Why Me?! What Did I Do?!

Why Me?! What Did I Do?!

I jerked my head around to look behind me. The passageway seemed as if it stretched on for forever, disappearing into blackness. I gritted my teeth, unable to see neither the temple nor the palace anymore.

Warped space.

The first thing that went through my head was simple: Was a spell like that really possible? In theory, I supposed it was. Summoning spells manipulate space by folding it to accommodate whatever’s summoned, but a spell that messed up space that bad? Yeesh.

I had to resist the spell and test its limits somehow. The corridor didn’t have any banisters, but it was laid out with stout pillars that supported the roof. On either side were green lawns, made endless by the spell I was swiftly growing to hate.

Okay, I’ll admit—I was getting a little freaked. I took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. “All right,” I said to myself “Just think, Lina. Think.”

The lawns were only slightly less menacing than the neverending path, but I didn’t know where else to start. I took a careful step on the grass.

I suddenly found myself standing in the middle of the corridor again. Apparently the wielder of the spell had physical control of my movements as well.

“Damn,” I snarled. “No fair.”

I scrambled for a solution: a mode of action, a strategy, anything. While I stood there, trying desperately to come up with something plausible, I heard footsteps.

So that was it. This was the space for our showdown. The footsteps echoed through the passageway—loud, like the beating of giant drums, and more intimidating than a cavalry charge. Whoever was heading my way was no pipsqueak.

I wasn’t all that excited about the imminent confrontation, but I figured I didn’t have much of a choice. So, I fell to doing the only thing I could do: I began chanting a spell.

It was originally meant, in the strictest sense, to summon a gargoyle—you know, a winged creature hewn out of magic rock. But I was varying the chant a bit in hopes of summoning something a little different. You see, once you know your way around your spells, you can start improvising and modulating them according to your needs.

I continued reciting the chants, trying not to pay attention to the footsteps that steadily drew nearer. My eyes snapped open as I completed my incantation.

There!

A dainty, white bird appeared from my hands. It poked its beak at the air for a couple of seconds, then flapped its wings and fluttered away into the brilliant morning sunshine.

“A dove,” Gourry muttered as he watched it fly. “How cute.” The space I stood in had abruptly returned to normal.

Ladies and gentlemen, Lina Inverse kicks ass.

I hurried up to Gourry, my feet pattering along the marble floor. “Looks like it worked,” I muttered.

“What worked?” Gourry asked once I’d caught up.

“Nothing.” I figured I’d better keep what had just happened to myself lest Gourry think I was pulling his leg or, even worse, going bonkers.

I didn’t want to get into a conversation about space manipulation with Gourry—not now, not ever.

What I’d summoned through my chant was indeed a regular white dove. The instant that normal space came in contact with the warped space of the corridor, the warping spell broke. You see, whenever real space and unreal space collide with each other, real space always wins; connecting a fake world to the real world means bye-bye to Crazy Land.

Of course, there are exceptions to everything. My intuitive slickness had been aided with a little luck. “Not bad, Kanzeil,” I playfully told the creep. “Not bad at all.”

“What do you mean by that?” Kanzeil’s tone and expression were totally deadpan.

You ain’t foolin’ anybody, wizard-man, leastwise Lina.

It was a rocky but adventurous start to our stay at the Royal Palace.

* * *

It was peaceful that night, with crickets chirping in the courtyard and the moon casting gentle light into my room.

I lay in bed, relaxing for the first time that day and enjoying the night breeze that drifted in from the windows. My body ached, my nerves were shot, and I was ready for a long snooze.

Gourry and I had separate adjoining guest rooms, both just down the hall from Phil. It was nice to have a room all to myself; often, I ended up sharing cramped and stinky quarters with Gourry at rundown inns while journeying here or there. Still, I couldn’t get carried away with the room’s tempting comforts—Gourry and I were on a mission, so I had to be alert should anything go awry with Phil during the night.

Sure, Phil had guards and soldiers posted all over the place, but Gourry and I were personally responsible for watching over him. The rewards in the form of grub and money promised to be excellent, so we accepted without too much arm-twisting. I was hoping the palace guards could handle any crises that might come up (and my job would end up cushy), but I doubted it. Weren’t those the same guards Gourry and had I slid past totally undetected? We’d even found one of them dozing at his post.

I sighed and rolled over.

Chalk it up to feminine intuition, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to happen. I also had the feeling it was going to happen to me. The crickets seemed to catch wind of it first, because all of a sudden, their chirping stopped.

I turned my eyes to the downturned slats of my window shutters. And blinked.

A person-shaped shadow stood in the rays of the moonlight. First, I thought it was just my imagination: my anxieties were getting the better of me. I rubbed my eyes a few times, but the shape was still there.

How the hell did he get up here?

My room was three floors up, and it didn’t have a verandah.

In one quick movement, I rolled out of bed and grabbed the sword from my sheath. Whoever—or whatever—was out there had the same thing in mind, because a blade cut vertically through the rows of slats in one deft sweep, ripping through them like they were strips of paper. Wedges and chunks of wood went flying and clattering everywhere.

A gust of wind howled. Framed by the window, stood a humanlike figure clad completely in black and clutching a sword.

“You chose the wrong gal on the wrong night to pick a fight with, buddy!” I tried to sound as tough as I could under the circumstances.

The assassin stepped in through the window. His feet were noiseless as they touched and crossed the floor, and I could see nothing of him except the glint of his eyes through the slits in his mask. Most incredibly, I couldn’t sense his presence; it was like he wasn’t even there.

“Sneaking into a girl’s room in the middle of a night,” I snapped. “Where’d you learn your manners?” The figure didn’t speak just approached me slowly “Least you could do is tell me your name.”

Through his mask he spoke a single word: “Zuuma.”

That was easy, Usually, I gotta pull teeth to get the names of my enemies—literally.

His obliging nature caught me off guard. “I’m impressed, Zuuma. For an assassin, you’re very polite.”

Zuuma raised his sword. “Only two know my name,” he bellowed. “My master… and my prey.”

Great. One-liners.

The wind rose again and circled the room I knew, with a wall several steps behind me, and a nightstand to my left; my only escape route was to my right.

And Zuuma knew it too.

Of course, he was thinking of heading me off once I made my move, so I feinted to my right. He jumped forward and I leapt on my bed. I took that split-second to start chanting a spell. Zuuma somersaulted in midair, planted his feet on the far wall, and shot toward me. Luckily, I managed to dodge him again, but I heard him chanting a spell under his breath. All I could detect was that it didn’t sound like an attack spell.

In spell-to-spell combat, you have to be able to anticipate your opponent’s spell well beforehand. It’s not so hard once you get used to it: you know which spells are best deployed at any given moment in combat, and you can detect, by listening closely enough, generally what kind of spell your opponent is chanting from its very rhythm. Sounds complicated, but if you’re as battle-hardened as I am, it’s second nature.

When you start mixing in physical combat with spell-to-spell, that’s when things can get a little hairy. Zuuma seemed pretty smooth at it—he landed on the far side of the room and, with a determined grunt, tossed his sword aside and stomped toward me with clenched fists.

