To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 30: And I Turn the Corner in Istanbul….

Training the next day went… a little better for me. I learned all the martial arts Dad taught me quickly and easily, beat everyone in the class in one-on-one sparring, and held my own against nearly every pair from the advanced class. Only Berachah and Samantha together managed to take me down, I ate all other pairs alive.

Then in Dad's tactical simulations, I came out ahead for the first time. Like always, he read me ten different situation briefings from past watcher journals, edited down and sometimes modified for modern days, then had me tell him what I'd do in stages. The first time we'd done this, I'd failed six times out of ten. The other times, I bounced back and forth between five and six failures.

That day, I got six wins. Clear, put-the-monster-down-and-no-one-got-hurt wins.

"That's better," Dad said, giving me a grin and a super-hug. "See? You've still got the stuff, kiddo, and you're getting back the confidence it takes to use it. And to be honest (and maybe piss you off), I'd rather see it come slowly like this Jocelyn— because that makes it less likely that you'll ever have this happen again once we've got you up to snuff. A sudden snap-back, that would leave me wondering if you'd revert if something else happened. Slow, steady progress back to your usual self? Leaves me confident."

"I'm not pissed, Daddy," I said. I wormed still closer to him, sighed contentedly, and said, "I think you're right. It's better this way. Short of actually getting Chosen, which can't actually happen, I can't learn this like I need to any other way."

"That's my honey-girl," Daddy said against my hair. "Knew you were smart.

"How are things going with Diane, sweetheart? If I may ask?"

"I don't know, honestly," I said. I leaned back a little and looked up at him. "You can ask her, tell her I said it's okay to tell you— tell her Goofy said she could tell you, she'll know you got it straight from me that way. I just… can't judge it myself. She says I'm improving, but it… doesn't really feel like it."

"I'll trust the professional, I think," Daddy said. He kissed my forehead and said, "And the evidence. You're getting better, Jocelyn. I see it. That's your Watcher talking, as much as your father."

"Thanks, Daddy," I said. I looked around, waved Ripley over, and once she'd installed herself on my shoulder, I said, "Lydia says that Tamara is picking up saber as fast as me— and I see them fencing. I'm going to go watch until it's time to go to my session with Diane."

Daddy blinked at me in surprise— then grinned, slipped an arm around my waist and said, "Let's go— I love a good fencing match."

I walked over to the ring of people around Tamara and Lydia with a smile on my face— I knew why Daddy had been surprised, and I liked that he noticed that, for the first time since we'd started the tactical sims, I didn't feel the need to go off by myself for a while after we finished before being fit for human company.

We watched Tamara and Lydia fence, then, when Lydia got tired (not being a Slayer), I volunteered to fence Tamara for a while, had a great time doing so. She really was a natural, and progressing fast.

I went to talk with Diane after, told her that if Daddy asked, she could tell him anything, and then went to work on getting my head on straight. No huge leap or anything, but I felt like maybe it was working. Getting things right on the majority of the simulations, that had me looking at all sorts of things a little more… a little more like the old me. I could see progress back towards the skill level I'd had before I got all messed up over not having been Chosen, and that made me able to look for (and see) progress in other areas, too.

I felt better. Not ready to resume my old ways, not even close to ready— but better.

After dinner, before we left for the evening, Daddy asked to speak to the three of us, and I saw Piper start to blush, Colin with her— and chuckled. I didn't know what Daddy wanted, but it wouldn't be about sex or relationships, he trusted me on that much, still.

As we stood at the van where he'd asked us to meet him, Dad said, "Okay, I know that you guys are going out for a little fun, but… you're all on Team Slayer, so I'm hoping that I don't have to tell you to go armed."

"Can't take away my webs," Piper said. "I grabbed a pair of escrima sticks and a couple of stakes, as well. Well, no— more like a dozen stakes. They're not bulky, so I grabbed plenty."

"Good," Dad said. "Jocelyn?"

I hefted my backpack and said, "Half a dozen crazy-discs, two more explosive crazy-discs, a short sword and half a dozen stakes, half a dozen throwing knives, and a START-made, Slayer-tough slingshot with a dozen each of wooden, silver and steel balls for it."

"Okay, that ought to hold you," Dad chuckled. He looked at Colin and raised an eyebrow. "How about you, son?"

