Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“Yes, very gratifying,” Crichton says, as if the whole thing is a bit embarrassing to him. “I'm afraid you will have to get cleaned up and dressed rather quickly. You're late.”
"What can I possibly be late for?”
16
Thor
“Ashes to ashes… dust to dust.”
I brought Anita back to Direford to be laid to rest. It was her home, and it should be where she spends eternity. The journey was a silent and cold one. I wished more than anything that she was there to say something impertinent and improper, to show me a lack of respect. I’d let her do whatever she liked just to see her do something, anything, ever again.
But that time is over. I squandered it. I took her to a place of cold death and cold death claimed her. It is my fault. It has been my fault from the very beginning.
Somewhere in the background, the old man is droning the rites. A pine box contains what is left of my loved one. It is all so mundane. So simple. So mechanical. Sometimes people seem to be larger than life, creatures of light and meaning. But at times like this, they are like wound-down toys with broken springs. There is no putting them back together, no matter how much you love them.
“We are gathered here today to say farewell to Anita… Lastnameunknown.”
Steven pronounces it as if it is all one word. How does he not know her name? Why has her loss left so little a ripple in the world? I would prefer Bryn had taken the funeral, but the fog has returned with the turning of the seasons, and as usual, Bryn has become paranoid and insists that he needs to be armed in case of attack. He is correct that demonic activity increases around this time, but surely the chapel at Direview Abbey is not one of the places demons are likely to attack.
With mist swirling about my ankles like waifs from other realms tugging at my legs to get my attention, I do not have the energy to fight him. I do not have the energy to do anything besides stand here and watch as the love of my life is lowered into the ground, my one chance at true happiness being sent back to the earth from which she came.
"What are we doing?” Someone whispers the question in my ear. Someone who sounds more than a little confused.
“It’s a funeral.”
“Oh. Who died?”
I turn around. Anita is standing before me, curls shining in the sun.
… You.”
"Well, this is awkward,” she grins.
She's in the fucking coffin. I know she's in the coffin. But she's also standing in front of me. I grab her and pull her close, feeling the impossible flesh of her body against mine. She’s alive. She’s here. I draw in her scent. She smells the same. It is as though everything in Norway never happened, as if some cosmic reset button as been pressed. I am so happy tears are running down my face. I don’t recall crying ever in my life. I did not think it was possible. I thought it was part of the curse and the gift and the coldness.
“DEMON!”
Bryn comes flying through the air like a vengeful madman, sword drawn. He’s managed to lose his shirt, and the swirling fog flails and curls in the wake of his mad rush.
Having had Anita return to me against all odds, I am not going to stand by and watch her be sent back to Hell. Returning from that realm is no easy feat. I swing her around behind me and put myself between her and Bryn's sword. My hand is on the shaft of my hammer and it, too, is raised aloft, ready to command the winds and the rains, the thunder and the lightning. I will bring the world itself down on his head to protect her if I have to.
My hammer comes to me, splintering out of the coffin where I laid it to rest with her body. I had decided to give myself up, and give her what she wanted so badly, what she was prepared to die for. It has killed for her before, and it will kill for her again.
Bryn stops, seething with his fog rage. In times like these, he his not himself. He is a tool of the divine, and he is more impossible to argue with than ever. I will kill him if I have to, and I will experience no remorse for having done so.
“She's a demon.” He snarls the words, practically salivating with the desire to end her.
“I don't care what she is. She's mine, and I love her.”
“Bryn!” Nina intervenes. “You can’t slay the loves of people's lives. This is a funeral. Show some decorum.”
She joins me, standing between me and him, her red-headed beauty perhaps the only thing capable of stilling Bryn’s blade. He and I are both made weaker and better by our love.