So he wanted to go at it hand-to-hand, eh? He probably thought that because he’d abandoned his weapon I’d do the same, and we’d move on to wrestling like a pair of uneducated grunts. The idea didn’t sound too appealing, so I held fast to the sword in my hand, ready to swing if he dove at me again.

The fact that all this was happening in the dim light of the moon made things a bit more exhilarating. I figured I’d attack him with the spell I was chanting, and, if that didn’t faze him; I’d blind him with a lighting spell, but that was about as far as I got in my thought process.

Just then, I heard a pounding on the door.

“Lina!” came Gourry’s voice through the wood. “Is something wrong?!” He pounded again.

I fought hard not to roll my eyes.

Is something wrong? No, Gourry, it’s just my buddy Zuuma and we’re just messin’ around. Don’t mind us!

“Gourry!” I yelled. “You’re gonna have to break through!”

He was fiddling with the bolt, but, like the smarty-pants I am, I’d locked the door before going to bed. Unless I fancied a close encounter with Zuuma’s fists, I had no way of dashing for the door to open it.

I finished chanting my spell and threw up my arms. “Bram Blazer!” I yelled as a shockwave of light blasted from my hands. Zuuma evaded it like he was skipping around a puddle. The trail of light zoomed out the window and vanished in the night air.

Zuuma crouched down and growled, “Dark Mist!” I’d just registered Zuuma’s low, gravelly voice when everything around me went black.

SHOOM.

At least before I’d had the moonlight. Now it was as if a hand had passed over the sky and darkened the whole earth.

A very big hand that wanted me dead.

“Wha—?!” I cried out.

The complete blackness was pretty unsettling, but I needed to strategize pretty damn fast. I chanted rapidly.

“Lighting!” I called out. I extended the palm of my hand, waving it in a circular pattern to release a swath of light in every direction. Except, there wasn’t light, only an inky-looking wave. Whatever spell Zuuma had summoned, it didn’t just block light—it sapped light from any and all light sources within its field. Not only that, but I couldn’t sense my opponent’s presence.

He’s masking himself again.

I clenched the hilt of my sword tightly. Where was he lurking in the infuriating blackness? Of course, Zuuma couldn’t see me either, but he could definitely sense me.

The next instant, any icy chill ran up my spine. I instinctively spun around and slashed my sword at whatever was behind me.

Something touched my neck.

Splish! I heard a wet, squelching sound just as I felt a stabbing pain in my throat.

“Lina!” came Gourry’s shout. I heard the violent splintering of wood, then the loud thunk of his sword striking the floor. “Lina, are you—huh?!”

Gourry charged into the room, startled momentarily by the pitch blackness. A second later, after sensing my presence, he ran right for me and grabbed me by the shoulders. He shook me so hard my teeth rattled.

“Lina!” he cried. “Are you okay?! Who did this—is he still here?!”

I clutched his wrist to get him to stop shaking me.

I can hear just fine. You don’t have to scream.

“Lina?”

Relief suddenly flooded through me. I couldn’t muster the words to tell him how glad I was to see him, so I just buried my face in his chest and nodded silently.

Gourry’s voice calmed. “You’re okay,” he said gently. “I think the guy bolted.” He lifted my chin and fixed his eyes on mine. “Are you really all right?”

I managed a moan, but nothing more as pain seared my throat. Zuuma had just about crushed my windpipe. A moment later, and he would’ve succeeded.

“A-a-a-a-ahh… n-night… r-r-I… am Lina In… v-verse…” I sputtered.

Gourry looked at me like I was either insane or possessed. Or both.

I was just trying out my voice to make sure it still worked.

Zuuma was gone, and light had returned to the room. Gourry went out to explain what happened to one of the guards. Afterward he took me to the temple so that magic healers could tend to me immediately.

The healers seemed unperturbed considering they’d just been woken up in the middle of the night on a life-or-death errand. Actually, they were calm and poised as they mixed magic herbs in a broth to heal my throat.

I’d have thanked them right away if only I could’ve talked.

* * *

“Why do you think you were attacked tonight?” Gourry asked as we made our way back through the roofed passageway. After what had happened that morning, I dreaded that stupid corridor, but it was the only route from the temple back to the central palace.

“Beats me,” I murmured. It still hurt a little to talk, but I knew the pain wouldn’t last—those healers were hardcore. “I figured they’d be after Phil. At first, I thought maybe he just snuck into the wrong room, but I’m pretty sure he meant to get to me.”

“Hmm,” Gourry uttered, thinking. “Maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe he was just trying to ask you out on a date?”

I groaned. “He’s not my type.”

“It would help if you laughed at my jokes every once in a while, Lina.”

“I’d laugh if they were funny.” I sighed and crossed my arms. “Maybe I was just a decoy,” I suggested after a moment. “Maybe I was attacked just to divert you and the other guards away from Phil. That way our enemy could get a clear shot at him, right?” I just as quickly refuted my own suggestion in my head; using me as a decoy wouldn’t divert that many guards.

“Hmm… you know,” Gourry said, and I braced myself for another wisecrack.

“Yeah?”

“When you were attacked just now, not one of the guards caught wind of it. Did you notice that?”

I’ll be damned. He had a point.

“Why do you think that was?” I asked, intrigued.

Gourry’s sensory abilities were superhuman. They were off the charts compared to those of your average guy, so the fact that Gourry’d detected an enemy presence in my room—a presence even I had trouble detecting—came as no real surprise. But the presence (or lack thereof) hadn’t caused a stir among the guards protecting Phil, the ones that the enemy would have most wanted to divert. My decoy theory spluttered out like a deflating balloon.

From the passageway, we could see that the guard cover at the palace was every bit as thick as when Gourry and I had snuck in. Zuuma, moreover, had actually killed a number of guards as he’d infiltrated the grounds. But no alarm had gone off. Nothing. He was more invisible than a ghost, it seemed.

But why come for me?

* * *

“Good morning,” I mumbled, bleary-eyed as I greeted Clawfell and Amelia, who were walking across the lawn toward me. I hoped the stiff black tea I held would wake me up long enough to hold a coherent conversation. After my encounter with Zuuma the night before, I hadn’t exactly been able to get back to sleep. A fog hung over my brain, and it felt like pulleys were trying to close my eyes.

After the healing treatment at the temple, Gourry and I had gone back to my room and turned it upside down figuring that there might be something in the room that Zuuma was after, since he had no cause to attack me personally. By sunrise he and I were empty-handed and reduced to a tired heap atop the scattered mess we’d made.

If Zuuma was after something (or someone) in that room, he must’ve been after whatever (or whoever) it was for a while, because I’d been told it had been vacant for who-knows-how-long before I got there.

“Good morning, Miss Lina!” It was Amelia. I could tell without even turning my head—no one else could possibly sound so bouncy in the morning. “Quite a night, huh?”

You got no idea, missy.

She daintily held a teacup in one hand and waved at me giddily with the other. Amelia was one of those naturally bubbly types, the ones that grate on my nerves within seconds. Luckily for her, I was too tired to be annoyed.

“Let’s have a seat,” she offered. “You must be exhausted after last night.”

Amelia took me by the arm and led me to one of the small tables by the lawn. I was glad to see Clawfell had been released. He sat thoughtfully at our table, pouring aromatic tea into my empty cup.

