Page 43 of Of Flame and Fate

“T . . .” Shayna lifts her arm over her head, the sword she converted elongating in length and sharpening, and the stage lights gleaming against the length. “You can’t go after him alone.”

Johnny fixes on Shayna’s sword, stunned by her ability.

His shock doesn’t last. He jumps when he catches my livid expression. “Emme, do you have her?” I ask.

She knows it’s up to her to get Destiny to safety. “Yes.”

“Good,” I say, striking the first person blocking me with lighting.

Johnny drops the mic, backing away and stumbling over the long cables. I storm forward, zapping anyone with lightning who doesn’t move out of my way.

“What the fuck?” someone yells.

“Johnny,” a woman screams. “Don’t leave us.”

A chorus of pleas for Johnny to sing rings out, taking over the entire dome, only to turn into screaming when he reaches the rear of the stage and the curtains come crashing down.

Shayna races ahead of me, the inner beastie Koda fed her spirit with making her fast, and that long sword of hers easily parting the crowd when they see it.

Without breaking her stride she leaps onto the stage, her wrist twirling the blade and her steady focus ahead.

An immense security guard runs out from behind the curtain, lifting the mic stand and gripping it fiercely in his wrist. “I’m warning you, lady. You better put that shit away.”

Shayna’s sword cuts through the air with aswoosh, slicing the stand in half and splitting the guard’s T-shirt. He glimpses from his exposed chest back at her.

“Dude, that’s me telling you to run,” she bites out.

He does, but his buddy who thinks Shayna is joke pounds across the floor, racing toward her “Get off the stage now—”

My lightning propels him to the opposite end and straight into more clamoring security guards. The lights and pyrotechnics continue to erupt, illuminating our blatant show of kickass and hopefully disguising it as part of the show.

Shayna pivots, her sword out and away from me as she offers me a hand. “We have to move, T,” she tells me, hauling me up.

My attention darts briefly to Emme. She’s pushing her way along the side row, using herforceto carry Destiny as she continues to seize.

“She’s not better,” Shayna says, reaching for a handful of toothpicks and converting them into long sharp needles. “Whatever magic he’s using is no joke.”

“I know,” I mutter, wondering exactly what he is. “Just stay close. I don’t think we can fight him one on one.”

We stomp across the stage, ignoring the murmuring spreading along the crowd. Everyone appears confused yet the all-encompassing vibe circling the atmosphere is abandonment. They’re lost without Johnny.

Whatever he’s doing not only effects Destiny, it infects anyone within his reach. As it is, I still sense that lingering sadness and panic he invoked.

“What the fuck?”

What seems like the entire security team piles onto the stage. Shayna raises her sword and lunges at them, her battle cry resonating against the speakers as she charges.

They don’t find her intimidating. The sword is another story. She attacks them in a circle of movement, slicing lines across their bodies and grazing their skin just enough to get their attention.

They may not fear her, but they do fear what she can do with her sword.

I reach the curtain, my body slapping against it as I try to find the opening. About a half dozen swears fly out of my mouth as I fumble down the length, wondering how I missed the divide within the fabric.

The mutterings across the arena grow more intense as does my urgency to find Johnny. They’re ready to riot, their need for Johnny piquing their violent natures. Magic or not, this crowd is dangerous, people are bound to get hurt, including us.

The curtains are heavy, the multiple layers overlap making them hard to lift. I’m ready to crawlunderneath them when Shayna appears.

“Move, dude,” she tells me, swinging her sword.

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