by Cecy Robson
It takes me a moment to realize I’m back in the bathroom, gripping the edge of the tub. My weakened state has me sliding back into the water. Emme’s force jerks me back up.
“Taran,” she yells. “Get out. I can’t hold her much longer.”
Emme has the Nyte pressed against the wall beside me with her power, her face reddening with the energy it’s costing her. I startle when a severed webbed hand brushes against my back and drags my soggy ass from the tub.
The Nyte should be in agony, chunks of her flesh were burned by my flame, and she’s missing a hand. Except here she is, laughing in that girlish and frenzied giggle, what remains of her limbs shaking as if tickled.
I shove my right hand in the water, letting my fury overtake my magic. A bubble forms, then several more, the temperature rising fast and into an atomic boil.
“Drop her,” I tell Emme.
Emme doesn’t hesitate, collapsing beside me.
The creature falls, laughing at the water stripping the skin from her legs when she tries to rise. I punch her in the boob so hard, I’m almost shocked Sparky doesn’t fly out of her back and wave.
I snag her by the hair and shove her down, adding more heat to the furious boil. She splashes, her webbed hand slapping at my arm.
Claws graze the side of my face. I hold tight, knowing it’s going to take more power to kill her. I throw out more heat, mashing my teeth from the savagery I release through my magic.
“Come on, Taran,” Emme says, struggling to catch her breath. “You can beat this thing.”
Steam canopies the ceiling, dripping down like rain. The water in the tub evaporates almost halfway when the creature explodes in a mini and very swampy tsunami.
We’re hurtled across the bathroom and into the door, gagging and hacking on the chunky water. I wipe my face, spitting out more fishy nastiness and what resembles a tiny webbed foot.
I leap up when I spot more tiny webbed limbs floating along the water. “What the hell are those?”
Emme drags herself to her feet, gripping the door to keep from falling. “I told you she laid eggs.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Emme and I don’t exactly walk out of the bathroom; we stagger and limp down the hall.
“Do you know where we’re going?” she stammers.
I spit out what might be another limb. “No.”
“Does your arm?”
“Probably not,” I admit.
The light from my right arm strobes in and out, reflecting Sparky’s annoyance. “Oh, like I’m the asshole?” I ask. “Who led us into that disaster?” The strobing lessens in severity, and the light dulls. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
She guides Emme and me a few more feet and turns me where another door just suddenly materializes.
Emme shudders with how cold she is. “This is it?” she asks. She glances up and down. “Aren’t we still on the bottom floor?”
My shoulders droop. “Yeah, but this is where she wants us.”
Emme takes several steps back and holds out her arms, ready to strike. I grip the knob with my left hand and fire up Sparky. I breathe in, hoping this is the right door to somewhere good.
I push it open and…we stumble into Genevieve’s quarters.
“God, you stink,” Catholic schoolgirl Liz informs me. She stops filing her nails just to give me the once over. “Did you get the crackers?”
“No, I didn’t get the fucking crackers,” I snap. “Haven’t you noticed we’ve been gone forever.”
“Bitch, please, it was a few seconds at best.” She tosses back her white-blonde hair and struts into the next room. I suppose I’m boring her. How will I ever get over it?
Shayna stands with her sword at the entrance to the main part of the residence. She appears disturbed by our state. “You dudes okay?” she asks slowly.
She doesn’t quite finish asking when the weres at her back cringe, covering their noses and racing to their perspective rooms.
“We’ve had better experiences,” Emme answers truthfully.
Shayna nods and swallows hard, the reek we’ve returned with evidently too much for her too. She does her best to remain calm and ignore the swamp goo we’re covered in while doing her damndest to get away from us. “Um, how’d it go?”
I squish, squish, squish after her and into the living space. “Oh, it went.”
Celia slaps her hands over her nose and drops the small bag of nuts she was given on the table. “What…” She takes a few breaths through her mouth, working, it seems, to hang tight to what she’s eaten. “What happened?”
