Page 2 of Gunpowder

Adrian had reversed their positions. In Blair’s moment of distraction Spencer had knocked Adrian’s revolver away but the other man was clearly proficient at fighting hand to hand. He had strength that rivaled Spencer’s speed. Blair’s grip was firm, but there was sweat beading on his forehead that he couldn’t hope to blame on the humidity; he had spent hours at the range, blown out windows, shot out tires, but he’d never shot a person before.

Don’t think of him as a person, think of him as the enemy. It’s him or Spencer. Shoot him.

Felix was shouting something. He must have found Isaac and Jinx, but Blair could hardly hear anything over his own racing heart and the struggle of the two men in front of him. He cocked the Beretta.

Blair’s mind screamed at his body to move. He had to end this so they could back up the boss. Jinx was even more dangerous than Adrian, and Isaac could have called in reinforcements by now.

“Kennedy!”

Spencer’s voice, brimming with urgency, woke Blair up. It was less like a dousing of cold water than being suddenly engulfed by fire. He jolted and his finger steadied on the trigger. The next time he inhaled, it was even and calm. What am I doing? Blair was the vanguard of Incindious, it was times like this that they relied on him most.

He steadied his aim. “I’ve got him, Spencer!”

“He’s got my—”

—gun.

Blair didn’t hear the word but he saw it.

His ears rang, and rather than the warehouse, Blair found himself in the shooting range.

He was watching Spencer fire his long gun with the silver barrel. The protective goggles weren’t all that different in color from Spencer’s tinted sunglasses. Blair found that funny for some reason. He inspected the revolver in Spencer’s hands, so unlike Blair’s own Beretta that Spencer had helped him choose. He was kind of obsessed after getting his own gun—his badge of office, so to speak—so he was always comparing other ones to his, noticing every similarity or difference. In this case what caught his attention was that Spencer’s gun didn’t seem to kick as much.

He asked why, and Spencer said, “These are twenty-two caliber rounds, they’re smaller and less powerful than yours.”

Blair looked down at his Beretta that chambered nine millimeter. “Why would you want a less powerful gun?”

“This is a Smith & Wesson Victory. It has a simple assembly and I can change its parts easily to suit my needs. You know how I like planning over power.”

Blair returned to an unfocused world.

Thump.

Something hit the ground that sounded too heavy to be his gun. Blair tried to feel around for what it might have been and found the cement floor a lot closer than he expected. Oh. He was what had fallen. He still held the Beretta loosely in his hand. He couldn’t hear much over the ringing, but one of the distant sounds seemed to take the shape of his name.

The blurry shape of Adrian across from him wasn’t moving anymore. Spencer was coming closer, swimming into focus. He dragged Blair over his lap, with Blair’s legs stretched out. Blair looked down. One side of his dark green cargo shorts was darker than the other, with a tattered hole that wept red. He forced his eyes back to Spencer. That seemed like a lot of blood. He wasn’t squeamish about it, but he felt like staring at it was going to make it feel a lot worse than it was.

These are twenty-two caliber rounds.

“You’re okay, Blair. Just hang tight.”

Smaller.

Felix was back. “What in the shit happened?”

Less powerful.

“Adrian got my gun and put one in Blair’s leg before I got it back and took care of him. The bleeding’s heavy, if it’s an artery he might not make it back to the bar for Adam to patch him up.”

The ground was slipping away again. Someone was carrying him. It could have been either of them, really. They both smelled like cigarettes. His head was heavy, lolling back over someone’s forearm. He held onto his memory of the shooting range. Better to be shot by the Victory than Adrian’s own gun. Adrian’s gun probably fired… something big. Numbers floated around in Blair’s head but they were all out of order.

There were some muttered curses, and then Felix said, “He needs a hospital. You’re gonna have to take him in there, Spence. You’re a lot cleaner on paper than I am.”

“Drop us off. I’ll handle it.”

Blair didn’t remember when he began flying or when all the people started touching him. He just knew their voices were too loud and the lights were too bright. His body was gliding along, maybe working on its own accord to escape all the shouting. Wherever he was, it was cold. Spencer and Felix’s voices didn’t seem to be among the rest of the cacophony. There was one that was louder than the others but it was deep and smooth, a steady thrum in the background coordinating the rest like a bass note.

“A hundred and twenty beats per minute and climbing, he’s—”

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