crap snowflakes. Got it.” She started to give a smile, but then she heard a cry of pain and shout of warning from their Uncle, and Siobhan felt something heavy crack in to her right shoulder. She went sprawling to the ground in a red haze of pain, landing on her back and losing her grip on Ryan’s sword once more. It went clattering to the ground, completely unnoticed to Siobhan as she stared at the woman standing over her.

She was tall, with hair of so dark a blue that in the dim light it almost seemed to be black. She was tightly muscled and dressed in what appeared to be a modern version of medieval-ish hunting leathers. She also had, while Siobhan was falling, grabbed Antigone by the throat and was lifting her in to the air.

“The King will want to see you, the one who would close the door. Can’t allow that.” Her voice was cold and harsh, and she started to turn back to the stairs. Siobhan stumbled her way to her feet without thinking about what she was doing. She threw herself at the blue-haired woman, not even realizing that she was shrieking until she realized her throat was hurting. She hit the woman in the back, and was surprised by how sturdy the woman was. Siobhan went to the floor again while the blue-haired woman merely grunted and dropped Antigone, who stumbled back toward the Nightmare door. Blue-hair turned back to Siobhan, scowling.

“Leave her alone, you bitch!” Siobhan shouted as she pulled herself back to her feet, noticing for the first time that she could feel blood on her back.

“Movie quotes, really?” She said contemptuously. Siobhan started toward Ryan’s sword, but the blue-haired woman moved to stay in-between her and the sword so she couldn’t get to it. “There is a kind of person who thinks that quoting something brave makes them brave. But you know the secret?” She asked, kicking the sword back further away from them. “It doesn’t. It doesn’t make you brave,” she began to walk toward Siobhan slowly. “It doesn’t make you strong, it just means you wasted a lot of time with Netflix.” At the end of the sentence she was standing only a foot away from Siobhan. She slowly pulled what appeared to be a long hunting knife out of nowhere, the same as Ryan or Morgan pulling out their swords. “So I’m going to take your sister—”

Siobhan cut her off by lashing out with a kick that was faster and stronger than any she had ever thrown in her life. It hit the woman in the middle of the arm holding the knife, batting it away. Siobhan kept with the almost sickening momentum of that kick, and brought her other foot around for a textbook perfect strike to the woman’s jaw. It sent her spiraling back in a corkscrew, and when she hit the ground the smug smile had been wiped completely off her face and was replaced with a look of anger—and shock.

“Try it, you fucking blueberry,” Siobhan finished, launching herself at the woman.

Walter cursed. The knife sliced through his vest and scored him across the shoulder, but not nearly as bad as it could have. Whatever it was that hit him could have done a lot worse, but had also been trying to disable him with a tackle. He had these thoughts in the seconds before he was carried to the ground by the tackle, grunting as it drove the air from his lungs.

He looked up to see a man he didn’t recognize with a knife in his hands. It wasn’t a sword like Tania or Morgan carried, just an iron knife the length of a bowie knife that he knew would nonetheless kill him very dead. The hilt was wrapped in a lot of leather, creating a thick handle so the man didn’t touch it—meaning he was a Faerie as well.

The man tried to stab Walter’s face, and he moved his head to the side at the last second. The knife hit the stone ground and chipped out a notch in the blade, and the man cursed. Before he could pull the knife back for another attack, Walter punched him in the jaw. Pain radiated through his hand as it impacted the strength of a Faerie jaw, but it threw the man off balance. Since he wasn’t heavier than Walter, just able to take more of a punch, Walter grabbed him by the coat the man wore and pivoted in to a roll. With a grunt he ended up on top of the man, and as an added bonus the Nightmare that had been swinging his sword missed by mere inches.

Walter cursed and pulled out his pistol, firing quickly at the Nightmare. Two, three shots deflected by the man’s magic, but it did apparently take an effort as the creature danced back and out of range. Walter tried to turn the gun down on the Faerie man underneath him, but the man brought his knife up and pushed Walter’s gun out of the way. The shot hit the stone next to the man’s head, but Walter reached out and grabbed the man by the wrist and pushed, trying to use his one hand to push the knife against the gun more and force it out of the man’s hand.

Right up until the Lord of Nightmare came back in with a thrust at Walter’s neck. Walter dropped, rolling off the Faerie and under the blade, right in to the legs of the Nightmare. That sent the Nightmare tumbling over Walter’s body, and all three of them were on the floor. Stunned for a second, they all exchanged a look before each started to move. The Nightmare and the Faerie both tried to stand, and with their speed made a good show of it.

