“We’re taking it seriously,” Jean said. “Going to the Underworld? That’s heavy.” She rolled her shoulders and tipped her head to each side to loosen up her neck. “Not saying I won’t crack some jokes, but I know what’s at stake.”
“Was that a time trick?” Hogan asked Rossi.
Everyone narrowed their eyes at the vampire.
“You saw him do something?” Jean asked. “A time thing?”
“We just took a few extra moments to catch our breath,” Rossi said.
“Okay,” Jean said, pointing at her boyfriend. “That was totally cool. Keep doing that stuff.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “Oh, I plan on it.”
“Are you sure you want to do this, Delaney?” Xtelle mused. “It would be better if you stayed behind. The rest of us are less likely to be an emotionally manipulated liability. What?” she said, when Rossi glared at her. “She loves him. Love is one of the best weapons to use against someone.”
“Really?” Rossi growled. “I just told her that her love for him is what will make her strong.”
“Vampires,” Xtelle sniffed. “Always the optimists.”
Jean laughed, then pulled her lips down in an unsuccessful frown. “Sorry,” she said, still failing to make her expression serious. “It’s just, you know. Vampires. So optimistic.”
“What’s that about vampires?” Rossi asked, a dangerous edge to his voice.
“You do tend to get the mopes,” she said.
“The mopes?”
“You aren’t always the sunniest people,” Hogan said.
“Don’t reduce my people to a stereotype.”
“Or what?” Xtelle asked. “You’ll brood in your castle, wear black, and write sad poetry? This is fun,” she added. “See how well I fit in?”
“Are we ready?” Bathin asked.
All eyes turned to me. I set my shoulders and nodded. “Do it, Bathin. Take us to hell.”
“As you wish,” he said with a slight bow.
He raised his hands and snapped—
—blues and sparks of crystal white, turquoise shifting into midnight velvet—
—and snapped—
—greens, deep and lush, threaded with gold—
—and snapped—
—orange burning sunset bright, violet shadows—
—and snapped—
Red. Everything was red. I breathed and breathed, my heart out of rhythm, thumping and skipping against my ribs.
“Fricking shit,” Jean said, panting. “That was. A thing.”
“You okay, babe?” Hogan asked, resting his hand on her hip.
