"Holy shit," says Darcy. Without her quite meaning to, her right hand drops to the hammer. She deliberately unwraps her fingers from the handle and flattens them against her leg.

"Okay, so that is really shitty," she says, "but I think it might be a little above my pay grade. I mean, there's all these epic poems where the lone hero goes up against the army of whatever-the-fuck, but in reality the lone hero had an army of his own and half of them died. I hate to say this, but I might have to give you a rain check at least until I graduate from lady warrior school and maybe until I can bring some friends."