Jacob didn’t even blink. He just smiled as a gust of wind hit the spear. It veered past, missing him by inches.
Luvic conjured a wall of ice knives. They flew at Jacob and hit a solid wall of air.
“Bard,” Jacob said. “Enough.”
Luvic conjured again, throwing a whirlpool.
Jacob tilted his head, and suddenly, we were surrounded by darkness. Luvic dropped to his knees and clutched his head. The hot dog fell to the ground, splattering relish and mustard on the sidewalk. Luvic shuddered and made a pained, choking noise. It was just like at Hell Gate. A scream caught in Luvic’s throat.
I stared at Jacob.
He smiled happily. “All right?”
I nodded. “Sure. What are you doing to him?”
“You can pull it down now,” he said, nodding to the building.
There weren’t many knots left—only enough to keep the building upright. I only had to yank one free, and the entire thing would collapse. The knot pulsed in my mind’s eye. The need to untie it was so demanding I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. The compulsion consumed me.
“I don’t want to,” I whispered.
“I know. But as soon as you do, we can go.”
“Is everyone safe?” I couldn’t hold off much longer.
He peered at the building, his eyes narrowed, the wind tugging at his shirt. His brow wrinkled, and he tapped his right hand against his thigh, counting the seconds. “Almost.” He bit his lower lip. “Yes. All right. Now.”
Now.
I ripped the knots free. The roar was deafening. The fall of thousands of tons of concrete and glass was like standing in the center of a hurricane. Jacob threw out his arms and covered the plaza in a strange, sticky, unreal feeling. It almost felt as if time and space were bending and streaming through his fingers, warping around his will.
The building fell, but somehow, Jacob made it fall like feathers instead of stones. He held the destruction inside his hands and kept it from spreading. Every person standing near, every surrounding structure—even the eighteen-foot-tall bronze Prometheus—was spared. He set down the rubble gently, and then, with a hard, violent snap, time and space sped up again.
There were screams. Sirens. Heat and flame. Choking clouds of dust and smoke. The too-familiar smell of burning metal and stone.
I looked at the broken majesty of Rockefeller Plaza. I stared at the destruction I’d caused. Luvic was still kneeling on the ground, his eyes closed, his hands covering his head, his face contorted with pain.
Jacob glanced to the east as the wind brushed past. “The Smiths are coming. We should go.”
“Where?” I brushed at my cheeks. Tears fell from the sting of dust and smoke.
Jacob smiled. “Up.”
“What about Luvic?”
“He’ll be all right.”
Then Jacob grabbed my hand, caught an invisible thread, and we were lifted into the air, flying above the scar at the heart of the city.
46
Jacob and I flew above the city in the belly of a giant mechanical bird.
It was one of the strangest things I’d ever seen, which was to say a lot. It was modeled after a pigeon, I think. There were enough of them in New York to draw inspiration from.
The bird was at least twice the length of the blue whale that hung from the ceiling of the Natural History Museum and almost as wide as the dining hall at Hell Gate. There was enough room for at least twenty-five people, but only Jacob and I were on board.
The frame looked like it was made of hollow metallic bone, and the feathers covering the frame were translucent. There was a floor, which was also see-through, but there were no chairs or furniture, and there was no area to steer or direct the bird. It seemed to be entirely self-directed. Its wings were extended, and each flap sent a whooshing bellow through the bird’s belly. My stomach rose and fell as it soared over Midtown.
