Page 24 of Looking Grimm

I wasn’t much of a sports guy, and I was never into football, but I’d seen a tackle dogpile. That was what I imagined this looked like: me caught midfield holding the pigskin while every defensive player did their damndest to bury me in the astroturf. Only this field was solid concrete, and I wasn’t wearing a helmet or pads.

Fists and feet attacked from every direction. I threw out blind swipes, cracking shins and breaking knees, but only succeeding in burying myself in toppled people. The howls and yelps of agony grew deafening, and the punches and kicks kept coming until I curled up, covered my face withboth arms, and squeezed my eyes shut.

The weight became crushing, and breathing became desperate grabs for air. When what had to be a steel-toed boot cracked against the back of my skull, the power that had been building in me lashed out. A shockwave of force rushed across the crush of bodies, flinging everyone backward.

The space around me opened up, but I didn’t dare relax or do more than peek out into the hazy darkness. Smoke rolled across the floor, slithering like a snake between legs and around fallen bodies. It was thick, almost viscous, and undeniably familiar. I’d seen it in the Thorngate prison break when the gang had come equipped with gas masks to negate the effects. This time, I had no such protection, so I tugged my shirt over my nose and scrambled to my feet.

In the pervasive dark, the throng of people was a thrashing mass, and their cries of surprise and alarm created a cacophony. The smoke spread and seeped, and I took careful breaths, nursing sore spots all over my body that stooped me over and made me limp as I tried to make for the edge of the room.

I hadn’t seen Ripley, but I recognized his handiwork. The door opened down the wall, casting a long beam of moonlight that illuminated the people rushing to escape. The poison Ripley had spewed at the prison had been little more than knockout gas, but I couldn’t be sure this concoction was equally innocuous.

Rushing toward the door would force me into close proximity with the Hex members who wouldn’t hesitate to mob me again, so I searched for another exit. A building this large must have had multiple doors, but it was hard to see with the fog wafting steadily upward. It was so thick atground level that I couldn’t see my feet.

Breathing through the thin fabric of my shirt was scarce protection from the magical toxin being pumped into the air. I stuck to the perimeter of the room, stumbling along as my heart raced, demanding more oxygen than was safe to consume. I remembered succumbing to the fumes while shackled to the bed in Thorngate’s infirmary; remembered Grimm and the others leaving me behind.

It ached like everything did now. My head pounded from that well-placed kick, and my ribs protested every creaking breath. I was trying to discern if unconsciousness was creeping in or if the space around me had always been that dark, when someone grabbed my bicep and yanked me swiftly into the air.

I shot upward, dropping the cover from my nose and mouth and looking up at Ezrah Everett, who shot like a rocket toward the apex of the warehouse’s three-story ceiling.

The air was clear up here, and it was easier to see with the grid of windows now parallel with where we hovered. I reached to pry the other man’s fingers off my arm but immediately thought better of it. Release would mean a long, painful fall onto unforgiving cement.

Still, I swore and squirmed as the aeromancer ferried me toward the upper-level catwalk—a rusting metal bridge spanning the center of the room—then dropped me in the narrow space between the handrails.

I landed on my feet, then fell forward onto all fours as Ezrah lowered himself onto the walkway a few feet ahead of me.

If he wanted to kill me or collect whatever bountyGrimm was offering, he would have been better off letting me succumb to Ripley’s poison and finishing me off from there. Here, we were isolated, and the air was clean. This was a one-on-one combat scenario I could appreciate. And dominate.

I shoved myself to standing and snarled at the other man. “Big mistake, fucker.”

Extending one hand, I meant to catch him in a telekinetic chokehold. Before I could, something slammed into my back so hard it drove every bit of air from my lungs. I landed face down on the perforated metal walkway, grabbing for breaths that wouldn’t come.

Laughter rose before and behind me, and I rolled over to see mirror images of the Everett twins boxing me in on the catwalk. Ethan, the geomancer, pounded one Incredible Hulk-sized fist into his other hand. His skin was brown and craggy as though it were made of hardpacked dirt.

When oxygen slipped in at last, I wheezed a curse.

“Only one of you and two of us,” Ethan chortled, closing in. “But we’re real good at sharing.”

Grimacing, I pushed up on one arm while holding my bruised ribs with the other. “You may wanna rethink your catchphrase, buddy. Giving some serious twincest vibes.”

I didn’t hear Ezrah approach before he snagged a hand in my hair and hauled me up, ready to hold me as a human punching bag for his brother. I was still struggling to fill my chest with precious air when I gave up trying to loosen Ezrah’s grip and decided to tighten it instead. A clench of my fist crumpled his, crunching fine bones audibly overhead. It pulled at the roots of my hair before Ezrah shrieked and reeled back, freeing me to stand on my own power.

In front of me, Ethan looked confused, but that didn’t last either. It took only a swipe of my arm to send him sailing over the corroded steel railing. His body plummeted toward the darkness below, sending up a yelping cry.

My head whipped back to see Ezrah dive off after his brother. I wasn’t sure he hung around long enough to hear me say, “Fetch, boy.”

With the Everett twinsdispatched, or at least distracted, I bolted for the end of the catwalk. My feet pounded against the perforated metal, causing a rattling sound that made my ears ring. I had nearly reached the far side when a shadowy figure peeked over the walkway. He was as winded as I was, and he scowled as his hood slid back from his face.

“I’m too old for this shit,” Ripley grunted. “Scurrying up a bloody ladder to save your ass.”

I cracked a grin. “I handled it.”

Ethan’s squalling had stopped. Since I never heard the gruesome thud of his body colliding with the ground, I assumed his flyboy brother managed to save him. I also assumed they would return, and if either of them decided to toss me off the walkway, I wouldn’t get a timely rescue.

I flapped my hands at Ripley. “We gotta get down. Go, go!”

Ripley started down the ladder at a rapid clip. I chasedafter him, listening to his muttered complaints the whole descent.

“Why didn’t you kill them?” he asked. “Autograph a matched set of corpses. See what happens.”

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