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I suppressed a grin and instead gave Cory a reassuring smile. “Yep. Good ol’ Vince is a card-carrying member of the weirdo club now. He never set the world on fire with amazing police work, but when it comes to the arcane, I trust him. Plus, I don’t have enough arcane juju to find the source of the problem, so I need him.”
Corey groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Nope. I can’t make this shit up.” I shot Pellini a quick text.
His reply came a few seconds later:
“Kara,” Cory slurred. “I don’t feel so great.”
I jerked my attention back to him then had to clamp down on a gasp of dismay. Where only a moment before there’d been sweat, luminescent red slime glistened on his face and oozed from his pores, plastering his t-shirt to his chest. “Oh fuck,” I breathed. “I mean . . . um, just relax, Cory. Pellini’s on his way, and we’ll get you straightened out.” As I spoke, the smell shifted to a weird hybrid of spice and burned hair. Arcane disease? If there was such a thing, it could possibly be contagious. I needed to quaran—
Cory grabbed my wrist.
I instinctively recoiled, but he held fast. His eyes went wide. “Kara . . . I can’t . . . what’s happening to . . .”
“Cory, focus!” I wrenched free then retreated a step for good measure. “Do you have any gloves?”
His breath wheezed. “Bathroom.”
“Hang tight!” I ran for the bathroom. I wanted gloves between me and that ooze, but even more than that, I needed to be away. Angry fingermarks were the only sign that he’d grabbed me, but I cranked on the hot water and scrubbed the hell out of my wrist anyway. The towel lay crumpled over puke, so I dried my hands as much as possible on my shirt. “Just one more minute, Cory,” I called out.
I clawed an emergency kit out from under the sink and yanked on a pair of nitrile gloves. Or rather, one and a half gloves. My damp left hand got stuck part way in, giving me more of a nitrile mitten effect. I doubted that the gloves would be much protection against arcane slime, but it felt better than doing nothing. I shoved a pair in my pocket for Pellini, dug for a filter mask with no luck, then dashed to the bedroom. “Sorry. Just a precau—”
Cory stared blankly, head lolling to the side. Red covered every inch of him, giving the illusion he’d been flayed—except that the slime undulated like a living thing. I couldn’t even tell whether or not he was breathing.
“Cory!” No response. I felt for a pulse, relieved to find it strong and steady. But what the hell was happening with him?
His body jerked, and he gasped a rattling breath. “Kara, nine one one . . . Kara . . . don’t let me . . .” Gurgling drowned his words as slime filled his mouth.
Crisis training kicked in. Get him on his side. Clear his airway. Call the paramedics.
“Stay with me, Cory,” I ordered. “You’re going to be okay.” I gripped his shoulder and hip to roll him, and the slime writhed, hot and viscous beneath my gloves. An electric vibration shot up my arms, distracting me long enough for the mucus to surge, congeal, and lock itself around my hands.
“Shit!” I tried to yank free, but I might as well have been trapped in cement for all the good it did me. My right hand wouldn’t budge from his shoulder at all, however the one on his hip gave a little, thanks to being only partially in the glove.
Without warning, Cory swung his fist toward my head. I jerked back enough for the blow to glance off my temple. “Stop fighting! I’m trying to help you.” Before I could reposition, his other fist shot out and caught me square in the ribs.
I oofed out a breath and wrenched my hand out of the glove, barely in time to twist away from another head shot and catch his wrist. Slime-gel still sealed my other hand to his shoulder, but I managed to wrestle his arm above his head and pin it to the bed. At least whatever the fuck was screwing with him hadn’t made him super strong.
But now what? With one hand trapped and the other holding his arm down, I was in the worst game of Superglue Twister ever.
Eyes wide, Cory thrashed wildly and let out an inhuman roar. Impossible, considering his mouth and nose were completely filled with yuck, but though the sound remained physically inaudible, it bombarded my brain from the inside out like a telepathic grenade.
Breathing hard, I mentally traced the pygah sigil for focus and managed to clear my mind. “Back off, alien slime shit,” I growled, teeth bared. “Get out of my head and stay out!”
As if in reaction to the rebuff, Cory relaxed and his eyes fluttered closed.
“Yeah, damn straight,” I said, voice quavering, then regrouped and reassessed. I’d fended off the mental crap, but I remained stuck. And Cory wasn’t breathing. “Cory?!”
No response, but the slow, steady beat of his pulse under my fingers gave me a whisper of reassurance. Not breathing—but not dead. I’ll take it. The slime still held me fast, but the consistency had shifted to more like a rubbery gel with a bit of give to it.
Pellini skidded into the room. “What the—! Jesus! How long until EMS gets here?”
“I haven’t called anyone yet,” I snapped. “Maybe you could give me a hand here? I’m stuck. Gloves are in my side pocket.”
Pellini took in the bizarre situation: Cory covered in a thick layer of red glowing gel and me sprawled half on top of him. A lesser man would have walked right back out. But not Pellini. The picture of calm, he retrieved the gloves from my pocket and tugged them on. “How are his vitals?”
“Heart rate sixtyish. Respirations zero. Gel from hell. Now please help me get loose.”
