Of Flame and Fury: A Weird Girls Novel (Weird Girls Flame Book 3)

by Cecy Robson

  Emme pokes her head into one of the stalls. “What is that? A bidet.”

  “No. A Japanese toilet,” I explain.

  She glides back to me. “Aren’t they more technologically advanced? There aren’t any buttons or knobs.”

  “It’s more of an enchanted Japanese toilet. It senses your needs and rinses you accordingly. It’s what the witches like to call classy.”

  Emme laughs a little. “I’m not certain classy is a term Genevieve would use.”

  It’s good to see Emme’s sweet smile. “No, but it works here,” I say.

  The bathroom seems bigger than it should. I use Sparky to push back the gossamer curtain that I think marks the end of the room, only to realize it leads to another larger room.

  Several glass saunas line the far wall, and massage tables covered with thick bedding poke through a small room just beyond.

  “Hmph. I guess this is a spa,” I say. “Vieve went all out redoing her new digs. So, what’s up with you and Bren?”

  “Pardon?” she asks.

  Emme’s demeanor shifts at the mention of his name. “Emme, I know you heard me,” I say. “Have you kissed him?”

  Bren admitted as much, except Emme didn’t, and I need to hear it from her. The pause that follows tells me more than she needs to.

  “We have.”

  “Emme, Bren has been more family than a friend. He’s the last wolf you should kiss.”

  “He was never just family, not to me.”

  My gaze falls briefly to the ground. “How long has this been going on?”

  “It hasn’t.” She wipes her hands on her dress. “I always thought he was cute and was attracted to him right away. But I was twenty then, and he was older.”

  I’m almost afraid to ask. “Did something happen back then between you?” Please say no. Please. I don’t want to kill Bren.

  “I asked him out on a date,” Emme admits. “That night when we cooked our first holiday dinner at the house. He and Danny came over and celebrated with us. Do you remember?” At my gaze, her irises cloud over as time takes her back. “After dinner, Bren played his guitar and sang a song just for me.”

  That night appears so clear to me then. We’d prepared all our favorite dishes and invited Danny. He asked if he could bring his buddy and roommate, Bren.

  I remember the song, “Make You Feel My Love.” Emme requested it, and Bren made it his own, his deep voice falling into a subtle country twang. He did sing the song just for Emme. I don’t tell her it was solely because she requested it and because she was our little sister and he was trying to be nice.

  “He flirted with all of us, Emme.” I glance at the floor. The stone appears darker here. “It’s just what he does.”

  “Maybe,” she says. “I just remember it made me feel special.”

  Emme was so young then for twenty, and innocent despite her years even having just graduated nursing school at the top of her class. “Did you go out together?” I kick at the tile, wishing it was Bren’s face. I know where this is going.

  “No,” she admits. She stops in the room and faces me. “He laughed hard enough to spit out his beer.”

  “Wow.” I know what that must have done to her.

  “You’re just a kid, he told me.” She laughs without humor. “And I was. But I’m not a kid anymore.” Her lips press together. “And now he knows it.”

  I just about hurl. “Good Gawd. You have slept with him, haven’t you?” My voice is no longer soft. It’s stern as it gets when worry tarnishes it.

  In the flickering candlelight, I see the flood of tears gathering in her eyes. “Some things are better left unsaid,” she tells me. “Even to your sisters.”

  I’m sad to hear her say this. We’ve always told each other everything. Granted, Ceel and I were always a little closer, having to raise our sisters and take on more responsibility. Except Shayna and Emme were tighter too. They could stay young a little longer. Ceel and I were forced to grow up early to keep our family together. Still, through heartbreak and laughter, we always stood as one.

  Or so I thought.

  I hug her tight, forcing myself to let go. “You don’t have to tell me what happened, Emme. I just wish you’d tell someone.”

  “It’s not that easy, Taran. Not when I don’t know what happened myself.”

  This really isn’t the time to talk. She made it more than clear. I only hope, sometime soon, it will be.

  I sigh, frustrated, and maybe a little scared too. Someone with a heart as big as Emme’s will always hurt more.

  “Let’s get back into the hall,” I say. “There’s nothing here.”

