Harou Shirayuki.
Noel Lilywhite.
Oh. My. Gods.
Standing in front of me on a roof are three Guard who went missing from a mission while trying to protect me a year and a half ago. And with them is my father and what I think to be the possessed body of the former head of the Guard who also went missing months ago.
My hands press against the glass. My father is limp. He’s dangling in between Earle and Harou, glasses askew, his knees scraping the ground. As estranged as we are, there’s no confusion, though—that is my father. Why do they have my father? Where have they been?
I wrench the French doors open. Jens/Enlilkian smiles even larger. One hand comes out and waves at the space between us; the air shimmers for the smallest of moments, reaching from building to building.
He beckons me once more. Gods, did he ... is that a bridge between us? Did he just make a bridge that connects my building to his? One I can’t even see?
I open my palm; dirt materializes in it. I throw it out in front on me and watch in horror as it scatters to show a path.
My heart hammers in my chest. It’s suicide. I know it’s suicide. No good can come of me doing this, none at all. I will a phone into my hand and then, just as quickly as it appears, it winks out of existence.
A flourished bow across the way lets me know I’m not the only one who can do parlor tricks. Any niggling doubts that Enlilkian isn’t in Jens Belladonna’s body disappear just as easily as the phone. Only a Creator can do such a thing. Only a Creator has the power to destroy something as easily as they make it.
He snaps his fingers; although there is no way she could have possibly heard it, Nivedita turns and slugs my father right on the side of his head. His black glasses go flying as he howls in pain.
I’m over the railing and on the bridge without another thought. What is she doing? Is Jens making her do this? Nivedita was ... she was a lovely woman. Cool and in control at all times. Compassionate. She’d never just punch someone for the hell of it.
What. The. Hell. Is. GOING ON?
Jens/Enlilkian claps his hands delightedly as I skid across the bridge, backtracking across the roof toward the missing Guard and my father, all the while keeping his eyes on me.
Don’t look down, I tell myself. More dirt is created and thrown to pepper my way. His creation is narrow, barely wide enough for both my feet to fit on at the same time. It’s slick, too; terror has me widening it and altering its consistency to something rough, but its maker keeps changing it back.
Asshole. I can’t wait to take him out.
The moment my feet make contact with the roof’s lip, the bridge disappears. I wobble, arms flailing, close to toppling backward and into the busy street below, but a chair materializes behind me and slams me into it before flying the rest of the distance between us.
“Well now,” the Jens/Enlilkian monster says, “look at who has come to join us today.”
The chair slams down; I topple out of it onto the gravel below. Blood beads up through scrapes on my palms and knees, but I scramble against the tiny rocks to try to get on my feet anyway. I cannot let him control me with pain today.
“Hello, little Creator. It’s time to play.” When I tell him he can go do that with himself, he merely clucks in disappointment. “Despite your disobedience, I have a gift for you today.”
I refuse to wince at the pain that comes from standing. I also resist the urge to tell him exactly where he can shove said gift. “Hello, Enlilkian.”
He claps his hands again; white flakes go flying in the breeze. “Aren’t you the clever little thing after all. I was worried, frankly. I feared you might be a stupid sow, but it appears you do have some cunning I can work with.”
Fantastic. I’ve impressed the serial killer. I shift a step toward him. When one of my bloody knees buckles slightly I wish, oh I wish I could just make myself a brace, but I’m afraid to show this bastard any sign of weakness. But if I could get close enough, even to just touch the hem of his sleeve, this all could be over in a matter of seconds.
“Cities are interesting creatures,” he muses, countering me with a step backward of his own. “In so many regards, they are the epitome of advancement. And yet, they are also the death of the natural world.” He smiles at me, oily and unnerving. “Look at how nature fights back. Taking over the perverted, one small flower at a time.”
Ha. It’s more like a Nymph lives in this building and these are his or her plants.
Jens is looking significantly worse off than the last time I saw him. His skin is grayer, softer and yet flakier at the same time. Small bits of skin snow with every movement. His hair, once so white it gleamed, is dull and patchy. The gums in his mouth have receded dramatically, leaving yellowed teeth that resemble weathered tombstones.