The blood rushing through my ears deafened me. My whole body pulsed with the shudders of my heart. I could hear a strange rhythmic vibration rattling through my body, not realizing for a time that it was the sound of my own voice: "no, no no no no."

She was dead. She couldn't be dead. This was meant to be a party. She was wearing the dress she'd been saving. She must have won the vote.

Below me, Katya repeated the question, louder, angrier. "Where were you?"

I felt my skin growing cold. Katya rose to her feet.

I couldn't see her. I could only see the lifeless corpse of my friend, tangled on the ground. How could this have happened?

Katya turned her back on the body of her bride and faced me, peering up with red-rimmed eyes that burned with hatred born of sorrow. She screamed, the sound jarring but not enough to shake me from my trance. "WHERE WERE YOU?"

I waved a shaking hand at her, as though that would answer the question, my fingers fluttering weakly. My mouth hung open in disbelief as I looked on Lauren. This wasn't meant to happen. This couldn't have happened.

Katya flew at me, her small fists crashing into the chest plate of my suit. She thumped me over and over, screaming the same accusing question. "Where were you? WHERE WERE YOU?"

I think I heard myself exhale, the breath carrying the barely audible whisper that was not an answer. "I was supposed to be here…"

My stomach caught with the pain of the admission. I hunched over slightly. Katya was still hitting me, still screaming, but her words had dissolved into sniffling, sobbing blubbers now, the coherence gone.

How could this have happened? The Oakcrests were one of the oldest houses in the land. Their castle sat so close to Boston. How could they be attacked like this? How could Lauren be lying dead at my feet on a day that was meant for celebration? Only hours ago I had been pressed to Racquel, ecstatic and blissful despite the taboo of our relationship. I had promised Olaf to match pints with him. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Katya's beating at my suit could never harm me. Glancing down, I saw blood on her knuckles from the blows. I reached out and snatched her wrists, holding them still. She writhed in my grasp, looking at me with those eyes so full of grief there was no room for human intelligence.

"Katya, what happened? Who did this?"

Her rage popped like a bubble, dissolving into weakness. She sagged against me, and I released her wrists. She collapsed against my chest, and I let an arm snake down to hold her. She wailed. "Ti… oh, Ti… she's dead…"

I said again, "Who did this?"

I could feel the shield of my own rage rising to protect me from the grief that threatened to consume me. I wanted to find the killer. I wanted to take them apart.

Katya just moaned against me. "She's dead… Lauren…"

I shook her, not hard, but enough to rattle her senses. She looked up at me, confused, even slightly fearful. I said, "Quickly, Katya. Whoever did this, I might still catch them. Who was it? Where did they go?"

Katya shook her head. "No, Ti, don't go… I need you here…"

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I turned her toward the body of her wife and pointed. "Do you want them to get away with that? Don't you want to see them suffer? I can bring them back to you. You can have your time with them."

She stilled, looking down at Lauren. I could feel the tension returning to her sagging body. This was Katya—here she was, climbing out of the swamp of despair.

Coldly, emotionlessly, her voice still distorted by the congestion of her nose and the rawness of her throat, she said, "The rogue suit from Buffalo… Perdinger."

"He's still…" I gasped. I had assumed he'd burned out by now. He could hardly still be a functioning Griidlord after such a banishment. I felt shock and deeper guilt strike me. I'd had the chance to end him before. Instead, he'd come here and done all this.

She said, "He came for the Penaculum… He was barely holding together. His suit is like a zombie. The knights in the yard nearly put him down. He was so weak. When he took the relic down, it tied up one of his arms… Lauren thought she could finish him… he really was so weak…"

I breathed, "She… against a Griidlord?"

Katya turned back to me, animating somewhat. She spoke fast, babbling. "He was so weak. He's barely more than a knight now. He was distracted. She picked up a power sword that had been dropped and went for him. She was so fast… but he…"

I said, "He was faster…"

She nodded, her eyes welling with a new wave of tears. "He… he apologized after… he said he had to. He said the Green Man wanted the relic. The Green Man would let him back in if he brought it to him…"

My body stiffened, rising away from her. Of course. Perdinger had gone to Danefer in Buffalo. It made sense. I snapped, "How degraded is he? Could he move fast?"

She shook her head. "Faster than a man, but nothing like a real Griidlord."

I turned, racing for the door. "I'll be back."

I didn't look back to see her standing there, her tiny form so lonely, so minuscule in the vast hall, surrounded by the wreckage of the party, with only the cooling corpse of her beloved to keep her company.

I wrapped the Footfield around me like a shroud. I held it close, focusing it even tighter around me than I had when I raced toward the smoke-spewing castle.

I churned the Fields as I raced west. Buffalo. The lunatic had gone to Buffalo, the Penaculum under one arm and Lauren's blood still probably drying on his bladed hands.

I didn't get far before I caught Cornelius's party. I dropped the Field, holding it so late that some of the horses reared in dread of the distortion.

Cornelius reined his horse around. The steed was already coated in foam from the hard driving he had given it. He said, "You've come. I knew you'd come, my boy."

I didn't tell him that his daughter lay dead. I didn't have the time or the care. I just wanted intel, as fast as I could get it.

I said, "How long is his head start?"

Cornelius hesitated, glancing to the knight closest to him. The man answered, his voice rough, deep—the voice of a lifelong warrior. "I'd say at least ten minutes, m'lord."

I wanted to confirm he was heading straight to Buffalo with his prize. "And he went west?"

Again, the knight answered. "He was, m'lord. Took off straight on the path we're following."

I spoke again, hearing the predatory hunger in my voice as I growled, "And he was slow?"

The knight said, "He was. By your standards at least. I doubt we'll catch him. You might have a chance."

I said, "He's going to Buffalo. I'm going to head him off."

Cornelius said, "Slow as he might be, the man's an Arrow. He'll beat you there, especially over that stretch. But… as bad as things have gotten there… they'll hardly give him shelter."

I said, "I don't know. And I don't care."

I didn't wait for an answer. I dashed away from them, putting the slimmest margin between my body and the party before reaching again for the Footfield. I heard Cornelius calling behind me as I sped away. "If he gets to the city, there's nothing you can do!"

I heard him.

But I didn't agree.

A madness had taken hold of me. I was outside myself. My friend lay dead on the day of her victory. Another friend shuddered, broken, alone in the grand hall, her future and her love shredded by greedy claws. And I could have stopped it. I could have killed Perdinger when I had the chance. I could have put the rabid dog down. I could have been there when the attack happened. I had promised I would be there. But I had chosen the comfort of the flesh, sating my own needs in defiance of friendship.

I fought back the tears and locked my anger in a deathgrip. I let the rage consume me. I could see the red glow licking at the fringes of my Footfield like growing flames. My sword, hanging at my side, blazed with inner fire, bloodred, without my touch.

He might very well make the gates of Buffalo before I did. But that didn't matter.

If they gave him refuge behind those gates, then I would tear them down.

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