"Theatrics, or histrionics?" I asked with a smirk.

"I'm sure I don't know," Mr. Philips said, nonplussed. "My employer is a man of considerable power as well as compassion. I'm sure a few moments of your time could not be so hard to share."

"Tell your boss," I began, but a shadow fell across my heart then. A touch on my arm sent a chill running down the back of my neck, down my spine, and into the soles of my feet.

"It's quite all right," Frederick said at my left ear. "I appreciate Mr. Philips's civility and candor, but I'm capable of speaking to a pretty young woman without his assistance."

Mr. Philips bowed, literally bowed at the waist, and stepped away from us before turning on his heel and walking around the office and out of sight.

For a moment, I saw myself following him, running after him, no less. Anything to avoid that hand on my arm.

"My dear," he said, his voice warm and moist on my ear. "I so rarely want something as badly as I want . . ." He paused, sliding his hand up my arm to my bicep. "My, but you are a strong one," he said, squeezing my arm.

I spun around then, fed up with his games. "Don't you ever fucking touch me again," I said, pushing him by the shoulder. He stumbled back a step and anger flashed on his face. "You're scum of the worst sort," I shouted.

Carl pushed past JJ and stumbled out of the office, sputtering. "Now, hang on a minute," he said.

"See," JJ said, hot on his heels. "She's a psycho."

I didn't even glance at them, they were so inconsequential at that moment. All I could see was that feral look on Sawyer's face.

"You are a bottom-feeder," I said, feeling my courage surge upward. "You prey on the weak and the fearful. And I for one do not believe your pandering, simpering act for a moment."

"Sarah," Carl bellowed. "That will be quite enough."

"No one touches me without my permission, Carl. I don't care how much money he throws at you."

Carl stopped next to Frederick, his mouth hanging open, like he'd never seen me before.

"And," I said to Sawyer, "if you lay a hand on me again, I'll give it back to you in a box."

Before Carl could react, before JJ could add his stupid retort, and before Frederick could twist that feral grin onto his face again, I pushed past them and stormed out of the studio.

All hell broke loose behind me, but I kept on walking, the clip-clop of my boots echoing down the corridor. I slammed the fire door open and stood aside as it ricocheted back to close with a bang.

The night was clear. Stars winked down from the heavens. I leaned back against the brick building and let my breath settle for a moment. But only a moment.

I wanted to be well away from the studio before any of them thought to come after me-away from the yelling and threatening. Just to be gone before I learned who the real monsters were.

Twenty-three.

I TOSSED AND TURNED THE REST OF THE NIGHT. AT FIRST I had a nightmare about a giant man-eating pink bunny.

This triggered a trip to the bathroom, a glass of water, and a quick pace of my apartment. It was a short trip. I only had the one bedroom and a living room/kitchen combo.

Once I'd slipped back to sleepland, I spent some quality time running from my family and friends as they took turns being horrified about who I'd become, or laughed at me for being such a prat.

When the weak sunlight began to slip between the blinds I knew I was done, but I fought it. The garbage truck backing up to get our Dumpster was the clincher. The incessant beeping, followed by a floor-rattling crash as the idiot operator slammed the now empty metal box down onto the parking lot, insured I wouldn't sleep again, maybe for days.

I arrived at the smithy early, wearing my sunglasses and drinking a triple espresso mocha latte. Nothing like caffeine and sugar to kick-start your day.

I slipped Gram in the safe with my other swords, just to keep her secure for the time being.

I spent the morning making shoes to replace the ones we used over at the Circle Q. Julie quizzed me on the different techniques I was using to temper the steel, and I left out the blood of my enemy. I didn't figure she'd find that an acceptable business model.

After I finished the shoes, she had me work on making a chain. Chains are delicate work and force you to use much more control than I used on a shoe, or one of the swords. Not that I was wild with the hammer or anything, but one of the key things she always told me was to learn to feel the metal, understand the weaknesses and strengths in every piece, every blow. She was very Zen about the whole endeavor.

She let me place the order for another ton of coal, and check if we needed more propane out in the big tank by her house. By buying gas for her place and the smithy at the same time, she got a better deal, and they split the bill for tax purposes.

I filled out several forms, made three phone calls, and was balancing a pencil on my upper lip while leaning back as far as I could go in her ergo-enriched office chair. I would have had the new record, too, if she hadn't dropped an envelope on my head.

Some teachers . . .

"What's this?" I asked, sliding out of the chair, grabbing up the pencil, and sliding over to the door so she could sit down.

"How am I supposed to know?" she said, picking up my order forms. "Most people would either look at the address, or open it."

But of course. I looked at the envelope, and there was no address, no stamps or other postal marks. Just my name, Ms. Sarah Beauhall, in thick black script.

"No address."

"Noticed that," Julie said with a smile. "Delivered by courier."

I tapped the envelope against my forehead and looked at her. "Pretty odd, don't you think?"

She initialed my order forms and set them in the to-be-filed pile on the corner of her desk.

"Oh, fine," I said, sliding my little finger under the envelope flap and ripping it upward.

She didn't even turn. Just tapped on the keyboard of her laptop and began entering records into her accounting program.

I peeked inside, then tilted the envelope on top of her desk.

Julie glanced over as three pieces of paper slid out: a bill of sale made out between Frederick Sawyer and Sarah Beauhall, a smaller envelope, and a check for fifty thousand dollars.

Heat flushed across my chest, a brushfire of anger. "That son of a bitch."

"Jesus, Sarah. This is a lot of money," Julie said, holding up the check.

I picked up the bill of sale. "He wants the sword."

