Water splashed against Samaal’s face, waking him up.

  He had been captured and caged in a brightly lit room. The walls, ceiling, and floor all shined somehow. His shadow constructs would be brittle and powerless here.

  Sam was on the floor. Without his shadows, he couldn’t summon legs to stand on, so he lifted himself into a sitting position; trying to retain whatever dignity was left to him, stripped naked as he was, his bloody wounds and burn scars on display.

  Standing over Sam and holding an empty bucket was one of the bizarre alien creatures that captured him.

  They resembled a flower with sticks for legs, three sets of arms, and a vine-like tail, with wings like autumn leaves, delicately folded behind the creature’s back. Crowning its head were periwinkle blue flower petals. Sam guessed a few stamens functioned as eyes, but he couldn’t make out a mouth beneath the petals that covered the creature’s face. The flower petals seemed to vibrate, and the creature spoke in a vaguely masculine voice.

  “You can make waste in this,” the flower-man said as he tossed the bucket unceremoniously toward Sam, who caught it casually and placed it beside him.

  The flower-man began to circle Sam, silently studying him.

  Sam said nothing and stared forward, eyes level, chin high.

  Finally, the flower-man stopped in front of Sam and leaned down, to threaten or inspect, Sam couldn’t know. He had never seen these bizarre plant creatures before they attacked his home this morning. Was it still today? How long had Sam been out?

  “Do you know why you are here?” the flower-man asked politely.

  Sam blinked. He could guess, but instead, he answered, “No.”

  The flower-man stood to look down at Sam again. “Do you know who sent us?”

  Sam frowned. “Lilith, I suspect.”

  The flower-man hummed a satisfied note and said, “Then you do know why you are here.”

  Damn, Sam thought.

  The flower-man continued, “You have two options: you can tell me what I want to know now, or I can pry it from you slowly. I know which one I’d prefer.”

  “Hm,” Sam suppressed a shudder, trying to act amused. “Do your worst.”

  The petals and stamens rearranged into something resembling a smile.

  “I was so hoping you’d say that.”

  -8-

  At first the flower-man only hit Sam, but with those spindly stick-like arms, his hits didn’t do much damage. Sam didn’t taunt the flower-man, for fear he might improve his technique. Between rounds, the flower-man began to monologue, which Sam thought was rather grandiose for a minion who looked like a tall insect.

  “You cannot imagine how much I’ve looked forward to this moment. The great Samaal, general of Lilith’s army; the man who stole two Ikon Remnants from Adam himself, and then stole the Ivory Blade again from Lilith. The myth, the legend, bleeding and broken at my feet.”

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  Sam spat a little blood out onto the glowing white floor. “You haven’t broken me yet,” he said foolishly.

  The flower-man smirked and sighed with pleasure. “That’s good. Don’t give in yet. We have a long journey before we reach Nod. I want to savor this experience.”

  That rocked Sam. For the first time, he was actually scared. “No one can reach Nod or leave without the Ivory Blade,” he challenged, hoping to bait the flower-man.

  It worked. The flower-man laughed. “Fool, don’t you know where you are? This isn’t a cage. It’s a brig. We’re in a ship traveling between the planets. Lilith asked for our help, and we answered. Because unlike you, we are loyal. Of course, she asked us to bring her the Ivory Blade. Lilith will be disappointed we failed on that charge, but in lieu of that, I think you will do nicely. After all, even if you manage to resist my charms, we both know Lilith has ways even more ruthless than anything I can conjure.”

  Sam suppressed a shudder. The flower-man was correct. Lilith could reach into his dreams and extract memories. She would learn what happened with the Ivory Blade, and she would set her sights on Ezekiel.

  “Of course,” taunted the flower-man, “I would rather spare her the trouble. So tell me where I can find the Ivory Blade, and I’ll let you rest until we reach Nod. Or we can continue this little game.”

  Sam didn’t believe the flower-man for an instant. His torturer was enjoying himself too much to stop. It felt oddly personal, as if Sam had wronged him specifically.

  “Why does it matter to you?” Sam asked. “Why do you care what happens to me, or Lilith for that matter? What does she have over you?”

  The flower-man struck Sam across the face harder than before. Blood trickled down his brow and cheekbone. Sam was dizzy, and surprised to learn how much the flower-man had been pulling his punches earlier.

  “I ask the questions. You answer them. That’s how this game is played.”

  Dazed and afraid, Sam forgot his earlier decision, taunting his torturer. “If that’s the game, you seem to be losing.”

  The flower-man gave Sam another smirk. “We’re just getting started. But if this game bores you, what do you say we up the difficulty?”

  Sam silently cursed himself.

  Then the flower-man did something that inspired in Sam true panic: he summoned fire in the palm of his bug-like hands. Violet-blue fire. The same color fire that Lilith used to scorch half of Sam’s face and body. The fire that haunted his nightmares to this very day.

  Sam could say or do nothing but crawl away in fear.

  The flower-man laughed, a clear, joyous timbre. “I thought this might have an effect. Lilith told me how you got those scars. I used to ask her about you. I would pester her, begging for stories. I wanted to know everything about you. You were a giant in my mind. And look at you now. All those years I spent dreaming, wondering, building you up into some kind of god… Can you imagine my disappointment at seeing this wretched creature before me? Will you give in, so soon? Will you beg? Will you tell me what I want to know, or shall I even out your complexion?”

  Sam fought back tears and swallowed the screams in his throat. He had to keep his wits. There was something more to this creature. Sam had no experience with whatever species of plant-insect-person stood before him, but the ability to summon fire from thin air was a strange and rare skill. This was no mere minion torturing him, no drone or stooge. He had to know more, but he didn’t dare ask another question. He had to let the flower-man taunt him with the information.

  Sam was powerless in this brightly lit room. He had only his wits. What did Sam know about the flower-man? He knew this was personal. The flower-man seemed particularly interested in Sam. Why? He knew the flower-man was confident and boastful. He enjoyed taunting and correcting Sam. So Sam had to be wrong and afraid. Let the flower-man bask in his sense of superiority and strength.

  Sam let his tears fall. He was afraid. There was no sense hiding it. Let the flower-man see his tears and taunt him. Let him slip more information.

  “Awe,” said the flower-man. “Your time away from Nod has made you soft. How sweet your life must have been.” The flower-man’s face took a resentful shape and he stepped forward menacingly. “Let me remind you what life was like for those you left behind.”

  In an instant, the flower-man grabbed Sam’s head and arms firmly in his many hands, and held the violet-blue flame against the unburnt side of Sam’s face.

  And Sam screamed in fearful agony.