"A pair of stakes, a combat knife and a short sword, just in case my energy reserves get low," Colin said.

Dad gave Colin a look that almost dripped approval and a respectful nod. "And I didn't even have to tell you to arm up in case your energy dropped low. Good man."

"You'll never have to tell me that, sir, not even after Willow says that there's not any danger of me snapping back to my original universe if I run dry," Colin said. "Jason— Armsman— taught me to always be prepared."

"I really wish he'd rated a comic of his own," Dad groused. "I liked what I saw of him in your comic, and the more I hear about him, the more I like.

"Hmm. Maybe I could get Wil to set up a viewing spell to watch him, buy the rights from the estate of the guy who wrote your book and… no, silly idea. Damn it."

"That reminds me," I said, thinking of Piper's first day here and something that Buffy had said to her. "Piper, did Willow ever make you something to help you… well, stay here, not snap back to your own universe?"

"Nope," Piper said, grinning. "She checked it out, and said she didn't need to— apparently, there's nothing trying to pull me back there.

"I'm guessing, between that and Xander saying that I never appeared in the comics after I left Peter the night we squeezed all the ink out of Doc Ock, that I was pretty much meant to be here. Which I like more than just a little."

"Me, too!" Colin and I said in perfect synch.

Dad chuckled, making us all blush, then drove us to Miller Park, dropped us off, and said to call him when the last group went off stage, then start walking, and he'd meet us however far from the park we got before he saw us— that would make it a lot easier to dodge the inevitably-insane-post-concert traffic.

"Okay, you kids have a good time— but watch your backs," he said, and drove off.

That night turned out to be pretty wonderful. Piper looked a little shy at first, walking between Colin and I, each of us holding one of her hands— but the shy didn't last long. Well, not when no one paid no special attention to us, anyway. The few times people stared (or wolf-whistled, or said [as one sixteen or seventeen year-old ape-boy actually did]) "hubba-hubba, threesome alert," she blushed— most brightly with the ape-boy. But she recovered quickly when Colin snarked the little punk out.

"Too bad no one's ever going to say that to you," Colin called. He looked the kid up and down slowly, then added, "Actually, no one's even likely to say 'twosome alert' while looking at you."

The kid blushed much darker than Piper had, clenched his fists and took a couple of steps towards Colin— who didn't so much as lift an eyebrow at the punk in derision. No, Colin just laughed. Quietly, which I think made it worse than a belly laugh. Ape-boy slunk off into crowd, many of whom grinned our way.

We found a good place to sit, out maybe thirty yards from the stage and nearly centered on it, spread a blanket, and all sat down, Piper between us and back a little, Colin and I turned towards each other so that we could all see each other. For a while, we just… talked about stuff. Piper asked if there was anyone like her— powers-wise— on Colin's world, and he told her that the closest was probably Shadow Dragon.

"He doesn't have webs or stick to walls," Colin said, smiling a little, "but he's almost as agile as you, and he's even more of a smartass than you, Xander says— I haven't read anything with you in it, but according to Xander, you were your universe's master of the verbal zinger."

"And this Shadow Dragon was a bigger smartass? Where are the comics about you again, I have to read this!" Piper grinned and shook her head. "You know, Daredevil and Moon Knight both gave me— Peter-me— crap about my patter. But I still think it's most of why I was able to put the Kingpin down. He was so pissed about the fat jokes that he stopped fighting smart, and I won."

She told us the story of her first set of encounters with the Kingpin, and that took us up to the first of the performers. Once the bands started… well, any leftover awkward seemed to fade away, for most of the evening, at least.

Here's something cool about going out as a trio that's also three pairs (which we were all smart enough to realize that we needed to be if this was going to work at all): When two of you are dancing, there's a third to make sure no one steals your stuff, your blanket, or your spot in a crowded park.

Colin and I danced together, and we each danced with Piper. She had no dance training save what she'd had since arriving here and joining Team Slayer, but her agility, ability to copy what she saw (which was at least partly connected to that amazing agility) and the fact that she had a sense of rhythm made that really hard to figure out. She danced as almost as well as I did, and better than Colin.

When the last band started their last song, a slow number pretty much made to snuggle-dance to, we three stood right next to our stuff and danced as a trio— and that felt… more than just right. It felt perfect. And I could tell that I wasn't the only one thinking that— all three of us felt good about it, and our pseudo dragon friends, flying an intricate, dance-like pattern over our heads, made it plain that they agreed.

