Page 9

“Serious as a heart attack, biiiitch!” she cackles, swinging the blade right past my jugular as I whirl toward her again.

Right now, she’s trapped at the dead end of the catwalk that Carl just fell from, and I’m in a perfect position to get the fuck out of Dodge and away from a) fire b) a collapsing building, and c) Wednesday Addams on fucking bath salts.

Yeah, fuck this.

“Good luck,” I grunt before I turn and bolt down the catwalk, feet pounding on the metal. I slam into the door with a clang, shoulder it open and rush down the stairs, then go crashing through a side door and out into the empty street.

I turn to look up at the building as fire starts to explode out through various windows, listening to the booms of air pockets or fuel lines catching fire inside.

There’s no sign of Murderpixie.

A normal person might feel…I don’t know. Guilty for leaving her in there?

But…eh.

Nothing.

I start to back away from the hundred-year-old, seven-story building as more and more fires break out of various windows and snake up its facade.

The side door suddenly bangs open, and a pint-sized shadow demon comes roaring out of it.

“Are you fucking serious?!?” she screams just as the doorway behind her erupts in a shower of sparks and flames. “Were you just going to leave me in there?!”

“That was the general plan!” I yell, my brow furrowing as she stalks right toward me.

Wait, she’s not really still trying to⁠—

She explodes into a dead sprint.

Yup. Still trying to stab me.

At least now I’m prepared for her brand of psycho. I catch her wrist on the downswing as she slams into me, shifting her weight and sending her sprawling to the ground. She’s up faster than I would have ever imagined, springing to her feet and lunging at me in a windmill of hurled curses and slashing blades.

I manage to grab her wrists. But she catches me at a bad angle, and I grunt as I crash to the ground with her flailing and shrieking on top of me.

A huge, thunderous BOOM has us both whipping our heads around just in time to see one of the upper floors of the building explode out in a hail of window glass and stone masonry. The orange glow of the explosion lights up the street as we rip our gazes back to each other.

…And freeze.

What. The. Fuck.

I know Murder Muppet.

“You?!” she blurts, her eyes wide, her dark-painted lips falling open in a shocked O.

“You,” I hiss through grit teeth as I glare into the face of Bella fucking Drakos.

Up until three seconds ago, all I knew about this girl was that she’s a sophomore at Knightsblood University, apparently takes fashion cues from Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, and is about as approachable as a cornered rabid possum.

But apparently I was overlooking some fairly important additional details.

“What the fuck are you doing here, douchebag?!”

My brows knit. “Excuse me? What the fuck are you⁠—”

“Get off me!” she blurts, scrambling to her feet and backing away as she brandishes the fuck-off hunting knife in her tiny fist.

“You were on me, psycho,” I mutter as I glare at her and get to my feet.