“What is it?” Paul asked, standing up to cross over to me. “Did something happen? Did it hurt you?”
For a moment, I wasn’t sure I could speak from the sheer force of the brain blast I was experiencing, but somehow, I managed to get the words out.
“I know who made this! I know who killed your father and hijacked your brother’s body to do it!”
That got every single one of them on their feet, with Jackson already at my side. But not so much as a single word was spoken before there was a massive explosion and bricks came raining down from the ceiling.
“What the fuck?”
I wasn’t quite sure who yelled that, but only because I was too busy screaming and rolling under the table for cover. A thousand things shot through my mind all at once, wondering if there was an unplanned construction project above our heads, a C-4 enhanced car accident, or a completely unpredicted earthquake. When the shaking stopped and the dust cleared, I could make out a figure standing in the middle of the room, a beam of sunlight illuminating his pale features.
Luther.
And he lookedpissed.
How did he find us?
We had been so careful with having multiple decoys out and about, using secret entrances and even changing cars. And yet the assassin who’d caused so much hurt and was possibly possessed or just a stolen skin over a mechanical body was in our hideout. That’s when I saw two cloaked figures. They must have dropped in from the hole where the ceiling had once been, and judging from the thick cloud of emotions swirling around them, they weren’t like Luther.
Violence. Determination. Anger. Duty. The emotions were volatile and insidious in how thick and viscous they were, clinging to whatever they touched like errant slime. And not the fun kind that had made the aforementioned quartet of mutant reptiles.
Cowabunga.
We were soscrewed!
I knew I had one hell of an ego sometimes, but I wasn’t so delusional to think that I stood a chance out in the open in amulti-shifter versus multi-shifter fight. But my mind did that thing where time slowed down, allowing me to see far too much with a sort of preternatural calm. If I could have this type of serenity in my day-to-day life, being a responsible adult would be a whole lot easier.
But as the two cloaked figures lunged forward and all the VanMarche siblings shifted at once, I rolled out from under the table and sprinted toward the kitchen.
I moved like a woman possessed, keeping low to the ground and diving out of the way when one of the couches went sailing right over my head. Army crawling the rest of the way to the sink, I threw it open and pulled out the various cleaning supplies with a sweep of my arm.
Dish soap, dishwasher tabs, glass cleaner, oven cleaner, degreaser! What can I do with any of these? Think! Think!
What were we taught to never mix in home ec? And chemistry?
Something else went flying behind my back and it wasn’t until I smelled the sharp copperiness of blood that I realized someone was hurt. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the tan-and-gray dappled wolf that I was pretty sure was Jackson slumped against the wall, a smear of crimson below him telling me he hit the floor first, bounced twice, then slid the rest of the way to slam into the partition.
Fuck.
Snapping my head the other way, I saw one of the cloaked figures, the bigger of the two, approaching with a fuckingsilver macethat was crackling with dark, umber energy.
Right. Brain, time for that recall thing to happen now!
Miraculously enough, seeing another tricked-out assassin walking my way was enough of a trigger. I looked at the chemicals, grabbing a small bottle of bleach and one of rubbing alcohol. Considering that we had three attackers and it was justthe start of a fight, I didn’t want to use them in one fell swoop, so I quickly rolled to the fridge, yanked it open, and pulled out a bottle of sparkling water.
Really, the only reason I was able to do this was because the approaching assassin seemed to have their sights fully on Jackson, completely ignoring me. But that worked out just fine, because it allowed me to pour out that stupid sparkling water, fill the bottle halfway with my two chemical agents, then chuck it—still uncapped, mind you—right at the cloaked figure’s head.
There was no grandiose chemical reaction, nor did it combust, but it didn’t need to. It bubbled and fizzed just enough to let me know it was working.
The approaching assassin didn’t so much as pause, but then they let out a surprisingly high-pitched cough and stumbled back a couple steps.
Probably because they were surrounded by an intense cloud of chloroform gas.
It was a bit like playing with fire, because chloroform gas had a fairly long spread of about half a football field and a slow dissipation rate, but it mostly clung to the ground. Besides, it wasn’t like I had thrown a lot.
Rapidly mixing another bottle of a different pair of chemicals, I pulled my shirt up over my nose and clambered onto the kitchen counter. Once I was steady on my two feet, I looked up to see that the assassin was no longer approaching Jackson, but also no longer coughing or hacking. No, instead they were facing me ominously, their chest rising and falling harshly. Was that because of the chemical concoction I’d pelted them with or because they were just that pissed?
Porque no los dos?