Then the song ended, and we three stood together in a very small triangle for a moment before Piper spoke, her voice… calm, but only by design, if that makes any sense? She was being calm on purpose, making herself sound calm.

"I want to kiss both of you," she said, her voice quiet, but no whisper. "But so help me… I can't decide who to start with! Would one of you please figure something out— before I pretty much explode?"

Before I could do or say anything, Colin said, "Ladies first, Jocelyn."

I wasn't about to argue with him— I wanted to kiss her too much to even think of that. Instead, I turned completely to her, only to find her arms coming up to settle lightly around my neck. I slipped my own arms around her waist, smiled at her— we were almost exactly the same height— and kissed her. I was gentle about it— and so was Piper.

But gentle or no, that was maybe the most intense first kiss of my life— and given how suddenly and completely she melted up against me, I think it was maybe that intense for her, too.

No tongues, lips only slightly parted, no clutch-and-moan— but still, that kissed flipped all of my switched to overload, as Piper liked to say. I could feel her body responding the same way mine was, feel the flush of desire in her face, feel her nipples— already hard, like mine— tighten even more, like mine. We barely moved our heads, only adjusted the tilt to increase the depth of the kiss, and didn't counter-move, but moved in synch.

Maybe thirty seconds, it lasted— but it felt like it went on for days. And like it ended way, way too soon.

Then it was over, and Piper simply turned it into a hug— and started trembling gently, not in fear or desire, but just… reaction. Maybe relief, given what she said against my ear.

"What do you know," Piper almost gasped, "I didn't screw that up, or trip, or bite you, or anything. Not even a sudden interruption by supervillain!"

"No, you very much didn't," I said in her ear, surprised to find myself breathing as hard as she was. "And no villains. That was… wow."

"Uh-huh." Piper pulled back and looked at me, and smiled slowly. "It was wow. Great description!"

Colin chuckled softly and said, "Looked 'wow' from here, too."

"Well," Piper said, her voice nervous— but no more so than when she'd said she wanted to kiss us both. "Let's see if I can get a second kiss that right."

I watched, delighted, as Piper put her arms up around Colin's neck, he put his hands on her hips, and they kissed. From the beginning, I could see that it was just as intense for the two of them as it had been for Piper and I, or ever was for Colin and I— at least when we had clothes on.

Again, when the kiss broke, Piper (trembling again, but not hard) turned it into a hug, though she spoke against Colin's chest, not his ear. "Wow. Twice in a row, no disasters.

"Plainly, my luck has changed."

Colin chuckled and said, "I know where you're coming from— my first kiss, I didn't even have powers, and everything went wrong at once."

Piper looked up at Colin and raised an eyebrow even as I said, "Oh, really?"

"Hugely." Colin chuckled a little as he continued, "We were on her front porch, and the porch light actually wasn't on— bulb had burned out sometime after her folks had turned it on— so I wasn't all that freaked. We'd walked from a local theater, it was all in a nice subdivision, so no parents waiting in the car— I was fifteen, then— and she very plainly wanted me to kiss her. So I did— and just as I did, a passing police car smacked us with a spotlight, which startled us both so that we jumped, our jump scared a cat that was on the porch and he let out one of those terribly scary noises that only a scared cat can make, she jumped into my arms from the fright, I staggered backwards down the steps, fell and smacked my head on the sidewalk, she landed on top of me in… what sure as hell felt like a suggestive pose— and apparently looked it too, because when her dad threw open the door to see what the hell was going on, he saw us and yelled, 'What the hell are you DOING TO MY DAUGHTER!?'

"Then the cop got out of the car to apologize, and he started laughing, and that got me started, even though my head hurt, and I never did get a second date with that girl— her father flatly refused to let her go out with me again."

By the time Colin finished the story, Piper and I were both clinging to him and each other, trying not to collapse with laughter.

"Okay, that's a disaster, all right," I giggled as we three finally started walking towards the street. I pulled out my cell and said, "Let me call Dad, tell him to come get us."

