The second half of the trip was much longer. The buildup of the US Naval fleet put large swaths of the Atlantic in no-fly zone territory, staying over a hundred miles out of range of the ships and flying at lower altitudes. Margaret had filed a flight plan with authorities, including military air traffic controllers, as was standard. Even then, she had to contend with long-range patrols, offering aircraft registration, identification of passengers, cargo, their origin and destination. Having a squadron of F4U Corsairs buzz your plane was an intimidating experience, and a reminder of just how tense the world powers had become.

  Several hours later, they touched down in the foggy waters on the southeastern coast of Greenland. It had been a quiet ride for everyone, each of them coping with what they had barely escaped from and the apparent sacrifice the man named Qillaq had made.

  Margaret steered the craft to a desolate, long wooden dock. She and Meera powered down the aircraft, settling alongside it unsteadily. The mechanical hum died down, and Margaret was quick to unstrap herself and get up, with no one outside to help secure the plane. She hurried back, offering no greetings to Erika or Betty, her mind elsewhere. She tossed open the hatch and stepped out onto the pontoon, finding a lonely, wet, green landscape. There was a silence that extended to the horizon with only the gentle splashing of water to dampen it. Margarete took a breath and got to work tying the plane to the moorings.

  Erika noted the tall woman’s uncharacteristic silence. In the short time she’d known her, Margaret had been sociable and attentive. Erika wondered how she could help and if the woman would accept it.

  The roommates unbuckled themselves from their seats as Meera came back from the cockpit. The petite, olive-skinned woman moved to the supply crates and loosened the straps on the top container, tossed them aside, and pushed open the lid. An array of weapons lay inside. Firearms, knives, grenades, along with wearable gear like harnesses, belts, bandoliers, all neatly arranged. Meera smiled. On top was a Thompson M1 submachine gun. She put her hand on it, like a lost toy, and hauled it out. She checked the chamber, worked the clip release and mechanics as she pored over the weapon. It was a gun she was very experienced with, though it had been some years since she had held one. Meera set it back down and noted a dozen clips of ammunition, a box with more loose ammo, and a vest for holding gear. She removed her jacket and slipped it on, zipped it up and started filling the pockets.

  Erika stared grimly at the scene. Meera seemed so comfortable, her actions routine, the same way another woman might put on her garter and hose in the morning.

  “Do we have a plan anymore? Without our guide?” Betty asked.

  Meera nodded, setting aside the submachine gun. “We have a map, information on what to look for and where we think Ravi and Max are being held. We’re at a disadvantage without Qillaq, but that doesn’t change anything.” She looked at the faces of the women, seeing their doubts.

  “Doesn’t change anything?” Erika answered harshly, “We barely got out of there! How did they even find us?!”

  Meera shook her head. “I have no idea. They can follow me straight into hell. I’m going to save my husband.”

  “Being dead won’t save him.” Erika said bitterly.

  Betty kept her mouth shut. Arguing with Meera didn’t matter. That woman was set on her path, an unstoppable force if there ever was one.

  Margaret reentered the plane and into the quiet tension.

  Erika looked at her, softening, “I’m sorry about your friend.”

  “He’ll be all right,” Margaret responded stiffly.

  Erika nodded, assuming she was in denial, and grew more serious. “This… army that’s after us, and that woman, who was she? How did they find us?”

  “I don’t know.” Margaret answered plainly. “Qillaq knows more. We’ll find out when he catches up.”

  Erika could see her jaw clenched, her eyes hard. She was holding back. “What are we going to do? The Lady said nothing about this. She said we’d be safe!”

  Margaret sighed and said, “Something has changed. That’s what Qillaq said, but we’ll be safe here, at least for now. We should press on.”

  “Something has changed? That’s it?” Erika said incredulously. “And why would be safe? Why weren’t we safe before?!”

  Before Margaret could answer, Betty interjected, “We’ve barely escaped with our lives twice now against these guys, and that was only by…” she jeered, “divine intervention. Do we know anything about this army that’s after us?”

  Margaret said, “Once Qillaq catches up, we’ll know more.”

  “Catches up?” Betty scoffed, “Honey, that’s not happening.”

  “He’ll surprise you then,” she was growing annoyed. “We’re here to save Max and Ravi. This is Qillaq’s home. We’ve got a head start, and we know what we need to do. The longer we spend bickering about it, the more danger we’ll be in.”

  “His home?” Erika questioned.

  “Yes. This is where he lives.”

