Daniel stared at the woman, shrugging. “Now? Now we wait.”

Trading a quick, worried glance with Spike, Rarity said, “They’re already on their way, aren’t they?”

“Of course. I made a quick call when I realized who you two were. There’s no fighting your way out of this one.” He glanced over at Spike, then trailed down a hand to his thigh. Giving a smug smirk, he took a finger to the injury and rammed it into the hole. Spike howled, rising and reaching for his leg, only to have the scalpel rest once more easily against his neck. Tears brimmed at his eyes as he gazed, furiously, up at Daniel.

It was all Rarity could do not to rush forward, but she held steady, the only movement betraying her rage the clenching of her fist, her knuckles pale with the effort. The gun was just a few inches away, but those inches stood between her and Spike’s life, taunting. With a slow exhalation, she tried to calm down, but it was difficult. How could they get out of this one?

Planless, Rarity spat, dark and angry, “You’re a damned fool.”

“I’m a man who knows how to bet. Your bunch ain’t exactly on the winning side here.” He easily, almost lazily, shrugged. “I buddy up with some of the bigger names of the Queen and I’m set for life. You all are the fucking fools. Do you really think a prissy woman like you and this kid here have a chance?”

“And what chance do you really think you have!?” she snapped. “You actually believe there is anything at all you can do to keep you safe?” Her chest shook with a restrained, mocking laugh. “You know nothing, you selfish, worthless ass. And Elondrie help you when the coin drops!”

“If I were you, I’d watch your tone,” Daniel tersely replied. “Unless, of course, you just want me to cut his fucking throat!” he snapped, his eyes brief sparks of red-hot anger.

“Then kill me you son of a bitch!” Spike snapped, doing his best to ignore his once-again bleeding thigh, “She’ll blow your brains all over the fucking wall!”

“I think you’re lying to me. I see that look in her face when I—” He snapped forward, clenching his fist around the scalpel and striking Spike’s face, throwing the boy’s head to the side. Smirking, he grabbed Spike’s hair with his free hand and took the blade flush against his skin once more. “Do I need to prove my point farther?”

Ignoring his question—easier said than done as she stifled the butterflies in her stomach every time the knife touched skin—she replied, “So this is really it? Your grand master plan? Just stand here, like bored children, and wait for the adults to show? You haven’t thought this all the way through, have you?”

“It’s not like I needed much of a plan here. Cavalry's coming, and you’re in deep shit in short order.”

“And what happens to the others?”

“Well, aiding and abetting a criminal like you? I can’t imagine they’ll have much of a future…”

The door creaked open and Geoffrey poked his head in.

“I was just seeing how it was…” he paused, taking in the situation. Daniel looked away from Spike for one brief moment, moving towards the sound of the intruder instinctively.

That was all the moment Rarity needed. In the same span of time it took Daniel to realize his mistake and turn back, Rarity grabbed her gun, drew, aimed, and fired, not even giving thought to her fear of hitting Spike. There was no time. There would be no better chance.

Though she’d hoped to prove Spike’s threat true, her shot went low, catching him in the front shoulder. He twisted from the impact, looking now at his injury. Spike acted while he could, turning and grabbing hold of Daniel’s wrist. He twisted it, letting the instrument clatter to the ground before throwing his weight onto Daniel, bringing the man to his back on the ground. He thrashed under Spike’s diminutive weight. Before Spike could take action, Daniel flipped the boy over and in blind rage wrapped his powerful hands around Spike’s neck, squeezing him with everything he had.

Spike curled up his legs and kicked up, not fully knocking Daniel off, but enough for the boy to scoot back, clutching his redding neck and gasping for air. He went flush against a counter just as Daniel rose. He charged for the boy, only to be tackled from the side by Geoffrey, whose frail form punched Daniel against the chair Spike was in moments ago, then pinned him against the ground.

“Help me out here!” he called to Rarity and Spike.

Rarity moved quickly, making up for her indecision, not wanting to make things worse as Spike struggled with the traitor. “Move!” she yelled, gesturing with the gun for Geoffrey to get out of the way. But Daniel, recovering his senses, gave a cry and slammed his fist into the side of the old man’s head, making him go limp with a sickening thud.
Shoving the disabled Father away, he said, “You fucking stupid old man, move!” He raised his hand to finish Geoffrey off, but, as he tried to get to his feet for a better strike, he came face to face with the steady aim of Rarity’s weapon.

“Stop, or I won’t,” she said simply.

