Page 42 of Just Dare Me
That’s when I see that Jay has broken into a cold sweat. His whole body shakes with concentration. “I can’t hold onto him, Shayne,” he mutters through clenched teeth. “They’ll take him.”
My brain is locking up. Too much happening at once. Besides the conflicting emotions of wanting Arael’s connection with Jay to be broken, but not wanting Tabitha to have the demon, there is now the massive dark shape of the silverback wolf prowling the perimeter of the brush, sniffing for my scent. If I so much as blink, he’ll charge. I also hear two more sets of footsteps crashing through the woods somewhere to my right, and then Charlotte’s voice calls out: “Not another word, Tabitha! One more word, I shoot.”
Russo is right beside her, his own gun pointed at Goggles Guy. “Detroit PD!”
Arael Moaz stands still, practically salivating over the brass knuckles, but unable to move forward without further commands.
Tabitha wears a smug grin. “Shoot who, Charlotte? Which one of us?”
Charlotte cocks her gun. “Why don’t you find out?”
When yet another East Side goon joins the party with an assault rifle pointed at Russo, the standoff is complete. Nobody can back down—the stakes are too high. One more move from either side will trigger a shootout. The only wild card is me. I’m hidden and I’m armed. But I’d only get one shot before Nash takes a rip at me. Who do I shoot?
As though reading my mind, Tabitha says, “You can’t get us all. You’ll have to choose, Charlotte. Him or me?” As she speaks, the slender, goggled man sidesteps away from Tabitha.
Charlotte keeps her aim on Tabitha, but her eyes flick to Slender Man. Her concerned look wears the same question mark that is flashing in my mind. Who the hell is this guy? And how could he possibly see anything through those blackout goggles? He’s not armed, but somehow he’s starting to feel like the real threat. Maybe I’m not the only wild card here.
Charlotte figures it out, but too late. As soon as she moves her aim to the thin man, he makes a quick, simple gesture with his hands—the slightest twist—and Charlotte’s whole body locks up. She grunts, straining against some invisible force.
“Stand down!” Russo shouts. He moves his aim to the thin guy, but that only prompts the assault rifle goon to train his sights on Charlotte. Another deadlock.
Russo’s next move makes sense—he aims at Tabitha and orders, “Call him off!”—but he is immediately outplayed when Slender Man closes one hand into a fist and pulls it in close to his body. In response, Charlotte’s image seems to split in two. Another face—a man’s face—is pulled out from hers, followed by neck and shoulders—the spirit of Matthew Hillerman. Powerless to move or resist, Charlotte can only scream in terror.
Russo backs off, raising his hands. “That’s enough! You win!”
His pleas do nothing, of course. The exorcist pulls his other fist into his side, jerking Matt’s spirit out to the waist. Charlotte’s screams pitch up into desperate, pitiful shrieks. Matt’s face shimmers and twists. His mouth gapes in pain.
Sealing her victory, Tabitha wiggles the brass knuckles in front of Arael, while chanting one last line in Latin. With a satisfied roar, Arael’s demon closes its eyes, bows low, and is sucked into the brass knuckles like a genie into a bottle.
But one good thing has come from all this. The exorcist has broken us out of the deadlock. There’s now only one choice to make, and it’s an easy one. Tabitha can have her spirit, but we’re keeping ours. Rising out of the brush, I level my gun at the exorcist and pull the trigger. He takes the shot right between the eyes, his head snapping back.
Instantly, Matt melts back into Charlotte’s body as she collapses. The guy with the assault rifle aims at me, and I have just enough time to watch Russo light him up with half a dozen shots before my senses go berserk, shouting at me to move. Out of pure instinct, I shift into my fox, falling down inside my jacket just as the silverback wolf, lunging through the brush, snaps its teeth at the air where my face just was.
