Hellfire

Chapter Thirty-Three

The foyer was deadly silent, despite the activity. Arnold ripped his shirt free, his body surprisingly powerful despite his age, and shifted fluidly, a great tiger slipping off down the hall to meet with Mo's uncle, a gentle growl rumbling from him. Above, Mo's cousins sat and waited, guns drawn, muscles tight and expressions grim, ready to shoot anyone who tried to go down into the lower floors. This was their home as much as mine, their family. The youngsters may be a nuisance, but they were our nuisances. They'd fight to the death if they had to.

Doc met me at the edge of the stairs, placing Thorn into my hands, along with an old revolver, its plating a mix of silver and pink-gold, the insignia of my Family on the pommel. A witch-gun that had been my aunt Theodora's; Opal. One that would be useful right now. He slapped my shoulder, gave me a hard look that told me 'be careful' before he lumbered back upstairs.

Mo slipped down the eastern hall, her bare muffled by the thick carpet she had so carefully cleaned and a shotgun clasped tight. Neither of us said a word. We were too busy listening to the quiet sounds of movement beyond the walls getting closer.

We waited in the living room, back pressed against either side of the door, eyes shifting between the great window locked down by steel and the hall. Lucius' family portraits stared at me accusingly, as if they were prepared to rain righteous fury down upon me if I failed protecting their young. I wouldn't fail, though. Not when my youngsters were threatened.

We waited. I could hear feet shuffling about outside, boots quietly moving over stone and crunching against gravel. I warned Mo with a gentle tap, and tilted my head, shoving all my fire into my ears. I could hear their breaths, the rustling of clothes, the clinking of their weapons. I huffed out my fire and gripped Thorn. Definitely human hunters.

And then it all happened with an explosion that ripped through the reinforced glass and steel of the end of the eastern hall. Mo grit her teeth, wincing as the roar of explosives shook her bones, while I had to hunker down and cradle my head. It was so loud to me, rattling my head like it was made of glass, an incessant whine scraping over my ears for so long that I suspected the explosive was primed to release such a high-pitch screech to disorientate sensitive ears.

Mo recovered faster and flew into action, peeking around the edge and firing out a couple of blasts that made her whole-body shudder. A rattle of ammunition was sprayed in response, bullets boring into carpet and shattering along the wooden walls. Hissing holes were left everywhere, stained with witch-blood and pools of hot silver. The sight clearly bothered Mo. She pressed her back against the wall, squeezing her eyes shut to ignore how her immaculate house was being ripped to shreds; vases and glass destroyed, holes drilling into wood and furniture, blood and silver splattering.

'Going to murder them all for hurting my house.' She hissed out and clicked open her shotgun to let the dead slugs ring free.

As Mo reloaded, I finally stepped up as the disorientation passed, gripping my aunt's ancient revolver and flaring my fire to fill its chamber. I swung out into the hall, my blazing silver eyes finding a hole in the window at the far end. Hunters, muddy coloured clothes I knew would be lined with beast fur to reinforce them, were funnelling in. Some hid behind some of the furnishings, others tried to ram their way into doors that simply refused to open.

I fired fast, blasting out hot condensed balls of fire to shoot straight through a man's head. By the time his body shuddered and sunk, his companions were blaring out weapons, a rush of bullets charging towards me.

I ducked back inside fast, quietly infuriated I didn't have time to gather my mother's suit as well.

'I think I counted nine.' I muttered as Mo breathed evenly, her reliable shotgun primed.