Emme wipes her hands on the remains of her dress. Like that’s going to do anything. “We were locked in the downstairs bathroom where a swamp creature, capable of laying eggs and spawning mini-mes, crawled out of the tub.”
“A swamp creature laid eggs on you?” Maria asks, her Brazilian accent positively lovely despite her obvious disgust.
“Not on us, I don’t think,” I answer. What do I know? I almost drowned. Right now, I’m pleased as punch Maria appears horrified on our behalf and doesn’t comment on the smell.
“Hmph. All you had to do was retrieve the damn crackers,” she adds. “You smell like a wet rat who pooped on another wet rat and then had baby poopy rats.”
So much for the sympathy. The other good Catholics agree with Maria and motion with their hands for us to shoo and keep our distance. I want to hug them just to spite them, but I don’t want to upset Celia with drama. There’s not much food. She needs to keep down everything she can.
I glance toward the bathroom, knowing I should shower, except I’m not excited about what might await me. I cross my arms, pausing when something slimy crawls on my arm and realize it’s a half-dead leech.
I jerk my arm and pelt Maria in the forehead. She screams, mashing it to bits. “You did that on purpose,” she accuses.
No. I really didn’t, but hey, she did insult me. “Nah, of course not,” I say. “Come on, Emme. Let’s get a shower.”
She grimaces. “I’m not really certain I’m ready to head back to a bathroom,” she admits.
“Same,” I admit. “Let’s just use the same one. I’ll watch your back, you watch mine.”
I don’t count on being long until I realize there’s not enough shampoo in the world to scrub the memory of swamp monster bits from your hair. We do our best, shoving our bodies into our stiff and destroyed dresses and return to the large living room.
Emme bumps into me when I stop dead.
Colorful streamers created from Post-It Notes line the ceiling, and little origami wolves and tigers dangle from string. Celia looks up from the cushioned chair decorated with bows and covered with ribbon, her annoyance at the Catholic schoolgirls coddling her easing when she sees us.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Shayna grins, glancing up from her origami making duties. It’s not one of her real grins that light up every room she skips into. It’s one that begs me to be nice and not zap someone into tomorrow. “The vamps thought it would be a great idea to throw Celia a baby shower. You know, to lift her spirits.”
Liz files her nails as if she can’t possibly be bothered. “Oh, and because she might die and shit.”
It’s only because Emme grabs me that I don’t launch myself on Liz and tear her hair out. “I think they’re trying to be nice,” she says. “Well, nice for them.”
Liz flashes her a condescending smile. “Would you expect any less? Celia is our best friend.”
Edith agrees whole-heartedly. “Even though she did get knocked up by a wolf.” She grins at Celia. “More apple juice, pumpkin?”
“No, thank you, Edith,” Celia mutters.
Celia hates apple juice. It’s too sweet for her palate, but there she is with a juice box in her hand and a ribbon tied around the bendy straw.
“It’s all we could find that wasn’t water,” Shayna explains, dropping her voice. “I think the witches were planning something for the kids on Hal
loween.”
And with the lack of food, Celia is working hard to keep up her caloric intake.
Agnes adjusts her tiny librarian glasses, pursing her lips as if we’re holding up the baby shower of a lifetime. “Are we ready to start?”
“In a moment, darling,” Maria says. “The cupcakes are almost done.”
At once, a small timer dings. Edith leaps to her feet, her large boobs bouncing as merrily as she is. She flounces to a small table, making a show before bending over and flashing more than I ever wanted to see beneath the skirt. Like a chef presenting her greatest creation, she retrieves a minute pan from an Easy-Bake Oven.
“Again, I think they had something planned for the kids,” Shayna reminds me.
I’m not sure what my face looks like, but Emme tries to offer support. “They’re really trying,” she says. “They mean well.”
Yeah, those bitches do. And hey, it’s more than we were able to give her. I edge forward and swallow my pride, speaking not simply as Taran, the loudmouth sister, but as a representative of the Wird family and mate to one of the most prestigious packs in the world. “On behalf of Celia and our family, and mate to Tomo Gemini Hamamatsu, Second in Command of the Squaw Valley Den Pack, we thank you,” I say. “This is a great honor you bestow upon us—”
“Whatever,” Liz interrupts. She shrugs and returns to her nail-filing duties.
