by Cecy Robson
“Bren,” Emme calls.
I mutter a curse. Emme is exhausted and hurt and almost out of time.
My magic feels my distress and feeds the misty globe. The werecheetah sets to pounce. He backs away when my little friend rumbles, and several bolts of lightning crackle within it.
“You’re insane, Karen,” he hisses. “You’ll blow us all to hell.”
“I know what I’m doing.” I think. “Reveal yourself,” I command. “Show me where you are.”
The ball of mist sizzles with lightning and rumbles like a brewing storm that promises disaster. Gemini breaks through the barrier separating the foyer and ballroom as I race to the center of the ballroom. My original arm didn’t have the physical strength I need. But Sparky here is everything and more.
Everyone scatters except for Gemini, who lifts me in the air by my waist. I slam dunk the ball into the floor as he brings me down. It imbeds into the marble, casting streaks of light across the room like a disco ball. Uri barrels forward, stopping short when Gemini releases an unearthly growl, and he gets a good look at the virtual weapon at my feet.
I cover my head and crouch, feeling the weight of Gemini’s body shielding mine a breath before my nuclearized globe of magic cracks and explodes in one mighty blow.
The strength it takes to break through the veiling spell is like a collision of trains at all sides. Windows shatter outward, and the ceiling comes crashing down.
Roaring, yelling, and hissing ensues. I glance up when Gemini charges into the fray, changing into a giant midnight wolf. Gemini races on all fours, his claws scratching through the floor as he charges. He joins his twin, tackling the creature who has Emme.
The creature—the Nyte, I should say, resembles Tim Burton’s Tweedledum, only naked with a row of eyes that circle and spin around his egg-shaped bald head. He releases Emme from the impact of the wolves and rolls several feet away.
Emme lands in a heap, not moving, and her limbs twisted in odd directions.
“Emme.” I race toward her, grinding to a halt when Bren in wolf form thrusts the creature he’s fighting just in front of me.
This Nyte is covered with mouths riddled with fangs where her eyes, breasts, knuckles, and everything else should be. The bite marks littering Bren’s body ooze. He’s missing chunks of fur and muscle; the exposed bone on his hind leg appears shiny against the dim light.
My breath hitches. This is what had him.
I throw my hand forward, sending a long stream of fire spiraling into the Nyte’s stomach.
The creature lights up like a torch, the scent of smoking meat filling the room. She shrieks, not in pain, but rage. She takes off in a sprint, gunning for me, the multiple mouths suckling as though they can already taste me.
The bolts of lightning that strike from my fingertips are larger and scarier than I’m used to. It fries the creature midair, the entirety of her body shattering in moist portions.
I back away from the remains, hauling ass to where Emme lies. Bren, injured and close to collapsing, trails me, snarling savagely, his eyes darting side to side.
The dwindling fire that remains of my globe casts shadows along the wall. It’s then I see them, more creatures attacking or being torn apart by the guests.
Winged creatures, closer to demons than anything that belongs on earth, swoop down, lifting anyone they can get their claws into. Their reptilian bodies are covered with armor, and gold stingers protrude from their lengthy and thin tails. Two work together to capture a vampire. The vamp hisses, flailing her knife-length nails. She cuts one Nyte at the ankles and flips, straddling the other and breaking through its sternum. She manages to tear out the Nyte’s heart and kill it. Its friend avenges it, puncturing the stinger through the vampire’s back and out through her chest.
The vampire falls with a thud, twitching wildly. She must be old, since she’s still alive, and she must be something special. A horde of vampires attack the winged Nyte, bringing it down where it hovers near the remnants of the ceiling. The horde shreds it into large mangled bits. One of the vampires, another female, offers a bloody piece to the injured vamp. She sinks her fangs into it and spits it out. “Not blood,” she says.
Whatever these creatures originally were, they weren’t human. “Jesus, Johnny. What did you do?”
I hop over more dissected parts, some weres, some vamps, some Nytes. The Nytes vary in appearance and ability, and they’re everywhere. I’m uncertain if they appeared in response to my magic or if they were present the whole time, hiding and waiting to kill.
