by Dianna Love
Bring me to your side.
A bolt of lightning slashed. I chanted louder.
Bound together dark and day.
Time forward meet time reversed.
I seek thee. I summon thee.
Bring me. Bring us to your side.
A whirlpool started, the sucking sound reaching me before the motion.
“Hang on,” I screamed, which was pointless. There was nothing to hang onto as Franco and I spun faster and faster. Freefalling through whiteness until we slammed into something solid.
“Damn it, Alex, don’t ever do that again,” Bran shouted at me.
We’d made it.
Now what?
CHAPTER 57
Peeling my eyes open I wasn’t surprised to see Bran scowling; it was a look he wore well and often around me; but I was surprised to see a poodle sitting across from me and staring, as if waiting for me to get with the program. The same poodle I’d seen on the yacht and earlier at the chateau.
“Franco? Is that you?”
A yelp answered me.
“You’re a poodle?”
That earned a classic Franco sniff of disdain, sounding the same from the poodle as it did the man, and an upturned nose.
The good news? The bloody area around the poodle’s shoulder was already receding, so both man and dog were healing.
Thank the Spirits.
I felt like I’d been tumbled in an industrial dryer and spat out, but my aches and pains would have to wait. We had work to do.
“We have to get out of here. Stop Dominique before she goes any further.”
“I don’t know if I’ll regain enough magic for a bit to stop her. Can you?” Bran asked, a very legitimate question. “Given what she is?”
“I don’t know, but she’s not my first worry. Getting out of here is.”
“Why could you use magic to retrieve Franco?” Bran eyed me.
“Shamanism isn’t the same magic as witches and warlocks use.” I said, getting my bearings. “I framed my travel as a spell but that was just a formality. Shamanism is communication with the spirits. The best shamans can travel between realms as easily as you and I travel in a car.”
“So how shall we leave here with Weres guarding the hallway and no magic?” Bran asked.
That was why I dug hanging around with guys. Focus on the solution to the problem and no whining.
I glanced around the room. It was the largest on the floor with a set of French doors leading to a small balcony. I crossed over and looked out. “Too high to climb down. Nothing to break a fall if we jumped. Not even Franco could do it. And I count three more goons patrolling the driveway.” Five to two. Not great but not fatal. Maybe.
I also noticed that Dominique’s car was gone. I so wasn’t ready to face her again, especially with no magic abilities, but I also knew that meant she was free to wreak havoc.
I looked at Bran. Really looked and asked, “Did your cousin’s breath cause you to black out?”
“Yes.” His face was creased in confusion. “But not for long. Maybe five minutes. It seemed to hit you harder.”
Yeah, but why? Then the light bulb went off. Bran’s genetic makeup, his warlock elements, probably negated what Dominique could do to him, or at least what her breath could do. If we got out of here, and confronted his cousin again, I might need to use Bran.
One battle at a time.
“No landline in here.” I shifted the conversation from who or what Dominique was to how we could escape.
Bran followed my thought process. “Dom took my cell as well as Franco’s.”
“Figured that.” The IR team might be on their way based on my text message to Kelly, but they might not arrive in enough time. They’d also be walking into trouble they weren’t expecting if all the goon guards were Weres or shifters, which I guessed they would be.
I stepped closer to the door. It looked like it had been built in the middle ages to withstand a castle siege. Thick wood, reinforced fittings, and the lock was solid. No ramming this puppy with a well-placed shoulder or kick.
“If I only had—” I glanced around the room again, smiling when I spied a familiar tote.
Bran asked. “What are you—”
“This.” I grabbed my hairdresser’s case.
“What does—”
“Watch.” I opened the top latch and rummaged through the contents. “Here.” I held out a jar of styling gel. “You’ll need to spread this on the floor in front of the door. About a four foot arc from where the door would be standing half open, to three feet into the room.”
“But—”
“Trust me.” We both paused, eyeing each other. How many times had we shared that same phrase? And how many times had we failed?
“So be it.” Bran grabbed the jar.
Good. We didn’t have a lot of time. Franco barked as if to reinforce the urgency.
I dove back into the tote, coming up with two cans of hairspray, some hair dye, styling mud, and cotton batting used to keep dye off a client’s skin. Not the traditional battle strategy when fighting preternaturals, but then I wasn’t your traditional preternatural warrior without my magic. I had to use what I had.
“What is this stuff?” Bran was spreading the gel in a thin layer across the hard wood floor. “And how much do I use?”
“Use it all. The more the better.” I focused on reading the labels on the goods in my hands. “The gel’s used to spike hair, but it’s also slicker than snot on a glass door knob.”
He glanced over his shoulder at me. “It’s—never mind.”
Different worlds.
I eyed the adjacent bathroom. If what I needed was in there I was in luck. If not—a quick look at Bran spurred me to action.
“Yes,” I gave a quiet shout as I dug beneath the fancy marble sink. “Gotcha.”
Bran appeared in the doorway, holding up his goo-rimmed hands. “Done. What now?”
