Page 40 of The Tree of Spirits
“TheSavannah Winters?” The detective’s tone made me really curious to know what the Watchers said about me during their secret meetings inside the Black Obelisk.
Then again, I probably didn’t want to know. Maybe they had a dartboard with my face on it in their break room. I was, after all, always right there when something weird happened. And if there was one thing the General—and the Watchers who worked for him—didn’t like, it was weird shenanigans breaking loose in their domain.
“Why am I not surprised that Savannah Winters is here?” The detective looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “It’salwaysSavannah Winters.”
“We could arrest her and bring her to the General,” suggested a Watcher.
I would definitely vote against that idea. Not that I even got a vote.
“No, the General has more pressing matters to deal with.” The detective sighed again. “I’ll just take her statement, and then we can get out of here.”
Taking my statement didn’t take long since it basically consisted of:Someone tried to blow us all up. No, I didn’t see who. And I don’t know why they did it either.
After that, the detective and his band of Watchers drove away in their ‘borrowed’ truck.
And Raytan and his crew encircled me.
“I don’t remember giving you permission to leave your closet, kid.” Raytan waved his people forward.
I hummed a low, long note. The broken remains of all the wooden crates rose into the air. I sang another note, and the debris started orbiting around me like a spiky shield.
The Metamorphs hung back, eyeing the spikes with apprehension.
“Come on, boys,” Raytan prompted his Metamorphs. “What are you waiting for? Grab her.”
“She’s got a shield,” one of them pointed out.
“Are you telling me that you’re afraid of a few tiny toothpicks?”
The man moved toward me, slow and wary.
I changed my song. One of the spikes slashed across his cheek. Just a tad.
My would-be attacker recoiled, nursing his new scratch.
Another Metamorph tried to sneak up on me from behind. I spun around, humming louder. I peddled my hands around each other, winding the wooden spikes into a loop. They shot forward like a stream of fish, twisting around the man’s wrists and ankles, binding them.
“Why, you little?—”
Another strip slapped across his mouth like a piece of tape, silencing him.
The hall fell quiet.
The silence was broken by Raytan’s laughter. “You’ve impressed me, kid.”
“So you’ll call off your men?” I asked, keeping my spikes ready.
Raytan motioned for the Metamorphs to fall back.
I dropped my spiky shield. Wooden shards fell to the ground like dead grasshoppers.
“Ok, you’ve got my attention,” Raytan said. “Talk.”
I glanced around the garage. There were fewer Metamorphs here than before.
“Was anyone seriously injured in the explosion?” I asked.
“Four of my boys were hit hard. A few broken bones. A few puncture wounds. Nothing life-threatening, but they will be out of commission for a few weeks. They’re resting back at base.”
