really got this death thing down

2

chapter 2: the mortifying ordeal of being unknown. to a bunch of people you practically grew up with and who you know like the back of your hand

*

Froghorn. Of all people, it has to be Froghorn who's patrolling the outside limits of town on the day she's been suddenly and unexpectedly resurrected. Froghorn with his stupid French name and his stupid shiny over-polished sword and his ridiculous endlessly dumb magic array sketching theories that don't even make any sense has he even read a book on this in his life -

Oh no. Her guitar.

See, the last time they'd seen each other they'd been screaming at the top of their respective lungs and being very very antagonistic to each other, and he hadn't been the one to stab her but the way things were going, he's probably very upset that he hadn't got the chance. And she's wearing a mask, and a coat that she'd never usually be caught dead in, and she's apparently been dead for five years so he probably won't immediately think it's her, but her guitar – her guitar is a dead giveaway.

"Just a second!" Ruby says and throws herself headfirst into the nearest bush. She hears a faint splutter of surprise, and then the sound of footsteps, coming closer. That's fine, she works better under pressure anyway.

Guitar, off. Coat, buttoned all the way up. Mask, firmly on. Cool. She grabs two scrap of paper out of her pocket, jabs a finger into her still-wounded arm for blood (ouch) and draws up two fast sigils. The first, she slips under her shirt and prods with her knuckles to active it – a blurring, identity-concealing trick. Not her best work but it should keep who she is from becoming too obvious. Hopefully.

The tip of an overly-shiny sword pokes into the bush, just to her right, and she flinches despite herself. "I know you're there. Word to the wise – next time you go around picking hiding spots, maybe try not jumping into the first bush you see?"

He sounds so smug. She wants to punch his stupid face. She folds the second paper scrap into one fist.

"Your boots or your life," she says, standing up out of the bush, and pointing directly at him.

"What," says Froghorn, taking a step back.

She can't help it – she grins. The first hour of being back in the land of the living has been an absolute chore so far, but it might just all be worth it for the simple pleasure of being able to torment Miles Froghorn one more time. "Okay, you got me; I'm probably not going to kill you. But, I still want your boots."

"You want my what."

"Boots. You've got some very nice boots there – " It's true, Froghorn actually has impeccable taste in shoes, despite all his many, many other faults. " – and if you'll just direct your eyeline down to my lovely dainty feet, you'll see that; wow, look at that – I have none. This is a robbery. I'm robbing you. Boots, now."

"I – you – you – I think you're misunderstanding something very crucial about how this is supposed to work, little girl!"

Oh, and there's that familiar old nickname. Her nose wrinkles. It doesn't look like he's recognized her. "Little girl? Come on, man, I'm fourteen. Gimme a break." Well, sort of. "And I'm robbing you. Gimme those boots, buster."

"No," says Froghorn, "no, you're not. You're not robbing anyone. You're going to tell me who you are, and what you're doing skulking around the city borders, and why you're wearing that ridiculous mask. Now."

"Give me the boots," Ruby repeats, stubborn.

He hefts his sword. His dumb, dumb sword. "No. Why should I? It's not like you have any weapon. What was the plan, annoy me into handing all my worldly possessions over to you?"