The Brimstone Deception by Lisa Shearin

had one elevator in my line of sight, and chances were in a garage this small, there was only one. It was the only decently lit thing down here. Only half of the lights in the rest of the garage actually worked, the rest were either burned out or flickering on and off, like they were powered by anemic fireflies instead of electricity.
    Looking out into the silent, too-poorly-lit-to-be-down-here-by-myself hole in the ground, I began to have second thoughts about my show of initiative, or as my Aunt Vicki, who was the police chief back home would have said, I’d “run off half-cocked.”
    As my adrenaline rush faded, realization started to set in, and it wasn’t pretty. A trained and experienced agent could do something like this. I was neither trained, nor experienced.
    I was a dumbass.
    If I managed not to get myself killed, the next time I found myself in a similar situation, I’d think twice. I’d probablystill do it, because the way I saw it I didn’t have a choice, but at least I’d think about it more before it did it.
    The garage was almost full, except for the far corner, which, considering the size of the garage wasn’t all that far, was twenty spaces at the most.
    No one had parked there.
    I couldn’t really blame them. There was no light for five spaces in either direction. I wouldn’t have parked there. The corner didn’t even have shadows, just a big chunk of dark.
    I looked closer.
    A chunk that was less dark than it’d been a couple of blinks ago.
    The source of light wasn’t a bulb, it was the wall itself. A wall that should have been a solid slab of concrete.
    Underground garages smelled like gas, oil, and the leftovers of whatever fast food someone had most recently tossed out of their car.
    Even then, chances were nil to none that those leftovers would smell like rotten eggs.
    A smell nearly identical to sulfur.
    I jumped as explosive pops and showers of sparks rained down from overhead as every light in the garage blew, leaving me in near total darkness.
    Except for the far corner.
    A thin, glowing line appeared, spreading, disintegrating the dark as it went.
    An orange glow.
    Oh shit.
    The gunman didn’t have a getaway car down here; he had a getaway portal.

11
    TIME for me to leave.
    I turned.
    Less than ten feet away—standing between me and the only exit—was the gunman.
    His hands were loose at his sides, there was no gun in sight, and his jacket was unzipped all the way, exposing a bare and seriously pasty chest.
    He was smiling.
    This was wrong on so many levels, I didn’t know where to start.
    He kept smiling and shrugged out of his jacket.
    Add another level to the wrongness.
    I raised my gun and took a step back.
    â€œYou need to stop.” I backed up another step. “There’s an easy way to avoid this whole confrontation—or whatever it is you have in mind. You step aside. I leave. Simple.”
    He stopped smiling. Not because he was any less happy, but because his mouth was changing, along with the rest ofhis body—at least above the waist. If there was anything going on below the belt, he was still wearing his pants, so thankfully, I didn’t have to see it.
    His arms lengthened and became serpentine as if his bones had melted. Other appendages sprouted from his shoulders and sides.
    Tentacles.
    The bottom half of his face writhed and snake-like tentacles emerged like a fleshy beard.
    Oh yeah, this was definitely wrong.
    And it sure as hell wasn’t human.
    The gunman was a shapeshifter.
    A type of shapeshifter I’d never seen, heard of, or had a nightmare about. Though I’d be rectifying that last one tonight, if I lived through this.
    The squid guy had forced me away from the column. The opening portal was still the length of the garage behind me, but it wasn’t nearly far enough away.
    I aimed for the spot right between his eyes. “Stop or I’ll shoot.”
    He didn’t