Page 29 of One Bad Knight
Invisible pressure pressed against me. I tried to ignore it, but I barely managed five minutes before I looked up.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Gatsby said.
“Not nothing, you’re staring at me,” I countered, my fingers sliding across the keys, the pads of my fingertips outlining the square buttons without pressing them. Gatsby’s gaze continued to press heavily against me, heating up my skin. It made me want to cross the mere inches between us and thread my fingers between his strong, warm ones.
I hated that.
“I’m protecting you,” he countered.
“Can’t you read a book or something? And protect me while doing your own thing?”
A buzzing sound interrupted. At first, I’d thought it was one of the espresso machines, but the sound built into a cacophony. Looking out the front window, I caught sight of a black mass of what appeared to be bugs. They descended on a man walking by. His screams pierced through the glass, until the meat all but disappeared. He collapsed to the ground.
My mouth turned to sandpaper as my stomach dropped.
One minute he was a perfectly normal guy, the next, he was no more than a heap of picked-over bones. It all happened so fast.
But the buzzing mass didn’t stop there. It smacked into the large front window of the coffee shop. My eyes rounded as I took in the creatures up close. They weren’t bugs at all. They were tiny pixies, with wings like a dragonfly’s, wide mouths full of razor-sharp teeth, and beady, malevolent eyes. Their arms and wings beat at the glass. A crackle hailed a number of hairline fractures in glass as the pixies continually rammed into it.
Gatsby jumped up and bellowed. “Everyone take cover.”
My mind raced so fast I couldn’t grasp any one thought. Gatsby grabbed me and pushed me to the floor, then he picked up the couch we'd been sitting on. He flipped it over and dropped it on top of me. For a second, I feared being squished, but only the weight of the cushions pressed down on me.
The front window shattered, and the buzzing grew as loud as a chainsaw.
A gap in the cushions allowed me to see Gatsby face off against the buzzing cloud. He threw a hand up and light emerged from it, forcing the mass to hold in place. His jaw clenched, and his muscles shook as he tried to keep the dark force at bay. A racket of tables flipping, heavy footfalls, and screams and gasps mixed in the background. The buzzing grew louder, drowning out the cacophony of panicking coffee shop patrons.
Fear and awe fought for dominance as I watched Gatsby use a power I’d seen twice before. Once when Gatsby had driven off the demon in my father’s study. The second time had been on television from a helicopter news camera during a massive battle of good vs evil in the streets of downtown Denver. A group of men had used their powers to subdue a woman who controlled the forces of darkness. Had Gatsby been one of them? How did he have his powers? Had he been one of those people I’d seen on television that day?
It wasn’t long before Gatsby’s arm shook harder as the light he emitted flickered. He cried out as if in pain, and the sound grew louder until he was yelling what sounded like a war cry.
Whatever force he was harnessing, he was losing it. He wouldn’t last much longer, which meant the dark pixies would pick him dry of his flesh the moment he gave out. And his sword, which lay on the ground now, wouldn’t do any good against the miniature horde. My mind scrambled. I needed to do something, but there was nothing I could think of.
Gatsby fell to his knees, shaking like a leaf now, the light barely holding.
He was going to die, trying to save everyone in here. My heart leapt up into my throat as I worked to bring clarity to my panicked thoughts.
An idea struck. I fought my way out from under the couch.
“Kat, no,” Gatsby bellowed, fear flashing hot and bright in his eyes.
I raced to the back of the coffee shop and jumped over the counter to grab the cannister I hoped would be there. I ran back to Gatsby with it in hand, pulling the pin in a fluid movement before hitting the trigger.
I sprayed the flesh-eating pixies with the fire extinguisher. The white spray took the pixies down in sticky globs, just as Gatsby’s light went out and he fell hard on his side with a grunt. The pixies were all contained on the floor now. They struggled in the white goo, so I ran over and began stomping them. Tiny shrill screams filled the air as I continued to bring my sandals down over and over, smashing their tiny evil bodies.
“Whoa, whoa, chill out,” a woman’s voice cut through my consciousness. “You can stop now.”
I hadn’t realized I’d been screaming in rage, until she yelled over me. I looked up and met the dark wide eyes of a pale woman with black hair and Bettie Page bangs. She wore deliberately tattered punk-rock clothes and big boots.
A few steps behind her stood a slim, tall man with sandy blond hair and green eyes. He wore a Metallica T-shirt and the same gear as the woman. They both held wands that were hooked up to their large backpacks—like punk Ghostbusters.
“Take a step back,” the woman directed me.
A couple tiny arms and wings still fluttered in the extinguisher foam. The dark-haired woman pointed the wand in her hand at them and hit a trigger. Fire cascaded from the wand, engulfing the remaining pixies. Shrill screams rose into the air. She didn't stop until they were silenced. Then the man came over with a blanket and threw it over the flames, putting them out.
I ran to Gatsby, who was coming to. I helped him up into a sitting position. His taut arm muscles flexed under my hands, sending an electric jolt through my belly. My mouth tasted bitter, a side effect of the terror that struck me when he collapsed. I still didn’t know if he was my savior or my bane, but I needed him to be okay.