Which she did. Every time. And this one would be no different.
After she finished setting up their safety net, she hurried back to the RV on top of the hill and lifted her binoculars.
Red lights flickered below before steadying out in a constant glow once more.
Simone knew what that flicker meant. Some poor humans down there were being squeezed dry of every spark of magic coursing through them. As they died, the stream of power faltered, causing the lights to flicker.
Either that, or the ’Gasts were firing up something that sucked a lot of juice.
“Time to go,” she told Brighton as she lowered her binoculars.
He loped down the RV stairs, carrying the red purse and balancing a wood-chopping ax on one wide shoulder. The wedge gleamed under the moonlight, its edge honed to razor sharpness.
“Really?” she asked. “An ax?”
He slipped the haft through a leather loop at his belt. “Don’t scoff. It works.”
“Fine. Whatever. Just keep that thing swinging away from me. I’m not looking for a haircut. Or worse.”
He tossed the red purse toward her. She caught it and held it close. “You’re not worried I’ll just turn and run?”
“Not if you want the magic to keep working. It’s a gift. For the night.”
“Or if you die,” she reminded him.
His dimple appeared as a flicker of a smile came and went. “Sure, though I’m not planning on letting that happen tonight. Sorry.”
“How do you know I won’t just kill you?”
“Guess I don’t. You ready?”
His trust made her pause. After a too-long moment, she nodded, pulled her attention away from Brighton, and put it where it belonged—on the job. “We’ll approach from the south. There are fewer shells on that side. Plus there’s a light out, which will help.”
“Why should we care about the light? You have magic boots that make us invisible.”
“Yes, but they don’t do squat for hiding footprints. The pavement around the building is wet. Each step we take will cause water to wick up as we step away, making our prints shiny and visible for a few seconds.”
“Right. Guess I didn’t think about that.”
She transferred a few necessary items she carried to the purse and looped the leather strap across her chest. “Which is why you hired me—to think of the things a law-abiding citizen doesn’t.”
“Southern approach it is. What about when we get inside?”
“All you have to do is follow my orders. Do what I say, when I say, and we’ll get out alive.”
“You get off on being bossy, don’t you?”
She gave him a level stare—the one she knew could render most men mute. “No. When I get off, I’m a lot louder than this.”
His jaw went slack, but to his credit, he recovered almost immediately. He gave himself a little shake and repositioned the ax. “You enjoyed that far too much.”
She shrugged. “What can I say? I love my work.”
And before he could call her out for her lie, she broke into a jog.
Simone skirted the edge of some trees and brush that hadn’t been mowed down for development. The air had cooled from the rain, leaving her fingers chilled. Her riding gloves were back with her bike, so she shoved her hands in her pockets while she waited for Brighton to catch up.
His footsteps were quieter than she would have expected for a man his size. The damp leaves and twigs covering the ground kept the crunch factor down, but his sheer weight should have caused sticks to snap underfoot.
From the corner of her eye, she caught the gleam of his ax as he moved in beside her. “I see three shells,” he said.
She pointed toward a stack of rotting wooden pallets. “There’s a fourth. The way he’s leaning makes me think one of his legs might be out of commission.”
“No shoe, either.”
“I don’t see any weapons.”
Brighton pulled in a deep breath, and the expansion of his chest made his jacket graze hers for a second. She didn’t know what it was about this man, but he demanded way too much of her attention.
“They don’t really need weapons,” he said. “Besides, fingers and toes are often the first parts to give out after the eyes. Most of the older shells couldn’t hold a weapon if they wanted.”
Simone had almost become like them, shuffling around, mindlessly doing as they were ordered to do. Intellectually, she knew that the shells moving around down there were not people. Whatever spirit or soul that had made them who they were had disappeared long ago. The thing that was left behind was hollow and empty.
But even though they weren’t human anymore, they still looked human. Their hearts still pounded. Their lungs still breathed. Whatever the ’Gasts did to them kept their bodies alive as well as any medical equipment around. At least for a while.
As she watched, the shell near the pallets took a step and fell over. For several awful seconds, it struggled to regain its footing, but its body was so degraded that every movement was awkward and weak.
A low, furious rumble emanated from Brighton’s chest. “I’m going to put them out of their misery.”
She shifted her position, bodily blocking his path. “No, you’re not. You go killing shells and the ’Gasts will know we’re here.”
“I can’t just leave them like that. I owe them the peace of death.”
“They’re already dead,” she told him. “Nothing left but meat and bones.” At least that’s what she kept telling herself.
“No one knows that for sure.”
“I do.”
She felt him go still. “How?”
That single, tiny word fell on her with the weight of the world. She wasn’t about to spill her guts to a man she’d just met, but at the same time, ignoring his question would only make him more curious. Instead, she gave him the vaguest answer she could. “I’ve gotten close enough to look them in the eyes. I’m sure.”
“Well, I’m not. And until I am, I’m going to end the suffering of every shell I find.”
“You do that, and we’re dead. No hammer, no purse, no living to fight another day. And worse yet, our bodies will be right down there with those shells, wandering around, bumping into things until some unsuspecting human comes along for us to kill.”
He stared down at her for a long time, his mouth tight with anger, his body vibrating with restraint. “I hate it that you’re right.”
“So do I.” Her hand settled on his arm in an uncharacteristic show of sympathy. She knew better than to let herself feel anything for him—even something as simple as concern. Chances were he wouldn’t survive long if he kept messing around with the ’Gasts.
And a man like Brighton had way too much determination to do the smart thing. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be here now, about to walk into a life-or-death kind of situation.
He covered her hand with his, his skin deliciously warm.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
Brighton wove his fingers through hers, chasing away the chill that lingered along her skin. “Let’s do this.”
Simone activated her boots, willing them to layer a web of invisibility over both her and Brighton. Covering his bulk took a bit of effort, but she figured out how the ability worked pretty fast. It was similar to masking whatever she held in her hands, but on a grander scale.
A shimmering wave of warmth rippled across her skin—a familiar feeling. As she waited for the echo to die down, she swore she felt something else between the ripples. It was subtle, but it left the scent of sun-warmed skin and melting chocolate in its wake, and had the distinct feeling of acknowledgment to it. Almost like a homecoming.
If she didn’t know better, she would have thought that the boots recognized their maker.
Before the odd feeling could settle in and take root, it was gone, leaving her with a job to do and not much