  Erika furrowed her brow. “Max and Ravi were kidnapped and brought to Qillaq’s home?”

  “This army that’s after us is separate from who took your brother and Ravi. And Max and Ravi are safer here than in Providence,” Margaret said, “We all are.” She recognized the women’s unconvinced expressions.

  Erika hardened. “Did the Lady, did Qillaq, have anything to do with my brother’s disappearance?”

  Margaret could see she was losing her. “Your brother and Ravi are very… important right now. The United States and the Soviets are positioning their fleets for war. Korea is an atomic oven. The world is scrambling for anything that could make a difference. What they found in Tunisia, whatever Ravi knows, people want it.”

  Erika scoffed, “Why?! They’re ruins! Who cares! The Lady said no one would care about Max and Ravi, that’s why we had to do this ourselves. Now you’re saying the world is after them?!”

  Margaret sighed. “Do you know how to make an atomic bomb? You need fissile material. Do you know what that is? Or where to get it? What if these places have something like that, but even more powerful?”

  Erika glared at her. “She knew all this. She knew what Ravi was researching. Why have things suddenly changed?”

  Margaret sighed. “The Lady knows… a lot. That’s an understatement. She understands the world in a way I don’t think anyone else does. But she tells you what you need to know. That doesn’t mean lies to you, and that doesn’t mean she’s always right about what’s going to happen. Situations change. But… if you trust me, you can trust her.”

  “What’s stopping this army from coming here? Or any other army, the Soviets, the Americans, whoever?” Betty asked churlishly.

  “Nothing!” Margaret barked. “But I trust Qillaq. He said we’d be safe, for a time. Let’s not waste any more of it.”

  Erika and Betty exchanged looks, a silent, begrudging acceptance to continue forward, if only out of lack of options.

  “Alright, everyone get that out of their systems?” Meera said. “Let’s go over what we know and where we’re headed.” She pulled a map from her jacket, setting it out on one crate before her.

  “We’re here,” she pointed to a spot by the shore low on the map. “The village is here; to the north are ancient stone ruins, a cavern and a mine. That’s where the temple is.”

  “Qillaq calls it the Qammaq Tuniit,” Margaret added.

  “What does all that mean?” Betty asked.

  “Tuniit are ancient, mythic beings, and the cavern is thought to be one of their homes.”

  “Maybe it’s Santa Claus,” Betty said dryly.

  Meera smirked at Betty. Neither wanted to be angry with the other. The tall woman added, “The report had some information on the mine. It has a rich vein of copper, but mining companies are never around for long, despite good output. Something is driving them off.”

  “Is it Qillaq?” Betty asked Margaret, then added quietly, “Is Qillaq Santa Claus?”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t think he would have approved of the mine but he’s not the type to stir up trouble.” Margaret pointed to a mark north of the village. “This is an old stone fort. Built by the Dorset people thousands of years ago. It’s on top of the mine. Qillaq said it’s been recently reinforced, so this must be where Max and Ravi are.”

  “Let’s get going.” Meera urged. “We’ve got about an hour of daylight, and the village isn’t far.”

  Margaret headed into the cockpit to retrieve a canvas backpack with a sleeping bag strapped to it. She pulled it on and then lifted another large duffle behind her seat before returning to the back of the plane.

  Betty approached her. “Here Hon, your gun,” she held out the revolver she’d given her, happy to be rid of it.

  “Thanks,” she took it back. “But you and Erika should be armed from now on.” Knowing this undermined her argument of safety, “Just in case.” She looked at Meera, standing by the opened crate of weaponry. She pulled out two handguns and slid them into leather holsters.

  The roommates accepted the firearms and reticently pulled the leather belts around their waists and tightened the buckles.

  “Browning nine-millimeter,” Meera said as she held out her own matching pistol, “thirteen rounds in the clip. This is the release,” she pressed the mechanism, the long, narrow clip sliding out before she slapped it back in. “This is the safety,” she thumbed the catch. “Keep it on until you’re ready to fire. And don’t point it at anything but the ground until then either.”

  Both women felt uncomfortable. It seemed unnatural, against their nature, to be armed.

  “Let’s take what we can carry and get a move on,” Margaret instructed.

  Meera finished packing a duffle bag with weapons and ammo while Erika and Betty sorted through food rations, lamps and other amenities for setting up a camp. Secured to the interior of the plane were three backpacks prepared in advance, each with a sleeping bag and basic amenities, and survival equipment. Margaret pulled them down and handed them off. Each woman now carrying a full load, the tall woman led the group outside, pulling the hatch shut behind them.

