Page 72 of Gemini Hunted
Hoping like hell the borders of Mal’s protective circle reach this high, so I don’t get fricasseed in pus-colored fire (which is not the way I wanna kick the bucket), I hum in my throat to call my lightning.
The hyena’s almost on top of us when my bolt of purple whup-ass forks through the skylight and fries that monster to a crisp.
Halfway across our circle, the beast dissolves in a cloud of ash and smoke.
Neo’s still blinking at the mess when a harsh metallic clatter fills the air.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter. “Now what?”
In unison, we all spin toward the rusted medieval portcullis embedded in the rear wall. That’s the grate the reservoir flows through. The grate that normally blocks the low, creepy, cobwebby tunnel I assume leads to the septic tank.
Only that portcullis isn’t blocking the tunnel anymore.
The whole contraption is rising, bars vibrating, hidden gears whining. Iron teeth coated with centuries of green goop—beslimed and dripping—emerge from the black water.
“Yay, it’s the passage!” Mal yells. “We opened it!”
I’m still staring suspiciously at the slasher flick setup of that freaky-looking tunnel when Jae sweeps Mal to her feet, snatches up her bulging backpack, swings the beam of the flashlight around, and drags his girl straight toward the tunnel. Disheveled and unsettled as she clearly is, Mal still has the determination to slip free of her guy, tear out of her uniform blazer, and throw her garment over the glowing spellbook.
“Are you crazy?” I yell down to her. “Don’t touch that thing!”
“The curse is already triggered,” she calls back. “Its power is finite. And we might still need the book.”
“Sweet Jesus, Mal…” I cut myself short with a frustrated headshake. My stubborn friend is already stumbling toward the passage, propelled by Jae’s urgent grip, with the wrapped book clutched to her chest.
Very clearly, no one’s safe outside the circle.
But it’s equally clear we can’t stay where we are.
From my elevation, hovering ten feet above the fray, the shit’s flying fast and furious. Spotted hyenas from this AIB kill squad are leaping and bounding toward our circle from all directions. Here and there, the virulent green fire of the triggered curse is incinerating a handful of shifters to ash. Which gives me enough light to see the rest.
A chill of foreboding skitters down my spine.
There are way too many bad guys.
“Shit,” I whisper. “What happened to the rest of my warlocks?”
And Mal’s right about one thing. That curse is a spent force. No new fires are lighting.
That means if we wanna live, we’re gonna need to fight.
Before my eyes, Jae shifts into his monstrous two-legged werewolf. Hisloup-garou.Muzzle lengthening and splitting around slavering teeth, black fur bristling down his chest, talons sprouting from gnarled fingers. Fully shifted, he twists with a snarl and lunges at a hyena that’s headed straight for Mallory.
The two go down—hyena and werewolf—in a thrashing tangle of limbs and teeth and claws that rips a horrified scream from Mal.
Girl oughta be hauling ass for that passage, for real. She’s the weakest witch in the room.
A liability right now, if I’m being honest.
Well, Mallory McSnicker might be the running joke of this Academy.
But she’s definitely no coward.
Plus she clearly loves her wolf. The same way I love mine.
Grim and white-faced with resolve, she hovers just beyond the snarl and thrash of fighting shifters till she sees an opening. Then she darts into the fray and smashes her phone book-sized grimoire on the hyena’s noggin. She brings that book down like Thor’s hammer.
The beast drops without a whimper.