“Is Gourry with Father?” Amelia asked as my attention wandered.

“Uh, yeah,” I replied as I took a sip of my tea. Boy, I was really out of it. At least the tea had a sweet, sharp kick to it that lingered on my tongue and perked up my brain a bit.

Of course, my brain went right back to the exhausting topic of the mission at hand. Just because I got rid of an assassin once didn’t mean he wasn’t coming back; Zuuma and I would most definitely be seeing each other again. The trick was going to be in capturing him, Or anyone in the enemy camp, and getting a solid lead on who was behind all of this.

Sitting out there in the morning was a bit like a stakeout—I needed to keep a vigilant eye on everybody in the Royal Court and whittle down my suspect list gradually.

I didn’t much fancy being an assassin’s target, but it wasn’t like I had any choice in the matter. The best I could hope for now was to dodge whatever they tried next and get to the conspirators before things got really ugly. Since guarding Phil was our primary responsibility, I’d told Gourry to hang close to Phil while I went on scavenging-and-murderer-bait duty alone.

“I wonder why they targeted you,” Amelia announced aloud, adding a lump of sugar into the tea that Clawfell had poured her. “It’s funny. We were talking with Uncle Christopher about how you were attacked last night, and he looked as surprised as the rest of us.”

“Really?” I asked. I thought that if anyone were going to be unfazed by the news, it would have to be Puppet Master Christopher. “And he was for real?”

Amelia shrugged perkily. “That’s just it,” she said. “It didn’t seem like a put-on at all. He just tossed his napkin back on his plate, got up, and walked off in a daze.”

I dropped my eyes to my cup, trying to let the information sink in.

Maybe Zuuma’s shenanigans had been an impromptu grab for power by a possible rival in Christopher’s inner circle. Kanzeil was the only one I could think of at the moment. Whoever it was, it was the first bit of good news I’d had since the fracas had started. It meant that our enemies were disorganized and dogged with some serious leadership issues.

It was time to start poking around at those close to the circle and see what I could dig up. Christopher’s son Alfred was as good a start as any—and no, not just because he was moderately hot. I wanted to get a feel for where his loyalties were. Maybe if I finessed him a bit with my feminine charms, I could pry some dirt out of him.

“Let me ask you about Alfred,” I said, taking my first shot across the bow. “What’s he like?”

Amelia started tracing her finger around an imaginary pattern on the tablecloth. “Well,” she said, “why don’t ask him yourself?”

“And I can answer myself,” said a voice behind me. I turned my head to see Alfred standing there like he Was a posing for a portrait.

How long had he been there? I bet he could’ve stood there all day in that debonair way with his cape and his hand at his hip, drinking in the admiring stares of all the royal ladies.

“Where are my manners?” I piped up. “Would you care to join us?”

Alfred smoothed out the folds in his silk shirt, flipped his cape off his shoulder, and strutted toward us. He took a seat at a chair next to mine.

“So, what is it you want to ask me?” he said in his butterscotch voice, nibbling on a grape. Then he stared into a silver tureen sitting at our table and swept several waves of his thick hair back with his fingers. Amelia and I stared at each other, but Alfred was oblivious to our reactions.

Is this guy for real ?

There’s a simple classification for what Alfred was: a complete and utter narcissist. He’s the kind of guy who’s all talk and no action, and when things inevitably get nasty he tucks tail and runs, leaving a trail of blame for others. On the flip side, narcissists like Alfred are usually pretty gullible and easy to control.

Okay lesson over.

“Well,” I said, “I was curious as to how a sensitive guy like you is taking all the goings-on at the palace.”

He took a deep breath and straightened up in his chair. Then he made a point of glancing around the garden before leaning in toward me. “Since you ask” he said with false importance, “I don’t like what’s going on at all.” He brushed a bit of dust from his sleeve. “Even though my father’s behind it.”

I almost fell out of my chair.

He what now?!

I wasn’t sure blurting out a comment like that, whether he meant it or not, was such a good idea given the tense circumstances. I cast my eyes over to Clawfell who was discretely glancing around to make sure no one had overheard. Luckily, there were no eavesdroppers, at least not within earshot.

“Oh, c’mon!” Alfred scoffed. “Anyone with a brain in his head knows my father’s behind it all. Am I right?” For someone accusing his own father of conspiring against the king’s heir, Alfred sounded awfully nonchalant.

“Believe me,” he continued. “I’ve tried to talk my father out of it several times. But no matter what I say, he always responds with, ‘It’s for the sake of the kingdom!’” Alfred munched on more grapes. The rest of us just stared dumbly at him. “I think he really does believe he’s acting in the best interests of the kingdom and not just for himself. But, you know, I’m not trying to defend what he’s doing.”

Amelia suddenly got out of her chair and made to leave. Alfred, surprisingly, leapt up and caught her by the arm.

“Amelia, please!” He held onto that arm like his life depended on it. “I came here this morning to ask a favor of you, just this once. I think it would be best if Uncle Phil and my father sat down together and hashed out their differences through dialogue.” Amelia didn’t respond, just blinked uncomfortably. “Will you help me get them to sit down and talk to each other? I think if Phil explains his position, my father would surely understand!”

Alfred looked intently into Amelia’s eyes as he spoke. Don’t hold me to it, but he darn well looked like he meant what he was saying. Of course, guys like Alfred are also good for putting on a show if it gets them what they want. I wondered if Amelia was thinking the same thing.

She kept her mouth shut tight as she thought. Finally, to my surprise, she said, “All right. I’ll try to persuade Father to meet Uncle.”

“Wonderful!” exhaled Alfred, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “Thank you, Amelia!” He scooted around the table and hugged her closely. “You talk to your father, and I’ll talk to mine. Here’s to diplomacy!”

With that, Alfred spun around and dashed off toward the central palace.

Amelia, Clawfell, and I sat rooted to our chairs and watched him go. We exchanged stunned looks, all of us unsure as to whether the clouds were parting and our troubles were ending or if they’d just gotten deeper.

I broke the silence. “So? What do you think of his story, Amelia?”

She thought a moment. “Well, he sort of put me on the spot.” She quickly shook her head, then looked up at me and smiled vaguely. “Either way, the stakes are getting higher.”

“But you know,” she added, still sporting that same strange smile, “I really don’t like that you can’t trust people in your own family around here.”

It could’ve been my imagination, but just then I sensed a great sadness in Amelia behind that bubbly façade. There was definitely more to that girl than met the eye.

* * *

“I am zonked.” I collapsed into the feather-soft bed in my room. Sighing, I pulled the sheets close to my face and breathed in the sweet scent of Not on My Feet.

Gourry frowned. “Lina,” he warned, “you’d better not fall asleep.”

“I’m just testing out the goods, pal. Relax.” I yawned and stretched, then pulled myself to a sitting position and tried to wake up my brain. I smacked myself across the face a few times—that usually does the trick. Unfortunately, that strategy also tends to freak out those around me, but Gourry was used to it. He just leaned against the nightstand until I was finished.

Gourry and I needed a hardcore powwow to come up with a game plan. All I could think of at the moment was soaking in a warm bath, devouring a gourmet supper, and hitting the sack without any regard for waking up any time soon. But Gourry was right—we had things to hammer out first.