A random and roaming hand snags my ankle. I scream, ’cause that’s what you do when something like that grabs you. I kick it off me and curse at it. It lands palm up, rights itself, and scuttles back at me. I bring down my heel several times, trying to stomp it. It darts out of the way and tries to grab me again. A sense of satisfaction fills me when I jump and the small bones crunch beneath my weight.
“Ow! Ka-ren.”
My evil grin vanishes. I whirl around. A vamp with no limbs leans against the wall. “I’m just trying to get your attention.” She motions with a flick of her chin. “Something’s trying to eat your sister, Emily.”
Sure enough, there’s a giant rug with more mouth than chest, dragging “Emily” away.
Lightning charges within my grip. I throw a bolt like a javelin. Instead of sizzling the Nyte, it stabs through it, the tip sticking out from its back. The Nyte releases Emme, slapping at its back, trying to reach the bolt.
My breath hitches. These things aren’t just odd and creepy, they affect my magic in an unnerving way. I blast and blow things up. Never has my lightning maintained a form like this.
Emme’s legs slide down the Nyte’s side and fall on a mound of debris. She’s really hurt and needs help.
I stomp forward, forgetting about the hand skewered to my heel. It wiggles madly, its owner whining with each step I take.
“Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow!”
I grimace and look down. “Gawd. I’m sorry.”
My knees bend in a small squat, trying to maintain my balance over the uneven and destroyed room as I generate more power. When my next lightning strike does little more than jolt the Nyte, I attempt to toss a small ball of fire. I miss when the hand attached to my shoe yanks hard and tries to pull off me. My fire catches a curtain, precariously hanging on a broken rod, and lights the damn thing up.
My lover, now in human form and as smart as he is hot, snags the curtain. He spins it like a supersized gym towel and snaps it against a giant toad with spikes on its back. The toad roars, the tips of its spikes catching like candles. It spits out its sickly purple tongue, latching onto Gemini’s wrist and dragging him toward its gaping mouth.
Gemini allows it to pull him, securing his feet on either side of its maw to keep it from biting. He twirls the tongue around his wrist and pulls hard, yanking out the tongue along with several rows of intestines.
I gag as I shove my way through the fight to Emme. I gag harder when I realize Tweedledum is still alive, rolling through the damage and knocking over supernaturals like bowling pins while his male parts slap against the floor like tiny, wet mops.
“Ow.”
“Sorry,” I yell at the she-vamp. I shake my foot some more when I realize her severed hand is still attached to my shoe. I know she’s mad, but her hand is not my priority, Emme is. I shoot a stream of fire and light up the rug Nyte when he reaches for Emme.
Blue and white flames eat through the Nyte’s hide. It ignores the fire and tries to lift Emme. It’s not until my magic burns through its exterior and splits its skin open that it finally reacts in pain.
It bellows with the might of a grieving elephant, swerving, clumsily swatting at its back as if unsure how to move its limbs. I realize too late it doesn’t have elbows.
Son of a bitch. These freaks are from Johnny Fate. He only paid attention to details when it came to himself. This mission is to do just enough to get what he needs.
The burning Nyt
e slams into one winged creature taking flight, and another one on the ground having it out with a werebear. The werebear scrambles out of the way as the burning Nyte sets both creatures aflame.
I pump my arm. “Yes.” The fight is far from over, but we’re starting to get the upper hand. I push toward Emme.
“Ow!”
For crying out loud. The stupid hand is still stuck. I jerk my foot hard. The hand slides down but sticks to the end.
The she-vamp hisses, baring her fangs. “Just yank it off, Karen.”
The hand is making grabby motions, and several nails are bloody or missing. “I’m not touching that nasty thing—no offense,” I quickly add. I give it one last kick. It flies off yet doesn’t quite land.
A snake creature with iridescent wings snatches it up and gobbles it down. The indentations of the fingers open and close the length of its body until it reaches the tail and sort of just…dies.
I lift my head to meet the she-vamp’s scathing glare. “I am like, so sorry,” I say.
“Fuck you, Karen,” she tells me.
She can be mad at “Karen” all she wants. I’m getting Emme.
