Lastly, Abigail looked at Glen. “You’ve got the Deathmark.”
“Uh,” said Glen.
“You’re here to kill me, are you?”
Glen swallowed thickly. “No?”
Abigail nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
“I’m sorry,” said Glen, “I didn’t know you were a … a kid. Now I feel bad. I feel, like, really bad. I was told you’d killed people. Aw man. Now what do I do?”
“I can help you, if you want,” said Abigail.
Glen brightened. “You can remove it?”
“Oh yes,” the little girl replied. “It’s quite easy.”
She tilted her head, and the people around them surged, slamming Glen’s head down on the table while they pressed a knife to Amber’s throat. She froze.
Someone else had a knife to Milo’s throat. “He really isn’t a friend of ours,” he said.
They gripped Glen’s arm, straightening it out on the table, and a big man walked up, holding a butcher’s cleaver.
“No!” Glen screamed. “No, no, please!”
“Don’t be so silly!” Abigail giggled. “He’s only going to cut your hand off. It’s not like you’re going to lose your entire arm!”
The cold blade pressed deeper into Amber’s throat, like its wielder knew how much she wanted to shift into demon form.
“Please don’t do this,” said Glen, trying to sound reasonable. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know you were Abigail. If I’d known you were a little girl, I would have said no.”
The big man tapped the cleaver on Glen’s wrist a few times to test his aim, and then raised the cleaver high above his head.
Glen abandoned all attempts at appearing reasonable and started screaming again. “Oh God please don’t do this please don’t cut my hand off I need it I didn’t know I didn’t know the old man didn’t tell me!”
Abigail held up a finger, and the man with the cleaver paused.
She leaned closer. “What old man?”
Glen gasped. “The … the old man who passed the Deathmark on to me. He just said this was intended for someone who deserved to die. Said you’d killed people. Lots of people.”
Abigail pursed her lips. “Did you ask his name?”
“No,” said Glen.
Abigail shrugged. “Pity.” She looked at the big man with the cleaver, was about to issue an order when Glen continued.
“But he had grey hair! And he was small! And Spanish! And he had a big grey beard!”
Abigail laughed. “Lautaro Soto asked you to kill me? That is so cute! He’s not Spanish, though, he’s Mexican. Or he was. He’s dead now, right?”
Glen nodded. “Died as soon as he passed the Deathmark to me.”
“He always was a sneaky one,” said Abigail. “Hey, guys, you can let him up now.”
Abigail’s people released their grip. The guy with the cleaver looked disappointed. The knife was taken from Amber’s throat and, like this happened every day, people around them went back to whatever they had been doing.
“Are you still going to chop my hand off?” Glen asked meekly.
Abigail laughed again. “No, you ninny! Everything has changed! This isn’t the work of my enemies – this is Lautaro, one of my oldest, dearest, most recently departed friends.”
“So … so you’ll let me go?”
“Absolutely. So long as you deliver that Deathmark to someone else instead.”
Glen’s eyes narrowed. “But … but I thought it’d only work on you.”
“Nope, it’ll work on anyone.”
“So I could have just given this away at any stage up until now?” Glen said, his voice rising. “Why didn’t anyone tell me that? Why didn’t the old man tell me that?”
“Lautaro probably didn’t want you wasting it on some random person on the street,” Abigail said. “But the guy I want you to pass it on to, he really deserves it. His name’s Ralphie. He’s a complete meanie, Glen, he really is. Him and his brother. Ralphie and Ossie. Oh, they are meanies. Drug dealers, too, and they have been known to kill a person for money. They’re in on this for sure – they did everything Lautaro told them to. Make sure you kill Ralphie, though. He’s the smart one.” She paused. “Admittedly that’s not saying a lot.”
“Why did they want to kill you?” Amber asked.
Abigail shrugged. “Why does anyone want to kill anyone? It’s just a thought that occurs, isn’t it? Things happen and the thought occurs. They used to work for me, ages ago. Then they did something stupid, and I said things I regretted, but by then it was too late. They went and found God – I imagine He was between the sofa cushions, I’m always losing things there – and they hooked up with Lautaro. He was a preacher – he’d been after me for years. He was convinced I was the spawn of the Devil, which is just rude. Lautaro was the kind to look the other way when it came to Ralphie and Ossie dealing drugs and killing people, but still believe he was fighting the good fight when it came to me. Together they must have come to the conclusion that it would be a neat idea to kill me.”
“So how did the old man end up in Ireland?” Glen asked.
“Educated guess?” said Abigail. “They figured out the Deathmark would be the only thing that could kill me, but making one isn’t like reaching into a box of cereal and pulling out the cheap plastic toy, you know? Real, actual work is involved. Lautaro must have known someone in Ireland with the skill to do it, so over he goes, they make the Deathmark, and Lautaro intends to carry it back to America with him. Only he’s an old man, and old men are frail, and the Deathmark can wear you down and wear you out if you’re old and frail.” She shrugged. “They miscalculated. It happens. So, right before he dies, he finds a healthy young man like you, Glen, and he gets you to agree to carry it over the ocean and use it to kill me. To kill … me.”
Abigail’s voice went very cold and very quiet.
Then that happy smiled returned. “But look at us! We’re taking those meanies’ plan and we’re turning it back on them! How surprised are they going to be when you turn up on their doorstep, Glen? Can you imagine the look on their faces?”
“I … I don’t know if I’m up to this,” said Glen.
“Not on your own,” Milo said. “But with our help you can do it. We’ll make sure.”
Glen blinked. “You’d … you’d do that for me?”
“Of course.”
Glen started to smile, then stopped. “It’s because you want me to go away, isn’t it?”
“Of course.”
Scowling, Glen turned back to Abigail. “I don’t think I can do this. I can’t kill someone. I thought I could, I thought I’d just pass it on to you, but … I can’t. A few days ago, I shot someone – a bad man. For a moment, I thought I’d killed him. It was dreadful. He was a serial killer, but I felt dreadful, anyway. I’m sorry, I just don’t have it in me. But you have lots of people here that work for you, right? I can pass the Deathmark on to them and they can kill your friend for you.”
Abigail shook her head. “The Deathmark can be passed on once, and no more. Lautaro Soto passed it to you. Whoever you pass it