Page 63 of Hex and the City
The sand glittered in the air, glamorous, golden, deadly.
Max’s arms flew to cover his face. I gasped, calling on another plume of Tiamat’s flame, slashing my hand in an arc. This time it hurt, rushing out of me in a gush of searing fire, my insides still raw from unspooling so much of her power.
But it did the trick, scorching the remnants of the quickening sand, burning away the magic, fusing it into glass. The sheets of ruined quickening glass gleamed as they tumbled through the air, smashing against the pavement as inert fragments and dust.
Max lunged forward, diamond daggers in hand, ready to eviscerate the Quartz Spider. But he was already gone.
Something triggered from the center of the ring of Masques, a deep, ominous thud. A wave of pressure launched from the base of the clocktower, knocking everyone on their asses. Their counter spell had worked. The anomaly was neutralized.
I fell onto my back, shirt soaked with sweat, groaning as I looked up into a sunlit sky. Max sprawled fully against the ground next to me, both of us like limp spaghetti, too exhausted to resist the physical manifestation of the dispelling. Big Gwen’s hands were moving in the right direction again.
All around us, senior citizens moaned as they struggled to pick themselves up off the ground. I almost sat up in a panic, wanting to help — so many broken hips and fractured skulls. And then I remembered that they were all just Masques in disguise. Fuck those guys. They could help themselves.
One of the seniors, a man in a fuzzy cardigan, grunted as he shuffled his way toward us. I kept my back firmly against the cement, perfectly content to bake in the sun. The old man touched his forehead, his entire body wavering like a mirage, and there was our good friend Mr. Masque, he of no name and no face.
“Alcantara, Drake. Good to see the two of you in one piece. We thank you for your assistance.”
Max’s special gesture, that diamond-shaped thing he did with his hands to signal other clan members? That was pretty cool, a way to keep the Brillante family and their lackeys in check. A useful communication tool. I had a useful communication tool of my own.
I raised a hand at the sky, then lifted my middle finger, showing it to the Masque. Beside me, Max snickered.
“Okay,” the Masque grumbled. “Very immature. Very much uncalled for. Good day, gentlemen.”
The Masque slunk off to join the rest of his faceless friends. Max held onto his belly as he tittered, like he was struggling to contain his laughter.
“Good one, dude. Show him what’s what.”
“Man, whatever.” I snorted, staring at the big blue sky, basking in the heat of the restored sun. “As far as I’m concerned, the two of us saved the day.”
“We should keep this up,” Max drawled, tired, yet somehow content. “Keep being partners in crime. Or partners against crime. Both sound fun.”
I tried feebly to bump my fist against his, until I found that neither of us had the energy for it. Too drained, too beaten up from having our heads and torsos used for karate practice. I chuckled and slapped the back of my hand against his chest instead.
“You know, I’d actually like that, Maximo. I’d like that very much.”
The unmistakeable and distressingly familiar sound of boot heels hitting the pavement caught my attention. I craned my neck to where the footsteps were coming from. Thick, heavy soles skidded over gravel as the runner came to a stop.
Panting, one hand shoved against the wall to prop herself up, was Guillotina. She held a hand to her chest, gasping for breath. “I came as soon as I could.”
This was ridiculous. All of it was ridiculous. And despite the danger, it was the most fun I’d had in my entire life. Max blinked at Tina, turned his head back toward a clear blue sky, and laughed, deep from his belly.
I couldn’t help laughing myself.
28
MAX
Slow night at Unholy Grounds. Not many wizards and werewolves out wetting their whistles. Somber, smoky jazz filled the bar, more so than the drone of conversation. Nice and relaxed. Very low key.
Just as well. A quiet evening was exactly what the doctor ordered after all the drama of the day. After departing from the clocktower, Leon and I had made sure to get in a shower each — except that we ended up getting messy again soon enough.
Something about surviving a harrowing encounter with unnatural magic really got my engine going. I didn’t know how I could grow up in a world where people could blast fire from their hands and still be so freaked out by something as subtle as time magic.
Calling on the elements, whether it was conjuring fireballs or lightning bolts? That was flashy stuff. Sure, turning day into night was as bombastic as magic could get, but it was the smaller, more insidious things about the craft that got under my skin.
So sinister, how it took me too long to notice that the Quartz Spider had tangled us in a time loop. I took a sip of my mojito, watching over the rim of my glass as Leon pressed shoulders against Roscoe, the two of them reading from the same phone. Leon didn’t even realize it, but he’d saved my ass again.
Roscoe laughed. “Who believes this bullshit? The Masques really think they can get away with feeding theDos Lunas Tribunesome word salad mumbo jumbo headline. Doesn’t matter because people will believe anything. You could blame the Big Gwen anomaly on an ultra rare quadruple bypass solar mega eclipse and no one would bat an eyelash.”