  The harbor extended some two hundred meters, with two long concrete landings for loading ore onto long-absent cargo freighters, a testament to how rich the mine was, or had been. They were some distance away from the entrance to the marina; the plane berthed among a set of shorter wooden docks, all empty, save for a half-rotted rowboat, knocking against the mooring with the rhythmic sloshing of the tide. The shoreline beyond the port rose into grassy hills, but a thick blanket of fog obscured the view of the landscape beyond.

  The women left the dock and walked along the concrete walk toward a small shelter with floats and netting tacked to its splintered cedar shingles. Margaret pushed open the lopsided door to check inside. There were a few chairs and a desk with an open logbook documenting who and what had been coming and going. The book’s pages were crinkled and yellowed from the sea air. It hadn’t been touched in years. Just outside the building was a once well-trod road that wound up and through the hills.

  “Over there,” Erika pointed to a parking area slightly up the way, overgrown with weeds and grass. A jeep in good condition with a canvas top sat alone. Margaret and the women walked over. She tried the door; it was unlocked. The key was in the ignition. She got in and fired up the engine. The tank read full.

  “This must be Qillaq’s ride for us. Let’s load up.”

  They tightly packed up the small trunk, and Margaret got back in the driver’s seat.

  “I’ll ride up front,” Erika announced. She hadn’t a chance to talk with the buff woman since their adventure started. Betty and Meera climbed into the backseat.

  Margaret pressed on the gas and they pulled out onto the road before them, which was once paved but had cracked and split. They drove up a rise for some distance, entering the dense, quieting fog before the ground leveled out to a rolling, sleepy plain.

  Erika gazed out the window; the land was a simple beauty. Lush grass with cropping of ancient rocks, shaped by ages of wind and rain. She felt the earth had moved on from here, leaving it incomplete. Frigid, ancient and purposeless.

  In the backseat, Meera looked over and appraised Betty. “You’re here for Erika. Trying to keep her safe?”

  Betty glanced back at her, meeting the woman’s piercing gaze. “Something like that.”

  “She’s tougher than she thinks.” Meera said, “Not as tough as you though.”

  Coming from her, Betty didn’t appreciate the compliment. “I’m not like you.” She couldn’t shake the guilt, the shame, and, to her mind, the crime of having killed. She clenched her jaw and felt a queasiness as she replayed the horror of her actions in her mind.

  “You shouldn’t be.” Meera knew what she was going through. She had once, ages ago. “But make no apologies for surviving. You’re going to be a doctor. Those men would have ended your life and all those you’ll save one day.”

  “I shouldn’t have to kill to survive.”

  “Wouldn’t that be nice? I don’t enjoy killing. But I know when I must, and how to do it efficiently. I have a skill set that no honest society should need. But we’re all liars and hypocrites, worst of all those in power.”

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  “You’re rather bleak.”

  “I’m a realist.” Meera moved on. “You’re going to be a doctor?”

  Betty relaxed a fraction. “Yes. I’m at Yale Medical School.”

  “I didn’t know they were accepting negros,” Meera said, “much less negro women.”

  “I’m one of the first,” Betty said proudly. “It hasn’t been a warm reception.”

  “Making a new path means crossing others,” Meera said. “The world isn’t built for someone like you.”

  “Or you,” Betty agreed. “I hesitate to ask what your story is.”

  Meera snorted. “I was married before Ravi. Arranged, as is custom. But the man was a bastard. A violent, mean bastard. My father knew it. So did my mother, but my father, he wouldn’t let me be a victim.” She smirked, “He’s former military. Taught me to fight. To kill if I had to. And that’s what I did.”

  Betty gaped, “You killed your husband?”

  Meera nodded. “I did. I survived when he would have killed me. But the police didn’t see it that way, or they didn’t care. So, I ran and joined the Indian National Army.”

  “Didn’t they fight alongside the Japs?” Betty felt uneasy.

  “The Japanese backed India’s independence from British colonialism. We deserve freedom and self-determination. It was a desperate time. You can’t always choose your allies.”

  Meera looked at Betty, seeing her discomfort. “That war’s over. And don’t worry. I’ve only ever killed men.”

  “It was a man that set you free, in a way. Your father. And what about Ravi?”

  “Isn’t that the irony of it?” Meera said, turning away, eyes tearing up. “Ravi. He’s my darling. My heart. As good and pure as could be.” She took a breath. “He saved me from my rage and my guilt. Without him, I’m just a killer.”