Walter new he couldn’t get to his feet in time, so he didn’t try. He rolled away from them, which both gave him some distance from the others and left the arm holding his gun out and free. He fired his first shot, and it took the Faerie in the side of the head. As fast as he had been starting to move, that speed now played itself out as inertia as his body hit the ground. Walter wasn’t sure if he had managed a kill, but he also didn’t have the time to worry about it. He moved his arm to try to shoot at the Nightmare, but as his arm move the air around the creature darkened and pulsed. By the time the barrel was where it had been, it was gone—only a shadow remaining, hanging in the air like an oil slick on water.

“Shit,” Walter cursed, shaking his head. He turned to look at the Tania/Oberon/Tennyson fight, and felt like he should have saved his cursing for what he saw.

**** ****

The boy was completely unprepared for the onslaught of a Queen of Faerie, and it only took a moment for him to realize it as well. Morgan swatted aside his first strike with contemptuous ease, and then pivoted with a speed that even many of her kin would have thought was impossible. She brought her leg around quickly and kicked him in the face, sending him sprawling and sliding back toward the exit. She kept the momentum and spun as the Hound leapt at her. She caught him by the neck and fell with his momentum, bringing her legs up under his massively muscled body and kicking as she fell backward.

The Hound let out a baying cry as it flew through the air, not used to flying except for its own massive leaps. It crashed in to the boy and sent them both tumbling to the ground again in a crunch. With the weight of the Hound if she had thrown it at a mortal they probably would have been killed, but she knew it would only leave him on the ground for a few moments. She turned back to face the other men coming upon her. They were tall and strong, each a fine specimen of Faerie breeding, and at the sight of her outstretched sword and wicked smile they stopped for a hesitant moment.

“I am Aoife inghean Oberon. Knight of Frost, and White Rose of the Morrigan. Mab and Queen of Winter, full of power and rage. Stand before me and be shattered; stand against me and be buried.” Her voice was clear and strong, and as she spoke she breathed in more of her power than she had since she was banished. Hers was the power of cold nd the waning of all things, and in November there was much to cloak herself in. It sang in her words, and set the metal lockers ringing. She could feel her power’s twin, held by her own twin, fighting outside in desperation. She knew she would have to get to it soon, or risk everything. But she also knew if she used too much of her power now she risked not having it outside, where she might need it most.

Even the Hound and the boy, standing from their collision, paused at the sight of her. In to that silent, quivering moment, she heard Walter call for her with panic in her voice. It seemed to give the warriors surrounding her some of their mettle back, as they turned back to her. She did not give them a chance to steel themselves further, but leapt forward to those standing between her and the exit. In the span of a single heartbeat she was between them, her sword flashing and her teeth bared like a wolf among the sheep.

Frost crackled around her sword as it lashed out, burying itself deeply in to one man’s chest before she pulled it out and whipped it around to block the blow from a warrior who recovered more quickly. She blocked high and then stepped under the blades, spinning and dropping her blade down in to the man’s leg. He screamed and she spun to find the boy coming up to her, the Hound behind him and still looking at her as if fighting to recognize her.

The boy held his blade low and out to the side, rushing at her full speed and trying to take advantage of her distraction. The problem was she wasn’t distracted, and she turned to face him full on. His eyes grew wide as he tried to stab at her, but she didn’t bother blocking, simply stepping in close to him faster than he could react and bringing her leg up.

“Wha-” he began, but she didn’t let him finish. She put her booted foot against his chest and gave it a power fueled shove. She might have put a little too much power in to it, as his feet left the ground and he sailed out the double doors and out in to the courtyard with a cry of surprise. Never one to pass up an opportunity, she let out a war cry and charged after him to go see what the hell was happening outside.

“THIS! IS! SPARTA!”

“Ok,” Siobhan said as she got back to her feet and looked at her sister, “How do we close the damn door?” The faded and flecked door stood wide open, with the mist continuing to come out of it. They could hear people near the stairs coming down to them, and they could hear at least one horseman riding toward them from the lands beyond the door. “Cause we might be a little bit boned if we don’t.”

Ryan Aquino reached down to pull a magazine from one of the pouches on his tactical vest and checked it quickly before he put it back. “We might be a lot bit boned if we don’t. We might be a little bit boned anyway.”