“You know,” Gourry said uncomfortably, “you really seem out of it lately.”

I yawned. “I know. All this pomp and ceremony kinda throws me off.”

Gourry nodded. He still didn’t seem too happy.

“I’ll say,” he muttered.

“So I’m a bit off right now. Is that a problem?” I couldn’t help it; I felt a little rattled.

“Since you asked,” Gourry replied, “yeah. I’ve got a big problem with it.”

I scowled. “Then why didn’t you bring this up before?” But Gourry just stared dead ahead at the wall across the room and didn’t say a word.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” I said pointedly, “we’re in the Royal Palace. Everybody here’s nobility—there’s a protocol with that, and we’ve gotta work around it. It’s not like out in the real world where you can confront your enemies toe-to-toe and have it out.” I didn’t want to be so cross with him, but I had to stand my ground. “We need subtlety, Gourry. If I seem a little off, that’s just because I’m working with new rules.”

Gourry shrugged. “And since when do you follow rules?”

I hopped off the bed. “You’re just frustrated right now,” I told him. “Now, do you have any new information?” Gourry shook his head gloomily. “Nope.”

“No rumors?” I asked. “No gossip?”

“Not a peep.”

I sighed. “Well… something sorta interesting happened on my end.”

I told Gourry about my encounter with Alfred that morning, about how he’d admitted his father’s crimes and the solution he’d proposed to Amelia.

“What vibes are you getting from that?” I asked Gourry when I was done.

“Vibes?”

“You know, do you think it’s a trap or some kinda act?” Gourry slowly smirked. “Duh!” he answered. “How can it not be a trap?”

Okay, maybe I deserved that, but it was a question worth asking.

“Whether or not it’s a trap, I say we go ahead with whatever Alfred’s proposing. It may move things along to our advantage. Who knows?”

Gourry raised an eyebrow. “So for lack of a better idea, you just wanna let Alfred control things, hope that Phil doesn’t get murdered, and pray everything works itself out in the process?”

It sounded so sketchy when he said it. I admit that Gourry had me pegged, but he didn’t have to be such a tool about it.

* * *

The next morning felt like any other at the palace. At first glance, everything looked pretty normal: the guards were at their posts, and the Royal Officers were all going about their daily routine. But if you scratched the surface a little bit, you’d find that a lot had changed since the previous day.

“I wonder what happened with the meeting,” I ventured to ask Gourry over lunch in the small dining room. He and I were the only ones around besides the waiter, who seemed so jittery and out-of-sorts that I’m surprised he didn’t die of sheer nerves while serving us our squid stew.

“What meeting?” asked Gourry, gulping down his drink and following it with a burp.

I was so stunned for a moment that I dropped my spoon into my soup.

What meeting? How did that guy put his pants on in the morning?!

“You moron!” I gurgled, keeping my voice low so the waiter couldn’t hear me. He was having a hard enough time coping as it was. “Did you keep your sausagey fingers jammed in your ears during our talk last night?! The meeting between… you know.”

Gourry thought for a second. “Oh, that,” He went back to his soup. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place? You could’ve been talking about any meeting, Lina.”

He’s kidding, right?

“What other meeting could I have been talking about? Think, Gourry!” I sighed, frustrated. “I don’t know exactly what time the two met, but we should’ve gotten wind of something by now, don’t you think?”

I turned my attention to my stew. The spoon I’d dropped into the bowl had completely sunk to the bottom of it and out of sight.

“Great,” I snarled. With my fork, I tried to fish the spoon out of the stew. The fork jabbed at something just under the surface of the stew that felt… And then, I kid you not, blood came spurting out of my stew!

I lurched backward in my chair in total shock Gourry shot out of his seat, wide-eyed, and we both screamed in unison.

Now, I may not know everything. But I’m pretty sure your lunch projectile bleeding means something is very wrong.

Dozens of long tentacles, streaked purple and brown, came leaping out of the bowl. Gourry and I stumbled to avoid the lashing; we were too dumbfounded to do anything else.

“L-L-Lina!” Gourry shouted. “If this is a prank, it isn’t very funny!”

“Do you see me laughing?!” I shot back. “And you know I never order my food this rare!”

The tentacles, unfortunately, just kept getting longer and longer—they could’ve crushed the entire banquet table in their grasp. What made all this even creepier was the roast chicken: I stopped hollering long enough to notice it suddenly split in half. Gourry and I watched as its belly ripped open and a pair of hands came writhing out from its insides.

I swear, if I’d so much as nibbled on that chicken before witnessing that, I would’ve hunted that chef down and roasted him on a spit myself. If there’s one thing I hate more than lousy food and lousy service, it’s a chef who puts nightmarish monsters in my order.

The tentacled stew-creature emerging from my bowl plopped onto the table. I can’t describe its body any better than to compare it to a large, rubbery ball with dozens of gnarled tentacles that looked like shiny, slithery tree roots. And, what looked like a deformed humanoid, was emerging from the chicken. That’s what I said—a deformed humanoid emerged from my chicken, except this creature was swathed in seaweed.

“I-I swear I didn’t order that!” Gourry stammered.

“I believe you!” I shouted. “Now RUN!”

When in doubt: run. It was the only strategy that came to mind. I darted for the nearest door and swung it open, but froze when I saw what lay beyond it. Gourry crashed into my back and nearly knocked me over.

The room on the other side looked weirdly familiar. I saw a banquet table laden with exotic foods, made far less appetizing by a jungle of writhing tentacles and a seaweed monster. Identical copies of Gourry and me stood right in front of us, framed in the doorway and staring like a pair of slack-jawed idiots.

A mirror spell. “Gourry!” I exclaimed. “Do you realize what this means?”

“What?!”

I waved to my own reflection, then smiled dumbly as it waved and smiled dumbly back. “Cool,” we murmured.

Sorry—couldn’t help it

“Cut it out!” Gourry snapped, slamming the door shut. He looked down at me urgently. “What the hell was that all about?”

“A mirroring spell,” I replied. “You don’t see that everyday.”

“What kinda wizard could cast a spell like that?!”

I shook my head. “We’re definitely trapped here by whoever’s doing the casting, though. I don’t think we have a choice.” I smirked at him. “You ready to fight those creepy-crawly things?”

Gourry took a deep, firm breath and nodded. I began chanting a spell as he drew his sword and advanced toward the now-moving body of the tentacled creature. He took rapid, sweeping swipes with his blade to hack past the tentacles, then lunged for the body with a yell.

Squelch!

His sword made a squishy slide deep inside the Stew Monster Ball. Unfortunately, the thing didn’t die—and it definitely got madder.

“What… the hell?” Gourry spluttered.

“Keep at it!” I yelled.

Gourry kept wildly slashing at the creature. “Easy to say from over there!” he shot back. He seemed a bit panicky, and I guess I would’ve been too with all those tentacles trying to wrap themselves around me. I noticed more tentacles snaking around the table toward his legs, while other tentacles rose higher and spewed clods of what looked like black mud at him.

“Look out!” I screamed, but Gourry was already on it. He hacked at those slithery devils before they had a chance to retreat.

