The Dragons of Nova (Loom Saga #2)(37)
The gunshot was like lightning between her eyelids. Its crack broke the deadly repetition of the endwig, and the searing pain that followed it scared away the thick shadows that had been clouding the edges of her vision. Florence saw the monsters with horrific clarity, her senses her own once more. Twice the size of a Fenthri, hunched over and pale as electric light, they growled at her through dagger-like teeth.
With a roar, the first endwig charged forward. Florence moved to run but skidded to a stop along the river rocks. Her hands moved for her belt, knowing one canister from the next on pure memory. She plucked an explosive round and had it in the revolver in one fluid movement.
By the time the muzzle of her gun was aimed at the endwig still scaling the waterfall, the alchemical runes along the barrel were alight in the darkness. Florence didn’t hesitate, taking her shot. Derek said all she had been good for was exploding the forest around the Alchemists’ guild; if she survived this, she would make sure he appreciated the irony of the situation as the rocky bluff collapsed, taking the endwig with it.
Florence didn’t waste time. Two endwig had already alighted on the ground when she took her shot. They were on her tail and she sincerely doubted that a five-peca fall would kill the rest.
Inky blood dotted the ground behind her as she ran. It diminished with every step, her magic healing the gunshot wound she’d used to break free of the endwig’s song. Florence sprinted along the bank, hearing the scraping of stone and the bestial snarl of the creatures behind her. They were gaining, and fast.
She cut into the trees.
“Derek!” Florence screamed into the darkness. His Dragon ears should pick her up clear back to the train. “Derek!”
“Flor?” A familiar male voice echoed back to her.
Relief flooded her chest. He was safe, which was more than could be said for her at the moment.
The swipe of a long, clawed hand whizzed over her head. It sunk into the bark of the tree, narrowly missing its mark. Florence rolled along the forest floor, seeking purchase on the dead brush and leaves.
The second endwig materialized out of nowhere. Its long fingers wrapping around her shoulder, drawing both blood and a scream. Florence dropped two canisters into her weapon and pressed the muzzle of the gun into its neck as it leaned forward to bite off her face in one crunch of its gaping jowls.
Blood exploded the moment she pulled the trigger. Florence didn’t know much about the endwig, but she had learned all she needed to from the Revolver at the Alchemists’ Guild Hall. She knew the one thing she would care about: how to kill the bastards.
The endwig were tough creatures with bones of near literal steel. Their rib cages protected their hearts by forming an impenetrable barrier not unlike a Dragon’s. But at the base of the neck was a soft spot. With the gun angled just the right way, one could fire in through the top of the ribs.
Florence didn’t expect she would have the opportunity to make a clean shot that exploited their seemingly one weakness very often.
As she pushed off the creature’s corpse with a grunt, the other endwig was on her like a dog lunging for a discarded bone. Florence didn’t have a chance to even take aim. The canister singed her flesh as it exploded against the endwig’s face in close proximity, stunning it.
Scrambling to her feet, Florence began sprinting once more. Her shoulder oozed lifeblood onto her shirt and vest, her face streaked with flesh-curling burns from the proximity explosion. But the magic that Cvareh had given her by virtue of his blood held true. It healed her wounds and poured energy into her fatiguing muscles. It met the demands she placed on her body and then some.
“Flor!” Another cry rose up through the night, a woman’s this time. “Flor, get your Revo ass over here!”
She wished it took something more than an endwig assault to inspire the use of her chosen guild.
The flickering light of Nora’s campfire streamed through the trees in shifting beams. Florence’s ears picked up the chaotic charge of the other endwig tearing through the forest behind her. Ahead was the small train, already hissing with steam.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Nora screamed as Florence broke through the tree line that was almost on top of the tracks themselves. She held out her hand. “That type of explosion is sure to draw out the endwig.”
“What do you think I used ‘that type of explosion’ on?” Florence screamed back. There wasn’t any need to speak so loudly or violently; Nora’s face was less than half a peca away from hers as the other woman hoisted her into the train car. But it certainly felt good to do.
“Are you all right?” Derek asked.
Florence was relieved to see her split-second judgment call of not heading back to where she’d last seen him along the river proved sound. The man was too smart to wait for her and it blossomed a newfound appreciation for him in a hot flush against her chest. The feeling was equally a product of the near-death situation and her adrenaline, but she knew she’d truly been ruined by Arianna when cold pragmatism was suddenly the sexiest thing in the world to her.
“We’re not going fast enough.” Florence reached for the leather strap of canisters and explosives wrapped around her body, her mind whirring with all the ways to fend off the endwig. “They’ll be on us.” She handed them each disk bombs. “Press, throw, push magic in to make heat.”
There wasn’t time to explain the mechanics of using magic to heat molten gold and start a carefully calculated chemical reaction. She just needed them to do as they were told. Florence had sat back long enough. Life or death: this was the line she was meant to walk.