Evan returned just in time. I caught him out of the air, then gripped him, sweeping him between me and the Duchamps, much as I’d once painted lines of blood to break a connection that was being used to track me.
I heard a sound of annoyance from him. But the effect fell away. I wasn’t attached to the ground.
My first thought was that maybe someone was living in the building after all, or the rules weren’t what I thought they were, and it was every building that was barred to passage.
But the glass did break, alongside my momentum. Either the building used damn thick glass, or someone had influenced things, because hitting the glass was like hitting a brick wall.
In the moment I realized what had happened, my mind flashed to Sandra.
She’d be quick enough with that kind of enchantment, I imagined.
I caught my balance, then started off again, expecting troll hands to close around me any moment.
The troll had stopped, too, and was only just breaking into her loping gallop. Duchamps were shouting.
Had Sandra ordered a halt, out of suspicion that I’d do what I’d done earlier, leading the Other in a blind charge into the Duchamp front lines? Communicating something else?
The clothing on the racks caught on the exposed wood of my body. I used Evan to club my way free. The moment I rounded a corner, blocking line of sight, the clothing stopped trying to snag me.
The only meager light in the store came from outside, and that light dimmed as the troll’s large frame entered the building through the same window I had.
I headed for the door behind the cash. Employee entrance.
There was a crash. The Troll was destroying a clothing rack.
She hefted the remaining section, leaning back as though she were getting ready to throw a javelin.
I dodged right, but the ‘javelin’ wasn’t aimed at me.
It speared the floor, just in front of the employee’s door to the back.
On reaching it, I settled one hand on the thing, and pulled.
It didn’t budge.
I pulled on the door handle, touching it with the hand that still held Evan, and found it only opened about a half-foot.
Could I break it?
Looking back, to check the troll’s proximity to me, I could see past the Troll’s left elbow to make out Sandra, standing out in the street, golden chalice in her hands.
I doubted I could break it. If I tried anything, it would likely be hampered.
Damn it.
The troll was smarter than she looked, and she had Sandra to back her up.
I turned left, but the Troll moved, ready to block my exit.
I turned right, and the Troll did the same.
If I made a break for it, the troll could cut me off.
Staying put wasn’t an option, either.
I was pretty damn sure I’d lose in a fight.
She was closing the distance. her braids swayed, like flails, kept in place by locks of metal that could brain someone.
I let go of Evan.
“Did you just tinkerbell me?”
“What?”
“You tinkerbelled me. Like in the movie-”
“Evan.”
“When they shake and spank the fairy for her fairy dust. You spanked me!”
“Evan! Focus on the troll.”
“Okay. Damn troll. She’s hunted me before. Jerk.”
“Well she’s hunting me, and she’s not a weasel anymore.”
“Stoat, I think. Stoat. I asked, and she’s a stoat as a-”
“Evan!”
“Familiar. We should run.”
“No shit.”
“Well, let’s go,” Evan said, clearly nervous with the Troll’s approach.
“Where?”
“Away?”
“Door’s blocked.”
“Then over-”
“She’ll get-”
The troll was getting closer.
“Up!” Evan said.
I looked up.
Cheap store. Cheap ceiling. It was a drop ceiling. Foam or drywall panels.
I lunged in the Troll’s direction. She planted her feet, hands ready.
I put one foot on the corner of the counter by the cash register, then twisted, leaping for one of the panels.
I got about halfway on the initial lunge-and-claw-forward movement. I pulled myself the rest of the way before any troll hands could grab my foot.
The moment I was entirely up and inside the ceiling, the panel beneath me broke. I tumbled to the ground, on the far side of the wall.
The troll emerged, devastating both door and doorframe, simply striding past.
I scrambled, with Evan’s help, for the emergency exit, past an office and a storage room. Evan reached the door a moment before I did. No lock stopped me.
The heavier metal door and exterior gave the troll pause.
I rounded the corner, and headed up the fire escape.
I was halfway up before Sandra’s familiar found me. The troll leaped, gripping the exterior of the fire escape, but bolts came free of the wall. She dropped down as the lower section of the fire escape broke away. I saw her head back in Sandra’s direction.
Glancing at Evan, I gestured. He flew in a lazy circle around me.
Hopefully breaking connections the Duchamps were trying to form to track me.
I leaped between buildings, enjoying the moment I was in the air, cold wind singing through me.
“You tinkerbell-spanked me,” Evan said, petulantly, ruining the moment.
“I did not spank you,” I said, looking around. “And I needed to make sure you were clear.”
“Clear?”
“Of harm, for one thing,” I said.
“Right. Sure. Except I’m slippery and quick, so nyeh.”
“I know,” I said, stepping closer to the rooftop, glancing down to get a glimpse of the group before backing off. “But… I think it’s good if you don’t waste that slipperyness.”
The Duchamps were moving again.
Heading in the direction of houses. Sandra’s place, among others.
Once they got there, this would be doubly hard. I’d be sieging them.
“If I don’t waste- How come?”
“Because you’re going to deliver death from above, if all this goes right.”
“Death from above?”
“Exactly,” I said.
“I don’t get it. I don’t hate it, but I don’t get it.”
“It would be easier if the rooftops weren’t so covered in ice,” I said. “I mean, ice works, but…”
“But?”
“But it’s not very elegant, or it’s too elegant. I’m not sure,” I said.
I checked around one heating vent, where the exhaust had melted snow, but turned more snow around it into ice. I traced it with my hand, finding more chunks that had broken away and then joined the frozen crust.
There was a path, leading from it to a nearby door into the building. There had been foot traffic here, more than a little, maybe even shoveled away, but it had since been buried under a layer of snow.
Someone had broken up the ice.
They’d broken it up with something.
“Evan,” I said. “Here.”
He unlocked the door.
Pulling it open, I could barely see inside.
But I could make out the shovel and pick, as well as a bag of salt. A notice board was posted on the wall, with dates and names. Breaking ice, the shit job for some employee downstairs who’d done something to offend the boss.
A small trash can sat in the corner, filled with food scraps and wrappers from fast food places. Breakfasts and lunches, enjoyed during breaks from the ice breaking.
Here we were, then.