The crystal forest ended at the old river bridge.
Clubs saw it first because she was out in front, the way she always was. The glittering statues of the dead thinned out as the road curved along the water, until there were only a few frozen shapes left standing at the edges, and then none at all. Beyond them, the river road ran straight on toward a low concrete bridge where the river split around a little island of reeds. The bridge lamps were all dark.
And on the bridge, someone was waiting.
Seven of them. Living, not dead. She could tell from how they stood, still but loose, weight on their toes, the way fighters stand when they're ready for something. No masks. No festival clothes. Dark jackets and bare faces, every one of them turned toward the oncoming crowd.
Silent, of course. They were always silent.
Clubs stopped walking and put her hands on her hips.
"Well," she said around her lollipop. "Somebody set up a toll booth."
