Page 31 of Beyond the Cottage (After the Fairytale #1)
Chapter 31
“ A re you goddamn serious?” Ansel asked. Another set of footsteps passed by, and his gut landed somewhere near his feet. The day had been a big enough disaster without adding a train heist to the mix.
Gretta hustled from her chamber with her luggage and frantically jimmied a window. “We can toss our bags and come back for them.”
Ansel grabbed the case of repellent, ready to join her. Then he pictured glass cracking and his life’s work seeping into the dirt. “The repellent. It’ll be destroyed.”
She slowly turned. Her bag thudded to the floor, abandoned. “We’ll hide it. Let’s pour it into a vase, or something.”
A clever idea, except the parlor held no such decor. Only lamps and a clock, all bolted to the furniture. Train robbers might not think much of a case full of bottles, but it was hardly a foregone conclusion.
Brakes squealed. Ansel lurched, bracing on the chaise. The train scraped along the tracks before chugging to a stop.
“They made it to the engineer car,” Philip said.
Gretta leapt to Ansel with her arms out. “Give me the case.”
He held it fast. No doubt she’d defend it with her life, which would not be happening.
“Ansel, give it to me!”
“I’m bigger than you. They’re less likely to fight me for it.”
“They’re less likely to shoot a woman!”
His blood chilled several degrees, and he raised the case above his head. She reached for it, feet hovering off the floor, but she didn’t get far since her dust hadn’t fully replenished.
“Let go ,” he said, twisting.
“Give it!”
Philip pressed his ear to the door and retreated. “They’re coming.”
The knob rattled. Three ticks of the clock, then the door burst open with a crash. Ansel slid the repellent under the chaise. Gretta palmed her dagger, and before he could insist she put the damn thing away, a brawny woman in dented armor sauntered in.
A helmet shielded her face. More metal covered her calves and forearms. Her shoulders were broad, her arms thick, but it was the giant sword strapped to her back that concerned him.
Violet eyes peered from a slit in the helmet as she glanced around the car. A leaner man wearing similar armor trotted in behind her.
“Nice digs,” the woman said. “Been a while since we’ve seen one of these.”
“No slumming it in coach for this lot,” the man snickered.
Philip raised his blade.
The woman’s head tipped up and down, leisurely perusing him. “Lose the knife.”
Philip hesitated. He tossed his weapon on the floor, clearly deciding he was outmatched.
“The hood, too,” she said.
Another brief hesitation, then it fell.
The woman whistled low when she saw his face. “Rough luck there, sport. For what it’s worth, you cut a fine figure in that cloak.” Dismissing him, she gave Ansel a quick once-over and stopped in front of Gretta.
The daggers in Gretta’s eyes gleamed sharper than the one in her hand. It remained at her side, but she clenched it so tight the leather hilt squeaked.
“Are we going to have a problem, munchkin?” the woman asked.
Gretta fanned her fingers off the hilt and gripped it harder. Sweat slipped down Ansel’s temple. Metal rasped, and the woman settled her sword on Gretta’s shoulder.
A growl came from deep in Ansel’s chest. Instead of the woman, he saw the Eater with her cleaver pressed to Gretta’s wrist after they’d stolen apples from the pantry. In his childish weakness, he’d cried, begging the bitch to spare Gretta’s hand, to take his instead.
I’m not a child anymore…
He lunged, and the sword swung to him. With a deranged smile, he stalked the woman backward, letting the blade’s tip dig into his sternum.
“Wait!” Gretta cried. Her knife clattered to the floor. “We’ll cooperate.”
Ansel continued grinning across the sword. The woman stared back warily, as though he might be an actual lunatic.
“Listen to your friend,” she said.
Ansel widened his smile. “You’re wondering if I’m right in the head.” He gripped the blade, nearly drawing blood from his palm. “I’m not. If your sword comes within a foot of her again, I’ll snap your neck before you have time to swing it.”
“Just leave it,” Gretta said, tugging his arm. He remained where he stood.
Shrugging, the woman lowered her sword. “Fair enough. If she gives me trouble, I’ll take it out on you.”
With a final unhinged look, Ansel let Gretta pull him away.
“Okey dokey,” the woman said. “Frisk them and search their bags.”
