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in front of me, holding it like a shield. Bullets peppered the large surface but failed to penetrate. When the barrage ended, I held the blades tight and planted my boot in the center of the door, kicking it loose in the gunman's direction. He scrambled out of the way and came up for another volley.
I hurled my blade into his chest.
I paused a moment. Stumbled a step forward. Slipped and fell to a knee. My armor spike cracked the tile.
Running my fingers along my side, I found the torn gouge of flesh. My hand came away with black blood.
Which is when I noticed the spent double-barreled shotgun that had been rigged to the door. A primitive booby trap.
"Trailer trash," I muttered.
I ground my teeth in annoyance at the oversight. I winced and pushed to my feet. Placed my boot on the dead man's chest and yanked my blade free. I moved into the living room, favoring my side.
Stomp-stomp. Stomp-stomp.
"So, you're not bulletproof," drawled the blond woman.
Waiting for me on the far side of the couch, she didn't look like much up close. A loose T-shirt. Cargo pants. But her pink skin was plump like a peach. A bonus for my trouble.
"I'm disappointed," I said. "I was hoping you'd present a more original challenge."
The woman didn't hold any spell tokens. She didn't wear an amulet or have magic spilling from her eyes. Instead, she held a single Beretta 9mm.
Someone pounded on the front door. A voice inside yelled something in Spanish. So there was one more mercenary, at least. The woman and I returned our eyes to each other, content to let the others fight their own battle.
I twirled the blade deftly in my fingers. "What are you going to do with that toy?"
"You'd be surprised," she said defiantly.
"I do hope so."
I caught the blade by its grip and reared back to throw it. She fired the pistol as I knew she would. Not careful or precise. Not especially well aimed. The blade arced before me in a flash to batter away the spray.
The spray never came.
The rounds didn't hit me or the blade. They missed my breastplate and the floor and the walls behind me. My surprise went cold and calculating. I zeroed in on the slightest movement: fifteen rounds hovering unmolested in the air, all by themselves. A swarm of wasps positioning to strike.
The animist smiled and tossed the spent Beretta to the floor. Her open hands engaged the Intrinsics now, the manifest energies that make up the world, the building blocks of magic. She focused and teased the bullets to her will. They spread around me in a cloud. Surrounded me from multiple angles.
I stood tall and readied my weapons at each side. "You only get fifteen chances," I warned.
She smirked. "I'm an all-or-nothing kinda gal."
She clapped her hands together and the bullets all rocketed toward me at once. I spun with my blades, deflecting some and dodging others. I moved so fast I was a blur. Faster than a speeding bullet.
But these weren't normal bullets. They weren't obeying the laws of physics. I deflected a few for good, but the remaining rounds pivoted and changed course. The hornet's nest was angry and the insects converged on me with unerring accuracy. I twisted out of their path and battered more away with superhuman speed.
It wasn't enough. As I planted my foot for another spin, eight bullets punched into my back and side.
I roared and buckled to all fours. One of my blades clanked to the tile. The pain was excruciating.
Out of sight, another aftermath was playing out. The pounding on the door stopped. The South American screamed violently. The blond animist stepped aside to make sure her back wasn't exposed to whatever was coming from that end.
That's when Pim struck from behind me. He charged in and raised his machete overhead.
"Stop!" shouted the mage.
Pim's weapon froze midair, as the bullets had. Stuck. He tugged at it, unwilling to give it up to the woman. It barely budged. He put his weight into it. She strained to hold him off.