“What are they here for?” Antigone asked as she moved to the door. She reached out to put her hands on the open door and tugged at it, but it wouldn’t give. The mist waivered, but it seemed to have the weight of water when she tried to move it. “Damn, I can’t just close it…”

Ryan considered the small room, dusty and misty and crappy. “Lacey, Monica, get back in a corner out of the way. Don’t argue,” he said, when Monica began to open her mouth. “I need Siobhan and Antigone to do some mystic mojo, but you guys will just get squished. Siobhan, you know that trick you pulled with Tanya?” Siobhan nodded slowly. Ryan reached out, and a moment later he was holding a long and slender blade with a strong curve; it was the gleaming metal of a Faerie blade, but shaped like a katana. He handed it to her blade first. “Might be a good time to pull out some more tricks.”

Antigone tugged furiously at the door, and whimpered. “Come on, you always open and close when I’m dreaming…” She murmured angrily as she looked at it. She rubbed her hands together and looked at the door. “Uh…abracadabra!” She chanted, to no discernible effect.

“That’s for opening things,” Monica pointed out helpfully. Antigone scowled.

“Avada kedavra!” She shouted again, to the same usefulness.

“That’s for killing things,” Lacey supplied this time, from the corner.

Ryan smirked, and then his face went sour as he heard the footsteps hit the last set of stairs. “Well, let’s keep that one for an emergency then.” When the first set of legs appeared he began to fire, taking two Faerie soldiers out at the legs and sending them tumbling down to the floor. They screamed in agony, but Ryan took care of that with a pair of doubled shots to each of their heads. The men stopped screaming, but Lacey and Monica kept going. The shouts were maddeningly loud in the enclosed space, all of their ears starting to ring. Even Ryan, who was wearing some ear protection, winced and shook his head. “Sorry!” He held out a hand for a moment, and a small piece of shadow clng to the barrel. When he fired again at the next man, the sound was much less, although Siobhan thought that could just be that she had gone deaf.

Five men stormed in to the room, moving with a breathtaking speed. It would have been too fast to follow if she hadn’t gotten to watch Morgan and Tania fight. She could barely follow it, but the sword she held apparently helped—it worked like iron in that respect, slowing them down to just mind-boggling speed. One bolted right for her, a pair of wicked looking knives in his hands. The blades looked like they were made of glass, but she didn’t think they’d break.

Her attacker came in with the knives lashing out like serpents, one high and one low. She quickly stepped to the side and brought her blade in an arc to parry both of them, jumping forward to counter attack with as fast a blow to his head as she could manage. Out of reflex she even cried out the strike as she would in the dojo. “Men!” She cried out, the Japanese word for a strike to the head. The man was apparently surprised that he had been counter-attacked so quickly, because while he blocked he did so slowly and she managed to score a very superficial cut. Blood trickled down in to his face, and Siobhan grinned fiercely. “Avada kedavra!”

Then she saw someone going for Lacey, and she cursed. The man attacking her came in with two quick strikes, and the man closing in on Lacey brought a short sword over his head to bring down on her. “Shit!” Siobhan cursed, and felt herself moving faster than she had ever moved in her life. She moved in to her attacker’s strikes, tapping the blades aside to move right up against his body. She didn’t cut him, but reached with her free hand and grabbed him by the shirt—they were all dressed in loose black shirts and pants, vaguely medieval and vaguely piratical. On pure instinct Siobhan turned and pivoted her hip, whipping the larger man’s body around. He went in to the air and slammed directly in to the man who was about to kill Lacey, both of them hitting the brick wall of the room with grunts of pain.

“SUCK IT!” Siobhan proclaimed loudly, raising her sword in triumph—before it was ripped from her hand by a man behind her. He brought it around in a wide arc, clearly intending to remove some vital body part with it and then keep it for himself. Out of instinct Siobhan raised her hands to try to block, but she knew she would be too slow.

A sound filled the room, reverberating with a primal power and force. One heartbeat the baying was naccompanied, and in the next a huge hound with iron about its powerful frame came in to existence. It closed terrible teeth on the arm of the man who was about to kill Siobhan, and flung him—and the sword—across the room. The iron hound threw its head back and bayed in triumph, and Siobhan saw Antigone leaning against the open door panting profusely.

“Avada kedavra,” she announced with a weak smile, turning back to the door.

“Word,” Siobhan agreed, turning back to find yet another faerie trying kill her, as Ryan fired shots up the stairs to keep another group at bay.

It turned out that shooting the horse did nothing to improve the disposition of the Nightmare lord. Walter hadn’t been completely sure that it would work, whether because the creature protected the horse as well or if the horse had actually been a part of it, but the horse disappeared in a cloud of black smoke that sent the rider tumbling. Walter took a couple of pot-shots at the tumbling form, but whatever was deflecting the bullets continued to work even as the man fell. Walter re-holstered his pistol and took three quick steps in to stab at the man.

