Erra reached for the axe. Her fingers closed on the handle. She thrust it at the sky. With a hoarse scream, power pulsed from her like a shockwave, shaking the foundation of the ruins. It slammed into me, setting my blood on fire. Curran snarled. By the Mole Hole, people cringed.
Needles burst from Erra’s red suit. Veins of dark crimson spiraled up her legs. The fabric flowed, thickened, snapping into recognizable shapes: fitted curaise, spiked pauldrons, gauntlets . . .
It wasn’t spandex. Shit.
I leaned to Curran. “She’s wearing blood armor. It’s impenetrable to normal weapons, claws, and teeth.”
His eyes darkened. “If I hit her hard enough, she’ll still feel it.”
I nodded. “My sword will eventually soften the armor, but it will take time. She doesn’t know you’re here. If you wait, you could get in a good shot.”
My personal monster leaned closer. “Still trying to keep me from the fight?”
I slid my fingers along his furry cheek. “Trying to win. She made no helmet—she’s too vain.”
Ancient or not, she was still a human and he was a werelion. If he timed it right, he could crack her skull like an eggshell with a single blow.
“One shot,” he said.
“I’ll keep her busy. Just don’t bite her. Broken teeth aren’t sexy.”
He grinned, presenting me with a mouth full of finger-sized fangs. I rolled my eyes.
Erra took a step forward. For a moment she towered above the drop, light dancing over her scarlet armor, and then she plunged into the Mole Hole. Gale chased her, a soundless shadow gliding across the glassy floor. Darkness and Beast remained behind.
Twenty yards to the center and the bonfire.
Fifteen.
Ten.
Tamara unsheathed her sword. Fiery sparks flared at the edge of the crater. PAD archers lighting their arrows.
Eight.
The archers fired.
The barrels exploded, punching my eardrums with an air fist. An inferno drowned the Mole Hole, emanating heat. Within its depths I glimpsed Tamara, unscathed, the fire sliding along her body but never touching her.
The spectators cheered at the human barbeque.
The roar of the flames gained a new note, a deep whistling tune. It grew louder and louder. The flames turned, twisting faster and faster, rising in a spiral, like a tornado of fire. The cone of flame parted, revealing Gale floating in the heart of the tornado, his hair streaming from his head, his arms crossed on his chest. His body leaned back, completely relaxed. His eyes were closed.
So much for napalm.
Below him Erra stood. A red helmet hid her face and hair. The blood armor encased every inch of her. Oh, good. Because it wasn’t hard enough before. She had to go and put a helmet on.
The fiery tornado shifted out of her way. The helmet crumbled, revealing her face. Her mane of hair spilled over her back. Score. No helmet was good for us.
With a grimace, Erra swung her axe and charged.
Tamara struck, her sword preternaturally fast. Erra batted it aside like a toothpick and swung in a crushing reverse blow. The axe bit deep into Tamara’s shoulder, cutting through the collarbone all the way into her ribs.
Tamara screamed, a desperate sound of pain and fear.
Curran clamped his oversized hand on my shoulder. “You can’t help her. We wait.”
Erra caught Tamara by her throat and lifted her off her feet. Her roar smothered Tamara’s screaming. “Is this all you offer me? Is this it?”
She shook Tamara once, as if flinging water from her hand. The noise of the fire drowned out the telltale crunch of bones, but her head flopped to the side, loose on a broken neck.
“Where are you, child?”
I rocked forward.
“Not yet.” Curran pushed me down.
“She’ll kill them.”
“You go in there now, we’ll all die. We stick to the plan.”
In the air, Gale opened his eyes.
“There is no escape. I’ll find you,” Erra promised.
The cone of fire unfurled like a flower and splashed against the rim of the Mole Hole, torching the archers. Tortured screams ripped the night apart, followed by the sickening stench of charred human flesh. Gale turned, and the inferno followed, roaring like a hungry animal. He cooked the survivors alive as they fled.
All around the Mole Hole, people in PAD and Biohazard suits ran aimlessly, their weapons abandoned. The idiot spectators still packed the building. Erra’s magic didn’t reach them.
“Here I come!” Erra thundered.
Charred, smoking corpses littered the opposite side of the crater. A thin female voice cried somewhere close, sobbing hysterically, a high-pitched note against the guttural screaming. At the far right, Darkness and Beast perched on the edge of the Mole Hole, untouched by flames. They must’ve circled around while we watched the human barbeque. “Wait,” Curran said.
I clenched my teeth.
A gust of air erupted from the bottom of the Mole Hole, lifting Erra to the edge. A moment later her three undead joined her.
“Go.” Curran released me.
I ran across the roof, grabbed the rope attached to the fire escape, and slid into the street.
SNOW CRUNCHED UNDER MY FEET. BEHIND ME THE Casino floated in a cloud of ethereal light streaming from the powerful feylanterns.
I had a simple mission. Get Erra’s attention. Draw her down the street, away from the crowd, so the shapeshifters could get behind her.
Yeah. Piece of cake.
I braced myself. “Strawberry Shortcake called, she wants her outfit back.”
Erra turned to me.
I waved my fingers at her. “Hey, Twinkle Toes.”
A gust of air shot from Gale. I ducked, but not low enough. Wind slammed into me. The ground vanished and I flew a few feet and slammed against a parked truck with a thud. My back crunched.
“We don’t run from a fight and we don’t hide behind lesser men.” Erra started toward me. “You’re young and weak, but have no fear. I’ll help you. I won’t let you flee and shame the family twice.”
I rolled to my feet and swung my sword, warming up my wrist. “Shaming the family is your job. Nothing I’ve done could ever compare.”
“You flatter me so.”
She started toward me, bringing her goons in a triangular formation: Beast on the left, Gale on the right, and Darkness in the center. Keep coming, Auntie dear. Keep coming.
“I’m just giving you your due. Every war your brother started, you managed to screw up. You have a record of failure thousands of years long.” I spread my arms. “How could I compete?”