Herald did, dragging me up so I could sit against him. I looked around us, at how just about everyone else looked exhausted, disheveled. The Boneyard was a mess – shattered dishes, ruined furniture, and our flatscreen was as good as dead.
At least we were safe. That was what mattered. Carver and Bastion looked to be deep in conversation, gesturing and pointing at the gap that Banjo had borked into our home. Romira and Royce had discovered some more beers in the fridge, and were sitting in a crumpled huddle, chugging. Mason was washing his face vigorously in the sink. And the corpse of what used to be Agatha Black twitched and crackled in a pyre of blue flames.
Herald held his hand up to my face. A flicker of violet energy flared up from his palm, then fizzled. “Damn it, I’m low on juice. We’ll get you all nice and healed up soon, I just need to rest and replenish my energies.”
“That would be prudent,” Carver announced. “I suggest that we all take time to recuperate before we go about the monstrous task of restoring our home to order. Now. Has anyone seen Banjo?”
That was right. The little mutt had been gone for the entirety of our fight with Agatha. But there he was now, standing just across the breach, staring intently at the gap. Something stirred deep in the pit of my stomach.
“Dude,” I said, nudging Herald. “Why’s Banjo doing that?”
“I dunno,” he said, his hand closing very hard around mine. “But we’ve got bigger problems just now.”
The blue flames that we thought were sending Agatha Black to her final rest had gone out. Somehow part of my mind had believed that dragonfire would be enough to cremate her – but her skeleton was moving of its own accord. Her skull rattled and clicked, her teeth chattering as she dragged her way across the floor. She was trying to say something.
Herald and I scrambled to our feet, but I lurched and cried out. Maybe Agatha’s breaking spell hadn’t done any permanent damage, but I definitely felt my ankle twist. I fell to the ground again, my eyes glued to the jerking, twitching abomination slowly approaching me.
Organs and muscles were already growing and threading their way back onto Agatha’s skeleton. Blood bloomed and rushed through her veins, returning life to the lioness. She pointed at me with one finger, and with her vocal cords rejuvenated, with most of her mouth restored, she uttered another word.
“Die.”
I gasped. Herald screamed. A bolt of black energy lanced from the end of Agatha’s finger, sailing directly for my heart – then dissipating as it struck an invisible force.
“Not happening,” Bastion said, his hand thrust out at me as he maintained his shield. “This ends here, Grandmother.”
With fleshless lips Agatha croaked and struggled to speak. “There are thirteen of us, foolish boy. Strike me down, and the others will come.”
“Then we’ll kill them, too,” Bastion said, his voice strong, like a Scion’s should be. Yet it trembled, because he was still a Brandt, still Agatha’s grandson.
“You will all die.” Agatha’s eyeballs rolled horribly in their sockets as she glared across the room. “All of you. And with your blood, thick with magic, my coven and I shall summon the Eldest once – ”
Banjo’s howl pierced the air. Even Agatha cut her gloating short, her eyes lolling towards Banjo. She st
retched her finger out again. Carver was quick to react, raising his own finger, his lips already muttering an incantation.
The world shattered. I thought it was the world, at least, a collision of magics between lich and witch, but the sound was something else. Shards of reality fell from the gap between the Boneyard and Valero as Banjo once again tore a hole in our dimension, a breach big enough to fit a truck.
This time a truck actually powered through.
Chapter 33
I don’t know what else to tell you. A massive eighteen-wheeler truck sailed through the hole, crossing from Valero directly into the Boneyard, an eight-legged horse painted on its side. Nothing that big and heavy should have been able to fly through the air like that. No amount of earthly velocity could have driven it so quickly and so powerfully. With an earth-shattering kaboom, the truck fell directly on top of Agatha Black.
We stared in silence. Banjo had ceased his howling, Carver’s incantations stopped mid-chant since his target was now, presumably, a pulverized smear across the Boneyard’s floor. Odin’s truck – Sleipnir, really, in the form of a motorized vehicle – rumbled as it revved once, then went silent. The All-Father, once again dressed in his flannel lumberjack casuals, stepped out of the cab.
Mason ran both his hands through his hair, his eyes flitting from the breach, to Banjo, then to Odin. “What in the holy hell just happened?”
Odin narrowed his eyes, glaring at Mason through slits. “You are welcome.”
Carver pulled at his hair, staring wordlessly at the gap he’d so painstakingly spent the day trying to seal over. He slumped to the ground. Banjo bounded over and licked his face.
“Whatever happened to staying out of mankind’s business?” I said. Herald elbowed me in the ribs, like that was going to stop me. “Why the sudden sympathy?”
“Because of this.” Odin whirled on his heel, his arm held out behind him like he was holding something long and huge. He thrust his arm out, fingers spreading, and the spear Gungnir appeared in the air before him, flying at terrifying speed towards the only sofa the Boneyard had left. Gungnir pierced the couch’s cushions, sending stuffing flying, but also eliciting a howling, pained cry. Blood trickled down the spear’s shaft as Odin’s target flickered out of invisibility.
“Loki,” I growled. “He was here the whole time? He never left?”
“Watching, waiting,” Odin said. “Doubtless to observe the ceremonies. As I’m sure he has gloatingly informed you many, many times, he is very fond of festivities and entertainment, especially when the chaos stems from his own doing. Isn’t that right, little trickster?”