The nightmare rolled away like smoke from the blade, coming to his feet with his sword appearing back in his hands. So he just pulled it out like that for show, Walter thought wryly. He didn’t have long to think, as the creature let out a resonant snarl and charged at him. His blade came in low, trying to cut Walter off at the knees. Walter parried down low, stepping back quickly. He tried to stab at the creature’s chest but his own blow was contemptuously slapped aside as the shadow stalked forward to him.

In a blur of speed Walter was forced to parry as fast as he could. He barely got his sword in the way each time, relying mostly on his knowledge of knife-fighting; but the blade was much larger, and at the last press he ended up with his blade pressed back against his own arm. He winced in pain, hopping back and looking to find a small and bloody cut. “Tennyson, can you make this smaller?”

Walter looked over. Tennyson was circling around Oberon and Tania, trying to time his attack just perfectly; if he came in at the wrong time then he risked throwing his half-sister off her game and potentially getting her hurt or killed. His eyes flicked up for an instant to meet Walter’s, and he grunted. “Very needy today,” he commented; but as he spoke the blade shortened to be the size of a bowie knife instead of a sword. Just in time, as the other creature tried to pressd the distraction. Walter whipped the much shorter blade up to block the sword attack, this time with more confidence. Instead of retreating, Walter pressed in quickly to get inside the reach of the creature’s longer sword.

His sudden change of tactics caught his dance partner off-guard, which is exactly what Walter wanted. The nightmare had been moving forward and even with it’s speed that let Walter get inside his ability to strike back, because of the length of his sword. As it started to pull back Walter tried to stab him in the throat. The nightmare managed to turn away and mostly avoid it, but Walter still managed to get a piece of where the shoulder should be. The creature hissed in agony, and now it retreated away from him.

“We’ve killed two of your friends, and we’re going to send you back too. You want to avoid getting cut to pieces before hand—” Walter began. He didn’t have a chance to finish, however, before something ran in to him from behind.

**** ****

Morgan ran out in to the main hallway of the school, and then stopped. She didn’t see Tennyson or Walter, who she should have seen without much difficulty. The High School wasn’t small, but it wasn’t that big either, and the central hallway ran like an arrow at to the front entrance, the hub from which the spokes came off. She could see down the hallway to the door, but beyond the windows there was only darkness, and each step she took seemed to take her no closer.

“I don’t know which of you miscreants is doing it, but I will warn you I’ve had a very long day,” Morgan offered to the empty hallway in a calm voice, “And I’m in no mood to be toyed with today.”

She heard the laugh and she felt it. It sounded like an animal, like a boar snuffling in the grass for a truffle, or the chuff of a large predator clearingthe air before a charge. It felt like the slithering of a snake across her skin, the warm trailing of scales on skin and the horror of an almost alien form of life.

“Oh,” She said softly, and in a flash her sword was in her hands again, extended to full long sword length and as comfortable as an old sweater. “Is that you, my hound? Have you truly turned against me, and done these things?” Her voice was but a whisper, and yet it carried through the darkened hall. “Have you turned against the hand that hooded you, my falcon, and had your eyes bared against my own flesh?”

From behind her there came a rustling and a low, beastly sound. She turned very calmly to find a creature of darkness formed on to the tiles. It stood no more than her own height, but as it began to move forward it did so on four legs. From what she could see of it, it had massive musclature—but a structure that changed slightly as it came toward her. One second it was closer to a boar, and one second to a lion, and then a massive snake. This meant that rather than walking or padding toward her, it seemed more like it flowed toward her indistinctly—except that every moment she actually focused on it, it seemed to have a distinct form.

It was a sight she hadn’t seen coming toward her aggressively in centuries. “Oh my hound, now turned against me,” She murmured softly. She breathed in softly, and focused on releasing. It was like letting go of a muscle so long tensed that it became the new default state. Her dark hair and height began to melt away from her, which left her slightly shorter than standard and with long crimson hair. Her features softened in some ways and sharpened in others, minor but enough that she looked like a sister to the woman she had been. She looked like the little girl Walter had seen grown in to the blush of young adulthood, with all the world of possibility ahead of her. She felt all of her centuries as she considered the creature in front of her, and what it meant that he was here.