  But then there is, ’cause this is my life.

  A giggle, like that of a possessed little girl except not as cute, sweeps through the gossamer curtains, causing them to flutter. The feel of it shoves into Emme and me, lifting our hair before bouncing along the room.

  Mother effer. I hate being wrong. And damn it all, is it too much to ask to get back to Celia in one piece?

  I sense Emme’s gape on me when the girl, woman, spirit, whatever the hell, laughs again. If I turned my head, maybe I’d exchanged freaked-out glances with her. Except the goose bumps making my spinal cord their bitch won’t allow it.

  “We’re going to have to fight our way out of here, aren’t we?” Emme asks.

  “Yup,” I say. I cringe when Creep Show girl laughs again.

  Emme rolls up the sleeves of her borrowed sweater. “I really hate fighting our way out.”

  “Beats dying,” I remind her, taking the lead.

  Emme releases a rather defeated sigh. “Yes, it does.”

  Although I’m the first one to the curtains, I don’t exactly leap through and into action. Not when another creepier, giddier giggle drifts through.

  “G-goodness,” Emme says. “She’s really excited to tear us apart.”

  “Uh-huh,” I agree. Goose bumps spread along Sparky’s length. Well, isn’t this encouraging? “It’s like she can’t wait to dig her claws into us.”

  I lift my head high. I will not be intimidated by a laugh, no matter how disturbing…oh, man, there she goes again. The giggles turn manic and, if possible, eager.

  “Maybe we don’t have to fight our way out,” Emme stammers. “I mean, every evil entity can’t be beyond reason, can they?”

  “Sure,” I agree. I don’t mean it, of course. Neither does Emme despite what she says.

  “Screw it,” I snap. “This freak is going down.”

  I charge through the curtains. Emme follows, slamming into me when I stop short. There, past the fountains, the toilets, bare wall is…nothing.

  I’m not certain whether to be relieved or more frightened. Nothing, peeps, is ever this easy for us.

  “Where is she?” Emme whispers. She eases forward to stand beside me, keeping a small space between us. It’s the fighting stance we developed over the years. We’re close enough to guard each other’s backs, but far enough away to avoid friendly fire.

  “Taran?” she asks.

  I don’t answer when I realize something is very different. “We’re facing our shadows,” I say.

  “We have to fight our own shadows?” Emme all but shrieks.

  “No.” Well, crap, at least I hope not. “I mean when we walked in, our shadows faced the wall behind us. Now, they’re lined along the exit.”

  “The candles don’t follow light patterns the way the sun does,” she reasons. “And they move and…stuff.”

  She’s trying to make sense of it all. Deep down inside, my little sister knows we’re fucked.

  And don’t I prove my point when another shadow appears between ours? The shadow rises, flinging her long hair back as she arches and glides her hands down her gi-hugic breasts. Her fingers dance along her body, sweeping lower, reaching her lady parts, and going deep. That’s when her laugh turns naughty, gleeful, and taunting.

  I groan. Really?

  We turn around slowly. Emme jumps when she sees what’s
up. I don’t jump. My jaw is too busy crashing to the floor with how messed up this situation is.

  The curtains are gone, replaced with a concrete gray wall and bathtub you might find in Rome back when Julius Caesar was your bath buddy. A woman, very naked and very wet splashes about, having the time of her life in that tub.

  She winks at us, her blue eyes blazing, and goes to town on the largest and roundest set of breasts I’ve ever seen in real life. Dark hair gathers around her shoulders and curves.

  “Oh, my,” Emme gasps. “It’s you.”

  “It is not,” I fire back rather defensively. “My boobs aren’t that big or round.” I wave in giggly girl’s direction. “And look at her nipples.”

  “They’re a tad exaggerated,” Emme agrees. “And her nipples very much point north not south—”

  “Mine don’t point south.”

  “Taran.”

  “They point straight, damn it.”

  Creepy gal giggles, splashing more water and very entertained by our bickering.

  “Taran,” Emme says, again, evidently trying to get me to focus. “Look at her. She has your hair and eyes and…It’s you. Johnny recreated you with his twisted taste.”