It doesn’t matter what Liz says or how she acts then. Not when I catch her stealing a glance at Celia. Sadness strikes her features. Like the rest of us, she worries Celia is living on borrowed time. And as bitchy as the she-vamps can be, they love Celia in their own way. It’s the only reason I don’t kill them when Celia started opening her presents.
“Mine first,” Edith insists. She stomps her feet, pitching a hissy.
“Back off,” Liz snaps. She whips her file out like a weapon and lengthens her already deadly nails.
“Maria!” Edith complains. “Liz is trying to cut in front of me.”
“Like I give a shit,” Maria fires back. She curses in Portuguese when Edith tackles Liz.
Hissing and scratching ensue, and they go at it, knocking into the weres quietly eating their Goldfish crackers and barreling over chairs. Emme barely gets out of the way when they roll toward her and knock over a small table. The Easy-Bake Oven smashes to the ground, as well as the tiny desserts Edith prepared.
Shayna takes point by Celia, her sword out. She regards Celia, who’s doing her best to bury her face in her hand. “Dude, should I, you know, break it up?”
Celia drops her hand away. “You can try if you want. Just be careful, they bite.”
“Screw this,” I say. They screech when I zap them with lightning, but damn well separate.
Liz jumps to her feet, batting out the flames eating away what remains of her plaid skirt. “Bitch,” she tells me.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, like I’ve never heard that before.” I do a double take when I see Edith breathing a little too hard.
“You hit me in the ass,” she says.
“Sorry, Edith,” I say. “I wasn’t aiming for—”
Her gaze turns lustful. “I kind of liked it.”
How did Celia not stake these crazies when she lived with them in that nuthouse?
Agnes adjusts her tiny librarian glasses, appearing annoyed. “Can we get on with this? Edith and I have the next patrol. I’d like her to open our gift in case we get eaten.”
“Excellent point, Agnes,” I agree. I plop down on the couch, smiling at a were when she offers me a small bag of pretzels. “Thank you.”
Maria passes her a pencil box wrapped in Post-Its. I take a bite of my pretzels. The gift actually looks cute and carefully wrapped. Small flowers were meticulously drawn and colored, and Celia’s name was written in calligraphy. “From me and Agnes, darling,” she says.
Celia smiles softly. “Thank you.”
She stops smiling when she pulls out two pairs of panties. One crotchless, the other sheer and small enough to fit in gum packaging.
“To wear at your next conception,” Maria announces proudly.
“Where did you get panties?” I cut myself off when I realize who I’m dealing with.
Maria appears confused. “I told you, they’re from me and Edith.” She looks around. “You all heard, correct?”
All the weres exchange glances, mumbling in their perspective languages and nodding. Celia carefully places the panties back into the box. “Ah, you shouldn’t have,” she says, grimacing when Edith shoves another juice box in her hand.
Maria bites on her bottom lip and whispers into Celia’s ear. “We couldn’t give you the ones we ordered. They’re back at the master’s house. Just think of them as IOUs for when we get out of here.”
Edith laughs maniacally, hooking a thumb Maria’s way. “Did you hear that? She thinks we’re getting out of here alive.”
“We are,” I insist.
Agnes adjusts her glasses, considering me. Out of every vamp I’ve ever met, she’s insanely smart, as in nuclear engineer and rocket scientist smart. “You might get out of here alive, witch-wannabee,” she tells me. “You are too stubborn to die.” She motions to Shayna and Emme. “I don’t know about these other two.”
Yes, insanely smart yet still a pain in the ass.
“Hey,” Shayna says defensively.
Emme glances at the door. It’s not that she wants out. Scratch that. She does want the hell out of this nutcase suite. But like me, she’s noticed how long Gemini and the others have been gone. We were supposedly gone for a few seconds. They’re gone now several hours. She wants those she loves to return alive, and I’m certain that means Bren.