A bunch of black globs spattered the walls and floor. I had no idea how deadly they might be to bare human skin, but even my sorceress curiosity didn’t compel me to find out. Deadly potions and poisons kinda do it for me, but not when I’m inches away from being killed by them.

Just as I was about to yell at Gourry, a flat, squirmy guest began emerging from the tureen on the banquet.

Enough is enough—we don’t have all day!

“Gourry!” I called. “Use the Sword of Light!”

Gourry sheathed his sword. “Gotcha!” he called back as he fished a needle from a pocket. He maneuvered it into his hilt to release the blade, pulled out his empty grip, and brandished it two-handed. “Light come forth!”

A beam of brilliant white light burst forth to form his blade.

One day, baby… you will be mine, the sword that is.

In case you’ve been living in a cave with your fingers in your ears, Gourry was holding the one-and-only Sword of Light. By focusing the energy and spirit of its wielder, the Sword can cleave a demon in half like a machete through a ripe banana.

When the tentacles sensed the Sword’s presence, they actually quivered in fear before frantically flinging more clods at Gourry. With lightning reflexes, Gourry dodged the muddy missiles, wove through the tentacles, and plunged the light beam directly through Seaweed Man.

I wasn’t surprised to see the creature wither and his body turn to dry earth. With a dull thud, Mr. Ocean Vegetation fell to a pile on the floor and immediately began to vaporize into thin air.

Lest you get the impression I was just the bystander— you know, some sort of damsel-in-distress—let me turn your attention to my marvelous feats of magic. Gourry had dealt with the onslaught of tentacles and Seaweed Man, so

I decided to throw my focus on the new manta-ray-thing wriggling its way down the dinner table.

“Elmekia Lance!” My spell blasted a nasty hole through its floppy back It was just as I suspected: our attackers, apparently, had originated in the astral plane—the place where physical form doesn’t exist. The spell I used inflicts damage directly to an opponent’s mind, bypassing the body entirely. In other words, the blasted-out hole told me the monster was spiritual rather than physical. That’s some heavy stuff, huh?

Regardless, the important thing was that Mr. Ocean Vegetation was dead. Just like Seaweed Man, the manta ray deteriorated within seconds and crumbled to the floor. I wasn’t finished yet. I was still sore about my lunch being ruined by some jerkoff, so I drew my sword and struck the criminal tureen. The stew had turned into a stinky, bubbly broth that now cooled into greenish goo.

Um… yuck.

I also cleaved the split-open roast chicken, just to make sure no other tricks were hiding inside it.

Okay, destroying crockery with my sword was probably no great act of courage, but it still felt pretty damn good.

It didn’t look like the kitchenware or chicken were spiritual or any more of a threat, so I turned to Gourry who was still having trouble with the giant tomato and its crap-flinging tentacles.

“What are you doing?!” I yelled.

“Losing!” Gourry cried. “This guy won’t die!”

Hmph. An overgrown bouncy ball was no match for Lina Inverse! I quickly began chanting a spell. Both Black Magic and astral spells can inflict damage directly to an attacker’s spirit, but they do little good if the spells themselves aren’t powerful enough. I braced myself and hoped for the best.

The tomato bounced around Gourry’s light blade, thrashed its tentacles, and volleyed yet another black mass straight at me.

I barely managed to dodge the goop as I hit the floor hard, knocking over the table and bringing it with me to use as a shield.

So the tomato wants to play dirty, eh? Two can play that game!

“Dark Claw!” I yelled.

I lunged from behind the table, twisting my body and firing a shot toward the fray that surrounded Gourry. The shapeless magic blast whooshed toward the monster ball, but that little creep just danced out of the way. Unfortunately, that left Gourry in the path of my magic.

“Hey!” he shouted, just barely swatting the missile off with his Sword of Light. I don’t know if it was a lucky shot or an example of his brilliant swordsmanship, but Gourry actually batted the missile straight into the creature. That fat sucker and its infuriating tentacles crumbled into dust before it knew what hit ‘em.

Gourry and I glanced at each other as we tried to catch our breath. Our battle with our lunch was finally over.

“Whew!” I wiped some sweat from my brow and smiled. “No one can get past our one-two punch, eh, Gourry?” I raised two fingers to flash a V-for-Victory sign.

“What one-two punch?” Gourry panted, an alarmed look on his face. “What were you trying to do? Cook me alive?!”

“Now, now,” I cooed. “We won, and that’s what counts.” Gourry was apparently too tired to retort. He just slumped into his chair, exhausted, and still rattled.

“Of all the things I thought would kill me,” he murmured, “I never guessed you or a mutant octopus tomato.”

I upturned my chair from the floor and sat down beside him. “At least we can relax now,” I told him. “And I think we worked off lunch.”

After sitting in silence for a minute, the waiter stepped in through the door that led to the kitchen.

“Excuse me,” he said, looking us over with concern. “Is everything all right?”

Gourry and I suddenly noticed that everything in the room was back to normal. The banquet table was perfectly set with the tureen of stew, the plate of roast chicken, the fancy crockery, and the expensive silverware all in their proper places.

Only one detail was different: my mantle. The various blasts I’d released during the fight had done a number on it, leaving it tattered and scorched.

Crap, I just bought that mantle.

“All right?” Gourry asked blankly.

“Gourry,” I interrupted, then shook my head to keep him from saying anything else. I leaned closer and whispered to him, “He obviously has no clue as to what just happened. It’s like real-world time stopped during our food fight.”

The waiter still stood in the doorway, rooted to the ground and obviously confused. Gourry proved faster-than-normal on the uptake, since a second later he turned to the waiter and shook his head solemnly.

“If you don’t mind,” he murmured, “we’d like to skip the stew course.”

I gasped and turned to him in shock. “Are you nuts?!“ I cried. “It’ll take more than that to scare me off squid stew!”

* * *

“I can’t believe this has happened,” Alfred whimpered, sliding weakly into an oversized chair.

Amelia, Phil, Alfred, Gourry and I had gathered in a guesthouse adjacent to the central palace. The room was as big as a barn, but by Saillune terms it was downright intimate, and since guards stood just outside the door, we felt safe enough for a secret meeting.

“I only found out about the attack on Miss Lina and Mr. Gourry this afternoon,” Alfred said grimly. He ran his trembling fingers through his perfect hair. “What an absolutely dreadful ordeal.”

Us fighting stew, or Mr. Pansy hearing the scary report?

“Mmm,” Phil grunted, scowling and folding his arms. “What the hell is Chris thinking?!”

“I don’t think my father is behind this, Uncle.” Alfred shook his head. “I can’t see him as the perpetrator.”

“Young man,” Phil said, “protecting your father right now is only going to make our investigation more difficult.”

Alfred clasped his hands together in a plea. “Please,” he begged. “I know you’ll find it hard to believe, Uncle, but my father was shocked when I told him the news. I’m certain he knew nothing about this!”

“Of course he didn’t,” I muttered under my breath. I didn’t think anyone had heard me, but Phil perked up and leaned in my direction.

“And just what do you mean by that?” he questioned.

I let out a breath and sat up. “Well,” I explained, “the way things stand right now, Chris has nothing to gain by attacking Gourry and me. Going after us would draw even more suspicion to himself, right?”

The others nodded in agreement, though a bit grudgingly. We were still no closer to an answer.

