Page 65 of Shadows and Flames
Over my shoulder, I glared at Fenix, wriggling and panicking while Meline’s power held him. I wasn’t certain how quickly said draining would occur, and I wasn’t sure Meline was either. But my frustrations were clouding my normal kindness. First his refusal of our help, then his mocking, and now this?
I didn’t offer help. I didn’t beg my cousin to release him.
Thank goddess I’d worn my staff at my side this evening, and I drew it now, willing the aether to fortify it. To infuse power in it to make my strikes hit with impact tenfold.
And we began, my cousin and I. We weren’t dressed for this sort of work, but Meline had me train in all sorts of clothing, all sorts of weather and terrain. What we could manage in the short years and with limited supplies, at least.
Two guards approached us with unsteady feet, attention flicking between us and Fenix who was still mumbling franticallyon the wall. I wound my staff in arcs, hopping it from hand to hand as they approached.
A few more, five if my quick counting could be trusted, were waiting just at the top of the steps to descend should need be. How many could I take out before Meline?
The two directed their attentions at me first, swords held at the ready, and charged. Over my head, my staff whistled in the air, taking flight as I batted the first blade of steel away and brought it down on an unprotected head with a satisfying crack.
I kept my staff moving, rounded, and swept my other opponent’s leg out from under them. As they fell, I brought my weapon around again, swatting at their head as if it were a ball for sport.
Blood sprayed the walls of the stairwell as the body launched backward and toward the floor, a few paces away from their felled comrade.
My cousin elected to use her power as manifested weapons instead of the sinister snakes that could reach in and snuff out life far more quickly. I’d once asked her why, when we first started training and realized her powers had honed greatly. She’d stated that this level of power, of unearned death, scared her. That it exhausted and excited her too much.
When I looked to the stairwell now, she was still making far quicker work than me, already having cut down three guards with her dual blades.
I ran after her, keeping my footfalls swift and light, and joined the fray. She didn’tneedme, but as I butted the end of my staff into the chest of a guard charging forth with a broadsword gripped by two gloved hands, Meline used his stumble to transform her daggers into short swords, increasing her reach. The guard left his middle vulnerable as he tried to regain his footing, and Meline slashed with the left, then right, deep enough to be fatal.
And the fifth guard, stunned and gaping, I ended swiftly with the dagger I now always carried at my hip. A quick plunge to the heart, and the sounds of battle were over.
The body in my arms became dead weight, and I lowered it to the floor now stained red and littered with a mess we had no intention of cleaning up. The scent of it was a heady cloud.
With a press of the familiar button, I retracted my staff to its more portable size and secured it to my belt. All while we approached Paschal Von Herron’s door.
My cousin caught it before I did, what was amiss. Her hesitation was minute, a moment split between seconds, but it sent her expression from focused intensity intorage.
I noticed that first, then the same anger mirrored within me. Instead of crouched at the ready, we straightened, nearly stomping as we flung wide the door to Von Herron’s apartment.
It opened to a fashionable if not bare sitting area, but our markandthe source of our discontent was in the back, toward what we assumed was the bedroom. We’d not used the full extent of our Lylithan speed before, but we used it then. And came to an abrupt stop as Tomás’s form stood at the threshold.
“Well, hello, there, loves. Thank yousomuch for dispatching the guards. Made our jobs a whole lot easier.”
“You—reprobate!”
His clothing was just the same as it’d been at the tavern, relaxed as ever. “Reprobate,” he repeated, unimpressed. “That’s the best word you can use, witch?”
“What about motherfucker?” I shot back while Meline shoved. He relented with a cackle, like he wasn’t the seasoned assassin he purported himself to be.
My head was halfway turned, ready to verbally spar with him some more, our job be damned, but the glint of candlelight on steel had the words dying in my lungs. Meline froze, too, arms slack at her sides.
We didn’t have to argue over Von Herron, spar physically or verbally to determine who would bring him back to Blackwood. We wouldn’t get the chance to negotiate a deal with our mark that may work better in our favor, one that led us more directly to Francie.
No, with a plunge of sword into heart, Elián ended all of that.
Chapter Twenty-Six
MELINE
What. In. The?—
“Fuck!”
The word didn’t match the screeching in my mind, the incredulity. It came out garbled like choking on soot.
