Toxic (Denazen #2)(54)

But he didn’t sound so sure. In fact, his voice kind of fluttered. I was betting the man hadn’t noticed—most people weren’t as hyperaware of Kale as me—but it was unmistakable. He might have had the biggest, most badass training Denazen could offer, but in the end, he was only human.

And humans didn’t do tranq darts very well.

The man shot forward, foot sweeping the back of Kale’s knees. Hampered by the tranquilizer pumping through his system, he didn’t move in time and crumpled to the ground. I rushed forward to help him but froze when the man pointed the gun at me.

“Stay put, kid.” Turning back to Kale, he wedged a shoe under his chin and laughed. Waving the gun, he said, “Cross is right. You’re nothing but an animal. Easy to contain with the right tools.”

Groping the ledge behind me, I searched for the Road Runner coffee mug I’d seen when we came in. When my fingers brushed the cool, oddly shaped porcelain, I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d been worried it might have gotten knocked down in the commotion.

Fingers threaded through the handle, I stepped forward and smashed the mug against the man’s temple. He dropped the gun and stumbled back. I’d debated mimicking the mug into something more useful—the blow was helpful but had only dazed him. Something like a pipe would have done a bit more damage. But I didn’t want to take the chance that Kale was coherent enough to notice. He had no idea my ability had gotten stronger.

The agent groaned and took another step back, rubbing his head. I didn’t let up. Following him, I kicked at his gut, sending him off balance and tumbling into the open closet. I slammed the door closed and pulled the small nightstand in front of it before rushing back to Kale.

He was trying to sit up but dazed. Definitely not the super alert guy I was used to. I tried slipping my arms under his shoulders, but he pushed me off.

“No,” he mumbled. “Don’t touch me. You’ll—”

The closet door rattled.

I ignored his protests and snatched the hoodie from the carpet behind me. Wrapping it around his bare arm, I pulled up. But I didn’t make much progress. I wasn’t a weakling by any stretch, but Kale was a big guy. With a lot of muscle. It translated into a ton of dead weight. “Help me out here, Kale. We gotta go. Now.” The closet door rattled again. It wouldn’t hold much longer, and I didn’t want to be here when the suit got out. “Five minutes ago, actually.”

Kale managed to get to his feet, but staying there was harder. Two steps toward the door, and he was down again. I grabbed hold of him and yanked up, but his sleeve rode up, and my fingers brushed against his bare skin. This time the effect was instant. It skipped the pins and needles and shot right for the mind-numbing pain and shortness of breath. I went down beside him, seeing stars and struggling to move the air in and out of my lungs.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, the closet door picked that moment to explode outward in a splinter of paint chips and wood. The man snarled and, hands extended, flew at us. Kale, unable to pick himself off the floor, made a grab for the man’s ankle as he passed. Suit guy went down with a thud.

I moved away, stumbling up and attempting to go around so I could drag Kale out of the room if I had to, but I didn’t make my pass wide enough. My foot caught something, and like the man, I went down again. Hard. I tried to scramble to my feet, but something yanked me across the floor. More like someone. My shirt rode up slightly, the rough carpet biting into my skin. Not the most fun way I could think of to get rug burn…

“Dez…” Kale moaned, rolling onto his side. It took a few tries, but he managed to get on his knees as the man made a swipe for my arm.

A few feet away, Kale was tugging on the hoodie. That was fine. I only needed a tiny bit of skin.

Kicking out with my other foot, I caught the man’s shoulder. He let go of my ankle, and I dove for Kale. So did the man.

I reached him with about a half second to spare, grabbing his cloth-covered arm and yanking up the sleeve as I thrust out his bare hand. The man had built up too much momentum. He couldn’t stop. The tips of his fingers rammed into the top of Kale’s hand. There was an agonizing second where the man’s eyes went wide, and then he was gone. Nothing more than a shower of dust clogging the air.

On my feet, I grabbed Kale and pulled him up. He wobbled but stayed upright. “We have to go.”

…

The rest of Saturday passed slowly. We made it back to the hotel with the diary and no further signs of Denazen, even though I half expected them to be waiting to ambush us on the way in. Ginger swore the hotel was safe, but I wasn’t feeling it.

Luckily, when we’d gotten back, there’d been no one around. I helped Kale up to his room, and he crashed. While he was sleeping, I curled up on the chair next to his bed and went through the diary.

Layne Phillips knew she was adopted at an early age. As far as I—and she—could tell, her parents had no idea about her gift or connection to Denazen. At the age of ten, she discovered she could manipulate water. Five months ago, her gift changed. Not only could she manipulate water but its temperature, too. There was entry after entry of experiments logged—all with disastrous results. She’d tried to freeze a bathtub full of water and ended up freezing the water in the pipes of her house. Then, without realizing what she’d done, she’d tried to heat the water, causing the pipes to explode and the entire house to flood.