His threat is cut off by the sudden, sharp sound of shattering glass from somewhere across the ballroom. The distinctivepop, pop, popof something exploding echoes through the air.
Thick gray smoke begins billowing across the dance floor, and the party erupts into complete madness.
Chapter Seventeen
LOG SEVENTEEN – PHASE SHIFT: THE TRIALS WERE MEANT TO CHANGE HER. INSTEAD, SHE IS CHANGING US.
Thick,acrid smoke quickly fills the elegant ballroom, and then someone kills the overhead lighting, plunging the space into near-total darkness. Only a few scattered table lamps and the golden carousel bar fixtures glow dimly through the heavy chemical fog. I cough violently, and tears stream from my burning eyes.
I start to feel a rising panic clawing up from my chest as irrational fear grips me with razor-sharp fingers. I force myself to take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to fight against the artificial terror flooding my system.
At the exact same moment, I see recognition dawn in Malachi’s eyes—the same horrifying realization hitting us both simultaneously.
This is no ordinary smoke bomb. This is fear gas, something unnatural and weaponized, designed specifically to cause panic and mayhem. The chemical compounds are hijacking our nervous systems, amplifying every worst fear and turning rational people into terrified animals.
“Fuck,” Malachi curses, releasing the red-haired man and shoving him away from us. The man immediately gets swallowed by the panicking crowd and billowing smoke.
The ballroom has become a nightmare of sound. People are screaming in terror, expensive heels clattering against the hard floor as guests trample over each other to reach any exit. Crystal glasses shatter underfoot, and I can hear the sickening sounds of bodies colliding in the darkness.
“Do you see anyone? Do you know who’s attacking us?” I shout over the chaos.
Malachi grabs my hand tightly and starts dragging me through the mass of panicking bodies. “Stay low, stay close,” he commands.
A woman’s piercing shriek cuts through the cacophony somewhere to our left, followed by someone shouting, “I think he’s dead!” My blood turns to ice.
We’re almost to the relative safety of the wall, where we can regroup. I keep my head ducked into Malachi’s back, my eyes streaming from whatever chemical they’ve pumped into the air. Then suddenly his hand is ripped from mine as two dark figures crash into him with brutal force.
“Malachi!” I scream, not knowing if these men are deliberately targeting him or if he’s caught in the stampede of terrified guests trying to escape. Before I can reach for him, he’s completely swallowed by the haze and hysteria.
Strong arms wrap around my waist without warning, lifting me completely off the ground and carrying me back into the heart of the panicking crowd. I fight like a wildcat, straining against his grip, kicking my feet frantically, and swinging my arms as hard as I can. I dig my nails deep into his hands where they grip me, feeling skin tear under my fingernails.
My captor hauls me up onto the small stage and drags me off to the side behind a section of heavy curtain, thenfinally releases me, immediately shoving my back hard against the wall to pin me in place.
“You again,” I spit, narrowing my burning eyes at the massive red-haired man from the dance floor.
“Find my wife,” he demands. His eyes look desperate and unhinged as they search my face. “I know you can do it. Contact her spirit and nothing bad has to happen to you.”
My mind starts spinning with terrifying possibilities. Is he somehow orchestrating this attack? Does he have people working with him?
No, there’s no way.
This guy clearly operates alone, and if someone really did murder his wife, then he must have more enemies than allies. His face had looked as shocked as everyone else’s when those smoke grenades exploded.
But if he’s not behind this coordinated assault, then that means the real attackers are still out there, and I need to get back to Malachi before someone else gets hurt or killed. I swallow, trying to keep the unnatural fear that keeps trying to claw its way up my throat down.
“Let me go,” I snarl with as much venom as I can muster. “I don’t give a damn who killed your wife, and I’m not helping you.”
I drive my knee upward as hard as I can, aiming for his groin, but he shifts enough that I nail him in the thigh instead. In retaliation, he slams his massive body against me, using his bulk to trap me completely against the wall.
The giant has me pinned, and somewhere in the mayhem beyond this curtain, Malachi is fighting for his life.
I hear the brutal sounds of combat echoing from beyond the curtain—fists hitting flesh, the slick squelch of something wet that’s hopefully not blood, and the kind of violent commotion that only life-and-death fightingproduces.
I didn’t want Malachi to kill this man before, but now I’m seriously regretting that merciful decision. I remember the three small daggers strapped to my thigh, and wiggle my hand down desperately, trying to grab one of them without him noticing.
“You fucked with the wrong Avid, asshole,” I snarl as I finally grasp the hilt and drive the blade deep into his massive bicep.
I should go for a killing blow—throat, heart, something vital—but I’m hoping this painful lesson will get my point across so I can escape and find Malachi.
