Page 56 of Sequel to the Easter Bunny

The sun isn’t low enough to worry me, and I don’t have to follow the wending road. I know I’ll make it back to the spire without rushing.

And walking gives me time to think.

The wet grass drags at my shoes, and I take the time to untangle the ribbons of the mask.

If Diyo doesn’t take what I have to offer… I don’t know what I’ll do.

Music of the Night

The light has almost faded completely when I step into the lobby at the base of the spire.

And I shiver as a dark magic washes over me. It feels like disappointment.

Juun definitely keeps tabs on me as I come and go from the mortal realm.

The creature tasked with waiting at this, the edge of Ester’s entrance to our world, watches me carefully, his eyes widening when he sees the bag in my hand. But he doesn’t ask.

He never asks.

Curious, but cautious.

I wonder how he became the thing he is today.

I pause in the open doors.

“What is your name?”

He looks up at me, flinching and then freezing. When he speaks, it’s with that familiar rattling hiss, but the word is full of cracks as well.

“Kobim,” he says, dipping his head in a strange little bow as his ankles lower him.

“Thank you, Kobim.”

Again, he flinches and this time, he turns quickly back to his board and the marbles strewn there.

When the doors open to Babel, Jack stands in front of them, waiting for me.

“Have you been here this whole time?”

He gives me a look and I imagine he thinks the question is foolish. “Of course.”

Leading me through the throngs, Jack doesn’t take me to his domain or change my clothes. He doesn’t even ask me what I’ve brought as an offering to Diyo.

He wants this to be over and done with as much as I do.

The jungle opens up for us more quickly this time. But Diyo’s revelry is no smaller than it was the last time we were here.

Their party, it seems, never ends.

I’m exhausted by the thought.

The leprechaun is nowhere to be seen, and without their vines, the assembled devotees entertain each other.

Diyo lounges on their throne, watching with a detachment as the man with pretty lips pleasures them.

When they see us, they don’t move. Instead, they put their hand to the back of the man’s head, and make him work faster.

“I think they’re putting on that show for you,” Jack says from behind me, before leading me back to the place at the table we’d taken before.

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