  “All right. I get it,” I say.

  “You do see it?” she presses.

  “No, Emme. And I don’t want to. This situation is messed up enough without the little perv making versions of me he probably whacks off to.”

  “Oh.” Emme grimaces. “Did you have to take it there?”

  Creepy gal shoots me an impish grin and a rather seductive smile, very much reinforcing I’m very right to take it there. “Gawd,” I groan.

  Emme clasps my elbow, her touch soothing me. “Come on,” she whispers. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “We’re leaving?” I question.

  “Well, yes,” Emme says. “She’s not doing anything. All she did was laugh and take a bath.”

  It must be a beautiful place in Emme’s head. In my twisted mind, the bitch blows up, and demon children crawl from what’s left of her boobs. “She hasn’t done anything yet. That doesn’t mean she won’t or that her death won’t weaken Johnny significantly.” I point out. “Let’s just kill her and get it over with.”

  As I always, I said the wrong thing. Creepy gal abruptly stops laughing, and the candles burn out one by one, leaving us in darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I lift my right arm, firing up Sparky. Her light is our sole beacon in the room, casting a sphere that stretches to the foot of the tub.

  Droplets pour down the concrete, forming tiny rivers that part at our feet. A splat, like the sound of a wet towel striking something hard, has us edging back. Sparky illuminates, spreading her light and showing us how deeply screwed we really are.

  Webbed fingers glide down the tub’s cement surface, the claws at the tips scraping lines into the tile.

  Splat.

  Another webbed hand follows.

  Splat. Splat.

  Oh, joy, here come feet.

  Soaking wet hair drapes over sickly yellow skin, veiling what used to be a woman’s face. Like falling dominoes, vertebrae push out from the spine in a series of pops, stretching her flesh and exposing deep-red muscle and puncturing fins.

  The Nyte lifts her gaunt face, her forearm length mouth baring fangs.

  “We should have just let her finish her bath,” I admit.

  “Um, yes,” Emme agrees.

  The Nyte smiles.

  And I fire.

  Blue and white lightning charges in a zigzag motion, widening as it reaches the Nyte. She leaps onto the ceiling, avoiding the strike.

  Splat…Splat. Splat, splat, splat, splat.

  My hand whips up, casting light above our heads. Flipper marks track the ceiling and thick wet goo drops in chunks.

  Emme hops away as the muck falls to her right. “I think it’s webbing.”

  “Oh, come on,” I say. “Johnny isn’t even trying to make sense with these things.”

  Something crashes behind us, then to the left. A toilet flushes, and more water rushes from the tub. “Where is she?” Emme asks, her hands out.

  “I don’t know.” I feel my irises bleach. “But she’s loaded with magic and damn fast.”

  “Why couldn’t we have gotten the Ewoks?” she asks. “I could have just rounded them up and locked them in the freezer.”

  I shake my head when more gunk falls. “I don’t know. Nipple biting is sounding really good right about now.”

  More wet and sticky globs drop into the toilets. Emme gasps. “Oh, my. I think she’s laying eggs.”

  “Tell me you’re joking,” I say. She doesn’t. “Emme!”

  “She’s a fish, Taran. Remember the Nyte that split in two? It birthed babies all over the place.”

  “Good point,” I say. The sticky plopping effects intensify. “On that lovely note, let’s get the hell out of here. There’s not enough light.”

  I clasp Emme’s arm.

  But it’s not Emme.

  The candles surge with flames too large for the votives, illuminating yet another show-stopping smile from the Nyte. I jerk away from her, stopping dead when I spot Emme pressed against the wall.

  Long webbed fingers cover Emme’s mouth, she writhes, her eyes wild and her arms bound to the wall.

  I duck when the Nyte takes a swing at me. I don’t quite get my bearings before she snatches me by the leg and throws me across the room.

  My right arm shoots out, sparing my skull and taking the brunt of the impact when I collide into the wall. Pain rattles me as I bounce and roll across the cold, wet floor. Emme screams my name. I’m disoriented and winded but force myself to move when Emme screams again.

  The room abruptly tilts as I push up on my elbows. It’s dark, my eyes barely adjusting past Sparky’s light.