  Betty watched the woman in silence as she stared out the window, admiring her.

  In the front seat, Erika was holding her new pistol. She’d unloaded it and was examining it, becoming more familiar. She was nervous, but wanted to be ready, and more importantly, safe.

  “First time holding a gun?” Margaret asked.

  Erika looked at her and nodded. “Yeah. I never imagined I would. I mean, Christ, it was only yesterday I was a secretary.” She realized she was going to miss work, with no warning for her boss, for at least several days. “I wonder if I’ll still have a job when this is all over?”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. The Lady will help you find something if you need it.”

  Erika groaned and put away her pistol. Shaking her head, “Sorry I lost my temper.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “I feel like I’m being pulled on a string through the dark. It’s… maddening, and scary.”

  “It is. We’re all in the same boat on this.” Margaret looked at her and smiled, “We’re pretty tough. I think we’ll be fine.”

  Erika nodded. “You must know more about the Lady? How is she so connected, with her club well outside the city, which is Providence of all places, and no one can get in? Nothing about her makes sense.”

  “You’re right about that. Her mystique pre-dates my arrival. I don’t know how or whys either.”

  “You must have asked her? Or seen something to get some sort of clue about what’s going on? Her money, at least. She’s rich, but it can’t be from the club. Is it family money? Is she a widow?”

  “She’s not a widow, I know that. Besides that…” Margaret shrugged. “I’ve asked a few questions, but she’s the Lady. Doesn’t exactly give you a straight answer. I’ve seen nothing suspicious. I mean, nothing criminal or underhanded. She does good things and cares about people, so however it works, I’m happy it does.”

  “All this for my brother and his friend? Or do you really think there’s something dangerous in those temple things?”

  “Both. There’s a good reason Max and Ravi are in this much trouble. But she cares about Max. And you. I saw her talking to you yesterday. She’s not like that with most people.”

  “Is she like that with you?”

  Margaret smiled a little. “Yeah, I suppose.”

  “What do you think we’ll find in this temple? Whatever you called it.”

  Margaret glanced over at her as they rolled along the rugged road. “Qammaq Tuniit. There’s still some mystery left in this world. I’ve seen things in my time with the Lady that I couldn’t explain.”

  Erika was silent.

  “Do you believe in God?” Margaret asked.

  “No.”

  “Me neither,” Margaret agreed. “But I don’t think this is all just random luck either.”

  Erika looked at her. “Then you believe in a higher power?”

  “Higher power still sounds like God to me. I just think… something brought or created life on this planet. Maybe for a reason, maybe for a lark. But it doesn’t have to be holy.”

  “I suppose…” Erika had thought little about these matters before. She’d decided God didn’t exist from an early age, because if he did, he was indifferent to human suffering, and it didn’t matter.

  Margaret continued, “Life started on this planet over three billion years ago, but almost that entire time it was microscopic, just dirty water. Life as we know it, that just happened,” she snapped her fingers. “And within an instant we’re already this advanced. We already know so much.”

  “And we’re ready to kill everyone and everything on this planet because… we figured out how,” Erika mocked. She looked at Margaret. “I never imagined you’d be interested in this kind of stuff?”

  “Well, you hang out with the Lady, it’s kind of inevitable. She likes science types a lot. The people figuring out the meaning of the universe and where it all came from. There was a guy in recently, Enrico something. He’s got an interesting notion.” She collected her thoughts. “The universe is so big and old, and apparently our planet is just a fraction of that age, but there’s no evidence of life out there. Imagine how advanced we’d be if we had a billion more years of progress? He assumes that kind of life would be pretty visible, even to us. So, his question is, where is everyone? And if we’re it, why?”

  “A billion more years of humanity? I have a hard time believing we’ll last that long.”

  Margaret nodded in agreement. “Yeah… but I’d like to think there’s an answer to the ‘why’, if we’re it.”

  “I don’t know, the biggest questions tend to have the most disappointing answers.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Your imagination gets the better of you. Reality never lives up to whatever vague idea you have lingering, transforming in the back of your mind. You ever read mysteries? They’re fun, but once you get to the end, it’s always something dully logical. They’re never all that clever to begin with. Just a lot of misdirection and obfuscation.”

  “So you believe it’s just random chance and we’re all here for no reason?” Margaret asked.