“So if it wasn’t Chris,” I wondered aloud, “who was it? Alfred suddenly jumped to his feet, snapping his fingers. “It’s Kanzeil running amok!”

You stole the words right out of my mouth.

“After I told my father what happened,” he said, “Father looked at me like he’d just seen a ghost. Then he immediately sent one of his servants to fetch Kanzeil—it was the first thing out of his mouth.” He nodded to himself. “Kanzeil has to be behind this.”

Then, in a sudden moment of overgrown immaturity, Alfred huffed and stomped his boots on the floor. “Dammit!” he whined. “I should’ve known from the beginning he was no good!” Alfred slammed both fists on the table and buried his face in his hands, further proving that he tantrumed like a toddler.

“Who is this Kanzeil fellow, anyway?” It was Amelia’s turn to speak up. “I mean, where’s he from, and what does he want?”

“I haven’t the faintest,” Alfred groaned. “One morning Kanzeil came to the palace accompanying Father, and by lunch he’d become my father’s advisor. I tried to ask about the man, but all Father would tell me was that Kanzeil was an old acquaintance and that he knew nothing of where he was from.”

“I don’t care about his background,” Phil snapped. “I just want him out of all matters of the Royal Court. Is that understood?”

At that, Amelia, Gourry, and I chimed in at once, running over each other’s words.

“What do you mean?” Alfred asked impatiently over all of us. It was the last thing I heard before an ominous silence fell over the room and I no longer sensed the guards outside.

Their presence had been replaced with a keen and ferocious bloodlust that now lurked just behind the locked door.

“Assassins,” I whispered, and I cast a quick glance at Gourry. He gripped the hilt of his sword and nodded that he was ready to face the threat.

I turned back to the door and tried to focus my senses on the enemy. I felt several of them outside, and all of them deadly. If they’d wiped out Phil’s five bodyguards without letting out a peep, this was not going to be a picnic.

Of course, it made way more sense if the enemy had Zuuma; that guy could kill the average guard without getting out of bed. Wracking my brain fervently for ideas, I wondered if we could sound an alarm to the guards in the central palace. It would reinforce our numbers and give us a better shot at survival… but then I remembered all the nearby guards were dead, and our room was sound-proofed to protect our secret meeting.

Our not-so-secret meeting, apparently.

Since our room had no windows and only a tiny ventilation shaft, the door was the only means of entry and escape. I didn’t fancy using that door—since an ambush was definitely waiting outside—so we had no choice but to hold our ground and brace for a fight.

“We either fight them here,” Gourry thought aloud, “or we figure a way to break out of this place.”

Break out? Of course!

“Gourry!” I grabbed his sleeve. “Let’s push the table up against the door and barricade ourselves!”

A strategy was forming in my nimble brain. “Barricade?” Gourry looked down at me, surprised. “But that’ll trap us in here like rats!”

“Trust me,” I said. “It’ll buy us time. Now get to it!”

I guess he knew better than to ask at that point, so he grabbed the table and dragged it to the door. I turned to Amelia and, pointing to the wall opposite the door, asked, “Is there a courtyard on the other side of this wall?”

Amelia nodded, breathing deeply and staying remarkably calm. She definitely took after her father in that respect. Phil had a tendency to stay very poised in times of crises. I tapped the wall a few times with my fingers to test its thickness.

I finally stepped back. “Okay!” I announced to the room. “Everybody stand back, because I’m gonna blow this mother up!”

I heard Alfred shriek girlishly and the others scamper away while I began to chant. On the other side of the room, Gourry and Phil finished barricading the door.

I completed my chant and pressed both hands against the wall. “Blast Wave!” I yelled, and the power of my magic blew outward full force.

KA-BOOM!

A huge circular portion of the wall exploded, sending pumpkin-sized chunks of debris out into the courtyard and creating a hole big enough for us to escape through.

“This way!” I called to the others.

Trying not to choke too badly on the dust from the blast, I led the way through the hole and over the debris-peppered ground. The enemy’s presence suddenly reared up above me, his bloodlust raging like a pissed-off dragon.

“Damn!” I snarled, and instinctively leapt to one side. It’s a good thing I did—a split-second later, something metallic shot through the air and buried itself deep in the ground where I’d been standing.

A dark figure standing on the roof flashed a single dagger about the length of an outstretched hand and leapt into the air straight for Gourry.

“You’re mine!” Gourry cried and swung his sword so swiftly that he could’ve made two of anyone stupid enough to be within reach. Unfortunately, Gourry’s sword only slashed through thin air; the assassin had halted his dive midair and confused the dickens out of Gourry. Then, banking on Gourry’s brief confusion, the assassin attempted a floating scissor-kick at Gourry.

Nice Try!

“Flare Arrow!” I commanded as fast as I could, launching a dozen of them, several of which scored a direct hit and sent the assassin plummeting to the ground, tumbling into a pile of rubble.

Ah… it’s good to be me!

While I was dispatching our levitating friend; Phil, Amelia, and Alfred had finished scrambling into the courtyard. A slew of guards rushed toward us. If the explosion hadn’t caught their attention, I figured my light show might’ve.

BOOM!

An explosion from inside the room splintered the door and hurled the oak table out of the way. Just as two silhouettes appeared in the destroyed doorway, four silver daggers shot from their direction and tore through the air toward Phil.

“Look out!” I yelled.

As I did, Amelia deftly swiped her mantle. There was a flash of white light before three of the daggers went clattering to the ground. Phil caught the fourth dagger with his bare hand, and then dropped it without ceremony.

“HOLY CRAP!” the assassins yelled in unison.

They were as shocked as Gourry and I. It’s one thing to get out of the way of whatever’s attacking you, but to beat your attacker at their own game is something entirely different—an impressive showing from the father-daughter duo. And from the looks of it, Amelia wasn’t through.

“Fools!” she roared, pointing an angry finger at the assassins. “You have turned your backs against heavenly truth by sullying your hands with evil! Watch your instruments of destruction break before my Justice!”

“Break before my Justice?”

Amelia had definitely dreamed of this heroic moment all her life. There she stood, fiery and defiant, and about 140 percent more dramatic than she needed to be.

But in a surprising moment of epic glory, she actually began rising into the air. Then I noticed what—or should I say, who—was keeping her up so high. Phil had grabbed her by the back of her mantle and lifted her like a kitten.

“Stand aside, Amelia,” he boomed. “This is no place for a little girl.”

Phil then tossed her in our direction. Amelia landed gracefully, not once faltering in her fearless dignity.

“Be a good little princess and take your own advice!” one of the assassins shrieked. He rushed from his side of the room and charged right for Phil, who squared his shoulders and prepared to lock horns.

For our part, Gourry and I stayed on Phil’s heels, prepared to brace against whatever onslaught was about to take place.

“Foooooools!” Phil roared imperiously and swung his tightly clenched fist at the assassin.

POW!

The poor assassin practically bounced off Phil’s fist and went flying into the wall. He hit it with a crunch, then, like flung fudge, slid down to the floor in a gooey little heap.

“I know not why you support this conspiracy!” Phil boomed, stepping toward his attacker. He then launched into a long, solemn speech, which wasn’t inherently bad—except for the fact that the guy was already dead, judging by the rather severe angle at which his neck was bent.

