Page 46 of Runaway Magic
Cym hissed, “They aren’t just using magic anymore—they’ve got guns now too! Just because they’re grossly incompetent with that sort of thing, doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous.”
“We can hear you, you know.” A male voice came from the other side of the crate. “We also have feelings.”
Fourteen lobbed a grenade in the direction of the voice. “Which is why you should stay down. And whatever happens, don’t tell me to do anything. The outcome would be questionable at best.” His voice was painfully calm.
Cym’s face went white, and ice water filled his veins. Somewhere between the loft and their adventure down thestairs, he’d forgotten the crux of their relationship. “Okay, no giving orders. Got it.”
The male voice called out, “Your toy didn’t do anything. Was it supposed to—” Cym missed the rest because the guy was cut off by a loud explosion. He doubted it was important, so he didn’t waste energy worrying about it. He’d be better off using said energy repressing thoughts about their growing body count.
“That guy wasn’t near our ride, was he?” Cym tried to wiggle free from Fourteen’s foot but stopped when the pressure on his posterior intensified enough to become painful.
“Negative.” Fourteen began shooting at targets Cym couldn’t see. From his perspective, it was impossible to tell if Fourteen’s shots were getting through anyone’s shields, but there was a break in the spellfire that had been pelting them. “We’re not leaving that way anyway.”
Another bullet twanged against a ventilation shaft high overhead, telling Cym the idiot with the gun was still on the loose.
“Do you mind filling me in on your plan?” Cym asked in a sickeningly sweet voice.
If Fourteen knew Cym better—or had better social skills—he would be wary right now. If Fourteen wasn’t a vital part of getting out of here alive, Cym would seriously consider hitting him somewhere tender. There was a broken bit of pallet he could just reach that would do the trick. Cym should have known when Fourteen locked him in that monstrosity of a vehicle of his that Fourteen was going to be hard to work with.
A fresh volley of spellfire caused what was left of the stairs to come crashing down. Most of it fell harmlessly to the floor, but a mangled piece of metal struck Fourteen on the shoulder, slamming him to the ground.
Fourteen’s gun hit Cym on its journey to the floor, and ithurt. Cym was lucky his back had taken most of the impact, but it hit his poor abused head hard enough to make Cym see stars.
He forced himself to shake it off and got unsteadily to his feet. If he didn’t do something right now, they would be toast. All Cym’s family needed was an opening to rush in for the kill, and they’d just gotten one. Fourteen’s shield wouldn’t do them any good if someone put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger.
Now that Cym was up, he could see over the crate and saw three witches lying motionless on the ground and several faces peeking around their respective hiding spots. Stella was edging around the corner of a forklift, and a few yards away he saw his cousin Helen covered in bruises and spellpatches and looking murderous.
Relief swept through Cym. Regardless of whether or not Helen had deserved it, Cym had been afraid he’d killed his cousin back at the cemetery.
“I’m going to burn your stupid champion alive while you watch, boy!” Helen screamed, her face a twisted mask of rage.
Or maybe Helen would have been better off at the bottom of that hole after all.
Cym would just have to find a way to live without her.
He spied a grenade that had fallen from Fourteen’s pack and was reasonably confident he could use one now that he’d seen Fourteen do it. Right now he had nothing to lose.
He pulled the pin and chucked it with all his might.
Everyone turned their heads when they heard a clunk followed by a faint tinkling sound as it hit the ground. A dozen sets of eyes followed the progress of the grenade rolling merrily toward the forklift.
Cym ducked back behind the crates and crawled over to Fourteen where he was stoically digging through his bag, tuckingvarious items into pockets and reloading the gun he’d dropped on Cym.
Fourteen was dirty and one arm looked like it wasn’t obeying his commands as well the other one was, but he was alive.
The warehouse shook on its foundations, and Cym winced as screams filled the air.
“That was close to my SUV,” Fourteen commented.
“And that thing is really heavy,” Cym retorted, pointing at the gun.
Fourteen studied him with unreadable eyes before saying, “Sorry. Are you okay?” He had the clip in and placed the gun within easy reach. He then pulled out a smaller gun that was still bigger than it had any right to be.
“Yes. Mostly.” Cym’s eyes burned and filled with tears, and he blinked them away. They didn’t have time for it right now, but sometime soon he was going to have a nice little meltdown, complete with screaming and hyperventilating. “Can we go now?”
Fourteen turned around to look at the wall behind them. “I think one more hit will do the job. Right over… there, I think.”
“One more hit?” Cym echoed.
