Chapter Sixty-Five I’m Totally Shift Faced
Not now.
Please not now.
I can’t deal with everything that’s happening with this storm and also deal with having my magic back, too.
Apparently, though, my manticore is here, whether I want her to be or not. I watch my nails as they transform from the short, stubby ones I painted cyanide green with Eva and Luis two nights ago—God, it seems so much longer than that—to the long, sharp, skinny claws of a lion. Claws that are also, somehow, still green. My whole body feels strange now, too, like it’s not my own. And when I glance behind me, it’s to see that yes, my scary-ass black tail is back, as well.
Because what this shit show of a day really needed was for a bunch of messed-up paranormals who’ve never been taught to use their powers to get them back right in the middle of a giant hurricane.
And yes, I know exactly how ironic it is that I’ve spent my whole life wanting to have access to my manticore. But right now, I’m terrified and angry. I don’t know how to use this body I’m stuck in, and it’s all my mother’s fault.
Just the thought of being unmeshed again leaves me feeling helpless, as is the thought that I won’t be able to help anyone with these claws—and while they are retractable, I sure as hell don’t know how to do that yet.
If my manticore would go away right now—preferably without leaving me unmeshed—that would be just fine with me.
I glance back at the fence, wondering if this is just another glitch, but the lightbulbs look indubitably dead. I watch in horror as one of the vampires grabs a fae standing nearby and starts to feed.
Not far from them, a couple of leopard shifters circle around a witch named Olivia that I know from therapy, while—behind them—two wolves start sparring with each other in what I’m pretty sure is a dominance fight.
Because what this day needed was one more thing to make it even more screwed up.
Must be nice that my mom is safe in Huntsville while all of the students she never believed should have a chance to slowly learn how to handle their magic responsibly now have it back all at once.
And are definitely not using it responsibly.
I have no idea where to start, but I take off running toward Olivia in full panic mode. I can’t just leave the poor girl at the mercy of two pissed-off leopards—especially since, right now, I can only see two of her, the little girl she used to be and the teenager she is now. I don’t know if the fact that I can’t see her future means she doesn’t have one if I don’t intervene—like Alina—but I’m not about to risk it.
“Hey!” I yell, the deepness of my manticore voice messing with my head as I race to get between the witch and the leopards. “Stop for a—”
I break off as Olivia obviously casts some kind of spell, because all of a sudden, the leopards go hurtling through the air. The present versions of them land several feet from her, while the past and future stay where they were.
I skid to a stop. Because Olivia didn’t just send the leopards flying with that spell. She actually blew herself up as well.
Horror wells up inside of me as I careen to a stop a few feet from her body. She’s crumpled on the ground on her side, and at first, I think maybe there’s a chance of saving her. But when I bend down and roll her onto her back, half of her face is missing—and so is a lot of the head that was beneath it. Something that only gets worse as the rain continues to pound down on all of us.
I freak out at the sight of what used to be Olivia, and I stumble backward as tears prick my eyes. Nausea churns in my stomach, and every nerve in my body is screaming at me to run. To flee. To put as much distance between me and her and this beach as I can possibly get.
Because when I look back at her still, broken body a second time, it’s not Olivia that I’m seeing at all. It’s Serena. And it feels like my heart is breaking all over again.
I start to back up, start to look for an escape route, but there isn’t one, not really. I’m trapped on this island, just like everyone else, and there is no escape until this storm decides to finally let up.
But I can’t spiral. Ms. Aguilar still needs help. I turn to head back to her only to find the two large cats have returned. And have apparently decided that I’m the next best snack to Olivia.
They stalk toward me, and though I back up as fast as I can in an effort to escape, I know it’s already too late. Because it’s not just their present selves stalking toward me. It’s their future forms as well.
This whole past, present, and future thing is completely disconcerting, not to mention awful now that I know that it really does show me the future.
I’ve dealt with angry shifters before, but never in their animal forms, so I hold out my hands in an effort to placate them and ward them off.
“Look, we can just go our separate ways—” I tell them, then break off as I back right into one of their other selves—past or future, I can’t tell. All I do know is that it hurts in the same way it hurts when I run into a flicker. It’s like, all of a sudden, I can feel all of the cells that make up my insides vibrating against each other. Burning heat and needle-sharp pain spread through me until I can barely breathe, barely think.
Desperation has me jerking forward away from—I glance behind me—an old man with an eye patch, to be exact.
