I pulled the lid and plastic bag of trash clear of the can, then filled the now-empty bucket with packed salt and snow. I held it upside down to verify it wouldn’t simply fall out, even if the lid came off, then packed it more.
“Whatcha doing?”
“Making something,” I said. I put the lid back on.
Using the pencil from the notice board, I scrawled a message on the side of the plastic can.
“Whatcha making?”
“A parcel,” I said, doubling down on how thick the lines were, to make them obvious.
“A parcel. Huh.”
I showed him the message on the side.
“Per request, for treatment of wife,” Evan said. “Huh?”
“Maybe it’s better to call it a missile,” I said.
“Missile?”
“Come on outside,” I said. I looked at the pick, but decided against it. Theft was bad, karma-wise.
Standing on the roof, trying to get a peek of Duchamps, or even better, the men that were moving with the pack, men who couldn’t use enchantment to find me, I heard a scrape.
I wheeled around, expecting to see the troll.
I only saw Green Eyes.
“Leaving me behind? I can’t move that fast!”
“Sorry,” I said.
“Almost every time. If I don’t jump into the fray, I get left behind,” she said. She accepted my offer of a hand to climb over the lip of the roof.
“How’d you find us?”
“I never left the one street. I saw you go over to one side, then come out the back of the building, then go up the side. I was worried you’d kept going.
“No,” I said.
I heard another scrape.
“Shit,” I said. “Wait, did any of them see you?”
“Maybe?”
Evan looked up at me, cocking his head.
“They let you go,” I said. “So you’d lead them to me. Evan, circle-”
I heard another scrape. Something heavier.
“Around,” I said, belatedly.
Something, quite probably the troll, was climbing the side of the building.
Evan did a loop.
“Listen,” I said. “Same idea as with the big thing you guided to the Duchamps before. Just keep it on course. If you can make it slippery, and guide it to the target… do you know the targets?”
“Sorta?”
“The pyromancer,” I said. I touched the salt, checking it was still packed.
“I know him.”
“Then guide it, delay as long as you can,” I said, “Stay out of sight, catch up with us after.”
“Right!”
I heaved the bucket, over the building, in the direction of the Duchamps.
Tempting as it was to watch, I couldn’t afford to. I ran, Green Eyes following.
Okay, that was a lie.
On landing, feet sinking into snow, settling on my hands and knees on the snow that had accumulated on the roof, I allowed myself a glance.
The bucket was pale, but not bright. Not obvious.
Evan had spread his wings, breaking his speed. He was at the apex point of the bucket’s trajectory, but the bucket had already passed that point.
He lost it. Or was he distracted?
Neither. He dove, and veered sharply, passing the bucket, swerving. Accelerating its descent, adjusting its course.
I heard the impact, the scream.
I felt the fear.
Those two things were very different, in how they affected me. The scream was a reminder that I was dealing with humans. That I was dealing with real people with real feelings, who could somehow be grossed out and alarmed.
The fear, that was something else.
I didn’t enjoy the fear, but I did feed off it.
A part of me itched to simply leap from the building, to go after them.
A reckless, bogeyman part, hungry to take advantage of the chaos and confusion.
The troll reached the top of the adjoining building before I’d found my feet.
Green Eyes and I were already moving, leaping down to a building that was only one story tall. Then to the snow-covered roof of a truck parked in the alleyway.
The fear of the group stayed with me. I’d alarmed more than a few people, this time. The alarm persisted, and they were worried. A whole group, moving away from the rooftop in case I sent any more packages.
Evan joined us. Without my asking, he circled us, confounding connections.
I pointed, and silently, we reversed directions, hugging the base of the building.
I could sense the fear, and I could sense their general locations.
We circled around back, until we were following them.
I saw a satyr turn back, looking my way.
Evan flapped his wings.
The satyr shook its head, frowning.
His sense of smell had turned his head, most likely, but he wasn’t confident enough about it to raise a voice.
They’d come after me, and I’d still picked off one of their number.
They had started a fight, I was responding in kind.
It wasn’t right, it wasn’t good, and it didn’t qualify as justice, but in a way, it was almost just. Fitting with the way this world worked.
I didn’t like it, but I disliked it less than fighting the way this world worked and getting my ass kicked for it, losing everything I loved.
But this wasn’t a road that was set in stone.
I’d been looking for a goal, and I had it, meager as it was. Not a grandiose dream, like being normal again, or riding my bike, or fixing things.
I was going to do what I could to steer things towards a better path, and I was going to try to stay true to myself. I’d veer one way or another, along the karmic path or against it.
But I was going to be Blake, when all this was said and done.
Even if Blake was less than half a person.
I set my eyes on my next target, and gave the signal to move on.