He bared a humorless grin. “You think I’m scared of your gun? No. One shot, and it’s over. Provided you think you’re fast enough to hit me.”

“Oh, no,” Rarity said with malice, “it won’t be so easy. You know, Daniel. In our little escapades, I’ve learned quite a lot about the fine art of precision shooting. Surprisingly, being a first class tailor really helps you understand the finer details in handling a firearm. The little things that come to play.” A cold grin split her face, her tone turning casual, bored. “Like exactly how many times and exactly where a person can take small arms fire before they bleed out, for example.” She let out a faux gasp of surprise, adding, “And I nearly forgot the first rule: Never bring a knife to a gunfight.” Suddenly, she cried out, “Pow!”, raising the gun as if she had fired it.

He jumped, crying out, a slight discoloration of the carpet below showing he had pissed himself. But he fixed his composure, save his soiled pants, and curled his hands up into tight fists as he stared up at her, scowling. “Bitch,” Daniel hissed. “You think this’ll change anything? Or are you forgetting the group coming for you?”

Spike stood, wincing as he rubbed his tender neck. “If you’re an indication of what they have in store for us, I’m not scared and Rarity sure isn’t.”

“We’ve been in tougher scrapes,” she agreed, keeping an eye on Daniel as she stepped towards the priest. “Are you alright, Spike?” she asked as she made a cursory examination of the old man’s wound. It wasn’t bleeding, but she was unsure if the blow had been hard to enough to give him a concussion. At least he seemed to be breathing, though he didn’t respond to her touch as she tried to rouse him.

“I’m alive, just a little tender. What else is new?” he dryly remarked. “You?”

“Don’t worry about me, dear. I’m just fine.” Satisfied the Father was as well as he could be at the moment, she began looking for something to tie Daniel’s hands with. After digging through a few of the drawers, she found a roll of surgical tubing and quickly spooled out a length, handing Spike the gun and cutting it with the scalpel. As she approached, Daniel began squirming. “Hold still!” she said, giving him a hard whallop to emphasize her point. “Or I can just have Spike shoot you—take it or leave it.”

Letting out a tsk of irritation, he became still as Rarity went to work, wrapping his wrists over and over with the tubing.

“Don’t forget his legs,” Spike cautioned.

“Yes, thank you, Spike,” she replied, distracted. “Well, that’s taken care of—well, almost.” With careful and measured strength, she slammed the butt of the pistol against Daniel’s head, knocking him cold. “Now then, we can have a little privacy. Because, frankly, Spike, what in Elondrie’s name are we going to do now?”

“I…” He swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment and letting out a shuddering breath, his body obviously protesting the diet of adrenaline he had been feeding it since yesterday. Sinking to the ground, he tilted his head back. “Give me just a sec to think. Please, Rarity.”

“Fine, Spike, fine.” Leaving him to it, she went back to the Father, gently pushing at his shoulder. “Father Geoffrey, come on, wake up… Things are about to get… difficult.”

It took a few moments, but he finally arose with a slow, moaning groan. He reached up, touching his temple.

“What…?” he questioned.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Rarity said, letting out a nervous breath. “Are you alright, Father? How is your head? Can you see clearly?”

He blinked a few times, looking around. “I’m alright, for an old man with a bad back.”

“I’m not sure what I can do,” she said, looking at the supplies around them. “And I’m not sure how much time we have. We need to gather everyone in the safest, most defensible place possible. Now.”

“The front,” Spike said, glancing at her like he was waking from a dream. “We make our stand in the foyer.”

“What makes you say that?” Rarity asked, though she didn’t doubt the choice.

“Simple. Two entry points at most. The front door, and the rear, provided they attempt to ambush us. The windows can be fortified, and we’ll have reasonable cover from the bullets due to the pews. I doubt they’ll have anything like tear gas on them, so even if we left the windows only partially blocked off, we’ll be safe as long as we’re not stupid. The worst they can do to us at this point is try to wait us out and frankly…” He smirked. “The longer they wait, the more likely I’ll think of something to really make their day.”

Nodding, Rarity asked the Father, “It’s probably pointless to ask, but you wouldn’t happen to have any weapons tucked away for a rainy day, would you?”

He nodded. “We do have some pistols. Mainly relics from the days we were under the threat of bandits, but they should be in working order. Although, I’m not sure how we are in terms of ammunition.”

