Ex-Communication by Peter Clines (love story books to read .txt) 📕

get moving. There wasn’t any scabbard or anything in the box, so she hiked up her coat and slid the sword through her belt. It was a little awkward, but she was pretty sure she’d be able to ride a bike with it.

Grandpa and his tall friend ignored her and kept trying to walk through the garage door. The female ex stood in the middle of the driveway as if lost in thought. There was a stringy piece of something caught in her teeth and it flapped up and down as her jaw moved.

Madelyn swung her leg over the bike and edged the kickstand up with her foot. As an afterthought, she reached out and tugged the gate closed. The exes twitched when the latch connected, but none of them made a move toward her. She guided the bike past the dead woman and back down to the street.

She peeled the tape off her sleeve and took another look at the Thomas Guide pages. Just over three hours until Max’s deadline. A lot of the trip into the Valley had been uphill. Hopefully the way back would be faster.

“ARE YOU SURE this is the best way to go, sir?” asked Freedom.

“This is where Josh got away,” said St. George. He gestured at the railing, then nodded across the street to the blood-splattered SUV the prisoner had been shot against.

“That’s not quite what I meant.” The huge captain glanced out at the street. “There’ve been no sightings of Cairax from the south.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Max. He’d pushed up the sleeves of his suit and unbuttoned his shirt to display more of his tattoos. “Like I said, he’s all around the Mount. He saw Josh leave. He’ll see us leave.”

“How can he be all around the Mount at the same time?” said one of the guards.

“Bilocation,” Max said. He shook out his hands while he talked, letting his fingers bounce and snap at the edges of his palm. “It’s not just for saints. A lot of the higher and lower entities can manifest that way.”

The guard’s lips twisted into a frown. “What’s that mean?”

“It means he can be all around the Mount at the same time.”

St. George shifted his hips again. He was used to carrying various pouches and pieces of gear on his belt, but the sword was something different. It swung like a lopsided pendulum and pulled at his waist. Even with his strength, it felt odd.

The weapon they’d settled on had come from one of the old prop houses. Ilya had found it in a barrel with two or three dozen others and—after Max’s halfhearted approval was given—spent an hour putting an edge on the safety-dulled blade. It looked like a classic knight’s sword, with a square crossbar for a guard and wire wrapped tight around the hilt. The pommel was a big wheel of metal with a large ruby in it, although St. George was pretty sure the gemstone was cut glass at best.

It looked like a real sword when he held it in a shaft of sunlight. It felt like a real sword. Hopefully that would be enough.

Stealth stood off to the side. Her cloak had settled around her, and she’d let her hood sink over her head. She said nothing as they made the final preparations.

Max finished his hand exercises and looked at the cloaked woman. “Look,” he said to her, “I know you’re not going to like this, but if something happens … well, don’t come after us. No matter what you hear or see, don’t come out.”

Stealth stiffened beneath her cloak. St. George was sure he was the only one who caught it. “Why not?” she asked.

“We’re either going to stop Cairax or not. If we do, you’ve got no reason to go out past the wards. If we don’t, well …” Max shrugged again. “The walls and wards will give everyone a small degree of protection. Not much, but use them as long as you can.”

Stealth glared at him for a moment. Then she nodded once in assent.

The sorcerer turned to St. George. “How do the runes feel?”

“They itch,” said the hero. Max had painted a series of symbols across St. George’s back and chest with a fat brush he’d found in one of the scenery shops. He hadn’t used regular paint. It was something oily that just smelled wrong. He’d mixed it up while the two heroes had talked with Dr. Connolly. “It feels like a peeling sunburn.”

“Good,” said Max. “That means they’re working. Should give you an hour or two if we’re lucky.” He looked up at the sky. “We should get going. We’ve got half an hour or so until sundown. Maybe an hour till full dark.”

St. George nodded. He exchanged a solemn look with Freedom, then turned to Stealth. He had a sinking feeling this was the last time he was going to see her, and she had her mask on.

“I’ll be back soon,” he told her.

Her head dipped ever so slightly inside her hood. “I am certain you will.”

He waited a moment, wondering if she was going to crack and hug him or something. He thought about hugging her. He thought about pulling her mask up and giving her one last kiss.

But she was cool and professional. She didn’t crack. It would be demoralizing to the guards if she did. So she walled herself off and didn’t give any hint of what they’d shared. She was cold and strong and merciless so no one else had to be. So everyone else could just live.

It was who she was, and it was part of the reason he loved her.

He hoped he survived to tell her.

Max traced one of his tattoos with his finger and looked at St. George. “I can levitate pretty easy, but I’m not fast. How do you want to do this? Piggyback?”

“God, no,” said the hero, turning away from Stealth. He gave a wink to the guards. “If I’m going out to my death