While the pain immediately ceases, I instantaneously create another problem. Because the leopards don’t know that their past and future selves are here at all. So, when I jerk forward, they obviously take it as an act of aggression.
And respond accordingly.
One of the leopards leaps at me, mouth wide open and teeth on full display as he goes for my jugular. I duck, but because manticore Clementine is several inches taller than regular Clementine, the leopard ends up crashing straight into my face.
With its teeth.
White-hot pain slides through me as his razor-sharp teeth connect with my cheek and forehead. Desperately afraid that he’s going to bite my head off, I bring my hands up between us and push. Hard.
The moment I shove him away, the leopard screams bloody murder. A quick glance at his chest as he hits the ground tells me why. My painted lions’ nails have made long, deep furrows in his chest.
I know I should probably kick him when he’s down, but that’s not really my thing. So I start to retreat up the beach, praying they take the hint and stay away. But it’s only a matter of seconds before the leopard I injured is back on his feet, roaring in pain and fury. He lunges again, only this time the other leopard jumps with him.
Suddenly, I’ve got two furious cats coming at me and absolutely no idea about how to deal with either of them.
Again, I hold my hands up to ward them off. My claws are fully extended, partly for defense and partly because I have no idea how to retract them. I prepare to swipe at the first cat, but my unwieldy tail—the one I have absolutely no control over—decides to get in on the action, too.
It comes straight over my shoulder as the first leopard connects with my paws and stings him right in the eye.
He screams at the first contact and tries to twist in midair to get away. But apparently that’s not how manticore tails work, because the barbs have sunk in tight and he is well and truly stuck.
He starts to thrash around, determined to get my tail out of his eye. I can’t blame him. I would really like my tail to be anywhere else on this planet beside in his eye, too. But then the second cat connects with my paws.
Only he’s ready for me this time, his powerful jaw and teeth closing around one of my paws.
It’s my turn to scream as pain rockets through me, and I lose all thought of trying not to hurt him. All I can think about is finding a way to end the agony.
He’s got a good grip on me, and trying to struggle just drives his teeth deeper.
Terrified I’m about to lose my hand, I do the only thing I can think of in this situation. I flex my fingers, stretching them out as far as I can, and go for the soft palate at the back of his mouth with my claws.
He screeches once I connect, but he doesn’t disengage. So I go all in, digging my nails into the velum as hard as I can before raking my fingers across the top of his mouth and straight down the back of his throat.
His eyes go wide, and he gags as blood immediately begins flowing out of his mouth. His jaws unlock instantly, and he drops my paw, but not before the fur is completely coated in his blood.
In the meantime, the other leopard is still thrashing back and forth, making the damage to its eye a little worse with each desperate yank of his head.
As ready to have my tail back as he is to have his face back, I take a deep breath and try to concentrate on my tail. It’s hard because, unlike my paws, I have no corresponding body part that matches with it. So, while I control my paws like I control my hands—minus the opposable thumbs, of course—I have no idea what I’m supposed to do to make my tail work.
Still, we’re in a catch-22 here, one that is only getting bloodier and more dangerous as time goes on. So I’ve got to figure it out.
I picture my tail, and I concentrate on what it feels like as it moves itself back and forth, then do my best to try to move it consciously. First to the right, then to the left. To the right, to the left.
Nothing happens at first, or at least nothing beyond what my tail seems to be doing all on its own. But somewhere around the seventh or eighth try, it moves to the right, which is the direction I tell it to. To be fair, I don’t know if it’s a coincidence or if I actually managed to do it, so I try again.
As soon as I think left, my tail moves in that direction, too. Then back to the right again.
Okay, so I’m getting this. Now I try to think about the barbs on my tail as well, each one individually.
That’s a lot harder, partly because I haven’t spent enough time looking at my tail to know where each barb is. And partly because the pain from my hand—my paw—is really distracting.
I try to compartmentalize, to forget about the pain and focus only on what I need to do to retract the barbs.
Focus on the barbs.
So I do, starting with the ones closest to the end of the tail. Release. Release, release, release.
They don’t budge.
I take another deep breath and focus. And slowly, one by one, I manage to get the barbs to release.
The second the last one slides free, and we separate with a squelch that turns my stomach as he goes flying backward.
I spin around prepared to fight them both if I have to—only to realize that they’re several feet below me. Because somewhere in the middle of all this mess, my wings started to work.
Now I’m flying.