Wildfire (Hidden Legacy #3)(98)

Mom would kill us. Mom would kill all of us. We could never go home.

The grey thing screeched again, desperate now. My sister squatted on it, clamped its head with one arm, its right shoulder with another, and bit its neck. I didn’t want to see, but I couldn’t look away. She gnawed at it, severing muscle and tendon. The grey giant flailed, kicking feebly, weaker and weaker. My sister bit one last time, jerked the head she had chewed off into the air, tossed it behind her, and roared.

And dozens of people recorded it on cell phones.

Arabella rocked back, sat on her butt, stuck her claws into her mouth, and pulled a long fleshy strand out. She spat it, her mouth wrinkling, spat again, her muzzle twisted as if she’d just bitten into slimy fruit.

Under control. Everything was under control. She hadn’t gone crazy. I turned. A few feet away Vincent stood frozen, his mouth hanging open.

I raised the gun. He saw me and jerked Kyle in front of him. He was holding an enormous handgun, so big it looked like a movie prop. The barrel had to be ten inches long.

He pointed the gun at me and began backing up.

The concrete barriers behind him slid together, cutting off the narrow space the workers used as a clear path. A heavy construction vehicle scraped across the pavement, joining the barriers. I didn’t have to look to know Rogan was walking up the overpass behind me.

Vincent turned pale and chanced a quick glance behind him. Yes, you’re trapped.

Rogan loomed next to me, a handful of coins hanging in the air in front of him. I’d seen him launch these before at a near-bullet speed.

The coins didn’t move. He’d come to the same conclusion I did. If we had any chance at all against Sturm, we’d need Vincent alive.

“Stay where you are,” Vincent called out.

“It’s over,” Rogan said. “Put down the gun.”

“Don’t come any closer or I’ll shoot you.” The barrel of the enormous cannon trembled.

“You’re holding a Magnum BFR,” I told him. “Big Frame Revolver. Otherwise known as Big Fucking Gun. It weighs over five pounds loaded and has horrible recoil. The only way to fire it is to grip it with both hands and brace yourself. Your hand is shaking from the weight. If you try to squeeze the trigger, you’ll miss and hit yourself in the head with your own gun. Then I’ll shoot you where it counts.”

Vincent gripped the gun tighter, which only made the barrel dance more.

“You’ll hit the kid,” Vincent squeezed out.

“I won’t. I’m Magus Sagittarius.”

Vincent shifted his grip and pointed his cannon at Kyle’s head.

“The child is keeping you alive,” Rogan said. His voice was ice. “Kill him, and I will kill you on this overpass, slowly, piece by piece.”

Vincent swallowed.

“There are two ways this can go,” Rogan said. “Let go of the child and you live. Harm the boy and you die.”

“Decide quickly,” I told him. “You killed Kurt. I liked Kurt.”

Vincent swallowed again and opened his hand. The oversized revolver clattered to the ground.

“Let go of the boy,” Rogan said.

Vincent squeezed Kyle to him. His eyes went wild. He looked like he would dash to the nearest edge and jump over it. If he sprinted, I had to shoot him in the head. Anything else was too risky for Kyle.

Rogan’s voice snapped like a whip. “I don’t have all day, Harcourt!”

Vincent let go of Kyle. The boy ran to me and I picked him up. Rogan strode toward Vincent. The summoner took a few steps back, put his hands up, and took a wild swing at Rogan. The punch missed him by a mile. Rogan reached out, almost casually. His fingers locked on Vincent’s wrist. He twisted and Vincent bent over, his eyes watering. Rogan grabbed Vincent’s shirt with his other hand and half dragged, half walked him down to us.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Arabella stalk to the Frontage Road exit curving below us. A familiar silver Range Rover pulled up. My sister shrank into her normal human self, naked and covered in arcane blood. The passenger door opened. She jumped inside and the Range Rover sped down the curve of the road, heading north.

“Thank you,” I told Rogan.

“We need to talk later,” he said.

Rogan’s people handcuffed Vincent and put him into the helicopter. Rogan and I watched him being loaded. Bern backed our Ford down the overpass. Sergeant Teddy climbed inside.

In the distance a cacophony of sirens shrieked and wailed, getting closer.

Another from Rogan’s fleet of Range Rovers arrived with Troy behind the wheel. Rogan held the passenger door open for me. His face told me that he expected me to get into the damn car and if I didn’t he would put me in it. A storm was gathering on the horizon and I was about to be in the epicenter of it.

Bern saw the hurricane too. “I’ll take Teddy home.”

I got into the car and buckled Kyle in at the center of the seat. Rogan got in on the other side, Troy stepped on the gas, and we were off.

We rode in silence for almost five minutes.

“The Beast of Cologne?” Rogan finally said.

“Yes.”

“How?” The word cut like a knife. “How can she do this, how long, how many times, how many people know?”

“She can do this because it’s her magic. She has done it since she was a baby. She has transformed a total of twelve times. Nobody knows except the family and her pediatrician.”