The Sword and the Scythe

Chapter 29: Dying Day

"And the second option?"

She narrowed her eyes in a way that made Charlotte quiver a little despite trying to keep up a brave face. "The second option is that I kill your friend, and then I kill you."

"What friend?"

"I'm so glad you asked, dear." She unlocked the phone before turning the screen for Charlotte could see. The image she gleefully showed her was of Tameka studying in what appeared to be a near-empty library. At the bottom of the screen was a newspaper with the day's date. Charlotte's breath caught in her throat. "If you don't want to cooperate, that's fine. But then I'll be forced to kill your friend. I'll make sure she knows it's because of you, and I'll make you watch before I have them kill you too. I urge you to reconsider my generous offer."

Charlotte sighed, tears slipping out of the corner of her eyes. She looked at Leroy in apology. She couldn't let them hurt Tameka—not even for him. When they made eye contact, he nodded, encouraging her. She took a deep breath, trembling as she said, "Arthur Pendragon was the first Grim. He hid the sword somewhere. I don't know how you can find it, but you're the only one who can find it because you're his son. My father suspected there was some kind of blood link between the Pendragons and the sword." 

Leroy's eyebrows furrowed. "That's ridiculous. I... I'm not the son of some ancient king."

Charlotte shrugged. "You were destined to become a Grim before you were even born. Agbenyaga told me so. Why else do you think that is?"

Anne Boleyn and Thomas looked at him with their mouths gaping open. Boleyn recovered herself enough to prod, "Well, Leroy, any ideas?"

"How am I supposed to know? I never even met the guy. It could be anywhere."

"A little incentive might help you figure it out," Thomas said, grabbing Charlotte and wrapping his arm around her throat. He pulled a small dagger from his pocket, pressing the point against her jugular. "Tell me where the sword is, or she dies."

Leroy's eyes widened, and she could see his breath start coming faster. "Let her go, Thomas. This isn't going to help me think."

"I'm going to give you ten seconds before I slit her throat."

The outraged look on Leroy's face turned impassive as he squeezed his eyes closed in thought.

"Ten...nine...eight..."

"Shut up! I'm trying to think."

"Seven...six...five..."

"Leroy, it's okay. Don't tell him—get out of here and get Tameka somewhere safe." Charlotte said as she felt Thomas dig the point of the knife a little harder against her skin.

"Four...three...two..."

"New York!" Leroy shouted, a little out of breath. "It's in New York. Off the north shore of Long Island."

"Why would it be there?" Boleyn asked, her eyebrows furrowed together.

"It's where my mother is buried. It's only a guess, but it's the only hunch I've got," he said, his voice cracking with desperation.

"Let go of her, Thomas. We have arrangements to make," Anne Boleyn said triumphantly as she strode out the door.

Thomas let go of Charlotte, hurling her across the room toward Leroy. Then he slammed the door behind him, the slam echoing in the small room.

"Well this has been a great success," Philip said, kicking his feet out in front of him from where he'd been sitting in the corner for the entire exchange like he'd already resigned himself to his ridiculous fate.