Chapter 38
Conin
The mercenaries are upon us before we can react. There’s nowhere to flee, nothing Ezra, Atlas, and I can do in time—
“Levi Finch,” Atlas says breathlessly.
Callum’s brother.
I get confirmation when a wave of heat and smoldering flames nearly burns us alive.
If not for Ambrosia’s timely counterattack, we would’ve been goners.
The fire narrowly misses with the swipe of her armored hands.
The flames disperse both ways to reveal Levi Finch’s twisted grin.
I notice the familiar features he shares with his brother.
Same sandy hair, same psychopathic stare, same piercing green eyes with the underlying need to kill.
He sports no scars of his own, but his wild expression is enough to send chills down my entire body.
Ambrosia and Matt are armored head to toe—where the armor materialized from, I can’t say, but I recall the emblems attached to the center of their chests in the MacPhersons’ which center the suit’s breastplate.
Next to Levi, with lightning crackling between her fingertips, is Mara Barclay, skull mask a haunting reminder of that night days ago. I didn’t kill her. I’m not a murderer.
She releases the lightning with a thunderous bang.
I step down on my ankle and pain shoots up, though I manage to pull Ezra to the ground.
Atlas takes the rear. Matt uncaps a canteen looped on to his armor.
Water spills out. As he rapidly raises his arms, I’m reminded of Tommy as Matt barricades us from Mara’s attack with a wall of slopping liquid.
“MAFU!” Ambrosia screams.
A car door slams, and a large man in thick armor sprints in our direction, but he isn’t quick enough. The white van is yards away and Levi’s throwing fire like he’s trying to avenge Callum’s name.
“Give us the boy!” Levi bellows.
Ambrosia refuses to humor him and pushes back with a burst of her telekinetic powers.
He stumbles to the asphalt, the dark clothing on his flesh scraping against the rough ground.
Meanwhile, Mara relentlessly fires bolt after bolt at Matt.
Ezra squirms underneath my weight, but I hold him down and use my arm to communicate he needs to stay where he is.
Atlas is motionless beside us, fear in his eyes.
I remember the gun stowed away. I should have known better than to believe this would go according to plan. Such is our luck. I reach for it in my backpack, but fear grips me tight. What do I do?
It’s foolish to believe we could have escaped unscathed if Ezra had transformed before our departure.
Creating scenario after scenario won’t change what’s already happened, and realistically wouldn’t have avoided this conflict.
Horrifically, Levi bounds into the air and rains fire down at us.
It is so quick that none of us can react in time.
Ezra emits a bloodcurdling cry. Flames lick up his arm.
I smell scorched flesh—it’s nauseating, like leather over fire.
Ambrosia pulls Levi back to her and flings him farther than before.
The act strains her, evident in the red of her eyes and the drooping of her shoulders.
Ambrosia moves on to Mara so Matt is able to do what he can to aid us with water.
We’re splashed with it, drenched from head to toe, but it doesn’t matter.
All I fear for is Ezra, who continues to elicit small groans of pain.
In the distance comes a roar. I check on Ezra, then crane my neck up the road. Two black vans cruise down the street. As soon as they halt to a stop, soldiers in black file out with automatic guns.