“Check, and get the rest of your group, Geoffrey,” Spike ordered. “Rarity and I will start getting what we can ready in the foyer.”
Going back over to the medical bag, Rarity dug for a moment before tossing a bottle over to the priest. “Take one of those before you go, Father,” she explained. “They should help with the pain without disorienting you.”

Geoffrey nodded, taking a pill and dry swallowing it. “I’ll gather everyone to you as quickly as I can,” he said, running out the door and taking a right down the hallway.

Spike rose, putting weight on his injured leg. He gasped and clutched at the wound, before gesturing to Rarity. “Gonna need your shoulder again. Sorry.”

Sliding under his arm, she pushed a bottle onto him. “Here, you know it’s perfectly fine. This is a bit stronger medication. It might make you a little… unfocused. But it won’t be any worse a distraction than the pain would.” Moving over to the table, she decided to take the bag with them. “We’ll probably need this. Ready to go?”

He took the bottle gratefully, unscrewing it with one hand and shaking a couple of pills into his mouth. “Yeah,” he agreed. “As ready as we’ll ever be.”

Geoffrey came just a bit after Spike and Rarity migrated to the foyer. Behind him stood four men and a woman, all dressed in the simple designs of priests. Some looked scared, others showing a nervous preparedness. They all glanced at Rarity and Spike, but said nothing and kept to themselves.

“I’ve found a few weapons,” he said, reaching into the pockets at his sides and presenting four handguns—three semiautomatics and a snub-nosed revolver. “With that rifle you have, that still leaves two of us unarmed.”

Having already expected as much, Spike suggested, “Then they just need to hole up for a bit. Keep safe.”
Nodding, the Father went over to his charges. “Julie, Trevor,” Geoffrey said, “hide behind the pews. Don’t look around, don’t move.”

One of the men, rather, one of the boys shook his head. “But—”

“No buts. You two are our youngest—stay safe.”

With a grumbling acceptance, they did as they were told, going to a nearby pew and crouching at the foot of it.

“Ammo?” Spike questioned.

“Just a few bullets in a dusty old box for the revolver. And five clips between the others. They’re the same make and model, so
it’s just a question of distributing it.”

The young man nodded. “Alright.” He gestured to the pews closest to the door. “Send the person with the revolver to the left, another to the right with no spare clips. Hide until the first wave pass by, then catch them in the crossfire. Back row’ll cover fire when you’re dry, so you can fall back to us. Geoffery, stay about midrange. Keep your eyes on the back. If they flank us, it’s over.”
Spike nodded. “I’ll be in the middle with one of the handguns. I’d prefer a few clips, as I’m not sure how well I could withdraw with my leg acting up like it is. When I’m parked, odds are I’m going to be parked for a while.”

“I’ll take the back,” Rarity offered. “I’m likely the best shot here, so the distance will hamper me the least. Plus I can watch Geoffery from there if I need to turn my attention to the back door.”

“Exactly what I was planning. Hide behind the pulpit until I give the signal,” Spike agreed. “You’re the only one I trust with the rifle, at that, so it only makes sense I keep you at a distance.”

Looking around at the relatively spartan room, the tailor did notice the occasional low table, topped with a somewhat tarnished silver bowl. She pointed to the nearest, asking, “Can we move those? Blockade one of the doors, perhaps?”

“Let’s do that,” Spike agreed.

“You heard her, go on,” the older man instructed. “Is there anything else we should try?”

“If I wasn’t so nervous about it spreading, a molotov would be fantastic,” Spike commented. “But if you trust fire, odds are you’re going to get burned.”

Geoffrey stared flatly at him, while Rarity put a palm to her face. Spike shrugged.

“I thought it was pretty good.”

“Let’s just get ready, Spike. As history-making as a last stand amongst priests in a national landmark most assuredly is, I’d really prefer to make it elsewhere.”

“Of course,” he agreed, then quickly spun a circle in the air with a finger. “Everyone in position. With a bit of luck, we’ll make it through this.”

It was only about five minutes after they got into position that one of the men up front put a finger to his lips, letting out a loud, “Shush!” Everyone grew dead silent and listened. Barely, just barely, they could hear a subtle crunch of snow outside, going at a rhythmic pace.

Spike checked, then double checked his gun, mentally going through a list of what else he could do. Not much, he realized as he spared a glance at everyone, gesturing for them to get down. He spared a look over to Rarity as his hands tightened on the gun, a silent, desperate plea for her to stay safe. The woman herself had already said her silent wishes for Spike’s own safety. Instead, she busied herself making sure the rifle was clear and loaded, and that her spare ammunition was in place.