Twenty minutes later, Dad picked us up at Wood and Lee— we hadn't rushed, just walked idly, arms around each other, occasionally swapping around so that someone else got a turn in the middle— and took us home. He didn't make any remarks about the way we were all being very snuggly, but he did catch my eye and smile his approval at me once, which made the evening the rest of the way perfect, knowing that he liked the idea of Piper, Colin and I as a relationship.

We three sat and ate a slice of watermelon each when we got home, sat talking quietly while Mom, Dad and Gwen sat a few feet off in the breakfast nook with their own watermelon and my sisters and brother sat out on the back porch to eat theirs. The grown ups would glance at Piper, Colin and I occasionally— and smile. Made me feel good. Actually, made us feel good— Piper blushed when she noticed Mom looking at us and looking pleased, but she smiled, too, and it was a real smile, not a nervous one.

After we'd rinsed our plates, we said good night to my folks and my sibs, and we went upstairs. Piper had opted for taking the second floor room as hers, she liked high places (naturally), so Colin and I stopped on the second floor landing to say our goodnights to her— and to kiss her goodnight.

Just as intense as the first time. And again, she hugged each of us after, hugged us and shivered a little in a way that was anything but bad.

After that, Colin and I were both wound up— and we took even longer than usual to get to sleep. Not like either of us minded….

Saturday went well— light training, mostly the fun stuff, and a huge game of touch football with all the newbies and the rest of us Slayers playing. Right after the game, while we were all toweling off our faces and grabbing drinks, we all heard Michael, Aunt Rose's son, let out a whoop of delight.

"SHAMROCK'S EGGS HATCHED!" he yelled. "I'm gonna go see! I'll let you all know when you can see!"

He ran off with all the energy you'd expect out of a healthy, happy eight year-old, and the rest of us sat and relaxed. The newbies, most of whom didn't have their own pseudo dragons yet, were all bouncy and happy, those without a companion hoping that they'd be chosen by one of Shamrock's babies, those with a pseudo dragon friend sharing their excitement, and the basic, elemental delight that comes with baby pseudo dragons.

I hadn't even known that Shamrock had laid eggs— I'd missed it somehow— but I got to go with Michael to look at the babies before supper, and found myself grinning helplessly at the six tiny little bundles of purest cute. Most of them were pale shades of whatever color, pale gray, pale blue, a silver-tinted white, a pale, mint green and a light blue-green. The last one, a boy according to Shamrock, and a little smaller than his sibs, was a peculiar orange-black, like old iron that's gone rusty, letting you see the black of the metal under the orange of the rust. Neat color, and he seemed to be friendly, coming over to be stroked and to head-rub Ripley's chin.

"Neat," I giggled. "Thank you Shamrock, thanks, Michael. Shamrock, you may have produced a unique color in the little boy, there, I've never seen anything quite like it. Nifty-keen, thanks for letting me see them."

*You are welcome,* Shamrock sent. *And you are right— even those from the world before, the world where Glitter came from, they have never seen a pseudo dragon the color of my youngest son. I am pleased— and I am glad you all think him pretty.*

I went to supper feeling buoyant and bouncy. Baby pseudo dragons do that to me. (At least, they do that to me when I'm not being stupid from hurt.)

After supper, Vi gathered up Piper, Colin and I and we left for Summerfest, part two. Vincent dropped us off. (The parking situation at Fairview Park was very different, with it being not so close to as much residential space as there was around Miller Park.)

We got fairly close to the stage by virtue of constantly moving, and made it to a place where we could see without being blown away by the noise. Vi stayed close enough to see us, but rarely looked our way, and was in no way intrusive. Her pseudo dragon buddy, a metallic green girl named Codex, draped herself around Vi's neck and occasionally lifted her head and grinned if I looked that way and she saw.

The first band was pretty good, a local group I'd heard of called Catalyze. They had good original songs, and their singer had one of those mutable voices that made their covers work really well.

They went off stage after an hour, and a second group set up and started playing, getting it done in about twenty minutes— long enough for bathroom breaks and grabbing some sodas from the concession stand set up under an open-sided shed off to one side of the stage.

I hadn't heard of this group, but I liked their name from the moment I heard it.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer (a locally famous DJ) said after the setup was done, "please welcome to Summerfest Eight; Chicago's own… Wolfman in Spats!"

