Whisper (Whisper #1)(76)
A flash of light appears with my Spoken word and, at seeing the results of my command, I have to lift my free hand to cover my mouth, holding back laughter.
“You, uh, didn’t think to protect yourself?” I ask Ward, my voice bubbling with humor as I take in his rainbow-splattered chest.
I’m half expecting him to yell at me, so it comes as a surprise when his eyes brighten and his lips twitch before he shuts down his expression.
“You didn’t lose control, so there was no reason for me to intervene,” he responds. “Plus, from this you can now tell if you need more or less creativity with your intent. I suggest you visualize a touch less paint next time.” His mouth quirks as he adds, “And you could probably leave out the glitter.”
So I may have let my imagination go a little wild. But it was worth it just to witness his lighthearted reaction. It’s been so long since —
I stop my train of thought before it gets away from me.
“And remember, you’re on the blue team, which means —”
I raise my gun and shoot him again before he can finish, this time swapping out the rainbow with plain blue splatters. “Blue paint only. No glitter. Got it.”
“For the record, it’s not pleasant being shot at close range, imaginary paintballs or not,” Ward says, rubbing a hand against his chest and smearing the paint there. “And while I know you kept your impact soft since my ribs aren’t crushed right now, feel free not to do that again.”
I’m not proud of my lack of sympathy, but … I did get to shoot Ward. And see him splattered with rainbow glitter. It was worth the minor bruises he can easily ask Cami to heal later.
Before I can muster a response — or attempt some kind of contrition — the door opens, and Enzo walks in.
“We’re all ready out there,” he says. “Just waiting on you two.”
Ward turns to him. “Thanks, Enz. We’re coming now.”
Enzo’s face breaks into a brilliant smile when he sees Ward’s torso, and he looks at me. “Getting in a few practice shots?”
“Can you blame me?” I say, though with a whispered word, I vanish the paint from Ward’s chest before anyone else can question the source of the rainbow glitter.
Enzo barks out a laugh. “Glad you’re on my team, JD. We’ll put you to good use.”
Cami, Keeda and Crew are all waiting for us outside the Karoel room, and I can just make out the blurred image of Sneak, as well. With Ward and Enzo, that makes seven of us in total. Three of us wear blue armbands: Enzo, Crew and me; while Ward, Cami, Sneak and Keeda are all wearing green. I have to do a double take when the green team walk away and huddle to discuss strategy, knowing what I now do of the tragic event that made them all orphans.
“Yo, JD, you feel like adding anything here?”
Enzo’s question makes me focus on my team again. Four against three doesn’t seem like fair odds, but then I remember that I’m a Creator, Enzo has military training and Crew is … aggressive. It should even out the playing field, especially since I assume neither Cami nor Sneak will be particularly ruthless. Keeda, however, is no pushover, and I’m certain she and Ward will present the biggest threats.
Being careful with every word I say, I share my thoughts with Enzo and Crew — leaving out the part about me being a Creator — and when I’m done, Enzo nods with approval.
“Nice deductive reasoning,” he praises.
Ever the pessimist, Crew tugs his eyebrow piercing and says, “Let’s hope your aim is as good as your judgment.”
“Want to try me?” I challenge, pushing the imaginary safety off my gun.
Crew’s surly attitude dissolves into a grin, and I understand why when Enzo says, “There’s, uh, no safety on paintball guns.”
Heat touches my cheeks, but I’m saved from having to respond when the green team return.
“Are you done discussing how you’ll lick your wounds after we beat you?” Keeda asks.
“We thought it was more important to be realistic,” Crew shoots back.
“Shut it, Slayer boy,” she says. “Your team is going down.”
As if those words hold magical properties, I take my lead off the others, and we all scatter, running to find shelter behind the pillars of the room as the skirmish begins in earnest.
It takes the length of three heartbeats for me to realize that I’m going to pay immensely for shooting Ward earlier — twice. And I know this because in that short amount of time, he’s already shot me — twice.
And it hurts. Enough that I want to exact retribution.
So with a war cry that mingles with those from my allies and enemies, I throw myself into the skirmish, shooting left, right and center.
And I miss, left, right and center.
Part of that is because the green team have clearly done this numerous times before, and they’re frighteningly quick to duck and dodge my attacks. But most of that is because I’m so acutely wary of my intent. While outwardly I only have to say the word “bang,” in the back of my mind I have to focus on at least four different things all at once: shooting a paint pellet from the nozzle of my invisible gun; making it burst with the same shade of blue produced by the rest of my team’s weapons; being sure it doesn’t have too much or too little pressure to differentiate it from the shots the rest of them are firing; and aiming the line of fire at a specific target.