Even Linnaeus's stratagems had rarely survived contact with the enemy. But Trivia had not expected an ally to thwart hers. The Knight of the Green might not have plucked the Golden Bough, but he had challenged the King anyway, wasting Trivia's efforts to lower his guard.

Judging by the strength of the wards, Frazer had perceived a threat before the woman-he had called her Karen-fled his fortress. But the Shape of the Fire had not manifested until Byron mentioned Frazer's daughter. The creature squatted beside the King, filling the parking lot with its stench. It bore no marks from the previous night's combat. The vines protruding from its stomach bristled with new thorns and its hide radiated greater heat. It bellowed mucous in response to the Knight of the Green's challenge.

Ray had said that Frazer could not understand what he had done-what he had become. Blind as men were, that seemed impossible. Even at a distance the Shape of the Fire's aura overwhelmed Trivia's senses: Carrion seeped into her tongue and putrefying grease dewed her skin. How could Frazer be oblivious to the creature standing at his side? Their connection was not merely sympathetic, but umbilical. Frazer's rage and selfishness endowed the creature with unfathomable power.

Fear wilted her viny dreadlocks. She had ordered her friends to suffer or die for no purpose-failed them as she had failed Waldheim and Linnaeus. The specter of the future gave her a bony grin: Wilson accompanying the squirrel's screams in chorus; Roosevelt's vessel consigned to a shallow trench or a lumber mill; libations of Hawaiian Punch for Audubon; and her murdered kin left unavenged. Her enemies would not stop with folk, either. Who would mourn Ray as he had mourned Linnaeus? Who would mark the passage of beauty from the world?

Karen and Byron fled. The Shape of the Fire pursued, pounding its knuckles into the asphaltum. Frazer withdrew into his fortress.

A fortress without a garrison posed little impediment to Trivia. It would take only moments to tear apart the residual defensive magics and kill or capture Frazer. But it would only take moments for the Shape of the Fire to tear apart Byron. Her role was to protect all who loved the Green; Frazer would have to wait.

Trivia hefted her spear and shield and joined the chase. She could not hope to match the vehicle's pace on manmade surfaces, but the country roads were flanked by countless trees.

--

Twice as many butterflies flitted around the grove as before, and twice as many stones encircled two blurry white fringetrees.

Ray tried to refocus his vision. Mistake. His stomach heaved, and he tasted acid.

Audubon dipped him low, so he puked on the wildflowers instead of her jacket. She handed him a black silk handkerchief monogrammed with "JJA" in white.

He wiped his mouth and offered to return the handkerchief.

"It's all yours now," she said.

He wiped his nostrils, but the blood streaming onto his lip flowed along his nose, not from it. He touched the fabric beneath his injured eye. It moistened and stuck to his skin.

Numbness covered that side of his face from his forehead to his upper gums, like he'd been given too much novocaine. His skull throbbed, but his hand hurt the most. His fingers were bent at wrong angles, and bones struck through his skin. He wondered whether he'd still be able to draw. It was a stupid question-art was the least of his worries, wasn't it? Still, he wondered.

"Help the pain?" he asked, slurring his speech.

"Oh, now you want me to magic you?"

His head lolled forward. Hopefully, it looked like a nod.

"I already did." Audubon said. "That's why you're not lying very still and hemorrhaging on things. The wonderful thing about pain is that it goes away if you don't pay attention to it."

Ray lowered his injured hand to his side. "Feels numb. Thank you."

"That is the magic of nerve damage. Huntsman played your face like a xylophone." She walked him into the circle of stones and propped him against one.

He pointed to the white fringetree. "You said."

"Going to carve your initials into her trunk?" Audubon asked. But she did as she said she would.

Ray lay down a few feet away from the tree. "Just want to give her something to remember me by."

"What's that?"

"Water, mostly." He chuckled. "Carbon dioxide. Ammonia. Hydrogen sulfide. Touch of phosphorus."

She crossed her arms. "You don't have to be so maudlin just because you're dying."

