I flung myself to one side before the mass of waving tentacles could wrap around my face. Pain jolted up my arm when I landed badly on the tile, almost losing my grip on the chain. The Fomor servitors watched for a frozen half-second but recovered quickly. Before Marcone, Gard, or Hendricks could push into the room, two servitors had swapped their tranquilizer darts for their much deadlier long rifles. The nearest snugged the gun to his shoulder, aimed, and fired before I could even catch my breath.

That would have been it for me if the purple-grey thing hadn't wrapped one of its slimy tentacles around my leg and pulled me backward. The bullets pulverized a row of bathroom tiles, and I had to throw my arm up to shield my face from incoming shrapnel. I craned my neck, trying to get a better look at what had grabbed me, and immediately wished that I hadn't. The thing was huge and had probably crawled out of one of Lovecraft's more creative nightmares. Or Chicago's most noxious sewers. The rotting fish smell was enough to make my eyes cross.

At first glance, it looked a little like a gender-swapped Ursula. Its bottom half was shaped like a rotting giant octopus, complete with a snapping beak on its underside. If it dragged me just a little closer, it would lop my foot off at the ankle. I let out a shrill cry of panic when it snapped the heel off of one of my ridiculous shoes. And, as if that wasn't bad enough, the top half resembled a hairless gorilla. I twisted out of the way when it brought one muscular arm down where my head had been only moments before. My mouth went dry when it reduced the tile to powder. If that blow had landed, it would have cracked my head like an egg.

The monstrous creature twitched as Marcone unloaded into its back, but it didn't fall. All the bullets seemed to do was piss it off. It swung its free hand backward, scything through the frame and drywall like tissue paper. It sent chunks hurtling into the hall, striking someone hard in the legs. From the cursing, I was guessing it was Hendricks. The fire paused, then resumed as Marcone, Hendricks, or both loaded new clips. I wondered what they thought they'd accomplish and found out a moment later.

The pain had succeeded in drawing the thing's attention toward its back, so it wasn't paying close attention as Gard leaped through the opening it created, sliding to a stop inches away from a servitor. He blinked in shock and began to raise his weapon. Gard whipped out an ax from God knew where and hit him right between the eyes with the blunt end. His eyes rolled up in his head, and he tipped over, saved from cracking his skull by the legs of the investment banker. The man kicked the servitor off him furiously and would have spit at him if the gag allowed it.

Gard's ax sliced through the air, severing the tentacle holding me in one smooth stroke. The monster reared back, curling its tentacles closer to its body, its wide, inhuman eyes burning with hate. Gard offered me a hand up and hauled us both into a shallow alcove, giving us just a moment to recover before the servitors could get their act together and shred the wall. I kicked my ruined heels off, hissing in pain as my weight settled on the leg the tentacle monster had been gripping. It was coated in mottled scars and a thick, yellowish goo. Blood was gushing onto the floor from a wide gash. Great, the thing had managed to tear open my stitches.

"I'll take care of the lickspittles, you finish the abomination."

"Oh goodie," I muttered. "Because that worked out well for me last time."

Still, I moved to face the tentacle beast, gripping my chain tightly in one hand. I let it fly with a wordless cry of rage and skidded forward when the thing caught the links in one tentacle. It raised the appendage curiously, examining the shining links with interest. Was the thing intelligent, or just a brutish guard creature forged by the Fomor? I'd never know.

"Stand clear!" I shouted, gritting my teeth over another scream as the beast used the chain to reel me in. I felt like a fish on a line, desperately trying not to be lured into the vicinity of a predator. I gave it a few seconds and prayed that Marcone and Hendricks would stand clear. I didn't want the energy to arc and hit one of my comparatively fragile companions. Then I hissed, "Rakurai!" for the second time that evening.

I could actually see the current travel over the thing's skin, a purple-white arc that sizzled before sinking deep into its rubbery flesh. It let out an absolutely hair-raising caterwaul as it arched and bucked, trying in vain to release the chain. I had to duck as one of its twitching limbs hit the wall, sending chunks of drywall down onto my head. I coughed as it plumed in the air, but didn't let up, forcing as much magic as I could stand through the chain.

The monster didn't go down quickly. It made increasingly desperate sounds, occasionally able to flail in my direction. It took even longer to fell it than the servitor outside but eventually, it did fall. I felt it die, a putrid wave of pain and malice knocking into me when it collapsed. I had to brace my back against the wall as my knees wobbled and used it to slump to the floor. Ooze, dust, and blood seeped into the back of my dress. Marcone wouldn't be able to get his deposit back on my expensive ensemble now. The thought almost made me giggle.

Gard let out a fierce battle cry, but it sounded distant, drowned by the ringing in my ears. I'd done too much too quickly, and now I was paying for it. This was why I preferred my sword. It still hurt like a son of a bitch when I killed, but I was less likely to collapse from pure exhaustion. I wasn't Harry. I'd never sling fireballs or blow people off their feet with a gust of wind. My vision pulsed in and out and I struggled to remain conscious. I couldn't just slump to the floor and leave my friends to fight alone.

The sound of footsteps drew my eyes up. I had my gun unholstered and pointed before my brain fully registered what I was seeing. Marcone's face came in and out of focus. Blood trickled down one side of his face from a cut above his ear. He'd probably been hit by wooden shrapnel when the thing blew out the door frame. He assessed me, grimaced, and then put a hand on my hair.

"Stay down," he ordered, voice uncharacteristically gentle. "We can handle things from here."

"I can-"

"Get Mr. Morrison to the end of the hall. My men have disabled the alarms on the emergency exit. Get him to the car and wait for more orders."

"But-"

He gave me a sharp look. "You're a liability in a fight right now. Get him out and wait for us in the car, now. I need you conscious for what comes next."

What came next? Oh, yeah. The psychological mutilation of one of the servitors. Fun.

I crawled over to Mr. Morrison's side and began fumbling with the ropes that bound him. My hands didn't want to cooperate. Thankfully, once I freed one hand, he could do the rest. He was as unsteady on his feet as I was, so we leaned against each other, clambering through the gap in the wall and down the hall like players in a drunken three-legged race. As promised, there was a car waiting in the alleyway. Two more of Marcone's men bundled us into the back.

"W-what the hell was t-that?" Morrison stammered when the door closed behind us.

I leaned into the plush seat and struggled to keep my eyes open. When my voice came out, it was faint and breathless.

"God, I wish I knew."