“Yes,” said Benny defiantly, then he frowned. “Wait, no, I mean I’m not stupid, but yes, I have a chance against you.”
“I’m not talking about this fight, brother.”
“Don’t call me brother, you enormous freak,” muttered Benny.
“The army of the Night Church will sweep away all defiance to god’s will.”
“Yeah, I know, you’re invincible. Oh, wait, didn’t you idiots get your butts handed to you by one guy with a rocket launcher? How’s that ‘sweeping away all defiance’ thing working out for you?”
The reaper spat blood onto the sand. “The reapers who died at the Shrine of the Fallen were heretics and traitors to Thanatos—praise be to the darkness. They were the scum who followed Mother Rose. You have no idea what kind of army follows Saint John. Brother Peter and Sister Sun will sweep away all resistance to god’s will.”
“Sure. Fine. Whatever. I’m sure whoever you’re quoting would be impressed. But check it out—you try and take Sanctuary again, and Captain Ledger will introduce you to Mr. Rocket-Propelled Grenade.”
“You think that heretic can defend Sanctuary from us?” The reaper laughed.
“Pretty much.”
“The voice of god will echo from the mountaintops and proclaim the glory of the darkness, and clouds of blood will cover the lands. Then the quickened dead will consume those who are slow to accept the darkness.”
“Okay, don’t take this the wrong way,” said Benny, “but you’re crazier than a bag of hamsters.”
The knife lay ten feet from the reaper’s right foot; Benny’s sword was twelve feet to his left. They each looked at the weapons at the same time. At the sword, at the knife, then at each other. Then they lunged at the same time. The reaper was faster, taller, and stronger and he snatched up the knife, his fingers curling the deer-bone handle into perfect placement in his palm. Benny, a fraction slower and ten years younger, threw himself into a dive-roll and came up with the katana in a wide two-handed grip. He whirled and dropped into a combat crouch.
“Don’t!” warned Benny, backing up a step. “We both know I’m going to win. Why push it? Just walk away.”
That should have ended the fight. A knife against a sword. But the world was broken, and so was sanity.
The reaper screamed and threw himself at Benny.
“No!” screamed Benny as the moment became red madness.
The knife tumbled once more to the sand. The reaper opened his mouth and said the same thing Benny had said.
“No.”
And it meant the same thing and so many different things. His knees buckled and he dropped down.
“No,” he said again, as if repeating it could enforce some of his will upon the world.
The world, stubborn to the last, refused to listen. The reaper toppled forward onto his face with no attempt to catch his fall. Small puffs of dust plumed up around the man. Benny stood there, his sword still raised.
He closed his eyes.
“No,” he said.
FROM NIX’S JOURNAL
When I was eleven I played with dolls.
When I was twelve I started reading books about magic and romance.
When I was thirteen I fell hopelessly in love.
When I was fourteen I became a killer.
22
NIX STOOD UNDER A SHOWER of sun-heated water and scrubbed her skin raw. Lilah stood outside the stall, working the handle, pumping gallons of water from the big tank. The water was not pure enough to drink, but it was a million times cleaner than the bloody goo that clung to Nix’s hair and skin. At one point Nix heard a weird little whimpering sound, like a small, frightened animal might make. When she realized that she was making the sound, she stopped scrubbing, closed her eyes, and leaned her forehead against the inside of the wooden shower stall. Shudders rippled up and down her body. Lights seemed to flash behind her eyes. She spent a lot of time concentrating on her breathing. Trying to remember how to do it right. Keeping it from turning into sobs. Or screams.