"Where's m'sword - " Saturday has just realized the same thing. She attempts to throw herself out of Stacia's grip.

"No! Give it back - !"

One of the women is examining Elder Brother where he stands, fixed in the ground. Her expressionless face tilts to one side, then the other. She reaches slowly for the hilt. Saturday shrieks like a wounded animal.

"That ain't yours, bitch!"

But before the woman's hand can close around it, it vanishes. Saturday feels a sudden weight in her arm and flexes. The hilt drops down into her palm, familiar as a friend's hand.

Both of the sisters are staring at them, now.

"Stacia? We should run."