SAFE . . . reyna ramirez-arellano

21 - men are bad

IT TOOK ALL three of them to hold back the satyr, which was honestly really sad.

"Whoa, Coach!" Jason said. "Bring it down a few notches."

A younger man charged into the room. Briar guessed he must be Lit, the old guy's son. He was dressed in pajama pants with a sleeveless T-shirt that said cornhuskers, and he held a sword that looked like it could husk a lot of things besides corn. His ripped arms were covered in scars, and his face, framed by curly dark hair, would've been handsome if it wasn't also sliced up.

Lit immediately zeroed in on Jason like he was the biggest threat ( which was very insulting, by the way ), and stalked toward him, swinging his sword overhead.

"Hold on!" Briar needed to diffuse this situation. She stepped forward, trying for her best calming voice. "This is just a misunderstanding! Everything's fine." Lit stopped in his tracks, but he still looked wary. It didn't help that Hedge was screaming, "I'll get them! Don't worry!"

"Coach," Jason pleaded, "they may be friendly. Besides, we're trespassing in their house."

"Thank you!" said the old man in the bathrobe. "Now, who are you, and why are you here?"

"Let's all put our weapons down," Briar said. "Coach, you first."

Hedge clenched his jaw. "Just one thwack?"

"No."

"What about a compromise? I'll kill them first, and if it turns out they were friendly, I'll apologize."

"No!" Briar insisted.

"Meh." Coach Hedge lowered his club.

Briar gave Lit a friendly sorry-about-that smile. It hurt her soul, but she did it anyway.

Lit huffed and sheathed his sword. "You speak well, girl — fortunately for your friends, or I would've run them through."

"Appreciate it," Leo said. "I try not to get run through before lunchtime."

The old man in the bathrobe sighed, kicking the teapot that Coach Hedge had smashed. "Well, since you're here. Please, sit down."

Lit frowned. "Your Majesty—"

"No, no, it's fine, Lit," the old man said. "New land, new customs. They may sit in my presence. After all, they've seen me in my nightclothes. No sense observing formalities." He did his best to smile, though it looked a little forced. "Welcome to my humble home. I am King Midas."

"Midas? Impossible," said Coach Hedge. "He died."

They were sitting on the sofas now, while the king reclined on his throne. Tricky to do that in a bathrobe, and Briar kept worrying the old guy would forget and uncross his legs. Hopefully he was wearing golden boxers under there.

Lit stood behind the throne, both hands on his sword, glancing at Briar and flexing his muscular arms just to be annoying. She looked a hell of a lot more intimidating with her knives. As did her girlfriend. Gods, she missed Reyna.

Briar sat forward, attempting to focus and trying to not think about the newfound image of Reyna holding a knife or five menacingly. "What our satyr friend means, Your Majesty, is that you're the second mortal we've met who should be — sorry — dead. King Midas lived thousands of years ago."

"Interesting." The king gazed out the windows at the brilliant blue skies and the winter sunlight. In the distance, downtown Omaha looked like a cluster of children's blocks — way too clean and small for a regular city.

"You know," the king said, "I think I was a bit dead for a while. It's strange. Seems like a dream, doesn't it, Lit?"

"A very long dream, Your Majesty."