Trifles and Folly 2 by Gail Z. Martin

Author:Gail Z. Martin
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-939704-63-4
Publisher: SOL Publishing

Just before we reached the steps to the porch, a dark form hurtled from the shadows, knocking me to the ground hard enough that the air rushed from my lungs and my head spun. Teeth snapped, so close to my neck I felt a spray of saliva. I struggled to get free, pinned by the shifter’s weight and strength. Teag’s staff swished through the air and cracked against the man-sized Rottweiler’s skull, and Bo’s ghost sank its teeth into the creature’s haunch. The Rottweiler twisted, trying again to bite and this time, its teeth grazed my shoulder.

I forced my right arm to bend, painfully wedging my elbow into the ground and my palm against the shifter’s chest. Drawing on the resonance of my athame and my own pain and fear, I called to my magic and let loose a cold, white blast of power that threw the shifter off me, slamming him against the steps.

Teag followed up with another blow to the creature’s head, and this time, the shifter stayed down. Taking no chances, Teag tied up the shifter with silver-infused rope.

“Come on!” I whispered, leading the way toward the windows that showcased the trophy room. Teag had managed to find a floorplan from the building permits, so while we had no way to know if alterations had been made, we weren’t going in blind.

The trophy room took up half of the first floor. I couldn’t know which of the taxidermy creatures might be shifters without touching them, something I had no intention of getting close enough to do. Breathtaking in its scope, Emory’s collection included complete, mounted figures of large mammals and apex predators from around the world. Those that would not fit easily had been carved up into parts, like the rhino and elephant heads above the mantel.

We came prepared. Teag dug into the small rucksack he had carried all night, handing off two modernized Molotov cocktails to me, keeping two for himself, and grabbing a sawed-off shotgun. A little finesse and better materials meant assurance the home-made incendiaries wouldn’t blow up in our hands. We pulled off our night vision goggles, not wanting to be blinded by the flames. Teag fished a lighter from his pocket. “Ready when you are.”

“Go!”

Teag racked the shotgun and blasted the windows, taking no chances our explosives might bounce off bullet-proof glass back into our faces. Apparently Emory hadn’t been worried about anyone shooting him, because the windows shattered in a spray of glass. I heard the snick of the lighter, saw the blue flame and a moment later, we lit the Molotov cocktails and let them fly.

“Run!” I yelled, as we turned our backs on the house and sprinted away at top speed.

A shot rang out, and I felt a sudden, searing pain in my calf that dropped me to my knees. Blood ran down my leg. Teag grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet. “Can’t stop!” I stumbled after him, just trying not to fall as we zig-zagged through the garden, hoping to use its bushes and plantings as cover.

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