"You a doctor?" he asked.

"I developed a working knowledge of human anatomy while serving the Inquisition."

"The what now?"

"Torturing 'witches.' For the irony, and to better understand the cruelty of man."

"Think you've got a handle on it," he said.

"Thank you." She took a cigarette from a silver case. "Do you have a light?"

Ray shook his head.

Audubon sighed. "They really don't make men like they used to." She snapped her fingers, and the tip of her cigarette glowed orange.

He lifted his arm.

She lit another cigarette with her first and passed it down to him.

"Question," he said. "Why didn't you hide me from Huntsman like you did from Trivia?"

"You wouldn't have learned anything," Audubon said. "I would have taught you myself, but some lessons the deer can only learn from the hound."

"Like how to get murdered?" he asked.

"Like if you want someone to stop hurting you, you have to make them. You will be alone when you fight Frazer. No magic, just men doing what you do best."

Ray laughed smoke. "I have a pretty good idea of how that fight would go."

She gave him a stern look. "If you've already given up, then I need to tell Trivia she's fighting for nothing."

"If she's fighting, why don't you go help her?" he asked.

"As much as I would like to be burned to death in a futile display of camaraderie, I have my orders. I kept you alive. The rest is up to her, then it is up to you." Audubon took a drag from her cigarette. Her hand trembled. She looked away.

Ray got to his feet. "You're worried for her."

"Of course!" she snapped. "She's fighting that monster alone, and-"

"-we can't do anything to help. You went through this every time he went off to battle."

Audubon scowled. "You hope they return. One day, they do not. Very clever. You have pierced my rough façade and exposed my tender black heart."

"Can I hold your hand?" Ray asked.

"We need you alive for the moment," Audubon said. "But do you really think it wise to mock me?"

"I mean like with Roosevelt," Ray said. "You were shot in the arm. I want to be ready when she wins."

She gave him her hand.

--

"Come on, my truck can go faster than this," Byron said.

Karen was going around seventy-five. The truck flew down the two-lane country road, lined with memorial crosses, near where Byron had picked up Ray after his car was towed. Luckily, the road was in good shape. He kept sliding to the back of the truck bed, and if they hit a pothole he would probably bounce out.

"I can't get any more points on my license," Karen said. "Besides, Frazer isn't following us." She kept the truck steady as she passed the first aid kit through the rear window.

Begrudgingly, Byron admitted to himself that they were better off with her driving. He took the rescue shears from the kit and cut the zip-tie off his ankles. Now, how the hell was he going to get at the one on his wrists? Maybe he could flip the shears over and close them against his chest.

One. Two. Three. He tossed the shears up, adding a little back spin.

Something smashed into the truck, tearing metal and shattering glass. The tailgate crumpled. The truck fishtailed.

Byron slammed into one side of the truck bed, then the other. "Fuck!" he said; the shears had fallen overboard.

Karen counter-steered like a pro, preventing them from spinning out. "What'd we hit?" she asked.

"Nothing. Something hit us, so drive!"

"I better pull over-" Karen began to slow down.

The tailgate caved in in a U-shape. The rear suspension bottomed out, then bounced back, launching Byron into the air. Pain shot through his tail bone; he had bottomed out, too.

Karen screamed.

The truck shuddered beneath invisible blows. The divot in the tailgate grew larger. Byron scrambled away from it.

"Stop it!" Karen said.

To Byron's surprise, it worked. The attack ceased. But the truck stopped, too. The tailgate had lowered.

"Are you crazy?" Byron asked. "Why are we stopping?"

"I'm not!" Karen said.

The truck's engine roared, and white vapor spilled from all four tires. They were burning out.

"I hate your stupid truck!" Karen said.

The swirling vapor revealed a nasty-ass creature, like the love child of King Louie from the Jungle Book and a giant, mutant frog from outer space. Its eyes were on fire, it had messed-up tentacles poking out of its stomach, and it was totally jacked; so jacked that it was holding the truck in place by the tailgate, which Byron could kind of appreciate, being a die-hard Lou Ferrigno fan and all.

