Two people block the kitchen doorways, dressed in solid black unmarked uniforms and holding woven maz at the ready. A third holds John, with an arm wrapped around his throat.
Professor Silva’s hands drop to his sides, shaking. MMC left him alone for eight years. Eight years . . . until we brought them here. Because of course it has to be MMC. Yet another disaster caused by us, one way or another.
“You four,” the woman holding John says, looking past the professor to the rest of us. “Release your maz and kneel on the ground with your hands behind your head. I’m sure I don’t have to actually tell you what will happen if you don’t.”
She increases the pressure on John’s throat, and he makes a harsh strangled sound, his eyes bulging. But through it all, he manages to shake his head, ever so slightly.
“Okay,” I say. No choice. These men didn’t ask for us to drop in and wreck their lives. They’re happy. Healthy. Living out their days together. They don’t deserve this. “We’ll comply.”
I shuffle forward where they can see me fully and turn to look at the professor as I pass. His gaze is hard, his mouth tense, determined. Just like John, he shakes his head. I don’t get it. Why don’t they . . .
Then I realize. Yes, these men are happily spending their days researching and napping. They’re also the men who built an entire underground bunker beneath their house. Two of the most accomplished and brilliant scientists of their time. And their faces say they aren’t letting this go without a fight.
I shrug, playing up the defeated look, then turn back to the others. “Just do it, everyone, okay?”
I wink, turn back to the commandos, and slowly lower to my knees with my hands behind my head. I’m useless as a combatant in this kind of situation, but there’s one thing I can always do: piss people off.
“Okay, MMC Zombie McDoucheface, what’s the deal? You really gonna beat up on a couple of sweet old men just to get to us? Pretty damn low, my friend. Preeeeetty low.”
The woman holding John curls her lip in a sneer, and the two guarding the doors shift on their feet, irritated. Good. I push on.
“We must be pretty special if you followed us all the way out here. I’m feeling kinda valuable right now, aren’t you, Ania?” I say, glancing back at her. She nods, hands behind her back, the picture of an innocent princess. That draws the guards’ eyes to her, while Jaesin slowly slips a knife off the kitchen counter and tucks it up his sleeve.
“And so,” I continue in my most obnoxious voice, “if we’re so valuable, then there are a few things we can assume. One, you can’t kill us right now. You have to take us alive.”
“False,” growls the man guarding one of the doors. I quirk a little smile at him that I’ve been reliably informed is incredibly smug and irritating, and the man’s expression darkens. I summon every ounce of nerve I can muster, despite the fear liquifying my knees. False. They’re here to kill us.
“Ah well. Reason number two is still true, though. MMC apparently has something big to hide. Do you even know what that is, Gary?” I ask the next soldier, whose name is probably not Gary. “Did they tell you what you crossed a contaminated wasteland for? Do you even know what they’ve done? How they’ve poisoned the world? I bet you don’t. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. Unless you’re a total jerk. Are you a total jerk, Gary?”
Behind me, Jaesin snorts. I grin, relieved I can still make him laugh even at a time like this.
“Yeah, I thought so. Okay, how many things has that been so far? That was one, two . . . three!”
And thank the stars for this amazing crew, which has been together long enough to know the drill, because on the count of three I drop to the ground, and Jaesin launches himself over me, knife in his hand, followed by two flaring spells, one silvery blue and one bloody red. The silver one hits John square in the chest and spreads like crawling sparks over his whole body—a shielding spell, so that when the goon holding on to him tries to make good on her threat, the knife slides harmlessly through the air a half inch from John’s throat. The second spell hits her in the arm, burning through cloth and skin with a sizzle like bacon in a pan, followed by the scent of charred meat.
Jaesin is in full fearsome warrior form, finally in a situation where he can use his skills to the max. He feints a slash at a guard’s face, then slams a boot into the man’s kneecap instead, taking his legs out. It’s Professor Silva, though, who finishes the takedown. Without John being used as leverage, the man snaps back into focus, his expression fierce. Maz from his laboratory leaps down the hallway, twining around him in bright, writhing tendrils. His hands spin in complex patterns, weaving something intricate and multicolored, more and more maz flowing into his grip with every second.
He needs time for whatever he has planned. I’m not much of a fighter, but I don’t need to be to give him that.
I rise up from my knees to my toes and dart forward to cut off not-Gary, who fires arrow after arrow of tight, sharp aeraz in Remi’s direction. Hell no, you will not. Remi blocks them with shield after shield, but their face is starting to drain of color, a clammy sweat matting their dark hair to their forehead. The fight to get here was too much, and they’re near collapse.
Not on my watch.
Mimicking Jaesin’s move from earlier, I run at the guy and swing my leg in a low arc, going for the kneecap. And miss, horribly, getting our legs hopelessly tangled together in the process.
We both go tumbling to the floor, locked together at the knees, but apparently it’s enough of a distraction. A sharp crackle, a whiff of ozone, and the man slumps on top of me. Out cold. I pull myself out from under him and glance up to see Remi’s tired but victorious smile.
Then I catch sight of John, shaking and clutching his chest at the feet of the hostage taker as she fights off blow after blow from Ania. I shove the passed-out man the rest of the way off me and crawl to John, beckoning to him. He reaches a trembling hand out to me, and I manage to yank him out of the fray, our backs up against the lower cabinets, just as Professor Silva brings the fight to a dramatic end. He whips his maz into a frenzy, higher and higher until the air fills with a hum, a vibration, almost sizzling in the air between us—then lashes out with both hands. The maz shimmers with reds and golds and burnt orange, rushing forth in a great glowing stream of energy that slams into both remaining soldiers, knocking them instantly unconscious.
A beat of silence. Then Professor Silva quickly weaves another, less complicated spell, one for each of the assailants. He presses the shadowy, faint weaves into each of their foreheads, where the spell crumbles away like it was never there.
“That should keep them out for a few hours,” he says, his face stern but his voice trembling. “Let’s get them outside.”
Together, we manage to haul all three of the MMC guards out through the front door and lay them out side by side, just inside the house’s wards, though not without knocking over a shadow box of pinned butterflies and a ceramic elephant statue. That done, the professor’s arms fall to his sides, and he meet John’s eyes with a tight, tremulous frown.
John nods with a watery half smile, and the two crash together, holding each other so tight it honestly hurts my heart to look at them. They clutch each other with shaking hands, whispering with heads bent while the rest of us avert our eyes from their private moment. I can’t even imagine how terrifying that must have been for them. I glance to my left and catch Remi looking at me, their face pale, expression raw. They make an aborted movement toward me, seeking comfort, maybe. My heart leaps into my throat, and I somehow try to move closer and pull away at the same time. The result is a total standstill, and before I can get it together, they turn away.