witch loomed over her, his large body giving off the faint smell of sweat and cheap aftershave.
Were her feet on the floor? She thought they were, was pretty sure they were, and she guessed it didn’t matter if they weren’t, because she had to try anyway. She started to stand, her legs shaking and hurting beneath her.
The witch hit her, knocked her back. Fucker. That wasn’t even a good punch; it was a wimpy little bitch slap. Now she was getting pissed. Who the hell did he think he was, this soft bag of shit in a shiny-cheap black tent and a pair of dorky-looking loafers? He thought he could come in to one of her cases, attack her?
Bullshit he could.
More anger, to make her even stronger. She was finding it now, that pit of rage deep inside her, the hatred for everyone, for everything they’d done to her. The hatred for herself that never seemed to end, would never end, would never lessen. It was there, and she needed it, and she took it and used it to clench her right hand into a fist, a good strong one. She’d never been too bad at fighting—not with her upbringing—but Terrible had shown her some new stuff, taught her how to do it, where to hit.
So she wasn’t worried at all when she pushed herself up and punched him with all her might. And she had something nobody else had—or at least nobody who wasn’t a trained witch who’d put some real thought into physical self-defense, which her opponent obviously hadn’t.
She pushed her power into that fist, all of her energy, the anger and pain and everything else, and felt it reverberate when it hit him. Good. That gave her more strength, more will to fight.
Unfortunately, seeing her bounce back seemed to give the Darnells the will to fight, too. As she drew her fist to have another go, her energy returning in a rush as the spell was interrupted, an arm wrapped itself around her neck, yanked her against a well-padded chest.
Where the fuck was the fucking Squad? Yes, the whole thing had probably taken much less time than it felt like it had, but they should be there—
The witch dropped his shoulder, ready to hit her again. To hit her properly this time, while Mr. Darnell held her defenseless. Nice.
And, nope, she wasn’t going to let them do that.
The witch checked his swing when she leaned forward as much as she could, trying to bend over completely so Mr. Darnell would rise from the floor. He pulled back harder, his arm tightening around her throat. She kept leaning. Lights started sparking behind her eyes, red and green fireworks of imminent death bright against the figure of the witch, the tackily tasteful living room.
Just when she thought she couldn’t bear it one more second, she stood up straight. Fast. So fast Mr. Darnell didn’t have time to react; he kept pulling her, and they both tumbled to the floor, the witch’s fist barely missing her.
With Mr. Darnell beneath her and the witch leaning over, she kicked out with her right leg, managed to catch the witch in his rather ample stomach, and sent him stumbling a few steps away. Her elbow dug into the soft space below Mr. Darnell’s rib cage. His arm around her loosened—not a lot, but enough for her to sit up and start to roll off him.
Roll right into the barrel of the gun.
“Stand up.” Mrs. Darnell’s voice didn’t shake. Her eyes didn’t leave Chess’s face. “Come on, get up.”
Great. This was just great. How many people had she busted in her four-year career? Almost exactly four years, in fact. Dozens. Dozens of people. None of them had ever tried this shit with her.
That could have been because if she had any suspicions they might, she asked the Squad for backup, of course. Where the hell were they?
Her legs still felt weird from the spell. That energy hadn’t faded completely. She risked a glance at the witch, saw him standing with his fists clenched, whispering something. Another spell. Wonderful.
“Mrs. Darnell, I don’t think you want to do this.”
“I think you’re wrong.” Mrs. Darnell’s narrowed eyes shot beams of cold hatred at Chess. “I think you’re really, really wrong.”
“Killing a Church employee is automatic grounds for execution. Not to mention we get a special dispensation so we can haunt you until that execution happens. I really—”
“You idiot. How the hell did you manage to catch us, being that stupid? I don’t want to kill you, no. But I will, unless you sign those forms and give us our money.”
“They won’t—”
“Shut up.”
Chess shut up. What was she going to do, argue with the woman holding a gun to her face? Besides, she wanted to think.
Mrs. Darnell had obviously held a gun before, used one before. Both of her hands wrapped tight around the gun’s butt, and her arms bent slightly to absorb its kick. Her entire stance indicated complete confidence. The safety was off. “Now. Get the forms or whatever you need. Slowly.”
“You won’t be able—”
“Oh, but we will. We’re all ready to go. You didn’t think we’d stick around here, did you?”
Mr. Darnell stood up. “I’ll take the gun, Lois.”
“No. If I take my eyes off her, she’ll move.”
No, she wouldn’t. The witch’s spell grew stronger again, and this time she knew if she tried to say the Banishing words she’d be shot. This was ridiculous. She did not spend her whole life fighting to end up shot in some over-mortgaged suburban ranch house.
Might as well take a chance. She dropped to the floor, pushing herself forward so she hit Mrs. Darnell’s legs. The gun went off as Mrs. Darnell staggered back.
Chess hadn’t been hit. Excellent. She was deaf but she hadn’t been shot.
She raised her fist—like lifting a ten-pound weight through a tub of dense foam—and punched Mrs. Darnell in the knee as hard as she could.
Another explosion from the gun. Mrs. Darnell fell on top of her. Chess tried to roll over and push her off; the woman was surprisingly heavy, but she slipped a little. Enough for Chess to shift herself to the left, enough to find Mrs. Darnell’s right hand still clutching the gun.
The witch’s voice grew louder, the energy in the air darker and thicker. If Chess didn’t get that gun away immediately, she was going to die, no question about it.
She kicked back with her right leg, catching Mrs. Darnell somewhere, she didn’t know where for sure. Mr. Darnell had joined in the struggle, trying to pull his wife away and help her up, but Mrs. Darnell was apparently having too much fun trying to bite Chess and punching her in the legs and side. Chess kicked again, and again, her leg screaming from the effort—it was so heavy, so fucking heavy—until she somehow managed to hit Mrs. Darnell in the face.
The woman’s grip on the gun loosened. Only for a second, but it was enough. Chess snatched it away, raised it above her head, and pulled the trigger.
The picture window at the front of the room exploded; shards of glass filled the air, a deadly tidal wave of sharp edges and splinters that could slice veins, dust that could choke.