  “We can decide for ourselves. Isn’t that so much better? We act through our conscience. You read the Torah, God is vengeful and vicious. I won’t worship that and that I don’t want that kind of being telling me how to behave. I’ll do what I know is right.”

  Margaret wouldn’t argue with that.

  As they traversed the landscape, climbing more hills and gradually gaining altitude, in the distance Erika spotted the first signs of a village, the dilapidated roofs of small cottages.

  “That would be the mining town,” Margaret said.

  “What’s it called?” Erika asked.

  “Silaannaq,” she answered carefully.

  They approached a scattering of small buildings among the uneven terrain, wedged between knoll hills and mossy, prehistoric boulders. Driving past the first wooden buildings, Erika noted the small, unpainted hovels were of simple design and rudimentary construction. Many looked on the verge of collapse. They hadn’t been built to last, and so likely a byproduct of one of the failed mining ventures.

  Shortly they approached what seemed like the town center—a circle of structures around a patch of land that contained a billboard and a cairn. Most prominent, and largest, of the buildings was a tall church-like structure, though no holy symbol was apparent on its exterior. It was ancient, made entirely of stone that was set in place so long ago the earth took shape around it, the rocks weathered and smoothed into unified stone. The other buildings were smaller though all had been abandoned for some time.

  Margaret slowed the vehicle as they rounded the bend, looking for a place to park. There were various paths branching off between the buildings, heading off to disparate places; some towards more homes, others led over or down hills and out of sight. The main road was apparent, where the trucks had hauled the minerals, headed north, deeper in the fog. Parking the jeep between two stone buildings, the women got out and walked toward the green lawn at the center.

  “The Lady talked about how these temple places were hostile to life, even though they attracted visitors. People keep coming only to die there.” Erika said. “Is everyone dead here?”

  “Not everyone who’s come here died here,” Margaret answered. “We’re still some distance away from the temple, but this is a village that’s been re-settled a hundred times. Look at how different the buildings are. Some made of local stone, others of brick.” She pointed to different buildings as she spoke, “There’s wood—cedar, oak. All imported, each from different settlements, different companies rebuilding the mining town.” She turned to the church-like structure. “That’s the oldest, far older than the mine. Dorset. It’s as old as the Earth, Qillaq would say.”

  “You’ve been here before?” Erika asked.

  “No, I haven’t,” Margaret said. “But he’s told me about it.”

  “It looks maintained,” Betty remarked as she walked around to the side of the tall building, discovering stained-glass windows on its side. “What religion is it? It’s a church, right?”

  “It is a place of worship, yes. I don’t know much about it. We can ask Qillaq about it. I’m sure he’s got story.” She turned about, scanning the buildings. “The sun’s almost gone. We should find a place to settle in for the night.”

  They returned to the vehicle, retrieving their bags before Margaret led the group to one of the stone buildings. Its entrance was a heavy wooden door that took some effort to push open. Shadows concealed the interior as the sun faded, only a few small windows with warped glass letting in cloudy light.

  Margaret swung her backpack around and pulled out flashlights for each of them. They lit up the interior, revealing a single long room, several tables with chairs arranged around them, and a bar at the back, bottles of alcohol left behind on a shelf. Various photos and paintings adorned the walls; a grand fireplace to their right to warm the entire room. On either side, the wall had stacks of wood to last weeks. In the far corner, an open doorway led to a small area beyond, with an exit out the back. Meera smirked when she saw the liquor and set down her heavy bag of armaments to peruse the selection.

  The rest of the women set their duffels and supplies down. Margaret set gas lamps on several tables and lit them for more light. Erika sorted the food, primarily rations from the military, precooked food put into tins or cans. They could be consumed cold, but thankfully they had a single propane burner. Erika had vague memories of her family’s escape from Germany—hungry nights in the woods, eating berries and sipping from puddles, before they made it to the Netherlands. This was a luxury.

  “I’m going to have a quick look around before it gets too dark,” Margaret announced. “Betty, come with?”

  “Sure,” the woman responded quickly, and glanced at Erika with a wink. She hurried over to the tall woman as they headed back outside, Margaret pulling the door shut behind them.

  Erika smiled and looked back at Meera by the bar, taking a nip of her drink.

  “Don’t get any ideas, kid,” the petite woman said back.

  “I’m not your type?” Erika retorted.

  Meera let out a little cackle. “No.” She got up and walked over, appraising the younger, curvaceous woman as she approached. There was an awkward silence.

  “I haven’t thanked you yet,” Erika said, “for all you’ve done for us.”

  Meera took another sip. “You’re not so na?ve.”

