When Damien growled for her to get inside, Jennifer had fully intended to obey. She had absolutely no desire to greet whatever was writhing inside that portal.
But then a black limousine screeched to a halt in front of her building.
Jennifer blinked. The rear door opened, and a familiar young man stepped out.
"Bastien?"
She froze—then froze again when Bastien immediately moved aside and bowed as an older gentleman emerged from the vehicle.
"Frank?!"
Jennifer slipped from Damien's grasp and hurried toward them.
"You guys shouldn't leave your car here!" she exclaimed. Did they not see the giant swirling vortex of possible doom less than three meters away? The driver couldn't move anyway—the portal was in the middle of the street.
Behind them, another limousine pulled up. This one was silvery white, polished to an almost blinding sheen. The national crest gleamed from its hood like a declaration of authority, flanked by two escort cars.
Jennifer's usually quiet residential street now looked like it was hosting a diplomatic summit.
Meanwhile, the portal pulsed. The air shimmered and twisted like heat off asphalt. Something long, jointed, and glossy thrust briefly through the veil—then withdrew. Its movements grew frantic. The hairs along Jennifer's arms lifted.
Damien jogged over, jaw tight.
"Ms. Jen. It's dangerous out here."
"But the cars—" she began, then stopped. What exactly was she going to say? Excuse me, sir, you're illegally parked… during an alien invasion?
"Never mind the cars, Ms. Jen," Bastien said coolly.
His grandfather smiled genially.
"My dear, I am relieved to see you unharmed."
Bastien narrowed his eyes at her.
"Me?" Jennifer widened hers innocently—and shot him a glare.
It wasn't like that!
Bastien smirked.
"Grandfather was beside himself with worry."
"Quite right," the older man sighed amiably. "One does find oneself worrying more with age."
Quite right? Your grandson thinks we're having an affair! But of course, there was no way Jennifer to shout something like that to his face.
Behind them, doors opened in synchronized precision. Uniformed escorts stepped aside. And then—the Duke emerged.
Clouds shifted as if the heavens themselves were sighing at his arrival. Sunlight haloed his golden hair, his full white suit and cape immaculate. Jennifer vaguely recognized the robes of his escorts—at least five royal magicians and healers. They immediately busied themselves along the street. By now, the residents had shut themselves indoors. Thank goodness that people had common sense in her neighbourhood.
So why were they still standing about outside?
"Francis," the Duke acknowledged dryly.
"Your Excellency," Frank replied, suddenly steely. "Should you not have parked so close? I would hate for anyone to see our cars together and misunderstand us."
Jennifer blinked. She had written far too many face-off scenes not to recognize one happening right in front of her. But this wasn't a webnovel. Did neither of these gentlemen get the memo that they were being unrealistically dramatic? And did no one notice the portal expanding—now two lanes wide?
The street was completely blocked. Jennifer could barely see the black limousine through the rippling air, and behind it, the silvery white car gleamed like a second sun.
Then the first invader emerged.
Brown, roughly the size of a golden retriever, with a glossy, segmented shell. Its legs flailed, clicking like tiny knives on the pavement.
Jennifer froze. She had written a single line in her notes—"cockroach-level evil: kill on sight." She said cockroach-level, not giant cockroach. Urgh! And now it was… worse. She could see the sheen glisten, the sideways mandibles, the twitching antennae, the horrifying eyes…
When the roach turned toward her, making a low, creaking noise, Jennifer shrieked, "Kill it—just kill it now!" Backing up, she collided with the two men, breaking whatever electric presence and cutting any chance at composure.
And then more poured through. Uncountable. A writhing, clicking, gleaming tide spilling onto the street.
Jennifer let out a full-on scary-movie scream. She knew she had written this. But this—this was taking it too far.