“You can’t patch what’s already tearing,” Lincoln said.
He opened an enormous pair of golden scissors.
The dark-haired witch caught one handle and aimed the blades at a dangling strand of the creature.
“Try clipping this, mustache.”
They cut.
The strand snapped back into the breach, taking a half dozen balloon creatures with it.
The redhead grabbed one by its tail and pulled it clear just before the opening sealed over.
For a heartbeat there was only wind.
The sky duel was over, but the forecast was far from clear.
The redhead stared at the enormous sphere holding the seam together.
Its surface pulsed.
Each pulse sent a faint ripple through the streets of Vexbridge.
“That got him?” she asked.
A small round face appeared in the sphere, then vanished.
The dark-haired witch said, “Okay.
He’s not poppy.”
“I clipped a few moves,” Lincoln said, “but he can’t cut us down from there.”
The redhead recovered her grin.
“He can’t stop us.
We are the sky now.”
It was the kind of line she would have enjoyed hearing from someone else.
Said aloud, with the city still drifting and the sphere swelling overhead, it sounded uncomfortably like another wish.
Far beyond Vexbridge, in deep space, ancient watchers stirred.
One unrolled a scroll marked DEFLATION PROTOCOL.
Another pressed a button.
A hiss traveled through the dark, thin and steady.
Back above the city, Lincoln felt it through the soles of his shoes.
His scissors trembled in his hand.
“They’ve awakened the ancient helium,” he said.
The witches looked toward the sphere.
Its colors were turning inside out.
“The pressure’s rising.”
The redhead reached for her friend’s hand as the whole city shivered.
To be continued.