The Grimrose Path (Trickster, #2)(72)
The guys had given it their best shot, practiced daily, and considering how lazy Zeke was, that was pure devotion. After two months of self-devised training, they’d tried it on Leo, who’d let his shield relax for the attempt. It had worked—more or less. Leo wasn’t a demon, however, and although it had worked on him, I couldn’t be sure it would on Eli. Still, I’d bet my life on many things along the way. Why should I start changing now?
“Well, Trixa? Is your plan going to save us?” Eli put his hands under the car and flipped us over onto our side. I hadn’t put on my seat belt yet. I didn’t slam into Zeke as I’d grabbed the steering wheel, but I didn’t land on him with the grace and airy lightness of a ballerina either. I heard the muffled grunt as air left his lungs, but that didn’t stop him from already having his shotgun in hand. The same went for Griffin in the back. But Eli was enraged and he was faster and stronger than all of us. Normally, I would’ve tried to talk my way out of this . . . but this time I didn’t believe Eli would be listening. He was asking questions, but he was too furious to listen to any answers—too furious to do anything but kill us.
It was time to see if the boys could do to him what they’d done to Leo. I only hoped they’d been keeping in practice. I gave them a fleeting hand signal. They agreed on a “We are screwed” sign; then I used the steering wheel to pull myself upright, standing on Zeke’s rib cage and rising up into Eli’s view with the happiest, hungriest smile I had in my repertoire. “Plan, sugar? Who needs a plan when I have lunch in my face bitching up a storm?”
Eli stared at me, his face not even a foot from mine. “What’s your pleasure,?” I drawled. “What part of you would you like pulled off first? Your handsome head? Rip your legs apart like a wishbone? It’s all tasty. It’s all good, Eligos. All good to me. Let’s see how good it is for you.” I took the risk and reached for him. I thought I’d guessed wrong, that the training and the work had been for nothing. I thought we were dead when my fingertips were almost brushing the front of his shirt.
Until he took one step back.
Another moment of trickster triumph. If my legs weren’t al dente and in danger of buckling under me, I would’ve been one happy-go-lucky mass of conceit and smugness. I didn’t like being vulnerable. I didn’t like it at all. I’d been positive that I could get through four or so years without my shape-shifting ability. Pie, cake, cougar soccer moms—all things that are easy. It was feeling less and less that way all the time. I’d tumbled far down the food chain and I didn’t like strapping on a fake fin to blend in with the other sharks. I wasn’t afraid to die. Tricksters can’t be . . . not if they want to do what they do best. But I didn’t want to die without pulling off the trick first. I’d done the Roses. I could do Cronus too. If death came as I took him down, I wouldn’t mind. I didn’t fear losing my life to save this world and all worlds while punishing Cronus . . . obliterating a Titan. It was my purpose. I wasn’t afraid.
I was not.
Oh holy hell, I was terrified.
A human body? I might as well fight Eli by throwing Ping-Pong balls at him. And Cronus? A can of Reddiwip would be as useful. Yes, I had fought off Eli before as a shape-shifter in human form, but I’d had extra speed, extra strength to draw on anytime I needed it. I always had an out, of becoming my true self, although I’d never had to use it. Then again, I’d never faced an Eligos quite so furious.
Furious with me, who was doing everything I could to stop a creature I couldn’t have before when I was still whole, a creature that gods couldn’t hope to stop. I was doing that. Me. And Eli, whose only contribution this past week in helping with Cronus had been brownnosing his boss, hiding in Hell, and waxing his legs to play a centurion at Caesars Palace, wasn’t doing a damn thing except pitching a hissy like a thirteen-year-old spoiled brat whose daddy hadn’t gotten the Jonas Brothers to play at her bat mitzvah.
I started to climb out of the car. “Stay right there, you bastard. I have a nail file, and I plan on skinning you alive with it.” I had a knife as well, but that would be too quick. I didn’t want quick. I wanted slow . . . slow and agonizing. I didn’t approve of snakeskin shoes, but demonskin ones would work great with my wardrobe.
He took another step back, smoothing his hair with one hand and straightening his black-on-black suit jacket with the other. “I have things to attend to. When I return, you can tell me how the plan is going then.” He disappeared precisely as I leaped. Or tried to leap as Zeke had wrapped his arms around my legs to keep me inside the half-flipped car. I briefly thought about using the nail file on him, but he was trying to do what was in my best interest, and, quid pro quo, I didn’t kill him . . . although it would’ve been a huge stress relief.
“Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.” I kicked at his arms, trying to get free. “He’s gone. Let go.” I kicked harder, but not enough to damage him. Zeke and Griffin were my boys. I couldn’t hurt my boys. “Or do you want me to aim my foot at something more specific and valuable?” I could threaten them, however.
Griffin had pushed open his door, banging my elbow, which did not improve my mood. It didn’t worsen it either, but only because it couldn’t get any worse. Human emotions were the same as pa?en emotions, but like their nervous system, they were a shade too much. Too intense. Too sharp. Too everything.