Page 44 of Of Flame and Fate

One, two. She parts the curtains with precise and elegant cuts. I whip off my gloves as we scramble through. Almost immediately, my right arm assumes that eerie glow, casting some light in the pitch-black surroundings, but not enough to prevent me from ramming into a wall.

Sparky lights up, the glow vibrant and showing that it’s not a wall I collided against. It’s more like I mountain of steroid injected muscle. I look up, past the curly chest hair and nips pierced with silver bars to meet the bass guitarist looming over me in the face.

The hair of his long mohawk skims across my forehead as he curls forward. “You don’t belong back here,” he tells me, his dull irises laced with menace. “You need to leave our Johnny alone.”

I lift my right arm. I don’t know this guy. I don’t even know Johnny. What I do know is Johnny is doing something to Destiny and he’s not getting away with it.

“Get out of my way,” I tell him, my arm flaring in awesome swirls of blue and white flames. “Now.”

Unfortunately, my buddy here isn’t as impressed by my pretty fire as I am. He grabs Sparky, his beefy hand crunching through my power and extinguishing the flames. The sheer might he uses forces me down, my knees slamming hard against the floor and making me scream.

Pain and anger trigger my magic, resurging the dwindling embers encasing my skin and combusting it into a raging and burning limb. The guitarist holds tight, not even blinking as my fire burns through his flesh and bone. His arm crumbles off in a kaleidoscope of colors, and still he just stands there.

Behind me, another man screams and Shayna’s sword flings away, her vicious strikes cutting the air and creating a high-pitched torrent of sound. I don’t dare turn away, my full attention on the guitarist and the creature he becomes. He shakes his head from side to side, his features contorting and morphing into a wolf while the rest of him stands as man.

I wrench away. “What the hell?” I gasp.

Wolves,real werewolves, can’t change their individual body parts. Only Celia can. Whatever this thing is, is unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

As quickly as I speak he snags my arm, once more piercing through my magic and puttering out my fire. He hoists me high in the air, his hot breath fanning across my face when he snarls.

I’m thrown toward the front of the stage, the weight of my body smacking against the dense fabric, sliding me along the length and beneath. The barrier it provides keeps me from a direct collision course into the audience, and likely spares my life. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like a mother when I crash against the stage floor.

I land on my right arm, the way it curls around me protecting my head. I’m not sure if it was my instinct to do so, or if it was my arm’s. Right now, I don’t care. I force myself up, grunting as pins and needles radiate down my leg and spine. I stumble forward, my thoughts a scrambled mess as I try to make sense of what’s happening. The guitarist isn’t human. Neither is Johnny, his unparalleled virtue transmitting across the air like deadly vapor.

My hip throbs as I limp forward. Something rubbery hits me in the head. I turn around only to see what looks like a hamburger patty lying just a few feet away. Something else belts me in the arm.

“What the hell?”

The audience is pelting me with food.Food. Ever have a hotdog flung full force against your bare skin? That shit hurts.

I hurry to the side, swearing when slices of pizza, churros, and full cups of beer follow more hotdogs. Johnny’s fans are completely coming undone. Yet it’s the collection of growls erupting backstage that propel me faster.

What might be a drumstick nails me in the shoulder before I finish squeezing through the small opening. “Christ,” I mutter, racing forward only to grind to a halt when I see what’s become of Johnny’s band.

The guitarist stands idly in front of me, watching the pack of werewolves circling Shayna, even as his body crumples in pieces, disintegrating like a paper mache rainbow.

“You’re not biting me,” Shayna tells them, her stare intent. “Uh-uh. You only think you are, wolfies.”

I lurch forward, my hands out and trembling from the raw energy singeing through my veins. But then something snakes around my ankles, tripping me and wrapping around my form as I fall.

It’s not until a long forked tongue flicks my chin that I realize it’s an actual snake.

His head shifts from side to side, the markings along his scales appearing painted on. He doesn’t bother looking at me, fascinated it seems by the altercation across from of us.

Tattered pieces of clothing lie in piles along the floor, pushed aside by massive paws the size of my head. The wolves narrow the perimeter they formed around Shayna, their movements awkward and stiff, not fluid like real wolves. These aren’t normal supernatural beasts. This is whatever Johnny’s band was.

I attempt to roll, but the snake constricts, warning me I should stay in place and tightening further when I try to call forth my flame in a rush.

I don’t dare move, not yet, not when this snake can squeeze the life out of me. Instead I slowly build a spark deep within me, nourishing it within my core to detonate when the moment is right.

As far as I can tell, there are four wolves, and several other creatures lurking nearby. I can feel them, just as much as I feel this snake coiled around me. But it’s Johnny I feel the most, the divination he creates surrounding us and invigorating those determined to protect him.

“Don’t move, T,” Shayna calls to me. “It won’t hurt you unless you threaten it.”

“What about you?” I ask, hoping she’s right.

“I’ve already did something threatening.”

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