“In the name of the Maiden and Mother, I command you to stop. In the name of the Mab and the Morrigan, I command you to stop. In my own name and my own right, I command you to stop,” Morgan spoke. The words were quiet but they radiated with power, resonating about her with a weight all their own. The walls of the hallway shook and warped—and then with an audible crash, broke and shattered away. It left her standing in the actual hallway, and outside she could see fights happening, confirming her theory; the hallway had been a part of…

She felt the blade coming for her, and without thought she whipped her own sword up and over her shoulder, blade down to protect her neck and spine. A sword clanged off it and she turned, so that her back was to a wall and she could keep her eyes on both of her attackers. The man was the white haired youth that Walter had sparred with before, the one who had proven talented if hasty. And he was not alone, as men began to stream out of rooms behind him from where they had been hidden.

“He has you handling the Hound? You holding the leash to one of the most dangerous creatues in Faerie?” Morgan demanded of the boy. He glared at her, drawing to his full height in order to try to look intimidating. Morgan had been dealing with powerful men who were far taller than her for longer than he’d been alive.

“He will name me a Duke when we bring Faerie to this realm,” he said proudly. Morgan snorted.

“So at most you’re someone’s second or third son trying for glory, or someone else who has always looked upon the throng and wanted,” Morgan guessed. At the young man’s flush, she grinned. “Do you think a beardless boy will kill a Queen of Faerie?”

“I am a warrior of the true King,” he said angrily, beginning to advance.

“You’re a puffed up popinjay dreaming of glory,” Morgan responded disdainfully, as she brought her sword up to ward off the boy and the beast, and the ten warriors they had apparently brought with them. “But you won’t be the first I’ve plucked.” She grinned a fierce grin, and launched herself at the boy.

Walter expected it to be bad as he emerged up the hallway in to the bottom floor of the high school. What he didn’t expect was sheer pandemonium. Students were, perhaps wisely, running like mad to get away from whatever it was; they were retreating in a way that left no one trampled as far as Walter saw. It was as if some switch in their brains had just been flipped, and with it their desire or ability to do anything but leave the school as quickly as possible.

The problem was so many of them were flowing out of the school in to the area where the fight was. And what a fight it was. There were large stone steps leading up to the school, whose entryway featured a row of oddly grand pillars. The whole outside of the school was the same odd grandeur, because it was the oldest school in Border—although originally under a different name. Now one of those stairs and one of the pillars had large cracks in them. Horse sized cracks.

“Gods above and below…” Tennyson said as he saw what was going on in the courtyard. As slow falling snowflakes brushed against them, Tania Summers fought like a wildcat against her father and a Lord of Nightmare. Her sword was out, but it was not a small or slender blade this time. A full longsword, if not a bastard sword, it was also wreathed in scarlet and orange flame. The light reflected off of the falling snowflakes and made it look like she had a fiery aura. Unfortunately she didn’t seem to be winning the fight, no matter how fast or powerful she was.

But even as a losing effort it was beautiful to watch. Walter had to force himself to action, force himself to overcome the desire to stand and watch what was going on. He raised his pistol and fired at the de-horsed lord of Nightmare; but as it got close it seemed to warp away, streaking off to bury itself in a thick tree. The person on the horse pulled back from Tania and reared around to look at whomever was impudent enough to shoot at it.

“Ah…the soldier. Our colleague’s project. Did you think you could harm a god with a gun?” It asked the question in a resonant voice, like Walter’s had been when he was in their land. It seemed especially Ring Wraith-y coming from a black hood, and it sent an involuntary shiver down his spine.

“Some day,” Walter said with a shake of his head, “I’m going to deal with something that is actually afraid of guns.” He holstered the pistol. “Tennyson, I don’t suppose iron?” The horse began to trot toward him, and out of the folds of the cloak pulled a sword. It was long and curved like a standard cavalry saber, except that it seemed to trail shadows behind it as it was drawn. Walter could swear that he saw something screaming deep inside the trail behind it.

“Nope,” Tennyson said calmly. As Walter watched the man’s sword began to grow in length from the short and slender blade to a full long sword, and his clothes began to ripple and change. After a long moment he was wearing a chain mail hauberk and a dark blue tabard with silver stitching. He considered it for a second. “Huh. Guess it knew I changed sides,” he said with a shake of his head. “You’ve got a couple iron knives?” At Walter’s nod, he motioned. “They have something around the handle, I hope?”

“Yeah…” Walter said, pulling them out. Tennyson motioned, and he carefully handed them to the man.

“Trade you.” He spun his sword around quickly, offering it to Walter. “You’re not fast enough to fight Oberon, and as long as I’m going to commit treason I might as well go all in.” Walter noted that down to ask about later as he took the blade. It was surprisingly light. “Go.”

