Page 75 of Unbound

Okay. Maybe not. Because even at my stupidest, I would’ve known better than to openly taunt a Skinwalker in public. I also would’ve known a Skinwalker probably wouldn’t be casually wandering around downtown Pittsburgh in broad daylight.

There are six hunters. One of me. I’ve had worse odds. And I have one advantage they don’t. Magic. Though if they genuinely believe I’m a Skinwalker, they’re going to use weapons capable of doing serious damage.

“Look,” I say, holding up my hands. “I really don’t have time to explain why this is a mistake.” I shrug. “I’m in a bit of a pickle here, so it would genuinely benefit all of us if you just walked away.”

They exchange confused looks. Then rush me. I throw out my hand. A wave of telekinetic force slams into the first hunter. He flies backward into two others, and all three go down in a tangled heap. The remaining hunters immediately draw their weapons.

And then, seemingly out of nowhere, my brothers appear.

Antonio tackles one to the ground, knocks the gun from his hand, grabs it, and cracks him across the side of the head with it. The hunter goes limp. Leo grabs another from behind and locks him into a chokehold. I raise my hand toward the last man still standing.

“Don’t.”

He hesitates. I dart forward before he can make up his mind and press my fingers to his forehead “Somnun.” He drops. It doesn’t take long to subdue the remaining three. A few sleeping spells later, six unconscious hunters are scattered around the empty parking lot. I look around. “I feel like I should almost be insulted that they sent newbies after me.”

Antonio snorts.

“They called me a Skinwalker.”

He actually laughs. “These guys really are new.” Then his expression changes. He looks at Leo. Then at me. “The Order knew you’d fight back.”

“Fuck.”

“They’re building a case against you again,” Antonio says. “Think about it. They send six inexperienced hunters after you?” He raises his eyebrows. “You were always one of their best hunters, even before the Jedi mind tricks.”

I put a hand against my forehead. Once I’m back in Charlotte and under Xavier’s protection, the Order isn’t going to be much of a problem. Getting back to Charlotte might be.

“We need to move,” Leo says.

We run across the parking lot and jump the low wall separating it from the walking path.

“If you were a teenage girl, where would you hide?” I ask.

Leo scans the area and then points toward an old bridge off to our left. It’s covered in graffiti and sits between the road and the walking path on the far side of the convention center. Thankfully, nothing appears to be happening here today. We jog toward it. Then something catches my eye.

Movement, across the street. I stop. There. A girl slips between the convention center and a squat concrete structure.

My heart jumps. “Claire.” My brothers follow my gaze. “Stay here,” I tell them. Then I run, darting into the street in front of an oncoming car. The driver slams on the brakes and lays on the horn. I barely hear it. I reach the other side. The girl turns.

I stop a few feet away, still not completely sure. But she looks at me like she knows me. “Florence?”

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

“Yeah,” I rush out, staring at this girl. “Claire You’re Claire Bellamy.”

“He warned me you’d be here,” Claire says, pulling her arms tighter around herself. “But my mom says you’re safe.”

“My mom talks to me in dreams too,” I tell her. Then I realize she has no idea I’ve read any of her therapy notes. “I’m here to take you home.” Judging by the way her expression immediately changes, that was probably the wrong thing to say. “My family—the Blackwoods—they were friends with your mother’s family,” I continue. “I only recently found out about them myself.” I can feel myself making this worse. I take a breath and start over.

“My name is Florence Malus. But my friends call me Wren. I live in North Carolina with my husband.” I decide to leave out the part where my husband is a vampire. For now. I have no idea what the Order taught Claire about vampires, and this conversation is already going badly enough.

“And like you, I’m a witch.”

“I’m not a witch,” Claire says. But there’s enough uncertainty in her face to tell me she doesn’t fully believe that anymore.

“You’ve been casting spells accidentally, haven’t you?” I ask. “Things have happened around you that you can’t explain. And your mom has been talking to you through dreams.”