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Scene 43




The room as before, but seen through Kit’s eyes. He stands behind Poley, facing the bewildered-looking Queen and, beyond her, Will and Frizer and Skeres.


“You do not want to die,” the elf whispered through Kit’s lips. “You do not want to die, Kit Marlowe.”

And while Frizer, Skeres, and Poley stared, wide-eyed, the elf went on, speaking persuasively through Kit’s mouth, trying to convince Kit’s ears.

“Look, look at all you’ll have.”

Behind Kit’s eyes, like an awakening dream, images of food passed, and images of young bodies, young people, female and male, ready to obey his every whim, and images of Kit, crowned, upon a throne.

“If it’s the child you lament,” the elf said, “you can sire many.”

Those words broke the spell. The images disappeared from Kit’s eyes, leaving only the image of Imp. Imp, dead in that alley.

Nothing—no one—could ever replace Imp.

How could this creature, this being, so lack feeling and love that it did not even know that one child was not another, that a child could not be replaced?

And such an elf, such a creature, would rule the world?

The arms that had started turning pliable, the legs that Kit had almost yielded control of onto the elf, suddenly became rigid again and locked, with all of Kit’s strength, against the elf’s desire.

Kit had not wanted to die before. No, God’s death, he’d wanted to avenge himself on the elf, he’d been willing to endure torture for that, but in faith, he’d not wanted to die.

He still didn’t want to die. The elf knew the truth about Kit. Kit loved the world and its joys too much to wish to depart it at twenty-nine.

Yet he would die, he thought. He would die to take out the wolf with him.

He saw Will Shakespeare draw his dagger, a dagger cheap enough that it probably wouldn’t pierce a good suit, and Kit wished it would pierce a suit and more, wished it would plunge into his own treacherous heart.

Will jumped straight at Kit.

Skeres and Frizer moved too late.

Kit still remained immobile, holding the elf at bay, but just barely. Like two men, locked in arm wrestling, each just as strong as the other, they each kept the other from moving but could do no more.

And Kit wished that Will would kill him.

But Will stopped, the dagger poised, in front of Kit as though his courage failed him.

“I cannot kill you, Kit, I cannot,” Will yelled.

Within Kit the wolf roared, “Nonsense. All this is nonsense.”

He raised a hand so suddenly that Kit didn’t anticipate it or stop it.

Force flowed through the hand, magical force, the strange tingling sensation that Kit had felt before.

Was the creature sending the Queen to Never Land? Could humans be sent there?

But instead, the wolf seized Kit’s mouth and spoke through it, once more. “All of you,” he said as energy flowed through his hand. “Kill her.”

Poley, Skeres, and Frizer unsheathed their daggers.

Will looked confused.

Kit gathered all his strength. He’d die trying this, but he must shield the Queen with his own body.

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Framed