My head slammed into the baseboards, and black dots threatened to swallow my vision, but I squeezed my eyes shut, lowered my chin, and crossed my arms over my face. He was reaching for my nose, but found my left arm instead, and I cried out as dozens of razors punctured the skin, and again when he reared back, pulling flesh and tendon and muscle with him. If there’d been more room for him to angle himself in the narrow hallway, the bone would’ve snapped. As it was, the space created between us was only wide enough to get one knee up, and I rammed it into his midsection, turning feral growls into a savage howl.
Great. Now I’d pissed him off.
He lunged again, but this time I caught his throat, fisting the fur there to yank him toward me. As I scissor- kicked my legs simultaneously, he flew over the top of me like a vulture swinging over its prey, twisting in the air to launch another attack even before he’d landed. But I found my knees as he crashed to the ground, and when that great muzzle snapped open again, I centered my conduit in that throat and fired inside.
The beast jerked as if puzzled, his jaw snapping shut on a bubbly whine. He shuddered as if he was swallowing the arrow, then blinked. Shuddered again. And his mass expanded by another foot.
“Shit,” I said, realizing too late what I’d done. This beast was to Joaquin what my cat, Luna, was to me, a warden. It couldn’t be killed, maimed, or reasoned with by an enemy agent. Wardens were trained from birth to defend their owners and territory, to recognize and attack whomever took the risk anyway. If it seemed like an unfair trade-the Shadows had dogs while we had cats-well, you hadn’t seen Luna shear the eyesight from a Shadow agent in one wicked swipe. Not wanting to see what this hound could do given the same opportunity, I leaped over him, batting clumsily against the narrow walls like a pinball machine on full tilt.
Instinct had me darting right, into the workshop, and I kicked the door shut just before the dog barreled into it with a jarring thud. The door shuddered under his weight, and I didn’t bother with the lock. A few more hits like that and the entire frame would split in two.
I raced to the window, shoving the blinds aside only to find a barred-up alcove. A fluorescent bulb burned down on me in a mocking echo of the streetlights outside, bricks plastering the frame where the window used to be. He’d rigged it, the bastard. No window. No exit.
Conduit ineffective, I searched the room for another weapon, and had just grasped the handle of a screwdriver when the door crashed in. I whirled to find twin rubies of hate fixed on me, a muzzle bared and rumbling, and teeth as sharp as pokers visible in an oversized jaw. Knees bent, I braced myself as the dog lunged again.
It saw, or sensed, the screwdriver in my hand, and dodged my stabbing motion, barreling into my body, flinging my arm wide. Our howls mingled as he latched on to my bicep this time, and I head-butted him before he could rip it open. He snapped at my face once, twice, saliva dripping to pool on my chest, and I backpedaled, lurching into a defensive position again.
“Bring it, you mangy, flea-bitten prick!” His ears flattened at the growl in my voice. This time I waited until he’d committed, his jaw plunging precariously close to my unguarded neck. I took a risk, one that would cost me a hand if I judged wrong, and let my fist disappear into that great mouth, felt the barbed teeth skimming the soft skin at my wrist, then wrenched the screwdriver upright, lodging it between the lower jaw and palate. Eyes bulging with pain, the dog’s frenzied growls snapped off into whimpers and I fled around the workbench, knocking it over before barreling through the remains of the shattered door and out into the relative freedom of the hallway.
Whimpers followed me. No wait, I thought, tilting my head. They were growls.
No, they were whimpers.
And growls.
Forcing myself to turn slowly, like the moon circling the earth, I shifted my attention back down the hallway and into the living room. Where another dog inched slowly forward, head lowered, eyes bright.
Fresh out of screwdrivers, my left arm still throbbing from the first dog’s assault, I lunged for the next nearest door. Almost human in their outrage, cries sprang up in the hallway. I pulled the closet door shut behind me, and stood shaking in the dark as ramming, accompanied by furious howls, escalated outside.
I fumbled for the light above my head, my hand shaking so violently the string slipped through my fingers twice. Finally I snapped it on with a quick jerk of the cord, and blinked in the unrelieved wash of the bulb. Sucking in a deep breath, I held it before slowly forcing it out. The dogs could scent my fear in the air, and it drove them into further frenzy. I straightened my mask calmly enough, until it sat firmly on the bridge of my nose again, yet my heart skipped a beat when I started taking inventory, eyes falling to my left arm.
Using my right hand, I unhooked my utility belt, letting the pouches slide onto the floor before securing my left with the thick leather. It was awkward, and took a bit of time to fashion something both secure and flexible, but it gave me something concrete to focus on, other than the numbness that was quickly shifting into agony. By the time I finished, my hands had stopped shaking, and the dog had ceased beating at the door.
It would never look the same again, I thought, with real regret. Wardens left scars; they were as deadly as conduits in this way, though perhaps Micah could smooth over the worst of the damage with another extensive surgery. Provided I lived long enough to undergo one, I thought, flexing my fingers. Meanwhile intermittent whines and scrapes at the door broke the otherwise eerie silence.
I leaned back, cursing my stupidity. I should’ve waited to confront Joaquin outside his lair. Now the element of surprise had been wrenched from my grasp by fur and teeth and glowing eyes, and that gave me a reason to snarl. Joaquin would love the idea of me squirreled away in his closet, anticipating his return in the hours before my death, and I’d just decided I’d rather be a chew toy than provide him with any such satisfaction when the wall behind me shifted.
I jerked upright, my first thought,
I pivoted to face the door, and leaned back again.
This time, when I felt the wall shift, I went with it, pushing with my weight. Apparently I didn’t know my own strength. The top of the wall flipped backward while the bottom scooped me up, like a seesaw extending the length of the closet.
In retrospect, it would’ve been a simple thing to let the panel fling me back, my legs arching overhead so I could somersault off the platform before the wall swung back into place. Instead I panicked, stomach lurching as my limbs flew out, a leg nearly getting wedged between the ceiling and the opening created by the pendulum’s motion. I bent my knees just in time, but the movement threw me forward, and I slid from the tilted entrance into a heap on the floor, head first.
“Ouch,” I said, my neck making adjustments that would’ve made a chiropractor cringe. I untangled myself, rose carefully, and felt for my conduit as I looked around. There was nothing to see…literally. I felt my eyes widen, I felt them blink, but the void was as complete as if I’d been dumped into a black hole. Joaquin could’ve been standing inches from me and I’d have never known.
That thought, plus a healthy dose of paranoia regarding a third dog, forced me into action. I might be blinded, but I had no intention of returning to that closet, or the set of razor-sharp teeth waiting for me beyond that. Using the wall as a guide, I took a step forward, then another. With the third came a telling rustle in the air. Of course, it registered too late. As I shifted my weight forward, the floor dropped from beneath me, a gaping mouth upturned to swallow me whole. I freefell, arms pinwheeling as I plummeted, ambushed yet again by something I didn’t know.
I was beginning to feel picked on.
It wasn’t a long fall. A child could’ve managed it in a playground. But I had no idea how far this rabbit hole went, so when the floor reared up seconds later, the impact jarred my bones and I crumpled like a wadded-up paper doll.
“Ouch,” I said again, really meaning it this time. Pushing myself up with my good arm, I held the other lightly to my forehead. Pissed-off fireflies danced before my eyes, and I watched with a shiver of alarm when they coalesced into two slim lines, like they’d been giving their marching orders by the U.S. military. My head screamed, and my