“Wash your hands.” I brushed past him. “You won’t want the gel to get in the way of grabbing a bad guy or his weapon.” I didn’t mention that the bad guy would be hard enough to catch as it was, given they’d most likely shift as soon as I set off my little surprise. “And stay off that section of floor.” I headed to the far side of the room. “And stay as far away from me as possible.”
“I’ve been trying.”
His bitter words broke my concentration. I sucked in the regret before giving him a level glance and turning my back to him and Franco. “I mean it. I’m making a bomb. A very unstable, very volatile bomb that stands just as large a chance of blowing us up as blowing up the door.”
“Then don’t—”
“We have no choice.” I kept my attention on the glass hair dye beaker, the hydrogen peroxide, and the nail polish remover spread on the bedside table before me. “Now be silent. I have to get the chemical ratios figured as close as possible since I’m not using them in their pure form.”
“Which means?”
“Which means nail polish remover has additives which make it impure. It’s not a hundred percent acetone, which works best.”
“They teach you this at spy school?”
I looked up. “Nah. My brothers taught me this at home when they found out about the cool chemicals I got to work with in the salon.”
“Dangerous siblings.”
“Yeah.” I grinned. He didn’t know the half of it. Then I sobered as I realized I might never see my brothers again. And Van would die. Regret damned near choked me before I shifted my focus back to my task.
“Anything for me to be doing?” Bran asked as I was calculating the percent of sulfuric acid in the drain opener I’d found in the bathroom. “Find some matches.”
My hand trembled as I slowly poured the acetone into the peroxide. “Five times more peroxide than acetone.” I inhaled once the two ingredients were mixed, but not deep breaths. This mixture made Dom’s swamp breath a fresh breeze in comparison.
The conditions were not optimal. Nor were the
time frames. Cooling the mixture made for a better explosive, but I didn’t have a refrigerator, a Celsius thermometer, or the time. It was lucky the guards hadn’t heard us moving around and investigated. The doors and walls were thick but not that thick for Were ears. So maybe they were just lazy, thinking lowly humans were a non-threat. Their first mistake, but not their last.
“How’s Frank doing?” I asked as I grabbed the drain cleaner and the beaker and moved toward the door.
Franco barked in response. I guess that meant okay in doggy-speak.
I carefully stepped in the area Bran had not gelled. Last thing I needed to do was slip and blow us all to smithereens.
“Bran, grab Frank and haul him as far from the door as possible.”
“It’s not worth your getting killed,” Bran’s tone razored across me.
“Saving a life is worth it.” I set the beaker down, placing the drain cleaner nearby as I spun a length of cotton through my fingers. When it resembled a long, thick fuse I grabbed a plastic stir stick and pushed the cotton into the combination mixture. The stick started to dissolve immediately, but I only needed it to last long enough to fish the cotton out, leaving a tail in the mixture, and a tail over the side of the beaker.
“We’re ready.” Bran announced quietly from his side of the room over Franco’s low growls. “What now?”
“Check the guards out front of the house. See if more are there or if they’ve moved.”
He crossed to the window without comment. The next part was tricky. The drain cleaner was only one element of the final combination, the other part, the booster charge, was plain old ammonium nitrate, an everyday hair dye ingredient.
A three to one mixture of the acetone peroxide to the ammonium nitrate would work best, but desperate times called for risks.
“You all right there?” Bran asked. For a few seconds I’d actually forgotten about him. Maybe dangerous explosives use had good side benefits.
Sick woman.
“I’m okay. What’s the status on the guards?”
“Only two in sight. Front door and the far eastern edge of driveway.”
Which might mean there were at least three guards inside. Or more.
Lord, I did love a challenge. Rising from my crouched position I gingerly stepped back, not breathing until I was several feet from the door.
Bran joined me, his shoulder brushing mine. Enough to feel like I wasn’t alone. “What now?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Now we pray.” I pushed him toward Franco. “I want you there. With this.” I grabbed an aerosol can and shoved it in his hands.
“Hairspray?”
“Think of it as mace.” He needed to trust me to make the next few minutes work. “When I blow the door there’s going to be a lot of smoke and possible flames.”
“If you don’t blow yourself up.”
“There is that. But it’s not on my agenda.”
“So the door blows. What next?”
“Depending on how close the goons are to the door, one or both may be disabled when it blows.” Depending on what the guards were. All Weres? Or something else? Demons would be a bitch, they’d love a little smoke and flames.
“And if not?”
“More likely scenario is that they’ll be surprised, then come rushing in with guns drawn.”
Bran grinned, a look that had my breath hitching. If I died in the next few moments it was the image of him I’d want to take with me.
His grin deepened as did the crack in my heart. “When they rush inside they’ll hit the gel slick.”
“Ass over teakettle.” Even a Were could stumble and fall. Problem was they wouldn’t stay down for long.
“Another family lesson?”
“Yup.” I gave him a grin. No need to spell out the risks: the bomb going haywire, smoke being produced but no damage, the gel not working. The list went on and on.
“So let’s say one, possibly two come sliding through the door?” Bran was playing devil’s advocate now; he wasn’t a successful entrepreneur without thinking through all angles of a plan. “What then?”
