magic.
What could he move quickly enough to draw blood before he was fricasseed?
He tried to bite a lip and could feel his teeth begin to move. Obviously, the response time from brain to jaws was significantly faster than from brain to legs. Interesting to know but there was still no way they were going to draw blood in time.
The Fool.
That card had done something to stop their fall. Ace had said he was the Fool. What was on the card? Weird-looking kid. Stepping off the cliff. Little dog. A stick with a bag on the end carried over one shoulder. In the other hand, a flower.
A flower? On the card, the kid had been holding it straight up in his palm. Almost like a shield.
He concentrated furiously, imagining what it would be like to have a flower shield on his palm. A thing of nature. It would be in his left palm–right in the path of the lightning. Standing upright as if it had always been there. As if it would always be there.
He Insisted that it would always be there.
Again, there was a feeling of ripping. Pain ran up his left arm and exploded in his head. A red glow appeared and grew in his left palm. It stretched upward. Like a plant to the sun. Red like a rose.
It looked weak. Thin and fragile as a soap bubble.
He begged it to be stronger–struggling to push whatever power was in him into the glow.
The bolt was beginning to cross over his left hand–only inches from his arm. There was no more time.
He ordered the flower to grow–the shield to hold fast.
He Reached for Power and Commanded it to his will. Somehow, he was certain that all the words were not only capitalized but in bold as well.
There was a brilliant purple flash. His eyes were blinded by a jagged orange afterimage.
Pain flashed in his mouth. “Damn!” he swore. “I bit my lip.”
He blinked the afterimages from his eyes. Ace was staring at the barrel of her gun–still a narrow slot instead of a circle. She looked up. “What the hell did you do? You screwed up my favorite weapon!”
Steve looked at his left arm. Twisted it around to examine the outside. No burns or bullet holes. “Are you sure it’s ruined?” He mumbled around the blood seeping from his lip. “Wouldn’t it work just as well if it fired lightning bolts?”
“That’s not the point. It’s mine; I want it to be a SIG Sauer P228 and not...this.” She glowered at him and aimed carefully at a spot on the floor where a ricochet wouldn’t hit anyone outside. Blue lightning ripped through the air and blasted a six-inch-deep hole in the asphalt. She looked relieved. “Well, it’s definitely not regulation, but I can work with it.”
She relaxed into a shooting stance and took aim at Steve again. “Let’s try it again.”
There was a short but embarrassing shriek. Steve, after shrieking, had dived to the asphalt and was now lying prone with his arms over his head. “How about we don’t try it again?”
He jammed the cell phone back to his ear. “Mr. Barnaby, sir. Don’t you think that quite enough has been proven in the area of firearms? I’m not at all sure there’s much more to explore.”
Without waiting for an answer, Steve popped his head up and said to Ace in a single breath. “Barnaby says that the tests are conclusive, no more experiments are necessary and, in fact, could be counterproductive. He feels that you should not fire at me again, and I, while reluctant to stand in the way of technical progress, must agree.”
It would have sounded better if he hadn’t finished by trying to bury his head into the parking lot and whimpering over and over. “Please, please don’t shoot me.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Steve peeked through his fingers and, when he was certain that Ace had holstered her weapon, cautiously stood up. He should have been colored purple from head to toe from the puddle of goo on the floor, but after even a close examination, he decided he looked about the same as always.
“I don’t generally miss.” Ace squinted at him
What could he move quickly enough to draw blood before he was fricasseed?
He tried to bite a lip and could feel his teeth begin to move. Obviously, the response time from brain to jaws was significantly faster than from brain to legs. Interesting to know but there was still no way they were going to draw blood in time.
The Fool.
That card had done something to stop their fall. Ace had said he was the Fool. What was on the card? Weird-looking kid. Stepping off the cliff. Little dog. A stick with a bag on the end carried over one shoulder. In the other hand, a flower.
A flower? On the card, the kid had been holding it straight up in his palm. Almost like a shield.
He concentrated furiously, imagining what it would be like to have a flower shield on his palm. A thing of nature. It would be in his left palm–right in the path of the lightning. Standing upright as if it had always been there. As if it would always be there.
He Insisted that it would always be there.
Again, there was a feeling of ripping. Pain ran up his left arm and exploded in his head. A red glow appeared and grew in his left palm. It stretched upward. Like a plant to the sun. Red like a rose.
It looked weak. Thin and fragile as a soap bubble.
He begged it to be stronger–struggling to push whatever power was in him into the glow.
The bolt was beginning to cross over his left hand–only inches from his arm. There was no more time.
He ordered the flower to grow–the shield to hold fast.
He Reached for Power and Commanded it to his will. Somehow, he was certain that all the words were not only capitalized but in bold as well.
There was a brilliant purple flash. His eyes were blinded by a jagged orange afterimage.
Pain flashed in his mouth. “Damn!” he swore. “I bit my lip.”
He blinked the afterimages from his eyes. Ace was staring at the barrel of her gun–still a narrow slot instead of a circle. She looked up. “What the hell did you do? You screwed up my favorite weapon!”
Steve looked at his left arm. Twisted it around to examine the outside. No burns or bullet holes. “Are you sure it’s ruined?” He mumbled around the blood seeping from his lip. “Wouldn’t it work just as well if it fired lightning bolts?”
“That’s not the point. It’s mine; I want it to be a SIG Sauer P228 and not...this.” She glowered at him and aimed carefully at a spot on the floor where a ricochet wouldn’t hit anyone outside. Blue lightning ripped through the air and blasted a six-inch-deep hole in the asphalt. She looked relieved. “Well, it’s definitely not regulation, but I can work with it.”
She relaxed into a shooting stance and took aim at Steve again. “Let’s try it again.”
There was a short but embarrassing shriek. Steve, after shrieking, had dived to the asphalt and was now lying prone with his arms over his head. “How about we don’t try it again?”
He jammed the cell phone back to his ear. “Mr. Barnaby, sir. Don’t you think that quite enough has been proven in the area of firearms? I’m not at all sure there’s much more to explore.”
Without waiting for an answer, Steve popped his head up and said to Ace in a single breath. “Barnaby says that the tests are conclusive, no more experiments are necessary and, in fact, could be counterproductive. He feels that you should not fire at me again, and I, while reluctant to stand in the way of technical progress, must agree.”
It would have sounded better if he hadn’t finished by trying to bury his head into the parking lot and whimpering over and over. “Please, please don’t shoot me.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Steve peeked through his fingers and, when he was certain that Ace had holstered her weapon, cautiously stood up. He should have been colored purple from head to toe from the puddle of goo on the floor, but after even a close examination, he decided he looked about the same as always.
“I don’t generally miss.” Ace squinted at him
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