The whole world goes into a crazy spin. I’m tangled in my clothes, kicking and thrashing to find an exit that doesn’t lead directly into Nash’s jaws. He bites into my Tigers jacket and whips it away, exposing me. But all he gets is that one tantalizing glimpse—an instant to think he’s got me—before Jay presses the barrel of my gun to his temple and sends a pure silver bullet through his brain. The wolf tips sideways and thumps to the ground in a lifeless heap. Goodnight, this time forever.
“Tabitha!” Jay urges.
I’m way ahead of him, my pointed ears already locked onto the sound of her sneakers crunching leaves as she runs away. I shoot from the hedge at a full sprint. A human has zero chance of outrunning my fox, especially in these woods. But Tabitha has come prepared. I see her jump onto a dirt bike, and with a rev of the engine and a pop of the clutch, she tears down a winding path, spraying dirt in her wake.
Change of plan. I veer away from the path and push my body to the absolute limit. Tabitha’s motorcycle can match me for speed, but she’ll have to stay on that path, which winds all over the place. I, on the other hand, knowing exactly where that path exits the woods, can cut a straight line. I’m a red flash through the woods, leaping like a gazelle over boulders and brush. My paws barely touch the ground.
I see the trailhead and hear the dirt bike at the same moment. Instantly, my foxy brain calculates that we’re on a perfect collision course. Tabitha never sees me coming. She stands up on the foot pegs, preparing to slow down, when I pounce from her blind spot. My teeth clamp down on the hood at the back of her neck, and I let the momentum of my body whip her off the seat. We crash to the ground, the motorcycle flipping end over end.
Tabitha stumbles to her feet, cradling a limp arm. I coil myself to spring at her, when suddenly my ears prick up. I leap backwards with a yelp just as a massive black streak slams to the ground between us. Beyona spreads her raven wings, shielding Tabitha. Her razor-sharp beak opens to unleash an ear-piercing cry that sets my teeth on edge.
There’s no sense sparing another thought for Tabitha—with the harpy between us, she might as well be on the moon. Part of me wants to rage with frustration for losing yet again, for not putting my one shot into Tabitha’s face instead of the exorcist. In fact, how much you wanna bet Charlotte herself will chew me out for saving Matt rather than putting an end to the plot that could level Detroit and expose the entire underworld?
But I can’t hold on to those thoughts. The immediate threat has completely hijacked my attention. As Tabitha limps away, Beyona begins to circle around me, her oily, black-feathered head bobbing with each step. Pivoting in sync with her, I keep our eyes locked. Hers are big as baseballs—glossy, black orbs, bulging with intensity.
My body—so small compared to hers—trembles with a mix of eagerness and fear. This feels different than all the other times we’ve squared off with each other. All those times, Beyona was in pursuit of something, and I was simply in her way. She attacked only to get past me, to escape with whatever prize she’d been after.
This time, Iamthe prize. Tabitha got away. They have what they came for. The only reason for Beyona to stick around and fight is because she’s as sick of me as I am of her. No more chasing, no more hit and run. She wants blood.
Her wings fan out behind her head, their tips pointing to the sky, their black feathers a stark contrast to the pearly white skin of her massive breasts and chunky thighs. It’s some kind of nightmare form of peacocking. And it works. My brain is swamped with the static of fear and the primal impulse to run. It takes all my will just to keep my feet planted.
She leaps at me. It happens so fast, I have no time to process a response. Instinct flashes hot through my brain, and I leap straight up in the air, a completely useless reaction. It’s like tossing her a softball. Lowering her head, she headbutts me straight in the chest, sending me flying through the air. My body wraps around a tree trunk and slides down just in time to avoid her talons, which bury themselves an inch deep in the bark.
She swipes at me with her other foot. I rear back, feeling her claws graze the fur at my belly, and then I lunge at her throat. But Beyona has anticipated my move. She twists her head, catching me in her open beak. She clamps down tight on my neck. Static erupts in my brain, scattering my thoughts, sending panic signals into all my limbs. I scratch and claw and twist, all blindly, since my vision has gone blurry. My head is pounding.