Liz watches Celia place the first gift on the floor. “Cheap bitches,” she mutters.
“Our hearts are in the right place,” Maria fires back.
“You need more than heart on a day like today,” Liz snaps. She points to Celia. “Look at her. Look at how fat she’s become carrying the savior of the world. Do you think when she prayed for a child, she asked for cankles too?”
Celia growls. “I do not have cankles.”
Celia’s comment cracks me up. The good Catholics have gifted her with used panties, forced apple juice down her throat, and worked hard to drive us mad. But it’s the “cankles” comment that causes her tigress eyes to replace her own.
Shayna laughs too. Even Emme tries hard to suppress her giggles.
Celia turns her tigress glare on us. “You think this is funny?”
“No.”
“Nope.”
“No way, dude.”
The weres also find somewhere else to look. I let out a sigh of relief when she blinks and her human eyes return. “Sorry,” Celia says. “I’m just a little tense.”
“It’s all those damn fat-making hormones,” Maria whispers. Like Celia can’t hear her.
Liz bumps Edith’s hip with hers and knocks her out of the way. “Our turn, bitches.”
As if rehearsed, Liz and Agnes sashay forward, lifting an office envelope over their heads with flare. They set it on top of Celia’s small belly, motioning their hands over it dramatically as if it materialized from nowhere.
Liz snaps her fingers. “This is how it’s done. Go ahead, Celia.”
The good Catholics have money. Loads of it. Misha makes sure of it. I’m thinking it might be a check or perhaps stock in one of Misha’s companies for the baby. I almost slap myself when I remember these are the she-vamps I’m talking about, ladies who flounce around all day dressed like naughty schoolgirls begging for a good hard spank on the ass. Oh, and they don’t disappoint.
Celia pulls out an index card, a cartoon of a baby scrolled in crayon on the back. Her nails protrude and withdraw in and out a few times, puncturing the corner of the card.
“Ah, what is it, Ceel?” Shayna asks.
Emme shakes her head. “I don’t think we want to know.”
Celia looks up, her breathing unusually pronounced. She forces an inhuman s
mile that has Liz taking several steps back.
“What’s wrong?” Liz asks. “You don’t like it?”
“Oh, I just love it,” Celia says.
Okay. Now she doesn’t even sound human.
Shayna starts to rise, changing her mind when a sound we’ve never quite heard from Celia sends her back to her seat. Liz is now standing near the entrance out, the weres just behind her and the few witches who remained behind them with their staffs visible.
Our were buddy from Liberia looks up and asks his friend something I don’t quite catch. His friend shakes his head after another glance at Celia, and everyone edges farther back.
Emme looks from the large group gathering near the door, to us, then back at Celia. Rather hesitantly, she stands and walks with her palms out to Celia.
Celia appears close to eating the poofy chair she’s sitting in.
“M-may I?” Emme asks.
When Celia doesn’t answer, Emme eases the card from Celia’s grasp, careful to avoid Celia’s claws. Her eyes widen as she reads it. She covers her mouth, appearing to read it again like she can’t believe it.
“Just tell us what it says,” I say. Really just how bad can this be?
Emme lowers the card and looks at us. “It’s a gift certificate for a tummy tuck—”
“And a chin lift,” Celia interrupts. She lifts two pointy fingertips. “Two chin lifts.”
Without missing a beat, Edith steps into a “ta-da” pose.
Murmurs erupt near the entrance. We scramble as the first of the injured weres and vamps are helped in.
Celia rushes to her feet, barely taking two steps before Aric is on her, gathering her in his arms. Emme breathes a sigh of relief when Bren appears, carrying a werebear whose bowels are protruding through the gaping wound at his side. She looks at Bren briefly before lowering herself to help mend the bear. Bren is careful not to meet her gaze, but dear God, he seems ready to sweep her into his arms.
Shayna pushes through the throng. There are more supernaturals present than we originally had, yet some that chose to reside with us didn’t return.
“Koda,” she cries out. “Koda, where are you?” She releases a sigh of relief intermixed with a sob when Koda emerges from the growing crowd.