“Have you no family?!” Phil demanded of the corpse. “Open your eyes!”

Uh… that ain’t happenin’, Phil.

“Morally abasing yourselves in this manner brings your family nothing but grief and shame! I care not for unnecessary violence.” He pointed to the other assassins. “If you look into your own hearts and reflect, and leave this place at once, I shall hold no grudge against you!”

That was when the other assassins ran over to check their dead partner. One of them felt for a pulse; the others mumbled among themselves, and all of them glanced at Phil.

They ran. I thought I saw one look back, but that may have just been a trick of the light.

“Then no grudge shall it be.” Phil sighed heavily, shaking his head in true jaded-warrior fashion. “I wish only that you all see the errors of your way and spare your loved ones further torment.”

From a short distance away came the clip-clop of soldiers’ boots heading in our direction. About time, I thought, finally sliding my hand off my sword hilt. I didn’t blame Phil for keeping Gourry and me so close all the time—his own guards weren’t exactly useful.

Gourry gently prodded the dead assassin with his foot. “Man,” he commented with a low whistle. “Looks like we scraped through again. But we’re safe now!”

First rule of jinxes: never, ever say that.

Danger filled every one of my senses so fast that it nearly knocked me over. All I could do was scream, “GET DOWN!”

We’d barely hit the dirt when a giant explosion went off in the room.

KA-BOOM!

I threw my arms over my head to protect it from the tiny bits of rubble that flew in our direction. In the few seconds of immediate calm after the blast, I heard chunks of something soft and Wet splatter down on what little remained of the room.

Chunks?

You know, it’d been a long enough night without me having to guess what would go splat after an explosion. After a quick swallow to make sure my stomach contents were firmly down, I tentatively raised my head and squinted my eyes in the direction of the room.

The dead assassin had been blown apart. Charred flesh, buckets of blood, and what were probably bits of organs were splattered all over the rubble of the room. It was pretty gruesome—not a sight, nor a smell for that matter, you’d want to cap off your day with.

“What happened?!” a guard yelled frantically.

“Are you safe, my lord?” another called.

Dozens of guards rushed in from all corners of the courtyard, clattering their spears and swords with purpose and in general looking like they thought they were making a difference.

Thanks for showing up for the afterparty, guys.

I slowly got to my feet, glad we’d all survived with only minor cuts and bruises. The guards ran to Phil and tried to check him for wounds, but the prince brushed them off to survey the damage.

“Mmm…” he murmured, looking gravely at the wreckage all around him. He shook his head. “In all my years,” he said at last, “no one has ever been so moved by my words, so aggrieved by their evil deeds that they exploded out of sheer shame.” He lowered his eyes and seemed deeply upset.

Yeah, I’m not even gonna touch that one.

Phil’s nonsensical blabbering did get me thinking, though. Why had the other assassins felt the need to check the dead guy’s pulse? Lemme tell you… when a man’s neck is snapped and half of the bones in his body are shattered, you don’t need the pulse-check. That’s what we call using context clues.

My hunch was that the whole checking-up-on-their-comrade routine had just been an act. They must’ve done it to plant an explosive device on the dead man, simultaneously baiting our humanitarian sensibilities and hoping we’d check the guy again after they left—thus getting us, of course, blown to kingdom come.

“Excellency!” one guard hollered. “What happened?!”

“We were assaulted by petty knaves,” Phil replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Don’t be concerned; we’re all safe now.”

“Knaves, you say?!” The men huffed angrily. The incident had definitely worked them up; they anxiously shuffled around, waiting for orders.

Then their captain—the same guy we’d come across the day we arrived at the palace—started barking out orders: “Squad 1 and Squad 2, remain here! Squad 3, search the building! Squad 4, search the surrounding area! If you find any of those knaves, capture them and bring them back alive! You, contact the central palace…” He went on like that for a while, but I was too dazed after what had just happened to really follow what the guards were up to.

They could search the grounds all they wanted—they weren’t going to find anybody. I was sure the assassins were already long gone.

“You know,” I mumbled to Gourry as we watched the guards disperse, “something’s bothering me. Is it just me, or did Zuuma not show up for a piece of the action this time?”

Gourry nodded. Apparently he was thinking the exact same thing. Unfortunately, a piercing cry suddenly tore through the air and startled any remaining thoughts right out of my brain.

“Why?!” It was Alfred, throwing another baby fit. He was beginning to wear on me. Judging from his harried look and the demented gleam in his eyes, I thought Alfred was just inches away from a mental breakdown. Still, I tried to follow what he was getting at.

“Th-Th-The attack today!” he stammered, “Could that have been for… ?”

“Could that have been for what?“ Phil asked sharply

Alfred didn’t respond—he just kept trembling, his fingers fidgeting and his eyes roving among us. Then he suddenly cried, “Father! I must check on Father!” And with that, he took off toward the central palace, tripping over several hedges and a guard helmet along the way.

Phil watched him disappear into the night. The prince threw me a look. “What was that all about?”

I began to answer, but then stopped short. There was too good a chance we’d be overheard out there in the open. “We can’t discuss it outside,” I whispered to Phil as I scanned the grounds for loitering guards.

“Indeed,” agreed Phil. He gestured for Gourry, Amelia, and me to proceed to the palace.

“All I’ll say for now,” I told him, “is that I think this is a lot more complicated than any of us had guessed.”

Phil nodded shortly.

* * *

In the central palace, Phil set up an impromptu meeting in his personal quarters. Maybe it wasn’t the ideal place for a powwow—we still had to speak in hushed tones because there were guards outside—but it sure beat the alternative. I definitely preferred Phil’s cushy chairs and decent lighting to the blown-out room splattered with assassin meat.

Phil took a deep breath. “All right,” he said carefully. “Let’s start from the beginning.” He furrowed his bushy eyebrows. “Alfred said earlier that he thought Kanzeil attacked you at lunch. Does that theory still hold water?”

I crossed my arms. “Maybe,” I replied after a moment.

“Attacking us at lunch wouldn’t have benefited Christopher. An attack that conspicuous leaves people wondering, and since half the palace already thinks he’s up to no good, it could only make him look worse.” I gripped my chin. “But… hmm.”

“Something wrong, Lina?” Gourry asked.

I frowned. “Bear with me for a sec. Whoever sent the monsters probably would’ve known we’d find the attack uncharacteristic of Christopher. And then if Christopher looked shocked and summoned Kanzeil in front of Alfred, and then Alfred ran to us and set a meeting to discuss it…”

Amelia clenched her fists. “He knew we’d all be in one place tonight. It was the perfect time to move in for the kill!”

“Exactly,” I replied. “I don’t think the attack at lunch was supposed to succeed—I think it was just supposed to get us all together tonight. Christopher could’ve ordered that attack at lunch and then faked the whole surprise to throw off Alfred.”

Phil stomped one massive foot. “Unforgivable!” he roared, far too loudly for a secret meeting. “Such treacherousness is too much to bear! The thought of him gathering us in one place and recklessly putting his son in harm’s way? This has gone too far!”

“Hang on,” I piped in, trying to calm him down. “That’s just one theory, all right? Christopher may have nothing to do with it.”