“I’ll be stationed over there.” I nodded toward the door’s far side. “You’ll be on this side. One or both of us will disable anyone not taken down by the bomb or gel.”
“With hairspray?”
“Think mace. We don’t need to kill the guards.” I lied, which was becoming very habit forming. Weres or shifters needed to be killed to be neutralized. One step at a time.
I continued, “We just disarm them long enough to get Franco out of here and one of us to a phone to dial for help.”
“Got it. It’s one hell of a plan.” He shook his head, his features stark. “What are our chances?”
Rather than answer him directly, I grabbed my own hairspray and the matches Bran had found. His can would serve as mace. Mine as a flamethrower.
“Let’s not calculate the odds,” I said, the pump of adrenaline zipping through my system. “Let’s just do it.”
“That bad.” He shrugged. “But all three of us are coming out of this alive. Got it?”
“Got it.”
I moved to a strategic location to create a pincher movement once the door blew. If my homemade explosive worked.
A big if.
CHAPTER 58
The room still and quiet, I squeezed my eyes half-closed as I lit the match and threw it toward the cotton fuse.
It missed, sputtered, and went dead.
I’d have to get closer.
“Get back,” Bran rumbled as I stepped nearer the door.
No choice.
I lit another match, holding my breath as the flame hissed. I tossed it gently, thinking of horseshoes as the small wooden stick arced then dropped short.
My brothers would have been hooting and hollering at my missed aim.
“Of all the—” I lit a third match, leaning forward until I was less than an arm’s length from the glass beaker.
“Damn it, Alex, don’t—”
I ignored him, sucking in a breath as I edged the small flaming torch forward.
“No—” The last of Bran’s words evaporated in a cloud of smoke and heat, blowing me backwards and slamming me on my butt, my ears ringing.
Now this my brothers would have approved of. As the smoke cleared the door hung drunkenly on its hinges, a glimpse of the hallway visible in the gaping hole, a groan escaping from the other side.
No time to admire my handiwork. One quick glance at Bran reassured me he was still on his feet as I scrambled to mine. My hairspray in one hand I aimed it toward the fire sprinkler in the ceiling above me, pressed the nozzle, and when a stream of fine mist shot forward, lit my last match.
A ball of flame danced toward the ceiling. A mist of water spray erupted as alarm bells jangled.
Between the fire alarm screaming and my ears still buzzing from the blast I couldn’t hear Bran until he stepped next to me.
“Notifying the local fire station?” he shouted close enough his shoulder brushed mine, water darkening his hair and plastering his shirt to his skin. Damn, he looked yum-yum sexy even in a crisis.
“That’s the plan.” I wiped water from my eyes and stepped back, counting aloud.
“One.”
The groan on the far side of the door had been joined by oaths.
“Two.”
A booted foot pounded against the remainder of the door.
“Three.”
Two armed brutes kicked through what was left of the door, their soles hitting the gel at the same time. One was warthog Elmer. The other morphing into an ape form.
Feet went flying as did guns. Pop. Pop. Pop.
Plaster from the ceiling rained down on us.
Heavy bodies smashed against the floor. Bam.
“Get the—” I didn’t have to say more as Bran grabbed the nearest ape-guard by the front of what was left of his shirt and delivered a sweet blow to the jaw. Ape man slumped, having never fully shifted. Thank heavens, or we�
��d be in deep trouble. Bran seized the goon’s fallen Glock.
One had to love a resourceful man when the chips were down.
The third guard jumped over his fallen comrades, landing him within inches of me, gun hand extended, rage coating his face. A face morphing into a hyena. Ugh!
I thrust my palm out, catching him full in his half-human, half-animal face and crushing soft nose cartridge. My knee followed in an upward arc, catching him square in the family jewels.
The man caved, blood spattering from his nose, his groans muffled beneath hands clutching both head and mid-body.
Bran shook his head and arched a brow. “Remind me not to get on your wrong side.”
“Too late.”
I grabbed the guard’s gun. Human or not I drew a line at shooting unconscious beings, hoping that decision didn’t come back to bite me. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“Go ahead. Get to a phone.” Alpha male Bran was back. Always the protector. Franco already had jumped through the doorway and was pattering down the hall. No doubt once he returned to his human form we’d hear all about how he led the charge.
I checked the gun for ammo. Full. “Take the second gun with you and don’t hesitate to use it.”
Bran didn’t answer as he slipped the second weapon into his hand, holding it like he knew how to use it.
I jumped over the third guard rolling on the floor, the other two were out; one by Bran’s blow, the other by the force of his head hitting the floor. There wasn’t time to bind them, not with magic but with rope, as Dominique should have done to Bran and me. Besides, even if we did tie them up, once they shifted the binds would no longer hold.
Second mistake of the day, lady. First mistake was shooting Franco.
Sliding into the hallway I ignored the main staircase. The outside guards should be appearing any second. The back staircase was safest.
Gun drawn, safety off, I heard Bran breathing behind me.
Good. If he followed in my wake, I could clear a path ahead of him. His safety mattered to me, for reasons I didn’t have time to explore.
His footsteps echoing mine as I cat-walked down the stairs, I paused at the second floor landing to check that all was clear.