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Malakai got out his pistol and fired over his shoulder. Heard a wet gurgle, followed by the thump of a body hitting cement. Saw the lump of a corpse peeking out from behind a car.
Malakai sprinted across the street. Pedestrians shouted in alarm and dove out of his way. Cars swerved and screeched to a stop.
He threw open the door to Witchlight, snapping the deadbolt, and ran across the room, holstering his gun as he moved.
Arthur was at the far end of Witchlight—staring at him in shock, a neat stack of papers in his wrinkled hands. “Malakai? What is—”
“No time to explain—we gotta go.” He thumped to a stop beside Arthur and reached for him.
The old man swatted him away with the papers as if he were a fly. “What in heaven’s name do you think you’re doing?”
“This place is gonna blow.” He could feel it—the bomb. It was below the floor—barely three feet under their shoes. They had ten seconds before this whole business would be blasted sky-high. “I need to carry you.”
“You will do no such thing!”
Malakai ripped the papers out of his hand and threw them.
“I will walk,” Arthur tried.
But Malakai was already picking him up.
Arthur tried and failed to shove him. “Malakai, I swear to the gods, if you pick me up, I will never forgive you!”
“I can live with that,” Malakai grunted as he threw Arthur over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “But you dying? No can do.”
And then he was running. Across the business, through the doors.
He tore, fast as a bullet, across the sidewalk, down the street, heart thumping like an anvil—
Witchlight exploded.
Malakai was blasted off his feet.
He threw his magic out, shielding Arthur, who flew off Malakai’s shoulder and rolled across the cement.
Malakai slammed into a parked car, triggering the alarm system that was drowned out by the noise of the explosion. He managed to land on his feet in a crouch, watching as Witchlight Alchemy and Archives was devoured by flame and colorful raw magic that looked like fireworks.
Arthur was hunkered down nearby—lying on his stomach, his hands fluttering above his head as he gaped at the burning building.
“Any broken hips?” Malakai shouted.
Arthur kept gaping, his watery eyes reflecting the glow of the explosion.
Malakai said, “That could’ve been you!”
Finally, Arthur met his stare—and frowned. “Thank you for pointing that out, Mister Delaney.”
Malakai just fucking grinned.
80
Werewolf Territory
ANGELTHENE, STATE OF WITHEREDGE
Lace Rivera’s car idled in the Silverwood District, purring like the cat Familiar curled up on her shoulder as she loaded her pistol with Morstone bullets.
When do you think they will be back? Cinder asked as she licked her paw, her fluffy tail flicking over Lace’s shoulder. It has been days.
