The left side of the basement was blocked off by two opaque shower curtains—the light source was behind the curtains, though I couldn’t make out what it was. The TV was beyond the shower curtain too. It was so loud, it was no wonder they hadn’t heard the ruckus Considine and I had raised on the floor above them.
In the right half there were two chest freezers and a wooden shelf system that held a plastic, light up Santa Claus and what I assumed were boxes of Christmas decorations.
Considine pointed to the shower curtains.
I placed my hand over my heart and tried to mimic a beating heart. I was trying to ask if the heartbeats were behind the curtain.
Considine nodded.
We crept toward the shower curtain, the blaring TV covering the sounds of our footsteps.
“I don’t like it,” a feminine voice said. She was hard to hear with her voice muffled by the shower curtain and TV. “She was babbling about blood raining down, and ruin subjugating the House again when I checked on her.”
Considine held his hand up and cocked his head, listening.
“You’re just paranoid,” a male voice answered. “She’s been ranting about bloodshed and ruin taking over Magiford for weeks. The Adept says it is starting to affect business.”
So they have been selling prophecies—and the oracle doesn’t sound willing.
Anger boiled in my gut, and I gripped my daggers so tightly it made my gloves bite into my hands. I set my fury aside for the moment—a clear mind was vital for missions.
Considine must have sensed my anger. He abruptly leaned back and whispered into my ear. “This house is full of budding serial killers—who else uses shower curtains like this?”
I smiled to show I appreciated the light moment, and Considine turned into his bat form, frantically beating his wings as he plainly waited for me to pull the curtains back.
“You reckon something is wrong with her?” the female voice asked.
“The Adept will figure it out—if her ranting goes on much longer the customers will stop coming,” the man answered.
I adjusted my hold on my daggers, then whipped the shower curtain back.
Two wizards—a man and a woman, both somewhere in their late twenties or early thirties.
The man was seated on a beanbag in front of the TV, watching an American Football match.
The woman was leaning against the cinderblock wall. She’d been watching what looked like a small closet constructed of plywood and one of those cheap, fake wood hollow doors, but she spun to face our dramatic entrance.
“A slayer?” The woman said, her brow furrowing.
The man shouted an obscenity of shock as he leaped to his feet, struggling to throw multiple balls of fire at me as his wizard tattoo appeared.
I yanked the shower curtain in front of me.
The fireballs hit the curtain and melted them—hopefully the melted material didn’t create toxic fumes—and winked out.
I threw one of my daggers through one of the newly made holes, nailing the man in the hand. He yelled, but ripped the dagger out of his hand and brandished it at me as I ducked around the shower curtain.
Considine flew over the man’s head, gliding to the woman before shifting back to his vampire form and landing on her head like a sack of cement.
The man tried to stab me with my own dagger. I jumped backwards to dodge it, then smashed the base of my palm into his nose, breaking it.
He shouted in pain, and his nose started bleeding profusely.
I glanced at Considine—he had the woman’s left wrist pinned to the ground with his foot, but she was throwing sparks of electricity at him with her right hand.
“Considine.” I threw my remaining dagger at him.
He caught it without looking at me, then lashed out at the woman, making a painful slice across her palm.
