You Must Fall In Love

Chapter Fifty-Six

There was something in his chest, and Christine was screaming.

Rob put his hand on the thing sticking out of him. It was thin and straight and had white feathers around the butt.

He couldn't believe it. Had he been shot with an arrow? Here? In this day and age?

His hand was red. Blood bubbled slowly from the shaft, oozing with every rise and fall. It didn't hurt, not yet. He was too shocked for it to hurt. But he was certain that the pain was coming.

Why was it so hard to breathe? Why wasn't he changing?

Nimrod dropped the crossbow and drew a folding knife from his coat pocket, flipping the blade open. He looked almost bored, like this was completely routine. He was moving so fluidly. Despite his size, despite the fact that he was fat and round and had the complexion of pastry, he was walking towards him, moving through the paralysis that had gripped the room like a shark through still water.

"I gave you a chance to be cured, monster. The same enchantment that's on that bolt? I could apply it to you, too, permanently, so you'd never change again. But you spurned me, and I'm intolerably petty, and so I'm afraid you're going to have to die now."

The knife glinted in his pudgy hand, shining white from the walls and from the pure bright lights.

"Stop him!" yelled August, tugging at his hand in obvious pain, trying to open the door with his other hand and failing. "The door's sealed, no-one's coming to help us!"

"Quite right," said Nimrod. "I spent three months preparing this room in secret, turning it into my own little private chamber. Nothing comes in, nothing gets out. Quite a change from a prayer room, don't you think?"

Jen took Christine and pulled her away, hugging her tight with shaking arms. Christine looked blankly at him. She seemed frozen, like she couldn't believe anything that was happening, like her brain wasn't working at all.

"Begone, fiend!"

Yusuke tore his sports bag open; ripped the zipper all the way through, rending tooth from tooth. From the scattering packets of squid chips he drew a bright Japanese sword, unsheathing it in a smooth motion and charging at Nimrod.

Everything slowed down. It was surreal. Rob would have laughed if there was any air in his throat.

Yusuke with an actual sword, Nimrod Weathercock with a crossbow and a real live knife, like some vampire hunter from a bad TV miniseries. This was where the beasts were supposed to come in. He was supposed to change and shred the fat man into a pile of suede and meat.

But he wasn't changing, he wasn't healing.

He was helpless.

Nimrod stepped into Yusuke, raising his left forearm to stop Yusuke's sword from reaching. He smacked him in the chin with his right hand, grabbed his collar, threw him to the ground like a crash dummy, then stomped right on Yusuke's knee.

Or at least, that was what Rob realised in retrospect. It was just too fast.

Yusuke's leg popped like a suction cup. He grunted in pain and rolled over, swatting at Nimrod with the sheath.

"You can do that, I suppose," said Nimrod. "You demon-hunters of the Orient... do you not train for combat with human foes? How unsightly. What were you hoping to do with that sword?"

Nimrod drew back his foot and kicked Yusuke in the chin, hard. He went quite limp. Christine yelped and cowered, curling into a tiny ball, sinking down until she was clutching Jen's legs.

"Are you going to stop me, Ms. Travers?"

Jen bit her finger until it bled. Fire the color of old leaves and dead grass surrounded her hand, blazing into worn petals.

"By the power of the Lord of Hosts, in the name of the God of Armies, O air, abide by my will and..."

The knife whizzed past her ear, almost cutting it clean off, and went right into the wall. She fell to the ground, stunned, the bottom handle dangling above her head.

"Jen," said Christine. "Jen... ah..."

"Secretary spells, Ms. Travers," said Nimrod. "That's what I call incantations like yours, by the way. You can preach at a minotaur all you want, but wait until he has his horns in your side. They're just too slow, darling. Fortunately, my aim seems to be a trifle off today."

August drew his sword from the air, the bright rapier that looked like it was made from the light through trees, and threw it at Nimrod with a curse. The sword skidded across the carpet, rolled to a halt, then returned to air in a flash.

Nimrod looked at it and smiled. He took out another knife, exactly the same as the first. It was such a mundane gesture that it was almost funny.

"Well," he said, "if that doesn't take the cake. Swords aren't for throwing, fairy brat. I'll deal with you later."

August slumped, eyes smoldering in defeat. For a mad instant, Rob had the laughable impulse of thanking him.

I take it back, August, you're not as bad as this guy. Haha. Let me just get up and...

His legs didn't want to obey him. He wasn't even sure if he was still a thinking being.

The pain was turning him to paste on the inside, a great roaring fire that stripped speech away. There was a howling inside of him, like his beasts were in an incinerator, burning alive.

The two girls sat sprawled on the ground, frozen, bodies shaking in terror like rabbits. Christine's hands groped wildly in her pockets, then froze, as if she realized how hopeless it was.

Of course. They'd never been in this situation. He'd never been in this situation. People didn't do this to other people — they didn't take out knives or shoot people with crossbows or stomp so hard on people's knees that they cracked. When faced with someone who was willing and ready to break all the rules of social interaction, to commit such casual violence...

There was nothing they could do. What could they do?

"Goodbye, mongrel," said Nimrod. "Isn't it a shame to know that this could all be avoided?"

Rob looked up, right into his leering face, and prepared to die exactly as he had lived — but although he tried to consider it something like dignity, he realized that in the end, he didn't really know what he had lived for in the first place.