Satisfied, she sighted down the hall, judging as best she could where a man’s head level likely was. Every shot she had had to count. Efficiency was the first rule of the game, and the game was survival.

Peeking out, Spike watched as the door handle was gently turned and slowly, carefully opened. A group of ten men began to file in methodically, scanning over every area as they approached; two took guard by the door, with the rest checking the pews as they advanced forward. Cursing under his breath that he should’ve known better, Spike realized that the two men closest to the assailants would need something, otherwise they were going to be done for the instant their pews crept into the soldier's line of sight.

No time to think smart.

Sucking in a breath and screaming more than one expletive in his head, he rose, twisting and pointing his gun in one motion, then firing, barely missing his targets. He dropped to the ground, swearing as he heard the soldier's excited, yet strangely off calls of alarm as they zoomed in on where he was, their guns at the ready and their feet running towards him just as fast.

"Now!” he cried, just as the first shots rang out from the Tyrant’s minions.

From the front of the church, the two men rose, pulling their triggers desperately. Bullets rained into the soldier’s backs, tearing through them, dropping them like flies. The two guards at the door, however, snapped to attention, launching shots into the man with the revolver, turning his neck into a red mist as he dropped down, dead instantly.

Having added her own shots to the point men, Rarity turned to one of the murderous guards, catching his arm before he could switch his aim to the remaining priest. He dropped the weapon, his blood following to scatter on the floorstones. Before he even knew what was happening, Rarity had taken her aim and sent another bullet to slam him hard in the chest, throwing him back against the wall, where he slid down to an unmoving slump.

The wide room with its solid walls filled with noise, of gunfire and shattering stone, broken by the cry of the desperate and inexperienced. Bullets flew from both sides as Spike and the others laid down cover for the remaining young priest to scurry between the pillars and the wall in a frantic retreat before he joined his unfortunate fellow. The soldiers themselves were reorganizing, taking cover before finding targets, making up their surprise at the sudden assault. Quickly it was no longer they who were suppressed, but the defenders finding themselves pushed to cover again and again.

“Fall back!” Spike shouted to the retreating priest, who had stopped to fire at his attackers. He gave a panicked nod, moving at a half crouch back towards the rest of the group as Spike fired himself, squeezing off a few desperate rounds. Taking notice, as much as she hated it, Rarity decided he made too good of bait to go to waste. As the young man continued his occasional retreat—stopping when the cracks of stone came too near him—she waited. Watching where she last saw one of the soldiers duck, looking for just the right moment.

A second later rewarded her with a clear shot as the soldier rose, leveling his own rifle. She pulled the trigger but swore viciously when impacts exploded near her own hiding place. Ducking back, again she cursed the luck; the soldier’s helmet had done its job, bouncing the bullet away. His head would swim for a moment or two, but he was still a clear threat for the moment.
Spike made a mental count of the bullets he had shot. He only had a couple more in the magazine. Deciding it’d be for the best to be prepared, he gave up on the clip, unloading it and putting a fresh one in instead. He then leaned to the side, craning over his cover to fire another three rounds. This time he was rewarded; one of the soldiers fell like a sack of potatoes amidst a rupture of blood pouring from a kidney shot.

Spike knew he should be disgusted by the sight, but he couldn’t help the triumphant yell pass by.

“More where that came from, you fucks!” he roared, emboldened by his lucky shot. He rose higher to get a better sight on the remaining guards.

From behind them, a heavy crunch of wood came from the barricaded door. Between the noise and the Father’s expression of alarmed fear, Rarity turned immediately, firing quickly at the rear entrance. One of her shots rang true, as she heard a pained yelp come from the door, before the damn thing splintered from one heavy blast from what Rarity guessed was a shotgun.

“Damn—we’re in trouble, Spike!” she yelled, ducking under the pew as shot tore through the aged wood.

“Tell me something I don’t know!” he called out, glancing to the front, where a palm-sized object flew inside.

Spike’s eyes widened. “Flashbang!” he cried out, turning to the side and covering his eyes with the front of his elbow just as a brilliant flash of light assaulted his senses and defend his ears. He took a chance, turning to the guards in back, who had only partially avoided the effects of the explosion, and squeezed off a few more bullets their way, blowing out a knee, then punching through a man’s stomach. As he lay on the ground, whimpering, Spike continued firing at the door, giving the group at least a few precious seconds to recover from the disorientation.