"Is that all?" she said, looking at me over her shoulder. "One sword. That's a lot of scratch for a hunk of metal."

"Not just any hunk of metal," I said. This was beyond slimy.

"What's in the other envelope?"

I opened it and pulled out a letter.

Dear Ms. Beauhall, In the off chance the cashier's check isn't enough incentive, I can sweeten the pot with a recent acquisition.

Give me the sword, of your own volition, and I will add in my stake in Flight Test, Ltd.

In case you are wondering, I have already acquired several hundred thousand dollars of debt incurred by Mr. Tuttle. These would, of course, be a further stake you could have in this little movie venture.

Please consider these options. Mr. Philips would assist in having the documents notarized and filed with the proper authorities. I assure you, this letter is contractually binding.

Yours, Frederick Sawyer I handed the letter to Julie and walked out into the shop. I fired up the propane and began heating a longsword form I kept on hand. I let the metal get white-hot before I started hitting it for all I was worth. Fire, strike, turn. Repeat.

The reverberation of the hammer on the steel felt good. Each jolt pushing aside the anger and the fear. Nothing was as it seemed with this man. Any offer this good had to be a lie. What was so important about this sword?

Of course, hadn't Rolph already explained it all? But if I believed that Rolph was a dwarf, and Sawyer a dragon . . . If this sword was Gram, really a magic sword . . . what I needed was not a big fat payday. I needed a rubber room.

Julie came out of her office with the papers in her hands and watched me. I hammered and hammered, fired and turned.

Finally, I stuck the metal into the rain barrel we kept to cool shoes, and the roughly hewn blade split with a loud, echoing pop and a cloud of steam.

"Nice," she said. "Ruined it."

I turned, dropped the broken hunk of metal into the waste bucket we kept by the anvil, and placed the tongs and hammer on the table. Then I took off my gloves and laid them on top of the tools.

"I can't take it," I said, leaning against the table. "It's too good to be true."

"Sarah," Julie said, stepping to the back of the workbench. "This is a cashier's check. You can cash it with no contractual obligation."

I laughed. "Of course, but you and I both know I won't. Sawyer could, I would bet my life on it, but I can't."

"Dishonest?" she asked.

"Dishonorable."

She pulled the papers through two fingers until she hit the corner, then she turned them and began sliding them through her fingers again. She repeated this at each corner, watching me, her face a mask.

"It's just a sword," she said. "You could buy a house, or start your own smithy."

There were many things I could do. Hell, just not having to worry about money every single week would be a blessing. But at what cost to my soul? Never bargain with the devil, my da would say. No matter how good the terms.

"I'm not ready for my own smithy," I said, pointing at the waste bucket.

"True," she said with a smile. "But it would make a lovely nest egg for when that day comes."

Tempting . . . very, very tempting. But wasn't that the point?

"He's a predator, Julie. Flatter and take, obfuscate and pander."

She shrugged. "He's a businessman, a little less ethical than you prefer, but the offer sounds like everything you've dreamed of." She walked around the side of the workbench and stopped at my side. "Sarah, this is a lot of money."

"Yes, you've said that."

She nodded. "So, what is the problem, exactly?"

How did I explain this to her? She couldn't feel the fear, or sense the danger just by me telling her. This was at the animal level, the crocodile brain. This man would kill me if I stood in his way, or likely do some other dark and purely undesirable things to me beforehand.

"I have to trust my gut, ya know?"

She watched me, waiting.

"He's a scumbag. In my heart of hearts I think he tortures puppies and worse."

She raised her eyebrows. "Puppies?"

I shrugged. "That's all I got."

The silence stretched between us, neither moved, until we heard tires crunching into the gravel drive. She placed the papers on the bench beside me and patted them. "Sleep on it," she said. "Don't do anything rash."

I scooped up the papers and jogged them into alignment. "Okay."

She walked out to greet the customer, and I put everything back into the envelope and tucked it into my messenger bag. I'd think about it overnight, sure, but I highly doubted my opinions of the man would change in that time. I started to sweep the shop when Julie came in with one of the hands from Circle Q. It was Jack Marlowe.

"One of their horses has a limp," Julie said, coming into the shop. "Jack here was out picking up some supplies for the ranch, and asked if I could come out and take a look."

"One of the ones we worked on yesterday?" I asked.

"No, ma'am," Jack said. His voice was more tenor than bass, but it had a sweet drawl, more Okie than Texan.

"Good," I said, relieved to have the distraction. "I'll get our gear into the truck."

"No need," Julie said, giving me the strangest look. I think she actually crossed her eyes at one point, trying to get me to get with the program.

"Oh . . . okay," I said, catching on, finally. "I'll woman the fort, as it were."

"Don't mean to impose," Jack said. "It's just, well . . ." He pushed his hat back and rubbed his forehead. "Mrs. Campbell is a mite upset about this one. Blue Thunder is one of her prized high-steppers."

"I'll just get a few things and follow you in my truck," Julie said to Jack.

"All right," he drawled. "Anything I can fetch for ya?"

Julie almost giggled. I could see it in her face. She knew it too, and turned it into a cough. "No," she said, patting her chest and coughing again. "I'll only be a minute. Why don't you head over to the grange and get what you need. I can meet you and follow from there."

"Sounds good," he said, tipping his hat in my direction. "Afternoon, miss." Then he turned to Julie and smiled a whole faceful of teeth. "I'll see you over there."

Julie didn't move. Hell, I'm not sure she breathed until we heard the pop-pop of his tires on the gravel. When she let out her breath she giggled a little twitter and turned away from me.