Page 23 of Of Flame and Fury

Sure enough, there’s a giant rug with more mouth than chest, dragging “Emily” away.

Lightning charges within my grip. I throw a bolt like a javelin. Instead of sizzling the Nyte, it stabs through it, the tip sticking out from its back. The Nyte releases Emme, slapping at its back, trying to reach the bolt.

My breath hitches. These things aren’t just odd and creepy, they affect my magic in an unnerving way. I blast and blow things up. Never has my lightning maintained a form like this.

Emme’s legs slide down the Nyte’s side and fall on a mound of debris. She’s really hurt and needs help.

I stomp forward, forgetting about the hand skewered to my heel. It wiggles madly, its owner whining with each step I take.

“Ow. Ow.Ow.Ow!”

I grimace and look down. “Gawd. I’m sorry.”

My knees bend in a small squat, trying to maintain my balance over the uneven and destroyed room as I generate more power. When my next lightning strike does little more than jolt the Nyte, I attempt to toss a small ball of fire. I miss when the hand attached to my shoe yanks hard and tries to pull off me. My fire catches a curtain, precariously hanging on a broken rod, and lights the damn thing up.

My lover, now in human form and as smart as he is hot, snags the curtain. He spins it like a supersized gym towel and snaps it against a giant toad with spikes on its back. The toad roars, the tips of its spikes catching like candles. It spits out its sickly purple tongue, latching onto Gemini’s wrist and dragging him toward its gaping mouth.

Gemini allows it to pull him, securing his feet on either side of its maw to keep it from biting. He twirls the tongue around his wrist and pulls hard, yanking out the tongue along with several rows of intestines.

I gag as I shove my way through the fight to Emme. I gag harder when I realize Tweedledum is still alive, rolling through the damage and knocking over supernaturals like bowling pins while his male parts slap against the floor like tiny, wet mops.

“Ow.”

“Sorry,” I yell at the she-vamp. I shake my foot some more when I realize her severed hand is still attached to my shoe. I know she’s mad, but her hand is not my priority, Emme is. I shoot a stream of fire and light up the rug Nyte when he reaches for Emme.

Blue and white flames eat through the Nyte’s hide. It ignores the fire and tries to lift Emme. It’s not until my magic burns through its exterior and splits its skin open that it finally reacts in pain.

It bellows with the might of a grieving elephant, swerving, clumsily swatting at its back as if unsure how to move its limbs. I realize too late it doesn’t have elbows.

Son of a bitch. These freaks are from Johnny Fate. He only paid attention to details when it came to himself. This mission is to do just enough to get what he needs.

The burning Nyte slams into one winged creature taking flight, and another one on the ground having it out with a werebear. The werebear scrambles out of the way as the burning Nyte sets both creatures aflame.

I pump my arm. “Yes.” The fight is far from over, but we’re starting to get the upper hand. I push toward Emme.

“Ow!”

For crying out loud. The stupid hand is still stuck. I jerk my foot hard. The hand slides down but sticks to the end.

The she-vamp hisses, baring her fangs. “Just yank it off, Karen.”

The hand is making grabby motions, and several nails are bloody or missing. “I’m not touching that nasty thing—no offense,” I quickly add. I give it one last kick. It flies off yet doesn’t quite land.

A snake creature with iridescent wings snatches it up and gobbles it down. The indentations of the fingers open and close the length of its body until it reaches the tail and sort of just…dies.

I lift my head to meet the she-vamp’s scathing glare. “I am like,so sorry,” I say.

“Fuck you, Karen,” she tells me.

She can be mad at “Karen” all she wants. I’m getting Emme.

Chapter Nine

I reach Emme and drag her near the overturned piano. It offers little as far as protection from the all-out brawl taking place, but it’s all I have. I cradle her in my arms, sweeping her sweat-soaked hair behind her. “Emme. Emme, sweetie. Wake up.”

She’s burning up. I can’t tell if it’s from the battle or from some poison she was exposed to. “Sweetie, please. We can’t stay here.”

The room rattles. I glance where it’s all-out war in the foyer. Nytes, big and small, charge the group of supernaturals I left behind. I can’t tell who’s winning, and I can’t see Celia. From what I can determine, we’re better off in the ballroom, which isn’t saying much.