The Girl Who Would Be King(148)
There’s one building towering above all the rest. Unless she’s a moron, that’s her location; the best, highest position from which she can survey all that’s going on in her created kingdom. So, that’s my play. I thought I’d be scared, standing here, planning to take the fight to her, to maybe be killed by her. Again. And maybe for good this time
But I’m not.
Despite the women’s warnings that she cannot be killed, I can’t help but feel some kind of destiny has brought us both here, and that it will play out as it should. That something has an endgame in mind for us beyond what either of us are capable of imagining. And if that means my death, so be it. But I’ll fight tooth-and-nail to keep it from being the case. For the first time in my whole life I’m feeling like I’ve got a lot to live for.
I take a deep cleansing breath and fly with everything I’ve got at Lola’s penthouse windows, sonic booms breaking behind me like music. As I get close I can make out her shape, and Clark’s slumped one a few feet away. I gulp hard and push it from my mind. I crash through Lola’s windows like a meteor from deep space and she has a split second of recognition before I hit her full on in the chest. The force of my impact sends her flying through the windows on the other side of the room.
I don’t wait to see where she lands, but make a quick left turn in the room while still in flight and scoop Clark up in my arms, escaping out the way I came.
•
When I come to from Bonnie’s blow I’m shooting through the air backward a mile over Santa Monica.
“Jeezus,” I say to myself and the sky and the clouds, trying to bring myself to a stop in midair. I hover there and feel my chest to make sure she hasn’t left any fist-sized holes. It’s a lot more power than she had last time. “I guess the bitch learned how to fly,” I say to myself. I check to make sure I’m still wearing the stone, and it’s there around my neck, feeding me its power. Even if she’s learned a few tricks, the stone should still make me more powerful than she is, especially now that it’s whole. I reorient myself towards the penthouse and head back. I’ll kill the bitch for good this time. Already the sky is rumbling with thunder, pregnant with another epic storm.
°
I set down with Clark far outside Lola’s borders and away from the authorities. He wakes up just as we’re landing.
“Omigod. You can fly,” he says. I smile broadly.
“Awesome, right?”
“Totally,” he says, awestruck, his feet touching the grass. He looks around. “Where are we?”
“A park somewhere in L.A., somewhere well outside Lola’s borders,” I pause. “I hate to leave you here but I can’t stay. I have to go back and take care of her. Will you be okay? Can you get home?” I ask. Clark looks around the peaceful park.
“Of course. But should I wait for you?” The thought is so optimistic I can hardly bear it.
“No. No, you should get back to New York. Far away from all of this. I…I don’t know what’s going to happen. I might not be back.”
“Don’t say that. I know you can beat her,” he says. His confidence in me is touching. I smile and kiss him lightly but he pulls me in for more. Imbuing me with his own love and strength.
If it’s a last kiss, it’s a good one.
My heart swells with love for him as I leave him staring after me, waving from a perfect patch of grass.
•
When I fly back into the penthouse, the henchmen are staring out the hole Bonnie made coming in. My throne is broken into splinters. Liz’s throne is intact and her ear is unharmed. I pick up the ear and am about to put it in my pocket when I hear sonic booms outside the window. I turn toward the sound but it’s too late and her fists crash into my back with such velocity that I go flying out the same hole all over again, and I lose consciousness all over again too.
°
This time when Lola goes flying out of the window I turn on the onlookers. I know there’s not much time. Already the rain has started, the thunder and lightning strikes. All of Los Angeles feels like Armageddon.
“Hey, boys. Where are the hostages?” I ask politely, while dusting off my hands. Two of them look at one guy. And he shrugs his shoulders innocently. Suckers. I rush to his side and hang him outside the broken window by his neck. He breaks in less than ten seconds.
“Downstairs in the parking garage,” he scratches out between hyperventilating breaths. I bring him back in and set him down on the floor. The other two have their guns drawn, but they don’t really look committed.
“Don’t even try it,” I warn, stepping forward. As I do, something squishes underfoot and I look down to find a severed rotting ear on the floor. One of the thugs sucks in a breath as if I’ve broken the greatest of rules. I pick up the ear and hold it up to him. “What’s this?”