Chapter Nine
I reach Emme and drag her near the overturned piano. It offers little as far as protection from the all-out brawl taking place, but it’s all I have. I cradle her in my arms, sweeping her sweat-soaked hair behind her. “Emme. Emme, sweetie. Wake up.”
She’s burning up. I can’t tell if it’s from the battle or from some poison she was exposed to. “Sweetie, please. We can’t stay here.”
The room rattles. I glance where it’s all-out war in the foyer. Nytes, big and small, charge the group of supernaturals I left behind. I can’t tell who’s winning, and I can’t see Celia. From what I can determine, we’re better off in the ballroom, which isn’t saying much.
I give Emme a shake, gently at first, until I sense an immense Nyte materialize. “Emme, wake up. The shit’s hit the fan, and now it’s on fire.”
The Nyte, like the others, is unlike anything that should exist on Earth. I see her shadow before I see her. A voluptuous, naked woman shakes out her hands, clicking her talon-shaped nails. Her lower body is that of a black widow. She scuttles down the wall, her girth comparable to a Smart car and her beady red eyes illuminating at the sight of Uri.
Her very nature is unnerving. My ingrained fear warns me against giving my presence away.
Not Uri. He and his family are covered in entrails and thin black fluid. His vampires hiss, marching forward to protect their master. They halt in place when Uri lifts his hand. Uri watches the arachnid creature, analyzing her closely and spotting for weak points.
I adjust Emme’s weight on me and stroke her face. My God, her fever is worsening. “Baby girl,” I rasp. “You have to wake up.”
Uri and the arachnid are squaring off. Uri barely moves. The Nyte readies to attack. She clicks her nails, and her feet scuttle back and forth, excited and fretting over which side of Uri to eat first.
Something splats against the invisible wall separating the foyer from the ballroom. Another witch has perished. What remains of her face stains the divide as her broken body slides to the floor. I swallow down the lump in my throat when I realize who she is.
Her name was Charan. She was in my Mayhem and Menace class at witch school. Her favorite snack was apples drizzled with honey. She liked to sing when she cooked and was one of few who were kind to me.
“Emme,” I say, my voice splintering. “Wake up. We need to fight.”
More Nytes go down on our side, and the fight dwindles from an ear-splitting uproar to bar-brawl-level chaos.
Uri, now impatient to start the fight, scoffs at the spider. “You’re nothing,” he tells her. “Trash beneath pseudo layers of power.”
The spider Nyte’s speech is garbled, as if she’s unsure how to place her tongue. “Nyte has come,” she tells Uri. “Nyte will triumph.”
It’s not exactly the comeback I expected, her words slightly off following Uri’s comment.
Uri frowns, offended. He tackles her, his movements a mix of speed and grace. With a turn and a partial flip, he locks his strong legs around the Nyte’s waist. Like a temperamental child pulling up weeds, he tears the Nyte’s legs from her large lower body.
It only takes an instant for Uri to kill the Nyte, a stark reminder of why he is who he is and why so many fear him.
I almost drop Emme when something with the legs of a man and the head of a crocodile skitters by. These Nytes are everywhere, feeding on those too slow to react or ripped to shreds by the more powerful.
Tweedledum is among the Nytes who remain. Gemini’s twin leaps on top of Tweedle, determined to take him down. Tweedle swerves from left to right, his multiple eyes spinning and his male parts flapping away.
“Emme,” I plead. “Wake up.”
She’s so sick, her pallor fading to a horrid shade of green.
Bren, now human, stumbles toward me. Like his wolf counterpart, he’s covered in bite marks and not healing. “Here,” he says. “Give her to me.”
I almost don’t, feeling protective and stunned stupid by his state. “You look awful.”
“Yeah.” It’s all he says. He gathers Emme against him, using care as he turns her.
I clasp his arm. None of this makes sense. Weres heal at an astronomical speed. Yet here he is, kicking on death’s door and demanding to be let in. “Bren, you’re not healing.”
He yanks his arm away. “Neither will Emme if I don’t do this.”
