Page 8 of A Shade Too Far
Naveen circled Emmett and me, once more putting himself between us and the door. “Laurent had almost convinced me I was wrong about you.” A wistful look flitted over his face for a fleeting second before his expression hardened.
A few more feelings that I didn’t dare examine too closely got locked down as well.
Delilah exploded out of me, but Naveen was ready. He swung his staff into her, and I doubled over with a gasp, pain blazing through my gut.
He dropped into a crouch, still blocking our exit. “My first instincts were correct. Your kind has no compassion and no loyalty.”
“You have no idea how deep my loyalties run and what I’m doing to protect people,” I wheezed, “so how about you take all your preconceived notions of me and shove them up your ass? Use the staff to make sure you pack them nice and tight.”
Mesh in place, I grabbed Emmett and threw us both sideways. The golem executed the move perfectly, thanks to all our practice.
Naveen’s strike clipped my shoulder.
My magic rippled and holes gapped in the mesh. I visualized a giant crochet hook patching the cloaking in a blur. The speed at which I mended it pushed me to my limit, sweat running down the back of my neck and dripping off my temples, but we slipped past him and out the door.
We found ourselves outside. Sucking down fresh air, I walked quickly—but not so fast as to arouse suspicion—across the great lawn to the ring, keeping my partner hidden.
With the fight over and staff milling about cleaning up the high bistro tables used during cocktails, the housekeeping uniform helped me blend in. I hoped the security team would assume Naveen had dealt with the thief. Every step lit up my nerve endings in new and agonizing ways, and it was all I could to stay upright, but we made it back to the ring without incident.
Santiago Torres presented Lionheart with a trophy and a check while the cheering crowd gave her a standing ovation. The lion shifter bled freely from several wounds, including a nasty gash across her temple, almost every inch of her skin was bruised, and her breathing was labored.
There was no sign of Destructo, only a blood-soaked mat.
All we had to do was avoid Naveen on our way to the plane and we’d be home free. We were safe. Ish.
Tatiana met my gaze and I nodded.
Lionheart accepted her prize with a quiet “Thank you” and left the ring, leaving Santiago to officially close this year’s match and wish everyone well.
I attempted to steer clear of the people heading back to their planes or yachts moored on the other side of the small private island, since it wouldn’t do to bump into someone and reveal Emmett’s presence. I’d narrowly avoided crashing into a couple wearing enormous hats with birdcage contraptions on them when a man bellowed in pain.
Emmett grabbed me, hauling me back against his chest, the impact making him visible, but everyone was too busy gawking toward the source of the cry to notice. “What’s going on?” he demanded.
Since I couldn’t see over other people’s heads, I jumped on a chair toward the back of the audience.
A dybbuk, a crimson ghostly mass, assumed a jagged knife-form and violently stabbed at Torres. It pulsated in fury, slashing his skin and clothing. The man whipped off his sunglasses, his light magic erupting from his eyes, and while I had to throw up a hand to protect myself from the brilliance, his powers did nothing against the malevolent spirit.
This wasn’t possible. Dybbuks attacked but only once they’d been freed from their host body. There was no corpse around—not even Destructo’s—so where had this one come from? And why didn’t I sense it beforehand? I should have been vibrating like a tuning fork, my magic urging me to destroy the abomination, but upon a closer probe of the spirit, I felt nothing.
“You think he’s having a seizure?” a woman passing by me said to her friend.
“Karma, baby,” her friend replied and the two laughed.
I almost reached out to shake them for their indifference, but I couldn’t explain the truth without giving away my magic because Ohrists were unable to see dybbuks.
Several of Torres’s guards jumped into the ring, attempting to help their boss, seemingly under the impression this was a medical emergency of some sort, only to be attacked. They busted out their magic, except not seeing where to retaliate, fired wildly.
One guard called up vines to grab Santiago, hitting his colleague instead.
Some of the crowd fled, while others, already amped up by bloodlust from the fight, broke into smaller skirmishes. Really? You guys took this as an enticement to wail on each other?
Chaos reigned, and I was the only one who could stop it.
I jumped off the chair and almost collided with Tatiana.
“Miriam.” She tugged sharply on my arm. “We have to get out of here, before the wards on the island are raised again and we’re trapped.” Her stiff-backed anxiety was undercut by her raspy New Yorker accent that turned “wards” into “wahds” like the finest of Wise Guys.
Tatiana showing concern meant that being trapped here would be extremely detrimental to our well-being, either from the guards or Zev. I almost ran for the plane without a second look back, but I forced myself to stay the course. I just needed a few minutes.
