“Here.” Fourteen shoved the smaller gun at Cym.
Cym shoved it right back. “Yeah, no.”
Fourteen held up a hand in a hold on just a second gesture and popped around the corner to fire a few shots with it. He offered it again, this time wrapping Cym’s fingers around it.
“Keep your hands like this, and you should be able to control it. The safety is off so keep it low when you aren’t firing. Don’t point it at me; don’t shoot if you don’t know what’s behind your target.” He looked at Cym’s bare arms and frowned. “If a casing hits your skin it’s going to hurt; just power through it. It won’t burn you badly enough to cause serious damage.”
The impact of Fourteen’s words hit Cym. Why would Fourteen be arming him if he wasn’t worried about their chances? “Are we going to make it?”
“Yes.” Fourteen reached for him, his bare hand curving around the base of Cym’s neck. Cym felt Fourteen’s thumb caress his skin, and he shivered. He blinked slowly and stared into storm-cloud eyes, entranced by the blatant need and hunger he saw there. Fourteen’s gaze made Cym feel like he would destroy the world if it meant keeping Cym safe. “I’ll get you out of this, I swear it.”
Fierce desire and longing pierced Cym to the core. Somewhere in the past twenty-four hours, Cym had gone from wanting to get as far away from Fourteen as possible to never wanting to let him go. If only he could be certain that what Fourteen felt was real, but the possibility he was only echoing Cym’s own feelings back at him was too strong to be ignored.
Fourteen turned to observe the witch-filled warehouse through a crack in the crates, freeing Cym from his trance. “When I say now, we’re both going to come out and do the best we can to piss them off. Stay close to me and take cover if I tell you to. Got it?” He took his hand away from Cym’s neck and his eyes went cold, all traces of personality melting from his face.
Before Cym’s eyes, he had transformed from a concerned potential lover to an emotionless killing machine. It was all Cym could do not to reach out to him. Instead, Cym suppressed his reaction and nodded. Pissing off his family was something he excelled at.
He looked at the gun in his hands, fighting the urge to hold it out at arms length like he would a muddy puppy and asked, “I trust that at some point I’ll understand what’s going on?”
The corners of Fourteen’s mouth tilted up ever so slightly. “I believe in your deductive abilities.”
Thank the gods. Cym’s Fourteen was still kicking around in there somewhere.
Fourteen peered between the crates again and said, “Okay, now.”
When they stood up, he noticed Fourteen was moving slower than before. Apparently even he had limits on how much abuse his body could take.
As soon as Cym could see over the crates, he searched the room for his cousin. The moment his eyes locked on to Helen, he took aim and proceeded to unload the entire clip at her. That should piss her off.
As he fired, his arms and chest stung as spent casings bounced off, and he prayed none ended up inside his shirt. Getting one of those to the nipple would fucking suck.
Cym forgot about his sensitive areas as Helen’s shield flashed brightly and evaporated. And of course that was when his gun chose to run out of bullets.
Now Cym would never know if he had it in him to kill his own cousin, though he did feel a dark satisfaction when one of Fourteen’s shots tore through Helen’s leg as she dove for cover.
Fourteen had been more generous with his attack and had spread it out among their opponents. He knocked out three more shields and dropped the casters inside them. When he ran out of bullets, he simply pulled out another gun and kept going.
Cym noticed Fourteen focused slightly more attention on the idiot with the gun. Unlike the others, he wasn’t ducking madly when bullets flew his way. His shield must have been as strong as Stella’s, which wasn’t a surprise. If he had been more proficient at offensive magic, he wouldn’t have needed the gun.
Cym laughed when Gun Guy ran out of ammunition. He shook his gun, looked at it, and then shook it again. After yelling something Cym couldn’t hear, he turned and ran out of the warehouse.
“That should do it. Take cover!” Fourteen shoved Cym’s head down—unnecessarily—and they both hit the dusty floor with Fourteen’s body covering his.
The wall behind them shook with the full force of all the myriad of spells it received, and Cym noticed that Fourteen, still hunched over him protectively, was busy pulling out a small arsenal of grenades. A few of the grenades looked funny to him, making Cym think of tin cans with rings attached.
“Get ready to run,” Fourteen warned.
“Run where?” Cym shouted to be heard over the din of splats, hisses, crunches, and small explosions that heralded the sound of various spells doing what they were designed to do.
When the noise died down, Fourteen pointed to the brand new massive hole in the wall three yards to their right. “There. Now go!” He hauled Cym off the floor and pushed him toward the hole. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Cym crawled over the rubble as fast as he could and turned around halfway through the hole to make sure Fourteen was right behind him. He saw him lob a half-dozen grenades—including at least two of the ones that looked like tin cans.
When Fourteen turned to follow and saw Cym standing there like an idiot, he shouted, “Move!” and ran toward the hole, bounding easily up the rubble—making Cym’s clumsy efforts look sad and pathetic.
Cym blamed his sore feet and throbbing head, but he also silently vowed to start working out once things died down a bit. Maybe Fourteen could give him some tips. If this was what his life was going to be like, he needed to step up his game. “What were the not-grenade things?”
“Tear gas. In a second or two it should be very unpleasant in there, and it will make it hard for anyone still alive to see where we went. Remind me to teach you how to use one.” Fourteen made it to the top of the rubble, nudged past Cym, and jumped off the four-foot wall, landing lightly on his feet. He reached his gloved hand toward Cym and helped him down.
Several explosions shook the ground, and caustic smoke drifted out of the hole they’d climbed out of. When the wind shifted, it brought a tendril of it past Cym’s face, causing his throat to try and strangle itself.
“Some of them… might have shields that… ack… keep that stuff out.” Cym managed to choke out as Fourteen led him away, tucking him under his arm.
“Noted.” Fourteen kept Cym between him and the wall as they crept toward what looked like a trash heap. “I have a bike under that tarp if we can just—”
Fourteen broke off when a buttload of gun-wielding men wearing body armor surrounded them.
“Friends of yours?” Cym was trying for glib, but he broke into a fit of coughing caused by the tear gas.
“No.” Fourteen nudged Cym against the wall—his large form completely obstructing Cym’s view of the situation. “Stay behind me.”
Cym’s face went numb as adrenaline spiked, and his fingers felt fuzzy and tingly. Had his family hired norms to do their dirty work in case using magic failed them? It was an unthinkable thing for a member of the Other to do. They didn’t involve norms in their problems. But then Cym had dragged Fourteen into the situation, so if they did, he only had himself to blame.
What they fuck were they going to do?
Fourteen’s armor could shield them both from magic, but norm weaponry and physical combat? Even Fourteen couldn’t protect them from that many soldiers.
“Sunny, dear, I think it’s time to admit defeat.” Stella’s voice came from behind the wall of men separating them. “I don’t know what the fuss is all about. We’re just trying to bring you home where you belong. No one needs to get hurt over this.”