Walter nodded, and raised the sword to salute the faerie knight. “Try not to die.”

Tennyson smirked, and returned the salute. “I was about to say the same to you,” he offered wryly as he began to run off to fight his father. Walter turned to the horse and rider approaching them cautiously. As the rider saw Tennyson move off, the rider chuckled and began to relax visibly. Walter raised the sword he held point first to him. Behind him, from inside the school, he heard another large crash and the sound of something crying out in frustration.

“Morgan, we could use some backup…” He called out.

“Little busy, give me some time!” Came a strained response. In front of Walter, the Lord of Nightmare began to chuckle.

“Come. I will deal with you while the King of Faerie ushers your friends to the long sleep. You may all see one another there and rejoice, for you will know not the sorrow of this world.” For all the ominous intonation and attempt to sound like a deity, Walter could hear the patronizing tone of the voice. He was just a squishy mortal in the way of something far more powerful, and as soon as this bug was splattered across the windshield bigger things could be accomplished. He’d heard it from Oberon, he’d heard it from Ninja Grandpa, and now he heard it from the Witch King.

“You know what, asshole?” He asked, sword still out. “Just for that, I’m not going to play nice.” Left-handed, he drew his pistol and shot the rider’s horse out from under him.

Walter gasped as the door gave way and he found himself spilling out on to an aged and yellowed tile floor. He noticed dirt stuck between the tiles that indicated it wasn’t frequently cleaned, and then he noticed the weight that was around his torso. He was back in the real world, with a carbine on his back and a pistol at his belt. That felt good. He also noticed that Morgan was back to her regular self, although the hair that hang down to mid-back was still the fiery color that it had been in Nightmare. That too was good.

The floor was covered in fog, the mists of Nightmare that had followed them through the door. As he tried to reach out and lift himself up, he felt something sharp under his hand. He started to investigate, but then he heard something. He pulled his hand back and looked back to the door.

Then a full horse burst out of the open doorway, which seemed to distort momentarily in nauseating fashion to allow it through. Then the horse and rider were fully in the small room, somehow not crushing one of the eight people on the floor. The horse was midnight black, with black eyes rimmed in glowing red; the rider on its back was wearing a black cloak that pooled over the horse and covered all of the rider’s features. Even with the hood down, Walter got the feeling the rider was surprised that it had worked. They radiated an almost palpable feeling of terror, too many things wrong and inhuman for the world around them.

“They can be killed in this realm and be reborn back in Nightmare!” Morgan shouted, as she started to struggle to her feet. Walter didn’t need to be told twice; he rolled over on to his back and brought up his carbine just as the horseman began to spur his mount in to motion. Walter took half a breath to sight down the M4 before firing. The horseman exploded in a burst of black smoke, the horse following half a second later, trailing back in to the open doorway. An identically clad figure road out of the doorway almost at the same time. For a split second Walter thought it was the same rider until he noticed slight differences in build, and realized that it was a second Lord of Nightmare.

“Scratch one Nazgul, next up…” Walter began, before he realized that this one had a weapon out and was charging straight toward him. He started to roll away but only mostly succeeded. The sword sheared through the barrel of his carbine and gave him a cut on his head into his hairline, but didn’t kill him. Walter finished his roll away and grabbed down to reach for his pistol.

His blood froze as he saw the horse was a fraction of a second from crushing Antigone under it’s claws. He couldn’t reach his pistol in time, and every nightmare he ever had about failing his family flashed through his mind in a horrifying instant. Just as he thought he was going to have to live through every horror for real, the Nightmare exploded into another spray of black smoke and took the horse with it. All Antigone got as she sat up was a breath full of Nightmare dust, which Walter figured couldn’t be healthy but was unhealthy primarily in a long-term fashion.

He looked over to see Ryan Aquino, having risen to a kneeling position with his own M4. He gave a little nod to Walter and looked like he was going to make some sort of quip, until both he and Walter were hit by another pair of horses from behind. The world exploded in pain, dark walls closing in on his vision. It must have only been a grazing blow because his vision started to clear, and he was treated to the incongruous site of two horses going up a narrow stairway single file.

Morgan was already on her feet and beginning to chase after them, drawing her sword and cursing loudly. Walter staggered up at the same time as Ryan, Tennyson, and Ryan. Siobhan, Antigone, and their friends had apparently taken the lost moment Walter had suffered to retreat to the corner of the room away from the door and equestrian danger.

