Rafe pulled an arrow from his quiver. He nocked it. His only regret was the necessity of killing the spider, a creature that hadn’t asked to be a pawn in this game.

He raised his bow. Now he remembered that day in the backyard so long ago…

“Remember that day we were shooting spiders, and I thought I almost got it, but I said it was off-center?” Rafe asked. “It wasn’t off-center. I killed the shit out of that spider.”

Then he released his arrow. He didn’t even have to look. The silence said everything.

A voice broke the silence, one Rafe didn’t remember but recognized at once as the voice of his queen.

“West—by God!—Virginia!”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Queen Skya stood on the roof of the house, tall and fearless. With her bow she released arrow after arrow at the Bright Boys. They turned to dust before her arrows had even passed completely through their bodies.

Rafe felt a surge of pride that this was his queen, and he would have died for her with a smile on his face right then and there, if he didn’t have so much to live for. He grabbed his quiver and nocked another arrow. He shot Snake Teeth as the Bright Boy ran toward him, club in hand.

From the corner of his eye, Rafe saw Jeremy get to his feet and yank the arrow from the target. With it he stabbed one Bright Boy, turning him instantly into a puff of smoke.

The few Bright Boys still standing scattered like roaches in daylight. Skya jumped down to the deck and untied Emilie. Rafe wanted to run to Jeremy, but there were too many of the monsters between them.

“Dad!” Rafe called out for his father, but he only sank to his knees in defeat. Rafe got off a few more arrows and it seemed the scent of courage was so noxious to the Bright Boys, they began to back off; some even ran into the woods.

Only Ripper showed any backbone. Twisted blade in hand, Ripper charged Rafe, hate in his inhuman eyes. He ran fast, too fast, and Rafe’s quiver was empty.

“Son!” His dad stirred from his stupor and tossed him the hunting knife he’d taken from Emilie. It landed on the ground a few feet from him. Rafe dove for it, but when he reached out to grab the handle, Ripper was there, bringing down the blade.

Rafe pulled back his arm just in time to avoid getting it cut off. With his bow Rafe jabbed Ripper in the stomach, throwing him off-balance, then struck him again across the face with the wooden riser. Smoke escaped a hole in Ripper’s cheek, but it wasn’t enough to kill him. Ripper recovered, kicked Rafe in the stomach, and sent him sprawling onto his back.

No time. No chance to tell Jeremy goodbye. He would die without remembering the first time Jeremy told him he loved him, the first kiss, the last kiss before Rafe forgot what they were to each other.

Ripper brought the blade down but then stopped, inhaled, then coughed up a small puff of smoke.

Slowly, the creature turned around. The hunting knife…Rafe’s father’s hunting knife protruded from his back. More smoke seeped out from around the wound.

Rafe smiled, knowing Ripper would now see that his father had come to his defense, had saved him.

But it wasn’t his father who’d stabbed Ripper.

Behind Ripper, Emilie stood tall, face set in stone, eyes pure gray steel.

“Got you,” she said.

Ripper stumbled; his chin fell to his chest. He was trying so hard not to die.

“Mean girl. Do you think I want to be like this?” he asked her. “The king said I could be a prince. I always wanted to be a prince.”

“You’re not a prince,” Emilie said, then pointed at Rafe. “That’s a prince.”

Slowly, as if he could feel real pain, Ripper turned and looked at him.

“They call me Ripper cuz I’ll rip your heart out.”

Emilie yanked the knife from Ripper’s back. He spun, lunged at her, and she stabbed him again, this time in the chest.

“Not fair,” Ripper said. “Not fair at all.”

She tapped the tip of his nose. “Boop.”

Then he turned to smoke and was gone.

Storyteller CornerPride

Good job, Princess. I knew you had it in you.

Chapter Thirty-Three

It was quiet again. The Bright Boys were all gone, turned to smoke or fled. Rafe glanced around, searching the yard for Jeremy. He had to see him, had to know he was all right.

“Jay!”

“I’m here, Rafe.” Jeremy limped over to him from the trees, Skya at his side. Rafe scrambled to his feet and took Jeremy’s face in his hands, examining him.

“You okay? You hurt?”

“I’ll be fine after a bath and a bottle of wine. Maybe not in that order.” He grinned. Rafe kissed him.

Emilie said, “Did you all see me kill that thing? I’m amazing.”

“You are,” Rafe said. He reached out and took her hand in his. “You saved my life.”

She threw her arms around him and whispered into his ear, “Your scars. It was your dad. Night before you got lost. He used an electrical cord. I’m sorry.”

Rafe pulled away and looked at her. “What?”

She met his eyes and gave him the smallest and saddest of smiles. He looked to Jeremy, who only nodded.

“I’ll go get your book.” Emilie went to his father, still on his knees on the ground, and held out her hands.

“Where is it?” she demanded.

He reached into the pocket of his old worn work jeans and pulled out the keys.

“Toolbox.”

She took the keys and went into the house.