I had to fight. Reaching into my front pocket, I removed the Swiss Army knife I’d snatched from Xander’s desk drawer. I flipped it open and dragged the blade across my right palm in a desperate attempt to create some pain and anger. A flash of white overcame my vision as the pain compounded with my other injuries. Blood leaked off my hand and through my fingers. The thick ice that prevented me from escaping the dark, freezing water cracked, allowing a sampling of air for me to breathe—again, that’s all a beautifully crafted metaphor for my blocked power.
The power rushed over me like cold, fresh air, temporarily numbing my pains. I wondered how much energy I had left before depleting my reserves and dying, but I shoved that thought to the back of my head. I would die if I didn’t fight back.
With my left hand, I wielded a shadow like a stake. As the kid-looking Automaton from behind approached, I met its advance with a backward strike, driving the dark weapon into its narrow chest. It continued forward a few steps before veering to the left, stumbling, and falling face-first to the ground. The ink-riddled Automaton ahead of me dropped the pipe wrench and lifted its arms parallel to the ground. A small barrel appeared from both wrists, followed by sparks and the sound of snapping twigs. The fucker was shooting at me with handguns—literal handguns. Luckily, the report wasn’t the thunderous sound of a normal gun. It had probably activated pellets or riot rounds to incapacitate me.
Not expecting the ballistic attack, I didn’t have time to jump behind a dumpster. I raised my left arm over my face, as if my flesh might protect my head. The searing pain of rubber bullets slamming against my body failed to register. I glanced over my forearm to find an obsidian shield covering my body. The shadows had hardened before me like a solid wall and absorbed the damage.
The firing ceased. I dropped the shield and sprinted forward—I’m using the word ‘sprint’ with great liberty. More accurately, I staggered forward like a marathon runner with a pulled hamstring finishing the race. I formed another stake from shadow. No judgment on my choice of weapon. I know I’ve used that option way too much and I should try something new, but why? The stake had worked every time. What if I tried to form an axe and the shadows didn’t respond to that? You expect me to die just to look cool? I don’t think so. I’d stick with ole reliable until I’d practiced otherwise. I cocked the stake back and heaved it forward, punching it through the Automaton’s face. It stood on wobbly legs for a three full seconds before collapsing.
With both of the Automatons dead, I jogged—as best I could—to the street at the rear of the MIS building and hid in a patch of darkness beneath a canopy.
Tires peeled on pavement, and a second later, Gladas’s car hummed past my hidden position. I didn’t catch much as he sped away, but I made out Xander’s silhouette as Annie held a gun to his head. Had they heard the gunshots after all? Did Gladas freak out, spurring him to… what? Take Xander back to the warehouse and Circe?
Shit, why couldn’t anything ever work out as planned?
A few minutes later, a car pulled to the side of the street and Xander’s phone vibrated in my hand. I didn’t answer it, deciding to hobble to the passenger door of the vehicle and step inside. Dakota hadn’t tidied her vehicle any—trash and clothing and food remained littered across the interior.
“Holy shit,” she said, clearing her passenger seat. “You have a massive gash on your forehead.”
I grimaced as I sat down and buckled in. Exhaling some pain, I said, “Yeah, a Raven got slap-happy with a handgun. Sorry to drag you into this.”
“Did you just apologize? Wait, did that bump on your head knock out your idiocy? Had I known that was the cure, I would have done it days ago.”
I removed Henrietta from my waistband and set her on my lap. “Listen, we’re sort of in a shit storm here, and Xander is getting pummeled. The bad guys have him. I need to get over there and throw some shit back in their faces.”
“Like a monkey?”
“Like a damn chimpanzee. Did you bring the 9mm?”
She nodded toward the back seat, where a box of ammunition sat atop a balled-up sweater. I reached for it and removed a round, taking out Xander’s pocket knife.
“You okay?” she asked.
“No,” I said, pressing the blade to my right palm, readying myself.
“What are you doing? You’re not going to bleed in my car.”
I turned to her. “Shut up. Just shut up. I need complete silence to focus. If I bleed in your car, I doubt you’ll even notice with all the shit in here.”
“What are you doing?”
“It’s the only way I can consistently reach my new power,” I said. “Create a strong emotion like rage or terror or pain, and use that like a wedge to open the seal a little. I’m already angry and a little scared, so the pain offers that final blow.”
“Will Xander be okay?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer. Gladas wanted a cure for Annabel’s curse, placing him on his own team. That made him more dangerous than if he worked with us or with Circe. At least then, he would have been predictable. As it was, he would help whoever offered him the best chance of saving his love. Did killing Xander hurt his chances of doing that? I thought so. With me slipping away, Xander was the only leverage they had to draw me to Circe.
Telling Dakota where to go, I closed my eyes and settled into the seat. I held Henrietta and ran my fingers over her, feeling