“Dad, what the hell is happening?” Siobhan asked, panicked. “Where the hell did you come from, and why are there horses?”

“If this is you finally getting me a pony,” Antigone commented primly, “It is more disappointing than I expected.” She had tears staining her cheeks that worried him, but he didn’t exactly have time.

“It was a trap, we all lived through nightmares, and then they escaped. You four okay?” Walter asked the group of teenagers as he drew his pistol and checked it.

The four girls exchanged shaky looks, and then nodded. But then Antigone looked at the copious amounts of obviously magical smoke still billowing out of the obviously magical door. “That’s not good, is it?”

“Annie, Bug? Get the door closed. Ryan, stay with them in case anybody else comes through. Tennyson, you want to prove you’re not an asshole?” Walter asked. When the man nodded and drew his sword, Walter gestured. “You’re with me, let’s go try to keep this off the evening news.”

They started to run up the stairs to chase after a Faerie Queen and two Lords of Nightmares. “How long do you think before they start to figure out how to do their tricks in this world?” Tennyson asked as he too drew a sword out of nowhere.

“I-” Walter began. He was cut off as the air was filled by the sound of a large crack, like a big tree suddenly giving way. Or a part of a building. Screaming followed a second later. “I think it’s too late,” he said, as they began to run.

Antigone woke up with a headache that pounded against her temples like Athena was trying to get out. Or like she was going to give birth to an alien—the kind from Alien. She had stumbled to the bathroom and forced down a couple of Tylenol before getting in the shower, and it hadn’t gone down by the time she got out. She stumbled back in to her room, where Siobhan was just now getting up.

When Siobhan saw her, she blinked. “Annie, are you feeling alright?”

Annie shook her head, stumbling over to her closet to begin pulling out clothing she hoped was coordinated if not fashionable. Hell, she thought painfully, I hope I’m pulling out actual pants. That would be the last thing she needed, to have a headache and be trying to wear a shirt on her legs. She pulled on what turned out to be a glittery dark blue sweater dress and a pair of leggings that coordinated fairly well. The sweater made her pause, as something about it was achingly familiar for a moment. She stared at it until she felt like she just might be remembering what it reminded her of, when Ryan stumbled out of his room in the rest of the house. The door banging against the wall as he stumbled out of his room made her head flare up, and she lost it. Suppressing an irritated grunt she walked out in to the hall.

“You getting breakfast?” Siobhan asked as they entered the kitchen. Antigone shook her head, pausing only long enough to fish her water bottle out of the refrigerator. This year she had bought one that featured one of the school colors, and highlighted it with a sticker from a local band—trying to thread the needle between school spirit, local flavor, and not being too eager. It hadn’t hurt that the band hadn’t actually sucked when she’d gotten around to listening to them, but it also wasn’t the point.

“I feel like I’d be setting myself up for body horror later if I ate anything now,” Antigone explained, rubbing her forehead as if trying to wipe away the pain.

Siobhan’s forehead wrinkled as she looked at her twin in concern. “You look pale, Annie. Do we need to stay home today? Ryan can take a note in, and I’m pretty good with Dad’s signature.” She wiggled her eyebrows, making it in to a joke even though they both know it wasn’t—she was pretty good with the signature.

Antigone thought about it for a moment. Staying home, going back up to bed and letting the covers envelop her back to sleep, and hopefully wait out the migraine. Sleep…

Screaming, someone calling for help. They didn’t have much time left, they were in trouble. The sound of metal rasping against leather like the grim reaper’s own chuckling. Screaming.

Screaming for help.

Nausea churned in her stomach and bile rose in her throat. She turned for a second like she was going to go for the sink to throw up in, but the moment her mind was off of the dream it settled back in her stomach. She swallowed quickly and then took a long gulp of cold water from her bottle. Siobhan was clearly turning back from the door to take her back to bed when Antigone shook her head. “No,” she gasped. “It won’t be better here.” She fished a pair of sunglasses from her purse, even though this late in the year it wouldn’t be very bright. For the first time in her life she blessed daylight savings time, and then put on her sunglasses and walked out the door.

**** ****

First period was hell. Second period was hell’s older brother, Sucksville, where the temperature was worse and the neighbors less pleasant. Third period stayed in that same area code, although it did explore some of the seedier sections of town.

By fourth period she had discovered a whole new state, which she was distracting herself by trying to come up with a new name for. None of the ones she had come up with she would ever be able to say in polite company, however, as the amount of discomfort she was in seemed only explainable by profanity.