One of the members of the church rose, obviously suffering the worst from the flashbang, as blood ran down his earlobes from his ruptured drums. He took a few desperate shots from his pistol at the men up front, dropping one with a chestshot before being obliterated by multiple rifle rounds.

For her part, Rarity had tried to take out the soldiers as they bottlenecked in the door. But after two more kills, the next—a massive man, carrying the shotgun she suspected they took the door out with—grabbed his fallen comrade and used his body as a shield to push through. It gave them cover for no more than a few seconds, but it was enough—every time she raised, shots rang around her, forcing her back down before she could even fire blind.

“Spike, we need something now!”

“I know, I know!” he called out, loading one more clip desperately into his gun. “But what could—”

As if divine intervention happened, Father Geoffrey rose fully erect, exposed completely to the soldiers and his voice booming loudly over the firing of his pistol.

“Then witness, O thou who dare desecrate this building, who dare mock the harbingers of truth! Lament, for the wrath of Elondrie shall tear thine world asunder!” he roared, firing in a blind rage at the man holding the body protectively in front of him, and ignoring the bullets splintering the pews he stood above with an almost suicidal zeal. “Though thousands of arrows may pierce my breast, and sores weep upon my skin, I care not! For thou art my salve to every wound! My tonic to every sickness! My ambrosia to every thirst!”

“Rarity! Now!” Spike cried out, facing the front and firing upon the soldiers while they were distracted with Geoffrey's furious, frothing rage. Rarity wasted no time in adding her own furious assault.

A bullet pierced Geoffrey’s shoulder, then another at his arm, yet he still stood, a mountain made of indignation as he finally managed a lucky shot, piercing through a weak point in the corpse’s throat, and penetrating the shotgunner’s chest. With that done, Geoffrey’s near otherworldly conviction faded; he dropped to his knees, groaning and clutching at his wounded shoulder.

Though his charge had given Spike and Rarity the chance to even the odds, three more soldiers came through the door, pushing aside their dead and dying fellows. All three turned their weapons to the priest, his prone form an easy target. The old man was saved as the tailor moved quickly to his side, having run out of ammo for the rifle. She tossed the gun, making two of the soldiers jerk away, their shots ineffectually finding the far wall. Adrenaline pumping through her, her heart pounding in her ears, Rarity reached for the Father’s fallen weapon, praying she would be fast enough, praying it would not be empty.

Her fingers wrapped the grip, and she brought it to bear. But she was already too late. Her vision focused on the gun barrel, aimed right at her, and she knew that their luck had run out.

A shot rang out and threw the man’s head to the side, toppling him over unceremoniously to the ground. Spike exhaled as he took aim at another man and squeezed the trigger again. He was down to his last clip, so every round had to count at this point. “Rarity!” he barked. “Be careful!”

Right, she thought, swinging the pistol to the last guard and finding it thankfully still loaded. Three shots rang out, and he fell, blood pooling around his shattered helmet. She threw the gun away, grabbed the priest by his good arm, and drug him to the closest cover, behind the pulpit. Pulling out the medical bag, she found some gauze and wrapped his wounded shoulder as quickly as she could. “Hang in there, Father! It’s not over yet!”

“He’ll be fine for a few,” Spike commanded firing another shot from his pistol, “help me fight ‘em off!” Squeezing another round, he heard a click. Out? he thought, panicked. Now?!

Tying off the quick bandage, she cried back, “But I don’t have anymo—” She stopped, her eyes catching sight of a gunstock, sticking out from under one of the fallen soldiers. Taking to a crouch, she pushed herself out, removing the weapon with an effort from the corpse’s weight. When she had it free, she cried out, “Everyone, get down!”

Spike reacted instantly to her command, dropping to the ground and swearing under his breath as he put pressure on his leg. He covered his head and braced for impact.

Seeing their prey fall, the remaining attackers charged, desperate to finish the job. But when Rarity stood, even through their training, they paused in shock. With a loud yell, she began unloading the shotgun—the same one the guards in the back had used to bust through the door—as quickly as she could. Thunder filled the chamber as shot roared through the air, tearing into stone pillar, wooden pew, and armored soldier alike.

As she fired, she advanced. The soldiers retreated, but the room’s design left them little cover beyond the pews. Some stopped, taking cover, only to find the approaching Rarity bearing down on them seconds later. Though some lucked out and Rarity felt the burn as a bullet tugged at her thigh and one grazed her shoulder, they fell, one by one, before the weapon in her hands.

