Fate worse than death.
“Stop!” She thrashed to no effect. “It’sdangerous—”
“Shut it,” the wizard snapped. “We’re going home, farm girl, and until Alex gets the program running again, I’m killing one Daggett per hour.”
In desperation, Emily contorted herself and just managed to catch the wizard’s ankle with the tips of her fingers.
Shaw jerked her leg away. “Oi!”
In that moment of confusion, Emily yanked an arm free and grabbed the wizard’s throat.
Worse than Crawford. Even worse. Pain,pain...
Shaw wrenched backward and fell to the floor. Emily forced herself to go for the throat again, this time with both hands. The wizard grabbed at her fingers but got nothing for it except increased contact.
Emily heard shouting from the others, sizzling magic, agunshot, but she couldn’t look away.
Then Shaw let go and gestured toward the table.
No no no. The hunting knife. It flew into the wizard’s open palm, handle first, and in one fluid movement Shaw thrust straight at her.
Blood.Everywhere. Her shirt. Her pants. Her neck. She was too numb to scream, too numb even to feel the knife. Shock, she had to be in shock—except why couldn’t sheseethe knife?
Shaw lifted her hand and stared, mouth open, at the blood spurting from it. Emily turned her head in time to catch a blur of silver—the weapon whizzing away from them.
She hadn’t been stabbed at all. Shaw must have sliced her palm open trying to force a blade that would not go—thanks to Hartgrave.
“Alex!”Shaw jumped to her feet, face twisted in rage.
Emily had to finish what she’d started—quickly—but she couldn’t get up from her shaking hands and knees. She watched, transfixed with horror, as the knife now in Hartgrave’s left hand went berserk. Shaw, trying to stab him from across the room. And with his right hand, he was locked in a tug of war over the gun, which hovered in the air between him and Kincaid.
She glanced away just long enough to see that Willi was crouched on the ground with Bernie prone beside him. Kincaid attacked the shield around them with spells from his free hand—casually, his eyes on the gun.
“Verity,” Kincaid called out, the mildest note of warning there. “Please control yourself.”
Shaw controlled her wound—stanching the blood with a spell—but if she’d heard his order, she ignored it. She shot a sparking, buzzing line of energy at Hartgrave that looked like a horizontal lightning bolt.
Emily finally struggled to her feet as Hartgrave ducked, the bolt missing him by inches and gouging a fist-sized chunk from the wall. She stumbled toward the woman. She had to stop her. Had to.
“I’llkillyou!” Shaw yelled.
“Verity,” Kincaid snapped, no longer calm.
Emily grabbed Shaw’s injured hand, pain searing down her arm, the wizard’s wound reopening.
Through her haze of pain, she saw Shaw’s last bolt take Hartgrave down, smoke rising from his scorched coat.
“No!” she screamed—just as Kincaid got the gun back. With his other hand, he caught her around the stomach with a rope-like spell and dragged her toward him.
When she broke the enchantment, he aimed his gun at her knees.
No time to react. She heard the shots the instant she saw his hand—the one holding the weapon—jerk away. Bullets whizzed by, missing her. Hartgrave was still on the ground but alive,alive, one hand stretched toward Kincaid.
The room went silent. Then:“Sh-shite,” Shaw said, voice wavering.
Blood blossomed on the woman’s shirt, a stain that did not come from her damaged hand. Shaw stared ather horrible new injury, mouth open, and slumped to her knees.
Emily retched uselessly, nothing left to bring up. Anyone who thought death was no big deal as long as it happened to enemies had clearly never seen it in person.
