manifestation of the energy that tore through the bottom of the chair Mamoru’d been in, but Mamoru knew it was coming and reacted fast enough to save him and Tristan both from a really nasty hit.
The room was heavy with the cloying scent of ozone and Tristan coughed to get the taste of it out of his sinuses.
“What the hell is going on?” Tristan hissed as he scrambled to sit upright next to Mamoru, back pressed to the side of the sofa they were using for cover.
“I wish I knew,” Mamoru muttered, mostly to himself.
“Chrysanthe!” Tristan shouted angrily.
“Oh dear, I did apologize. Now come out and step back. I only need to kill one of you.”
“What are you talking about?” Tristan asked, sounding exasperated. “Why does one of us need to die? We’re the fucking shinwa police, for shit’s sake.”
“Who are you working for?” Mamoru asked.
“Oh dear, I can’t tell you that. Now. Come. Out.”
Tristan swallowed back a nervous groan and looked to Mamoru. The other man was calm and reserved, an ornate knife in his hand. He’d lost track of Silas, but Chrysanthe’s big skirt made so much noise when she moved that he knew she was still by the entryway. “Her employer must know about me.”
“What about you?”
“We need to leave. Here—” Mamoru leaned down, shoulder almost to the floor, all up in Tristan’s business as he dug under the sofa. Tristan was about to argue about the face in his crotch when the other man came back with his gun. “You take this, I don’t do guns.”
He gladly took the weapon and did a quick check. Ten rounds, plus one in the chamber, just like he left it. He left the safety on but lifted it to point at Mamoru’s head. “Tell me why she’s trying to kill you.”
Another ball of energy tore into the sofa behind them, making them both duck. Tristan had no idea what it was or that pythia could even do something like that. He was as impressed as he was miffed. She wasn’t aiming at him, not really, but he was in her line of fire and that didn’t seem to stop her. The little witch.
Mamoru huffed. “We don’t have time for this, Tristan.”
He clicked the safety off and chambered a round.
“Because I can work fire, okay? I’m of the House of Fire.”
Tristan’s eyes widened. He knew that, of course he did. He felt it when Mamoru almost burnt him but it didn’t really sink in. “You—Lucien’s your Master?”
“Lu—no.” Another shot tore into the arm of the sofa, inches away from their heads. “ Chikushō … Can we talk after we get away from the mad pythia?”
“Fine, but nothing funny.” God, he was going to regret this, he just knew.
Mamoru made a rude noise but was grinning. “How’s this for funny?” he muttered and then jumped to his feet. He cupped his hands much like Chrysanthe did before she shot off that energy whatever, but everyone could see what Mamouru’s gesture was creating as a big ball of fire hazed into existence. “ Onibaba ! Don’t make me use this.”
“Oh my god,” Tristan whispered. He went cold, the memory of staring down a ball of fire once before setting off all his instincts to run.
Silas stopped mid-swing, fuchsia eyes held open wide, mouth slack in shock. “ Ha’bi ,” he whispered to Mamoru, “please.”
Mamoru had everyone’s undivided attention now.
Tristan stood slowly, looking to the others. “Listen—”
“Don’t bother,” Mamoru interrupted. He was staring at Silas, hurt in his eyes. “She’s determined and won’t have her mind changed.”
He looked to the pythia. Her face was twisted in anger and strain as she fought to hold onto the ball of energy she’d conjured up but held back throwing. It was starting to singe her hands. She needed to let it go. With a sigh, she released the energy gently back to the void and lowered her hands. She refused to let the others see that she’d hurt herself and gnashed her teeth against the pain. That was the problem with wild earth magic,
The room was heavy with the cloying scent of ozone and Tristan coughed to get the taste of it out of his sinuses.
“What the hell is going on?” Tristan hissed as he scrambled to sit upright next to Mamoru, back pressed to the side of the sofa they were using for cover.
“I wish I knew,” Mamoru muttered, mostly to himself.
“Chrysanthe!” Tristan shouted angrily.
“Oh dear, I did apologize. Now come out and step back. I only need to kill one of you.”
“What are you talking about?” Tristan asked, sounding exasperated. “Why does one of us need to die? We’re the fucking shinwa police, for shit’s sake.”
“Who are you working for?” Mamoru asked.
“Oh dear, I can’t tell you that. Now. Come. Out.”
Tristan swallowed back a nervous groan and looked to Mamoru. The other man was calm and reserved, an ornate knife in his hand. He’d lost track of Silas, but Chrysanthe’s big skirt made so much noise when she moved that he knew she was still by the entryway. “Her employer must know about me.”
“What about you?”
“We need to leave. Here—” Mamoru leaned down, shoulder almost to the floor, all up in Tristan’s business as he dug under the sofa. Tristan was about to argue about the face in his crotch when the other man came back with his gun. “You take this, I don’t do guns.”
He gladly took the weapon and did a quick check. Ten rounds, plus one in the chamber, just like he left it. He left the safety on but lifted it to point at Mamoru’s head. “Tell me why she’s trying to kill you.”
Another ball of energy tore into the sofa behind them, making them both duck. Tristan had no idea what it was or that pythia could even do something like that. He was as impressed as he was miffed. She wasn’t aiming at him, not really, but he was in her line of fire and that didn’t seem to stop her. The little witch.
Mamoru huffed. “We don’t have time for this, Tristan.”
He clicked the safety off and chambered a round.
“Because I can work fire, okay? I’m of the House of Fire.”
Tristan’s eyes widened. He knew that, of course he did. He felt it when Mamoru almost burnt him but it didn’t really sink in. “You—Lucien’s your Master?”
“Lu—no.” Another shot tore into the arm of the sofa, inches away from their heads. “ Chikushō … Can we talk after we get away from the mad pythia?”
“Fine, but nothing funny.” God, he was going to regret this, he just knew.
Mamoru made a rude noise but was grinning. “How’s this for funny?” he muttered and then jumped to his feet. He cupped his hands much like Chrysanthe did before she shot off that energy whatever, but everyone could see what Mamouru’s gesture was creating as a big ball of fire hazed into existence. “ Onibaba ! Don’t make me use this.”
“Oh my god,” Tristan whispered. He went cold, the memory of staring down a ball of fire once before setting off all his instincts to run.
Silas stopped mid-swing, fuchsia eyes held open wide, mouth slack in shock. “ Ha’bi ,” he whispered to Mamoru, “please.”
Mamoru had everyone’s undivided attention now.
Tristan stood slowly, looking to the others. “Listen—”
“Don’t bother,” Mamoru interrupted. He was staring at Silas, hurt in his eyes. “She’s determined and won’t have her mind changed.”
He looked to the pythia. Her face was twisted in anger and strain as she fought to hold onto the ball of energy she’d conjured up but held back throwing. It was starting to singe her hands. She needed to let it go. With a sigh, she released the energy gently back to the void and lowered her hands. She refused to let the others see that she’d hurt herself and gnashed her teeth against the pain. That was the problem with wild earth magic,
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