She stared at her fingers and then conjured an illusion to hide the blood.
Then she conjured again, and I felt the tingle of illusion over my skin.
“What’d you do?”
“Made you beautiful. Come on. It’s my bachelorette party. And I want . . . them.” She pointed at the men and then walked toward them, more a predator than a seductress.
I followed—not because I was interested, but because Jagger had told me to do whatever Last wanted.
The men hadn’t noticed us. They had their elbows on their knees and their heads together.
I caught a few fragments of their words.
“—Darin.”
“—disagrees.”
“—earthquake. Next time?—”
“—won’t do it. Who are you?”
The last was loud and clear. Last had slipped onto the couch and put her high heels on the largest man’s lap.
I stared at them. They were Smiths. If I hadn’t guessed it by their conversation, I’d be able to tell by their bulk and their hard-planed faces. Not all Smiths looked the same, but they all had the same physicality, musculature, and military bearing. I didn’t recognize these three. They looked like they were in their thirties, wore the same tactical clothing Finn had been outfitted with, and spoke in direct, hard tones.
Last sprawled on the couch and ran her high heel along the man’s chest. “I can be heaven,” she purred, “or I can be hell. You choose.”
“Get off me,” he growled, shoving at her legs.
“Pole,” one of the men warned. He nodded at me. “Isn’t that . . .?”
All three of the men stared. Then the one named Pole stood and conjured a dagger of blue fire. “You killed our principal.”
“Me?” I looked nothing like I did in my last life. There’s no way they could recognize me.
Unless . . .
I glared at Last. Had she made me look like I did at the closing ceremony?
She shrugged as if to say, “Whoops.”
“Die,” Pole said, and then he threw the dagger at my chest. Even full of champagne and shots, I still untied his illusion in a millisecond.
Last laughed. Then she jumped off the couch and conjured a mace. She stumbled drunkenly, and the mace flew sideways. I ducked as it slammed over my head.
“Oops!” Last squeaked. She flicked her hand again, and the mace spun around and crushed Pole’s skull.
This took three seconds, but in that time, the two other Smiths realized Last wasn’t heaven—she was just hell.
The taller of the two roared and pulled a knife. It wasn’t illusion. He dove at me, and I dodged. My heels were four inches tall, and I was still tipsy. I tripped and fell under his arm.
“Mari!” Last screamed.
The shorter Smith was beating her hastily conjured stone wall with a fire sword. She stumbled backward and fell to the couch. The Smith snarled and shot a spray of fire.
“I’ll kill you. You’re Last Clark, aren’t you? I’ll send your ugly head to your brother, you?—”
I yanked his overhand knot away, dousing his illusion. Last grinned and slammed her stone wall into him. At the last second, she covered the wall with long metal spikes. There were at least twenty, and all of them impaled him from his head to his legs.
