Wildfire
“Does Rogan care?”
The last time we openly talked about it, Rogan told me that even though I thought it didn’t matter, it would. “I don’t know. He said he doesn’t—”
My phone rang just as a massive armored truck swung into the parking lot in front of us. A Vault vehicle flashed in my head. Grandma had worked on one before. It looked like an armored security truck from the outside and a stretch limo from the inside. Seating capacity of twenty-five. Shit. We’d never make it to our car. The hospital and Sherwood’s security was our best bet.
“Run!” I barked, and sprinted toward the hospital. Leon shot past me like I wasn’t even moving.
Magic punched the ground in front of me. The blast knocked me back. I stumbled.
A man popped into existence two feet from me. He was almost eight feet tall, slabbed with muscle and naked. His skin was bright red, the bright red of the biological armor of House Madero, and he had Dave Madero’s face. But that couldn’t be right, because Rogan had broken Dave like a toothpick.
Someone had teleported him flashed in my head.
The man’s hands clamped my shoulders. He jerked me off my feet. My bones groaned.
“House Madero says hello, bitch!” He shook me like a rag doll. “Where is your boyfriend? He hurt my brother!”
Not Dave. Frank or Roger Madero.
“Where is he?” He shook me. My teeth rattled in my skull. “Your grandma said to bring you alive. She didn’t say in one piece.”
That was too much. All the stress, worry, and fear combusted into fury inside me and burst into an inferno. He had my shoulders but he didn’t have my hands. I jerked my forearms up and clamped my fingers on his face. Pain flared inside me and rolled down my arms, turning into pure agony. Lightning shot out of my fingers and sank into the armored skin.
Madero screamed.
Welcome to the shockers, bitch. Someone snarled like a pissed-off animal and I realized it was me.
Madero howled and dropped to his knees. I clung on to him. My nails cut into his skin, drawing blood. His armor was failing.
The pain was almost too much to take.
Madero ran out of air. His scream broke into weak, desperate yelps, his voice hoarse.
A glowing light swung into my view. I had to let go, or I would spend all my magic and die.
I jerked my hands away. Madero collapsed at my feet, facedown, convulsing.
I reeled back. People were running from the truck toward us. The world was swimming, out of focus. I’d spent too much magic.
My cousin thrust himself into my view, his gun in his hands. “Now?”
“Now!” My hand found my Baby Desert Eagle.
Leon fired. There was no pause. He didn’t wait to sight. He didn’t breathe. He jerked the gun up and fired all eight shots in what felt like a single second.
Eight people dropped. Four remained. For a moment they paused, shocked, then spun around and dashed back to their truck.
I thrust my gun up, lined up a shot, and took it. The truck’s front left tire shuddered. Another shot, another tire. The four fleeing attackers veered away from the vehicle, running deeper into the parking lot.
I exhaled.
None of the eight bodies moved.
Madero lay at my feet, breathing like he was about to have a heart attack. He’d shrunk some and his skin turned an almost normal color.
“Five,” I said.
Leon looked at me, wild-eyed.
“House Baylor will have five higher-tier magic users. This is what you do, Leon. This is your magic.”
Leon stared at the eight bodies in the parking lot. “Oh my God. Oh my God. They’re dead. They’re dead dead.”
“Yes.”
He spun to me. “I killed them.”
“Yes.”
Leon’s expression crumbled. He bent over and vomited onto the pavement.
Chapter 10
Once Leon finished throwing up, I told him to go inside and tell the hospital staff we needed help. It took six people to load Dave 2.0 onto a gurney and wheel him into the ER.
A hospital administrator, a plump Hispanic woman in her mid-forties, ran up to me, her face pale, her mouth a thin, tense line. “Should I call the cops?”
What would Rogan say? “It’s House business.”
She straightened. Some of the frantic agitation went out of her face. I’d said the magic words absolving her of all responsibility.
“I’ll notify the authorities,” I said. “Please see to the wounded.”
“What wounded? Everyone is dead.”
“See to my cousin, then.”
She turned around to where Leon sat on the curb. His skin had acquired a sallow greenish tint.
“Okay,” she said. “We’ll do that.”
I walked over to Leon, crouched, and hugged him. He didn’t struggle or make disgusted noises. A really bad sign.
“You did great,” I told him.
“It wasn’t real before,” he said quietly.
“When you lined up shots for Mom?”
He nodded. “It’s real now. I killed them. They’re dead because of me.”
I had to fix this now, or it would cripple him. “No, I killed them. I ordered you to shoot, and you obeyed my order. This is on me, not on you.”
His hands were shaking.
“Leon, these people were attacking us. If you didn’t stop them, they would’ve dragged me off to Victoria Tremaine. They might have killed you. Our whole family would be in danger. You did the right thing. You didn’t run away. You saved me, and Mom, and Grandma, and your cousins and your brother. You saved all of us.”
A man in hospital scrubs came up and wrapped a blanket around Leon. I gently tucked the blanket around him.
“You did great.”
He looked up at me. “I did.”
“Yes. Mom will be so proud. My dad would be so proud. You defended us.”
“Okay,” he said.
Victoria would pay for this. I would make her pay.
“Did you get sick?” he asked.
“The first time I shot someone? I felt sick.”
“But did you throw up?”
“I didn’t have time. The building exploded and I passed out. But if I’d had a chance, I would’ve thrown up for sure. The first time I saw Rogan kill someone, I almost got sick on him. We were in the Pit and he dropped a building on this scumbag. Just cut a chunk of the building off and crushed him with it. It took me a long time to get over it.”
“Is it always this bad?”
“No. You grow numb to it.” The sound of David Howling’s neck breaking popped in my ears. Leon didn’t need to know about that. He didn’t ever need to know how that felt. I would move heaven and earth to make sure he never found out.
Two armored SUVs pulled into the parking lot and ejected Rivera and six of Rogan’s people. The cavalry had arrived in record time, but they were too late.
They raced toward me, Rivera barking orders. “Guard here, here, and there. I want no blind spots. If something aims for this parking lot, I want to know about it before it gets here.”
People peeled off from the group. He crashed to a halt before me. “Are you okay, Ms. Baylor?”
Define okay. “Everything is fine.”
“Where is Frank Madero?”
It took me a second to remember that he would be in constant contact with Bug and Bug would’ve identified Frank the moment he popped into existence. “In the ER.”
“Should we take him into custody?”
“No.”
Rivera looked uncomfortable. “Do you want guards on his room?”
“No.” He wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon.
“Bug said there were survivors. Do you want us to chase them down?”
“I don’t think that’s necessary.”
The four remaining ex-military badasses looked almost desperate.
“The Major was very specific.” Rivera’s face had the expression of a man walking across hot coals. “We’re supposed to render assistance and keep you safe. We weren’t here.”
Now it made sense. Rogan told them to guard me and they let me get attacked and got here after the fight was over. That’s why they were sweating bullets.