Byron was entirely sincere in his pacifism, but he had never had occasion to consider whether it applied to monsters, and this ugly fucker would have sent Buddha and St. Francis running for chainsaws. So, he yelled, "Get off my truck, dick!" and punted it in the face.

His boot caught fire, which really wasn't supposed to happen to firefighter gear. At least his foot wasn't burning.

The creature ripped the tailgate off its hinges and tried to bitch-slap him with it, but that allowed the truck to speed away.

Byron fell on his ass dodging the blow, and wedged his feet against the wheel wells so he didn't slide out of the back. He had no idea how his truck's transmission and suspension had survived that mess, but he would take it. He flipped the monster a double bird, which looked a little strange since his wrists were still zip-tied.

The creature charged after them, disappearing once it left the vapor from the burnout.

"What the hell is going on?" Karen asked.

"An invisible Battletoad is trying to kill us," Byron said. "I can see it, but I need something to smoke. There's a gallon bag of weed in my glove compartment."

"You really think this is the time?" Karen asked, momentarily trading panic for exasperation.

The tailgate bounced onto the road ahead of them; fortunately, the monster had overthrown. Karen swerved out of the way.

Byron gave her a little I-told-you-so head tilt.

She gave him the bag.

He tore it open and poured nugs onto his smoldering boot. Smoke trailed behind the truck. On impulse, he wafted some into his eyes.

"It's working!" Byron said. "I can see it!"

"What's it doing?" Karen asked.

Their pursuer barreled towards them on all fours. As it passed through the smoke, its gait slowed and grew erratic. It stopped in the middle of the road, snorted, and shook its head.

"I think it's getting high!" Byron said.

It coughed a cloud of smoke, and ropey spittle dripped from its maw, hissing when it fell onto the asphalt. It shook its head again, and pawed at its fiery eyes.

Byron laughed. "Hey lightweight! You need some Visine?"

The creature's eyes glowed more brightly, and the air shimmered. The truck sagged. Long, black marks appeared on the pavement behind it. The damn thing had heat ray vision, and it was melting their tires.

He shouted a warning to Karen.

A tire exploded, he wasn't sure which one. Somehow, Karen kept the truck under control again, until another tire exploded. The vehicle barrel-rolled, launching him out of the truck bed.

Time slowed. The truck made a lot of crunchy noises. Byron was pretty sure he was fucked, but he hoped Karen had been wearing her seatbelt. The air felt nice on his skin, and he had a bit of a buzz from all the marijuana smoke. It looked like he was going to land on one of the roadside crosses, right on a fresh bouquet. He wondered whether that was ironic; Ray would have known. He'd had a good run, anyway. The memorial could say: Here lies the Knight of the Green. At peace, he closed his eyes.

Comforting arms pressed him to a modest, but unmistakably womanly chest. Good; he had hoped there would be chicks in the afterlife. There had not been any pain, just the sensation of floating. It made sense, though; why would you make people in Heaven remember the moment of their death? Weird that it smelled like honeysuckle, though. He felt a jolt, like a rough elevator stop, but the heavenly arms absorbed the momentum.

"Knight of the Green," said a familiar voice.

Byron's cheeks flushed. Trivia was cradling him like a child, even though he had half a foot and at least seventy pounds on her. She was wearing a Greek or Roman helmet, but with a crescent on top instead of a Mohawk-looking thing. An oversized spear and a round, blue shield lay at her feet.

"Why are you wearing a costume?" Byron asked. But he knew the question was wrong from the look in her eye and the set of her jaw.

She set him down gently and took up her panoply. "You were brave," she said. "But this is my fight. Tend to your friend."

His truck was upside down on the shoulder, and nothing moved inside. It had rolled a long way. Cursing, he ran to Karen's aid without taking the time to warn Trivia about the monster. He had a feeling that she already knew.