It Isn't Easy Being Queen

44. A Ghost, a Witch, a Minion, and a Rat Walk Into a Trap

"That's how you treat your knight in shining armor?" Blade said, gasping for breath.

"You. Are. Not. My. Knight!" I shouted. "And you're not wearing armor."

"Am too," he said.

I rolled my eyes. What some minions will do for attention! I approached the door to retrieve my weapon and took a quick look through the hole. Blade was wearing—you guessed it—a suit of armor.

"Where did you get that?" I said.

"From a mannequin in the hallway. What? He didn't need it."

Shaking my head, I yanked the errant sword out of the wooden door like King Arthur liberating Excalibur from the stone, except in my case, no angels were singing a halleluiah chorus, the sun didn't break through the clouds, and I didn't see a single person bowing and scraping and shouting with joy. It was just me, my rat, and a Minion of Massive Annoyance.

Whatever. I had to get this party going. I whacked at the door, but the blade skittered over the hard wood, and I practically sprained my wrist from the effort. Fine. I'd let Blade think he saved me.

"Can I rescue you now?" Blade said.

I backed up.

Whack. Whack. Whack. Finally, the door was losing its battle to Blade. Why did castle doors have to be so thick?

Calming breaths, Rowen. Your anxiety will not alter physics and make the door succumb faster.

I closed my eyes and breathed.

Nope. I sucked at being calm.

Suddenly, something icy cold jolted through my body, making the hairs on my neck stand at attention. Heart pounding, I spun, swinging my sword, slicing through a ghostly neck. Ectoplasm. Yuk!

"Hiya, lassie."

"Malcolm! Never sneak up behind an armed witch."

He laughed full-throated, doubling over. "You kill me, lassie."

I growled at him, which only amused him further. "If you were alive, I would've killed you."

"Now, why you bein' so cruel to ol' Malcolm? I can't be helpin' it if I'm corporally challenged."

"Sorry, Malcolm. You just caught me off guard."

"Don' be frettin', lass."

"I'm not—"

The door gave way, and Blade rolled into the room like a ninja, his adorable, I mean stupid, curl flapping into his eyes.

"Voila!" he said. "You are free, my princess."

"Aren't you a little short for a stormtrooper?" I quipped.

"What is this stormtrooper that you speak of?" he said.

"Star Wars. Never mind." I was going to have to issue a Brittlebane movie night proclamation. These people needed a film education. Otherwise, no one could appreciate all my great movie quotes.

"Can't you just thank me?"

"Thank you."

"See, that wasn't hard."

"It also wasn't easy. Let's go," I said, already climbing out through the opening with my sword, careful not to snag my jumpsuit. "We have the element of surprise. Let's use it."

"I'm always surprising people," Malcolm moaned, floating through the wall into the cold, damp hallway. "Side effect of being a ghost."

Blade dove out of the hole, turned a flip midair (in armor, which was quite a feat), and landed on his feet—the showoff. I discovered a nearly invisible loop in the hip of my jumpsuit, perfect for carrying a sword! Dropping my sword into the loop, I scooped up Vermeil and took off down the torch-lit dungeon hall. I had no clue which direction was right, but eventually, I'd find a stairway leading to the upper floors. I was pretty sure. Most important was avoiding the worst of the dungeon residents, like the sirens that wanted to lure me to my death or the minions imprisoned for their appalling manicures.