She staggered out of fourth period, with Siobhan helping her by taking her arm. The moment she was out in the hall she whipped back on her sunglasses and began staggering toward lunch. Lacey and Monica met them in the halls, the older girls both blinking at how Antigone looked.

“You guys decide to party it up last night? You need a little bit of the hair of the dog?” Monica asked wryly, looking Antigone over with a look of concern. “I know a senior that always has a fifth of tequila in the trunk of her car.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Antigone responded as they started walking their way toward the exit. They never ate in the cafeteria if they could help it; if they didn’t bring their own lunch they tended to patronize what they had dubbed the Sketchy Pizza Van that showed up every day and sold pizza and calzones. They assumed he had some sort of food truck license or certification, but they were also not brave enough to ask.

Antigone looked up at the lights, and was shocked to see smaller rainbow colored lights flickering around them. It looked like a migraine aura but it was…off somehow, different from the scant few times that she had suffered from headaches approaching this bad. She winced, but something about seeing that made it worse. She closed her eyes…

Walter pounded at the door, shaking his head. They were so close, he could hear the breathing of their terrible horses. Morgan was shouting and pounding at the door furiously as well, and he saw a look of fear on her face that he had never seen before.

“We can’t fight them here!” Her voice was strained, and her eyes wide.

“Annie! Bug! Get to the door!”

Antigone stumbled in to a locker, gasping as pain radiated across her whole body. It danced up and down her spine and down her legs, and even her fingertips tingled with the feeling of it. Both hands came up to hold her head, but that no longer felt adequate at all, and there was no way for her to hold her whole body all at once.

“Annie!” Siobhan sputtered, reaching out to grab her and make sure she didn’t fall to the floor. Lacey and Monica looked on in shock. A passing teacher blinked, and walked over.

“Miss Richards, you shouldn’t be wearing those in the hallway,” he said in the officious tone of someone who was going to treat a minor infraction like a very serious offense.

Antigone barely even noticed the teacher, starting to struggle away from the locker. The pressure behind her temples was only growing, and she swallowed in pain as she moved fully on to her feet. She breathed in deeply to steady herself.

The door. Fresh paint glistened in the uneven light, blue so dark that it could have been black. Faint glitters, like her sweater. She knew the door, and she knew if she opened it her head would stop EXPLODING. Where was it!

“Ms. Richards, did you hear me?” The teacher demanded.

“Yeah, five points from Gryffindor, whatever…” she shot back, reaching up to cradle her face. She was shocked to find tears running down her cheeks. The teacher looked like he was about to say something else, but then he saw the tears as well.

“Are you-”

“No,” Antigone cut him off. The look of shock on hi face was mirrored by that of her friends and sister, but Antigone shouldered past all of them. She physically pushed past the teacher and stumbled down toward the hallway.

“Sorry, Mr. Simmons!” Siobhan filled in for her. “She’s got lady problems but good, you know how it is!” Normally that kind of answer would have caused Antigone to blush, but she wasn’t sure that she had the blood to spare. It was all pounding in her head. The pressure continued to increase as she stumbled through the hall in the opposite direction of where she had been going before. After a few seconds the other girls came up behind her and reached out to help support her as she staggered through the hallway. Her head pounded to a frantic rhythm, growing with every step.

“Door,” Antigone managed to mutter. She made it to the stairs, but she almost lost her footing on the first step. Tears continued to roll down her cheeks as the others helped her down them slowly.

“You mean the spooky door?” Siobhan asked. “Annie, your brain is about to explode out of your head, and it has to do with the spooky door? That doesn’t seem good…”

“Open,” was all Antigone managed to say. They made it down to the basement, and rounded to the final steps down to the room where the door was housed. Her head felt like it was going to shatter as she stumbled across the landing toward the door. But now Siobhan paused, and Lacey blinked.

“Do you hear that?” The blond asked, surprised. Antigone didn’t stop—the pain and the pounding wouldn’t let her stop. As her legs started to go out from under her she reached the door with the faded paint and the faded stars, and leaned on it for support. The door was warm, and up close she could see light streaming out from around the door. Although she couldn’t tell if it was real or she was imagining it, like the halos around the lights.

“I definitely hear—” Siobhan started. She didn’t get to finish, as Antigone turned the handle and opened the door. This time there was no resistance. More than that the door exploded back with a force that threw her in to Siobhan, Lacey, and Antigone. The four of them fell to the ground in a clump as light and smoke exploded out of the open door, swiftly filling the room. Sounds of fear and struggle filled the room, and a moment later four other figures fell to the ground with them.

And madness followed after.