Felicity wants so badly to turn around, but she’s stuck staring into the demon’s dark eyes. In them, she can make out something of a reflection: the canopy of the oaks lining the street rising higher and higher. Windows shatter out of nearby buildings. Whispers of rustling foliage prickle the hairs along her neck.
Then Felicity remembers from childhood those times when she and her friends used to sneak out into the woods to smoke dagga or to fool around, or to simply take a break from the world. And no matter what, no matter how careful they were covering their tracks, Mother always found out. When confronted, Mother only said that her intuition was well rooted, which hadn’t drawn a second thought at the time. Now it makes a lot more (literal) sense. The trees have eyes. Or ears. Either way, now, Felicity needs help once again, but this time she’s humble enough to ask for it.
“Mother!” she calls out.
The ground rumbles.
The beasts screech and scatter like a flock of pigeons, and the demon takes to the air as well, with Felicity in tow. As the demon rises above the canopy, vines whip out like lassos. After a couple of misses, one of them successfully coils around the demon’s leg, knotting upon itself as it reels her back down. In that moment, Felicity’s stomach slips out from beneath her, and she’s falling, seconds from hitting the ground, not even enough time to watch her life flash before her eyes. But oak branches gather together beneath her like an outstretched hand, and she lands among them. Even as she puts together what has happened, leaves broaden and affix themselves to her wounds.
“Dear, are you all right?” comes Mother’s voice, a rustle of leaves.
Felicity nods her head like an impetuous child, as if she could have figured out a way to land on her own without cracking her skull.
Above in the canopy, the fight ensues. The beasts dive-bomb Mother, tearing chunks of bark from her trunk with their talons, trying to free the demon from the tightening cocoon of foliage. Mother pays them no mind, her focus clearly aimed upon the real threat. It seems like the demon woman doesn’t have much time left for this world, when strangely, static picks up in the air, and storm clouds rapidly converge above in dreary, gray swirls. As if distracted by the sudden change in air pressure, two of the beasts go down, impaled by sharp branches.
Lightning cracks above, arching from cloud to cloud, and immediately afterward, thunder boasts of its power. There’s something odd about the lightning, like it’s accumulating, like it’s not random at all, but purposeful. Felicity dives out of the way, right as a streak of bluish-white light erupts from the cloud, snaps through the air, and for a blinding moment, the world stands still. It was a distraction, but one not meant for the beasts—they were merely collateral damage. As Felicity’s vision returns, and as the world congeals, she sees the burnt scar gouging through her mother’s trunk. The tangled knot of vines that held the demon captive is splayed open, and empty. Felicity runs toward the tree and gathers up an armful of singed bark as lightning continues to crackle overhead.
“Mother!” she screams out.
“It’s not safe for you here,” Mother says. “She’s too strong. I can’t fight her much longer. Go while you still can.”
“I can’t leave you! I need you.”
“You’re your own person, now, dear. Destined for greatness.” Leaves reach down and stroke Felicity’s cheek. “You see that now, and I’ve done my job.” She pushes her daughter away. Thunder rolls from above. “I know I’ve never said it, but I’m proud of you. Go, dear. Hurry.”
Felicity shakes her head, tries to run back to her mother, but a bolt of lightning strikes the ground between them, sending Felicity flying. She lands, rough concrete scraping the skin off her elbows and legs, head clacking against the curb. Dazed, she watches the battle: vines and branches versus wings and claws . . . and lightning.
The demon calls forth the fury of the heavens. Bolts pound into Mother, one after another, until nothing but a petrified trunk remains jutting into the sky. The demon recalls her remaining beasts with a shrill whistle, and they jet off into the whirling clouds.
The next breeze brings a tangle of vines across the pavement. They dance at Felicity’s feet, charred at the edges and caught in a miniature vortex. She’s worn and beaten, but above the ringing in her ears, above the pain still echoing in her brain, Felicity hears her mother’s voice whispering to her. I love you.
Chapter 42
Muzi and Nomvula
The chill of the night air has stolen most of the warmth from Elkin’s body. Still, Muzi keeps him clutched close, as if Elkin is only sleeping and at any moment he’ll wake up, yawn, then go on being his usual asshole self.
“He is in a better place,” Nomvula’s voice pierces through the darkness of the supply closet. There’s not a whole lot of room in here, and they’re all practically sitting on top of one another.
“I want him here,” Muzi says, his words not tasting like his own. Something inside him has died, too. He trusts no one, especially not this little girl. Her clammy hand presses against his arm. Tears tug at the corners of Muzi’s eyes, trying to escape. He won’t let them.
“In time, you will heal,” she says, so certain.
But Muzi knows he won’t. He’s lost his best friend, and on the list of things that’ll fuck you up for the rest of your life, that’s got to be in the top five.
“I have lost, too. But you can’t live in the present if you keep looking back to change the past.”
Muzi grunts and shakes off her hand. Like he’s going to take life lessons from a girl half his age. What could she possibly know about loss? And yet she keeps talking, trying to console him, when what he needs is fucking silence, time to let all the anger and guilt swallow him whole. Her words rake across his spine, his heart, and then he can’t take it anymore. He flexes that new muscle above his stomach but below his heart, and it reaches out to her mind. He feels the link, a precise movement now, not just instinct.
“Shut the hell up,” he commands her, heat surging forth in his face.
Then the sound of her breathing and the whirring of his alphie are all that remain, punctuated by stifled sobs. A bloody tear rolls silently down his cheek, thick, tacky, warm. Maybe that means he’s going to die, too. Good.
Nomvula’s mind backwash creeps up on him, wrenching him from one agony to the next. There’s an old man being stoned, the sight of him driving a spike of emotion into Muzi’s heart, so intense he can barely handle it. Love. Belonging. Hope. And it’s all washed away in an instant, replaced by a hatred beyond comparison. A beating. A shower of fire from the sky. No survivors, except her.
Muzi gasps as he breaks free from the vision, pitching forward from the sudden stop in emotional momentum. Nomvula is a killer. Muzi grabs Elkin’s body and scrambles until his back is pressed into the corner. His ragged breathing catches in his chest on every inhale, every exhale.
“What are you?” he rasps.
She discards Muzi’s mind link and the enforced silence as casually as used tissues. “You saw?”
“Yes, I saw. You’re the one who murdered all those people.”