  Emme twists free of the webbing. She lifts the Nyte with her force, slamming her into the ceiling. The floor shakes as the Nyte falls, and I struggle to rise.

  The creature spits globs at Emme’s face, blinding her. Emme struggles to maintain her grip and tosses the Nyte toward the stalls. Emme misses the stone enclosure, pushing the Nyte through the opening and losing her grip.

  I build my fire, ready for the Nyte when it leaps from behind the stall. Blue and white flames funnel out, exploding against the stone wall and reducing it to minute particles. I keep firing, striking harder and missing each time.

  The candles ignite, blinding me and blowing out just as quickly. I still have Sparky’s glow to guide us, but my vision fades in and out.

  Splat…splat, spat…splat.

  Damn it. This thing is everywhere.

  Claws dig into my shoulders, hauling me up. I punch erratically, managing to nail the Nyte in the throat. As I start to fall, she snags me by my right arm.

  I scream when the Nyte bites down. Her needle-thin fangs pierce to the bone and pull at the flesh. Sparky is stronger and tougher than I am. I’ll be long dead before she goes, and she proves exactly why. The glow intensifies, lessening the pain. It still freaking hurts, and my swearing proclaims as much, but we’re not done fighting Fucked-up Ariel yet.

  The Nyte spits out the fangs that don’t survive Sparky’s tough hide, not that it discourages her. She chomps away, determined to reach Sparky’s gooey insides. The way my arm is pointing, all I’ll do is hit the ceiling if I fire. It’s a long way down, and I’m not certain I’ll survive the fall should I strike.

  Emme spins wildly, pulling at the webbing stuck to her face. “Taran, where are you? What’s happening?”

  “She’s gnawing on me like fried chicken.”

  “She’s calling you fried chicken?”

  “No. She’s trying to eat me. Eat me,” I repeat.

  “Eat you?”

  It’s only then I realize the amount of goop stuck to her ear. Screw it. I’ll take my chance with the fall. I take a breath and focus, trying to gather my power. Come on, Sparky. Let’s light her shit up.

 
; The Nyte clamps down with both sets of fangs, her maw trembling violently as the force of my magic builds. Sparky is ready to explode. This does not discourage my freaky friend. Like a famished hillbilly getting his first bite of corn on the cob, the Nyte chomps up and down on my arm.

  Flames spiral along my arm, burning her. Instead of screaming in pain, or heaven forbid letting me go, the Nyte tilts its head back and forth, curious, examining my arm like a rare treasure. Whatever. The treasure box is ready to blow.

  Heat casts a stream of perspiration across my forehead just a breath before ripples of fire consume the Nyte and the entire ceiling. I’m dropped like a stone, barely managing to stagger to my knees when she charges.

  Flames cover her from head to toe, eating at her skin. My right arm isn’t enough to shield me from the Nyte’s strength. She rams me into the cement tub and submerges me, the quick and rough movements she uses throwing my legs up.

  Her hideous laughter is muffled beneath the water, and her gruesome features distort from the waves caused by my writhing. She pins my arm to my chest, holding me down. I panic, losing focus and preventing my power from building.

  Drowning is among my biggest fears. Death by rabid and scary creature is up there too. I never counted on this delightful combination. Except here am, losing consciousness fast.

  Her laughter and image fade replaced by white light. No. Not light. Mist.

  My head pokes through the water and above the mist. I’m somewhere else in the manor. The familiar sense of Vieve’s spells pokes at me, as do the aroma of lavender, thyme, rosemary, and belladonna (her favorite).

  Grunts of pleasure and pain mix in conjunction with hands passing quickly over skin. I turn in the direction of the sounds, my hands covering my mouth when I see Johnny.

  He’s crouched on the floor with his back to me, naked, his hand moving fast. The colorful tats along his skin crawl up and down his spine and across his shoulders, agitated and aroused. I don’t have time to act. The leopard prowling through a section of his inked jungle immediately spots me. It roars, leaping off his back and alerting Johnny.

  Paws press into my shoulders, and I slam back into the water.

  I break through the surface, gasping and gulping for air.