Page 32 of Prince of Flowers
“These are supposed to be challenge grounds, Locke. Face the challenge. Stand your ground.”
“What the hell do you expect me to do? Throw my book at it?”
“Try something,” he said, kicking up leaves and dirt as he skidded to a halt. “Anything. Fight with me. This is your quest. Our quest. Is this what your father would want?”
My pace faltered. I stopped running as a spark of anger kindled within me.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but this has nothing to do with my father. I’d rather conserve my energy, find the Blood of the Earth, save my essence for what confronts us then. But you want a fight? Let’s do it, oh great and powerful Prince Sylvain.”
He said nothing, but I could taste his anger in the air. Maybe he was from a different world, but he could still sense mockery when he heard it. Good.
The giant flytrap lumbered closer and closer. At least I knew this thing was still confined within the Oriel of Earth. That was part of the danger of the four challenge grounds. Sometimes a creature from within an elemental window would find its way to one of the realities that intersected with the dimension, slipping past the borders, through the cracks.
One of Earth’s many magical organizations would then swoop in to neutralize the threat and wipe the minds of anyone who’d witnessed its existence. The luckier creatures were absorbed into the arcane underground, at times even set loose in environments appropriate for their species. The dangerous ones were terminated on sight.
This monster fell under the second category.
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I wishedI knew what I wanted to prove, whether to myself, or Sylvain, or the specter of my missing father. The practical thing to do was to save my arcane essence for the rest of the journey. We had the potions, but we still needed to ration them.
How was I supposed to predict what else we would face in the Oriel of Earth? Not even two minutes into arriving and this potted plant from hell had already showed up.
I splayed out my fingers, allowing the grimoire to lay flat in my hand. Its pages fluttered as I drew power from its depths and called in my best and only real option for projectile weapons. Multiple tiny portals blinked into existence around me, heralding the arrival of my doves.
My little birds zipped forth bravely. The grimoire turned pages on its own, landing on a quick spell. Yes. Perfect. I could enhance the doves with magic. Okay, so maybe I did learn one or two things in that duel with Evander, a quick refresher. I made a mental note to actually try and memorize the spell going forward.
Enhancing eidolons was supposed to be second nature to summoners, and it was supposed to do more than just getting my doves to help me hover across ravines. This could be worth it. I sent out threads of my arcane essence, clothing each dove in a field of shimmering force. They glowed silvery-gold as they hurtled toward the monster.
With their magical armor, with augmented beaks and claws — and maybe a little luck — my doves were equipped to do some serious damage. The Venus flytrap tilted its head at the flock’s approach, feathers and beaks and bodies gleaming in the sunlight.
Any closer and they would punch through the flytrap’s body, drill it full of holes. I gripped the grimoire tight, licked my lips, waited for the doves to strike.
The flytrap moved far quicker than its massive bulk should allow. It parted its jaws and snapped them shut around the cloud of doves as soon as they came within range. And then: total silence.
I blanched, the sweat on my skin turned to ice. Gods, at least I’d bothered encasing the doves in magic. I clenched my fist, dismissing the conjuring and sending them all back to their homes, safe and sound.
“Well, fuck,” I muttered. “That was close. Did you see? That thing just ate them all in one go.”
Sylvain shook his sword in the air, literally rattling his saber. “This wouldn’t have happened if you could summon a flock of dragons instead.”
Oh, right. There was my other weapon, standing right next to me. Too bad he was being so annoying about everything. The germ of an idea formed in my head. I jabbed my finger toward him, never touching.
“Hey, man. These are all the eidolons I’ve got, plus a senior wolf and a grubby cat from Brooklyn. And then there’s you. So maybe you should have done something about it yourself — eidolon.”
Sylvain drew his lips back, golden eyes boring into mine. Without breaking his gaze he threw his arm to the side and wrenched his fingers into a fist. The wind howled as leaves erupted in enormous torrents from the forests around us.
I held my breath, utterly refusing to show Sylvain even the littlest trace of awe. Very difficult to do in the face of this stupendous display of fae magic, a veritable whirlwind of green spiraling around him.
Sylvain thrust his sword forward, pointing its tip at the Venus flytrap, a general commanding his troops. The leaves whistled through the air, every blade rendered as sharp as a razor by his magic.
This time the flytrap only stared at us dead-on with its goofy, eyeless head. It didn’t open its mouth, either. Picky eater. Guess it didn’t like salad. It trundled forward, unperturbed by the storm of leaves.
Even from afar I could hear the unmistakable sound of little blades cutting and hacking into the horrible creature’s hide. But it was too strong to penetrate, too leathery, like thick, rubbery armor.
Sylvain cursed, dropping both his hands. And I clapped mine slowly, making my applause as sarcastic as humanly possible.
“Great job. So impressive. And this whole time we could have been running, but no. Instead we’re standing here with our energies expended, like sitting ducks. And Huge Hungry Henry over here is clearly in the mood for duck meat.”