  Erika frowned. “No, I’m not. Our goals conveniently align, but you should know you’re appreciated.”

  “I don’t need a cheerleader.”

  “You’re not alone, Meera,” Erika said firmly. “And I don’t think you can do this alone. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  Meera finished her drink. “You need me; I’m not sure what I need you for.”

  “Is that all this is? A transaction?”

  “A means to an end. I have a goal; we all have goals here. But some of us are contributing more than others.” Meera put her glass down with a thud.

  “Should I be grateful you’re not in charge?” Erika scoffed at her, “If Qillaq hadn’t saved us, would you have tossed me to the wolves? To save yourself?”

  “To save my husband, yes,” Meera growled back. “That’s what this has always been about.”

  “Now who’s na?ve?” Erika spat back, “You think you’re selfless? All this violence, just for one man? You’re guilt ridden. He’s the only person who makes you feel human. This is only about you.”

  “Don’t think for one second you understand me. Some of us don’t rely on stronger people to carry them through life. I’m saving my husband, because I can. You’d be helpless to save Max on your own.”

  “Were you going to swim here, Meera? We both need help. And there’s nothing wrong with that. You see life only as a struggle. As violence. You’re so comfortable killing people you’ve forgotten how to live with them.”

  “You have no idea what I’ve been through,” Meera snapped. “My life would have ended a dozen times over by now if I was like you.”

  “You’re more than just a killer. Ravi sees that. Why can’t you? You think him a fool for loving you, don’t you?”

  Meera gulped.

  “I’m stronger than you give me credit.”

  A long sigh exhaled from Meera. “You remind me of him. He’s the only other person that can get under my skin.” She sniffed. “Maybe you’re right.” She pulled the glass off the table and walked away.

  Outside the tavern, Betty and Margaret were walking about the area, checking doors and peeking inside buildings.

  “How are you holding up?” the tall woman asked.

  “I’m… alright.” Betty said uncomfortably. “What about you? You must be worried sick for your friend.”

  “I’m not,” she looked at her earnestly, “Qillaq is fine.”

  Betty hesitated. She didn’t want to upset her, but she felt this level of denial that was unhealthy. “How can you be so sure? We barely survived, and only because he stayed behind. How could he have…”

  “He’s like the Lady. He’s always got a plan.” She could see the doubt and concern on Betty’s face. “Don’t worry about me. This isn’t some weird coping mechanism.” She put her hand on Betty’s shoulder.

  “Okay,” the woman nodded, believing her.

  “But are you okay?” Margaret asked meaningfully.

  Betty let out a big sigh. “I don’t know… that was really upsetting.” She felt a welling of emotion rise within her, something she’d been holding back. She began to tear up.

  “It was,” Margaret said and moved her hand down Betty’s arm till their fingers met and intertwined.

  They gazed at each other, their eyes lingering, taking in the details of their faces, longing eyes, parted, waiting lips. Margaret moved in and kissed Betty, who met her fiercely, wrapping her arms around the taller woman. They pulled in tight as their kiss grew more heated. Margaret lifted Betty up as their tongues entwined, lips wet as they took quick breaths and kissed again and again. Margaret set her down and pulled away briefly. She looked to a building entrance a few feet away. She grabbed Betty’s hand, pulled her over and kicked open the door. It was dark inside and Margaret dropped her flashlight just inside, Betty following her lead, casting light across the floorboards.

  “Sorry there’s not a bed.” Margaret said quickly as they resumed kissing, their hands pulling off each other’s outwear in hurried passion.

  “It’s fine,” Betty’s chest was heaving as Margaret pulled off her sweater. “Fuck, it’s cold.” The other woman’s strong hands groped at her full chest.

  “We’ll warm up fast.” Margaret smirked and unclasped the woman’s bra before shoving her face into one of Betty’s breasts.

  “Oh, yes…” Betty moaned as she tugged off her lover’s shirt.

  Margaret leaned back, her top pulled away, revealing her toned musculature. Betty kissed her on the mouth again and then went lower and lower, pulling away her bra and then continuing down, her hands finding the tall woman’s belt, unclasping it. She pulled her pants low as her mouth found its way.

  “Fuck, for love of…” Margaret sighed.

  Back in the tavern, Meera and Erika were snickering as they heard the cries of passion just a few doors down in an otherwise silent town.

  “Good for them,” Erika said.

  “Cheers,” Meera added, with a touch of sadness, pouring herself another glass at the bar.