Phil fumed. “After all he’s already done?! I’m no longer giving that man the benefit of the doubt!”

“Listen,” I said as calmly as I could. “Just because Christopher could’ve been behind tonight doesn’t mean he was. Besides putting Alfred at risk, let’s not forget why we suspected Kanzeil in the first place—Christopher’s already-slipping reputation. Kanzeil could’ve easily sent the demons and guessed Alfred’s train of thought, so he could’ve done this whole elaborate scheme behind Christopher’s back.”

Phil went silent for a moment, I breathed a little sigh of relief; at least mulling over options kept him from yelling

“So, tell me.” Phil threw a burning gaze in my direction. “What do you honestly think?”

“Honestly?” I repeated. “I think today was all Kanzeil.” I frowned. “But there’s one piece that still doesn’t fit.”

“And what is that?”

“The fact that tonight’s attack failed. Us being together was a carefully planned window of opportunity, yet the assassins weren’t particularly impressive and eventually chose to retreat. Zuuma was way more hardcore when he tried to—”

Amelia gasped. “Wait a sec!” she cried. “D-did you just say Zuuma?”

I blinked. Amelia’s eyes were as wide as dinner plates, and she’d risen from her chair.

Why, do I have a bad feeling about this?

“Um, yeah,” I answered slowly. “He attacked me the other night.”

She gasped again. “Really?!”

“Really.”

“So, he is real,” she muttered. She was beginning to give me the creeps.

“You’ve heard of this man?” Phil ventured to ask. Amelia nodded vigorously. “He’s supposed to be one of the deadliest assassins out there. I’m so glad you’re okay, Miss Lina! If the rumors are true, that would make you the first person to ever survive his pursuit!”

My stomach dropped like a stone sailboat. Ever? I repeated silently as my mind and belly reeled. I realized that if Gourry hadn’t shown up that night, I would’ve ended up as just another notch on that celebrity killer’s belt.

Note to self: thank Gourry again for breaking down my door. If there was any consolation here, it was a teeny-tiny one. “At least Zuuma wasn’t part of the attack tonight,” I murmured. “Maybe that means something, and maybe it doesn’t. Zuuma could’ve just run out of time to prepare an attack, for all we know.”

Phil thwacked his leg with one hand. “Enough of this,” he snapped. “The only way to resolve this is through face-to-face dialogue. I’ll have that meeting with Christopher tomorrow and put an end to all this nonsense!”

Somehow I doubted words were going to fix much of anything. But Phil needed something to believe in, so I kept my mouth shut and let him hope.

* * *

On the morning of Phil and Christopher’s big conference, the entire palace brimmed with nervous excitement.

Alfred had apparently gone to see his father and Kanzeil the evening of the guesthouse attack. Both Christopher and Kanzeil had denied involvement, but what else had Alfred expected? “Sure, we tried to murder you and the royal heir in one clever fatal swoop. But here, have a cookie!” Duh.

Eldoran, the reigning and ailing king, was living in denial. No matter how much you pressed the issue with him, Eldoran refused to believe that Christopher could possibly be plotting to usurp Phil’s inheritance to the throne. As far as he was concerned, his two sons skipped along as sweet and loyal brothers. Maybe Eldoran believing in that crap was the only thing keeping him alive. That, or the anxiety of the future of the throne, had been what sent him to his sickbed in the first place.

Whatever the case, that day’s conference was crucial for the future well-being of Eldoran’s kingdom. If things fell apart, Gourry and I didn’t relish the idea of having to put the pieces back together.

Gourry, Amelia, Alfred, Kanzeil, and I all followed Christopher and Phil as they made their way out of the central palace. Something told me we’d be seeing Zuuma before the day was out, and I doubted it would be for a friendly chat and tea. At least it was a nice day: bright Sunshine greeted us as we descended the palace’s front steps, and the garden was bedecked with flowers of the most amazing colors.

In direct contrast with the weather, Kanzeil turned toward me and cracked the iciest smile I’d ever seen. It took all my willpower to not slap that ridiculous grin off his conniving little face.

As we walked, I leaned over to Gourry and muttered, “About Kanzeil…”

Gourry seemed to have noticed Kanzeil’s smile. He nodded. “Yeah?”

“I think he’s coming on to me.”

Gourry gave a short, pained laughed. “You’ve got some guts, cracking jokes at a time like this.”

I shrugged. “I could use a laugh these days.” Gourry leaned in a little closer. “Uh, Lina,” he whispered, “what if what’s-his-face, that assassin fellow, shows up again?” I assumed he meant Zuuma.

“He’s all yours,” I answered with a brush of my hand.

To this day I don’t know if Gourry took what I said seriously. He just straightened, nodded, and answered, “Okay.”

Since Gourry had brought up the subject of evil, magic-using assassins, I starting wondering if Kanzeil would try to pull that curved-space trick on me again.

Easy, Lina. Don’t panic—just keep your ears open and your eyes peeled.

We made our way to the meeting hall and then watched as Phil and Christopher entered alone. Their private conference was to be held inside. The rest of us waited outdoors, along with the princes’ guards, and prepared ourselves for a long round of Power Waiting.

As we sat there, I kept as vigilant a watch as I could on Kanzeil. If he started chanting some spell, I wanted to try and stave it off, but he just hung around and didn’t try to murder me once. The morning passed pretty uneventfully, until about halfway through the time allotted for the meeting.

A sound ripped through the air.

ZZZZZZING!

It’s hard to explain, but it was as if space itself had suddenly screamed.

“What the hell was that?!” one of the guards yelled. Suddenly, something eclipsed the sunlight, and everything became shrouded in shadow.

I jumped to my feet. What now?! I thought as I frantically looked around.

“Lina!” Gourry shouted, pointing upward. “Up there!” He was referring to a massive, black object directly over us and falling fast.

I knew today would suck.

“LOOK OUT!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

We all scattered like a bunch of panicky ants. When the object hit, it slammed to the ground with such force that it rocked the foundation of the meeting hall. I stumbled to stay on my feet just as the giant projectile screeched.

Giiiiiiiiii! The vibrations in the air rang in my ears and shuddered through my body; I turned to see what in hell could be making such a noise. And there it sat: the largest, freakiest looking beetle I’d ever seen.

Okay, second largest.

When I say it was big, it was big. The bug was the size of a small dragon, with an ebony hide, eight hideous legs, and a pair of sinewy Wings that were too small for flight but big enough for me to jump onto and go for a ride. What looked like rubies were embedded throughout the beetle’s body, and when the stones caught the light, the insect glittered like some kind of grotesque amulet.

I’ll admit—it was a creative way to get the battle started.

The guards totally lost it. As panic took over, the lot of them actually tried to mount some kind of resistance against the giant, ugly invader. The problem was that their technique was a mess—a pell-mell of hastily thrown blades and panic-stricken shouts, and none of it proved very effective against our unwelcome guest.

I sincerely doubted the guards could do much against that thing. Their spears bounced off the bug’s outer shell, and even driving swords into the beetle’s leg joints proved a waste of time. In fact, the beetle didn’t take much notice of the guards. It rotated on its feet, slowly and heedlessly, and faced what it was looking for.

Me.