Her companion patted them down, and after lifting a meager wad of cash from Ansel’s boot, he relieved Gretta and Philip of their money and pocket watches.
“Have a seat, friends,” he said.
Philip claimed an armchair. Gretta dropped to the chaise. As rational thought sluggishly returned, Ansel sat beside her and whispered, “Closer to me.”
She scooted nearer until their legs shielded the case.
“What have we got so far?” the woman asked over her shoulder.
Elbow deep in Philip’s luggage, the man replied, “More cash. A pearl-handled razor. A gold pen.” The items went into a burlap sack, and he descended on Gretta’s bag. “Hoo-boy, spun silver!”
Gretta squeezed her eyes shut.
“There, there,” the woman said. “If you can afford this fancy car, you can afford to replace a few baubles.”
“We’re not rich,” Gretta snapped. “Even if we were, it wouldn’t give you the right to steal our shit.”
A tinny snort came from the helmet. Keeping an eye on them, the woman opened a cabinet and desk drawers. When she ducked to look under the chairs, Gretta’s legs shifted.
To no avail.
“What’s that under your seat, handsome?”
“Nothing of value,” Ansel grated.
“Funny it’s the only thing you bothered to hide. Take it out and show it to me.”
Gretta’s muscles went taut beside his, but there was nothing for it. He hauled the case out and placed it on his lap.
“Open it.”
Jaw clenched, he obeyed.
The woman plucked out a bottle. The repellent shimmered in the sunlight, swirling like a galaxy of liquefied stars. “Pretty. What is it?”
“…Perfume,” Ansel said. “I’m a perfume salesman. It’s cheap stuff, but I felt compelled to protect my inventory.”
“He’s got babies to feed,” Gretta added. “That case is his entire livelihood. It’s on your conscience if his kids starve to death.”
The woman uncorked the bottle and took a sniff. “Doesn’t smell like perfume.”
“As I said, it’s cheap. I’ll…add more rose oil when we get home.”
“No need.” She recapped the bottle and slung the case over her shoulder.
Ansel grappled for calm. “They aren’t worth anything to you. Their value isn’t monetary, I swear it.”
“Found some dirty books!” her companion called.
“Sorry, handsome, but I don’t believe you, and we got our own mouths to feed.”
Gretta shot to her feet. “If you leave the case, I can get you more spun silver. Or cash, whatever you want. Take me hostage, and the guy in the cloak will get you anything you ask for.”
Ansel’s fists balled. Over my dead fucking body.
“Too complicated,” the woman sighed. “We like things quick and easy. Speaking of, we best be on our way.”
“Please!” The break in Gretta’s voice made Ansel want to wrap his hands around the thief’s throat and squeeze until her eyes burst. “You aren’t taking it!”
“How do you plan to stop me, munchkin?”
Gretta snarled and tensed to lunge. Ansel grabbed her by the waist.
“Breathe,” he said, running his hand over her back.
“We can’t just let her have it, Anse!”
“It’s alright. I can make more.”
“That will take forever .”
He smiled and refrained from pointing out she had no idea how long the repellent took to produce. With a reasonable infusion of capital, he could probably replace the bottles in a month or two.
“This is only a setback,” he said. “It’s not worth getting stabbed over.”
Gretta’s body thrummed. Finally, she closed her eyes with a nod and released a slow breath.
“Get a load of this,” the other thief said, brandishing a picture frame. The woman snatched it.
“Brass,” she said, turning it over. “Junk.”
“Check out what’s inside.”
She gave him a skeptical glance and read aloud, “ Hag Hacker Claims Third Victim … Local Witch Falls to Hag Hacker … When the Hacker Attacks: Cold-Blooded Murder or Vigilante Justice? ”
Philip’s eyes swung to Gretta. “You framed your press clippings?”
She darted him a look that unmistakably said shut up, dipshit .
Ansel released her, arching a brow. Miss Hacker, indeed. It occurred to him she probably never would have reported him to the police.
Face cherry bright, Gretta stared at the ceiling, and silence descended. The thieves stood frozen in place, their gazes raking over her like she’d spontaneously turned into a mermaid.
“Hang on,” the male robber exhaled, coming forward with a hand on his heart. “ You’re the Hag Hacker?”