He hooks the bottom of Emme’s bodice with his mangled fingers and tugs the fabric down.
“What the hell are you doing?” I demand. I smack his hands when he exposes her breast. “Stop it. Leave her alone, dammit.” He ignores me, his full attention on Emme. I try shoving him away. I might as well be pushing a wall. He exposes the other breast and pulls harder, stretching the fabric until it crumples at her waist. I push and strike him. “God damn it, Bren. Stop. Don’t make me kill you.”
Bren’s head pops up, the look of sorrow he pegs me with freezing me in place. He wipes the blood dribbling from his mouth and onto his skin. “You have to trust me, T.”
He curls forward, clutching Emme like a lover. As I watch with my jaw dangling down to my toes, Bren’s full lips pass along Emme’s sternum. His mouth opens and closes over her flushed skin between her breasts and around the swells of her small breasts. He moves up and down, grimacing as if it pains him to leave her breasts when he works his way to her throat.
I avert my eyes certain I’ll have to kill him. Instead, I take out my frustrations on a creature resembling a cross between and creepy doll and a baboon with four tails. The little bastard is flinging flaming green poo at a cluster of vamps, laughing his shiny ass off and enjoying himself. I zap him with a lightning strike, making him jump and distracting him long enough for a werehyena to bite his head off.
I turn back to Bren, my temper surging as he drags his tongue down Emme’s now-exposed stomach.
“Jesus Christ, Bren.” This shit is worse than what I saw earlier with Tye and Destiny. “You have two seconds before I fry you to were bits.”
Bren lifts off Emme and turns, spitting thorns the size of fingers and more than his share of blood. He wipes his mouth and tugs her clothes back in place. “Come on, Em,” he tells her, giving her a small shake. “The poison is out. Heal for me, baby.”
I was right. I didn’t want to be right. “How did you know?” I ask. Her greenish skin fades to white, still pale, but no longer that shade of death she developed before. I stroke Emme’s forehead, the perspiration gathered cooling, and the pinkish tone returning to her skin. “Bren?” I ask when he doesn’t answer.
He sets her back in my arms and perches himself on all fours, spitting out more blood and black fluid. “I could smell the thorns.” He spits some more, his stomach muscles clenching. I think he’ll puke until he turns into a sitting position. “I found Emme fighting that bald bastard over there,” he say
s, jerking toward Tweedle. “Another guy, thing, whatever the fuck it was came out of nowhere, all covered with thorns. He shot them at us. I tried to shield Emme with my body, but then this other thing with the mouths landed on me, and I think the thorny bastard had another go at Emme.” He shakes his head. “T, I didn’t sense them. I couldn’t smell or hear them. At least, not right away.”
“That’s because they’re hidden by Johnny’s magic.” He scowls, unsure what I mean until recognition breaks across his features. I nod. “Johnny Fate is here, Bren. He’s the one sending these creatures and infecting the spells.”
“You’re sure?”
I cuddle Emme closer. She’d almost died in my arms. “I recognize the magic and can sense part of him around me.”
His gaze shifts to Emme. “Where’s Celia?” he asks gruffly. “Tell me she’s safe. Tell me that little punk doesn’t have her.”
I can’t tell him anything when I don’t know myself. I motion to the foyer. “She’s there, I think. Aric and the others are with her.” Heaven help us. Celia has protection. Emme had none. Celia may be stronger and tougher, but she heals close to a human’s pace.
Bren crouches, trying to stand. “Can’t they get through?”
“I don’t think so. I did, and Gemini was allowed through keeping close to me, but it was a lot of work and took some time.”
“Whatever you did, start doing it, T. Celia needs to get out the back way.”
He doesn’t mean the rear entrance. He means Plan D. Our last-ditch safety net I’m supposedly in charge of.
“I don’t know if I can,” I admit. Plan D is our “all hell has broken loose and we need to separate plan.” The first part has come true. That doesn’t mean I’m prepared to leave those I most love under these circumstances. I swallow down the panic churning my stomach.
“You can, and you have to,” Bren replies. He reclaims his hold on Emme when he’s sure I’ll drop her. He strokes her cheek, attempting to wake her.