Soon, the room fell silent, the only sound the single shell that landed on the ground as Rarity cocked the shotgun once more. Seconds turned to minutes, and still no sound, nor movement from outside came. Spike weakly rose, his hair disheveled and his eyes wild.

“We… we did it?” he asked, unsure of the answer.

Letting out a long, slow sigh, Rarity let the gun clatter to the floor as she slumped in weariness, the drain of her adrenaline rush fading making the pain of her injuries and the weight of her recent fear come crashing in all at once. “Yes, Spike. We did it, again. Some how.”

He weakly rose and limped towards her. Without pause, he wrapped her tightly in a hug.

“Thank God.” He sank down in relief, letting out a breath of air. “Before we step out, we’ll look for signs of snipers, or maybe some type of trap. But I-I think that was all of them. You were amazing.”

After a few minutes Geoffrey let out a groan and came to a knee, clutching his shoulder. “We owe you two a great deal of thanks,” he stated. “We would have died for sure if you hadn’t aided my flock.”

Looking at the carnage around, Rarity said, bitter and a little angry, “No one would be dead if we hadn’t shown up, Father.” She rubbed at her eyes. “I’m so sorry…”

“It wasn’t your fault, my child,” he replied. “Any blame belongs to Daniel, the lying snake—damn his eyes.” He crossed his arms, doing his best to ignore his injuries. “I’ll see to it that they get a burial.”

Spike looked at Geoffrey evenly. “Father. If there’s anything we can do for you…”

He cocked his head at Rarity. “Yeah. Get her patched up. I’ll have Julia and Trevor help me bury the bodies and perform last rites.”

Moving over to give the priest a tight embrace, Rarity said, “We should stay and help with that. You’ve all done so much, given too much. But who knows when they’ll be after us again?” Letting him go, she gestured again to the nearest body. “I’m sure somebody is awaiting a report of our successful capture.”

“Which is why I plan on leaving here with my congregation,” Geoffrey replied. “I have no doubts they’ll be back, and this time, I’m sure they won’t hesitate to bring out the big guns.”

“Probably for the best,” Rarity said quietly. “Perhaps… Perhaps when this is all over, you can return here. I know what the place must mean to you, after all.”

“Meant a lot to me, to my son, to just about everyone that came here,” he replied, sighing. “But, you’re right. One day we’ll be back to pick up the pieces. You guys just keep doing your part and tell Drake to give ‘em hell.”

Somewhat reluctant, Rarity said, “Speaking of, Father… You recall the reason we came here in the first place, yes? The information you had for us?”

He nodded. “The information I still have. A blueprint for a potent weapon that could change the tides of battle.”

“I hate to cut and run,” Spike said, “but if you could find that for us…?”

“Of course. I kept the schematics in my room. Allow me a moment.”

Grimacing, he stepped over the bodies of the slain soldiers and left. He returned a moment later with a USB drive, and a set of schematics on a lined paper.

“Physical and data backup,” he stated. Spike took them and opened the blueprints, unfolding the design and narrowing his brow in thought.

“What is it, Spike?”

“I’m smart on computers, not engineering,” he replied back, his tongue stuck out a bit from thought. “I think it’s something similar to an electromagnetic generator of some kind. Uh, maybe. I can see an electric conduit, at least.”

“That’s part of it,” Geoffery agreed. “I don’t understand much of it either, but Sam—God rest his soul—Sam was an engineer at one point in his life, and he said with the right calibrations, that creation could topple buildings or ships with one good shot.”

“Well, Twila might be able to make some sense of it, or know someone who can,” offered Rarity.

“She’s the smartest woman I know. I’m sure she’ll think of something,” Spike agreed.

“We can’t thank you enough, Father,” Rarity said, hugging the old man again. She kissed his cheek, saying, “Stay safe, OK? I want to come back here and hear more about the place from you, after the fighting is over.”

“You do the same.” He looked over at Spike. “You take care of this lady, understand?”

“With my life,” he agreed.

“Oh, you two.” Rarity turned, hiding the blush in her cheeks. Then a thought occurred to her. “Oh! How are we going to get back? I’m not exactly keen on walking through the snowy wilderness again.”

“From now on, it’s the beaches for me,” Spike agreed.

Geoffery nodded. “I have a van not terribly far from here. I want you two to take it.”

“Good, I’ll drive,” Rarity said, adding, “Oh, and we should probably arm ourselves before we go. Better safe than sorry. Again, thank you so much, Father.”

“Be safe, and send my regards to Drake.”

“Duly noted,” Spike agreed with a small wave, limping towards the front door.