I laughed out loud as the group took the stage, all of them in white shirts, gray slacks, and black shoes with white spats over them. They led off with a very appropriate cover, given the group's name; Warren Zevon's Werewolves of London. I grabbed Piper and we danced to that, both of us howling along with the "ah-hooooo" parts of the chorus.

After quite a few songs, maybe forty-five minutes worth of music, we all three dropped to the grass to rest, and Colin said, "Why are these guys not recording professionally? Their lead guitarist is incredible, and the singer's just as good. The rest of the band may not be as inspired as them, but they are solid— and better than a lot of what you hear on the radio."

"People have no taste, I guess," I said. I looked up at the stage, watched as the lead guitarist (a little guy with red hair) did a sort of choreographed duel-dance with the rhythm guitarist on one of their original songs, something that seemed to be called Runaway Rabbit, and grinned. They had great stage presence, and there was something sort of… tickling my brain. Something almost-not-quite familiar, here. I didn't push it, figured it would come.

They finished that song, and the lead singer said, "Wow, okay— you guys are a great crowd.

"Hey, we're down to our last three songs, and we tend to get sort of lost in the songs, so I'd better make our introductions now.

"On the drums, Phil Kramer." The drummer started a simple and sort of familiar riff. "On bass, Tom Willingham." The bass came in, matching the beat and walking off with it. "On rhythm guitar, Jake Kovacs." He came in, added a counterpoint to the bass. "On keyboards, John Mackenzie." The keyboards joined the rhythm guitar's counterpoint. "On lead guitar, our own Wizard of Oz, Da—"

The lights went out, the sound system died— and from the roof of the concession stand came a big pulse of horrid green light, a shade that made me think of vomit and hospitals, all accompanied by a high, nerve-scraping shrill of noise. The lights came back up— and we three leaped to our feet and Piper and I reached for weapons even as Colin pulled a bandanna and a ball cap out of his hip pocket, pulled the hat on and tied the bandanna over his face below the eyes. Vi appeared beside us, a short sword in her hand, a look of calm readiness on her face.

Standing on top of the concession stand's roof were at least two dozen demons in two varieties, and they were already jumping into the already-panicking crowd. I didn't even have time to reflect on what I thought the lead singer for Wolfman in Spats had been about to say, things got too crazy too fast.

About half of the demons looked to be made of some sort of colored crystal, sharp edged and rock hard. They stood over eight feet tall, were built like elongated humans, though their legs seemed short, almost ape-like in comparison to the rest of them. Their faces were hard to make out— but I could see fangs when they opened their mouths and let out a weird, vibrating roar.

The other demons just seemed wrong— creepy-crawly-goosebumps-all-over wrong.

Take a jaguar, shift its hips around so that it stands upright, but keep the knee-joint-equivalents bent backwards. Then stretch the front legs, make them more human, put fingers and an opposable thumb on the "hands" (but keep the claws, hell, make them bigger), elongate the heads so that the snout protrudes farther and has more room for more teeth, give it a lizard's tongue that drips slime, and make the ears bigger so that they give it an almost Yoda-like look. Then stretch the tail out, make it prehensile and tip it with a long, sharp-looking bony spur.

But wait! That's not creepy enough, not yet! For a final touch, make the whole damned thing a hideous neon purple color, and add an ugly chartreuse glow to the eyes.

Vi said, "Colin, go high and pick off what you can, Piper, stick close to me, you're not fully trained yet, Jocelyn, you go left and into the crowd, Piper and I will go right. Dragons, go airborne and spot for us!"

"Understood," Colin said, and rose into the air.

"Got it," I said, and charged at the nearest demon, one of the jaguar-things. Even as I moved, I gave a mighty mental shout.

*WILLOW!* I thought-yelled. *TROUBLE!*

A moment later, I heard Willow's voice in my head, asking what was wrong.

*Demons at Fairview Park, more than two dozen!* I sent. *We're moving on them, but we'll need back up! Bring blunt weapons, some of them are crystalline!*

*On the way, hang on!* Wil sent.

"Ripley," I said softly, vocalizing to help her pick up my thoughts, "tell the others that help is on the way."

Then I had a jaguar-thing in front of me, and I got busy. I'd dropped my bandolier of crazy-discs over my shoulder and grabbed my short sword, hadn't bothered with stakes.

Those damned things were strong, nimble and pissy. The first one waited until I slashed at it, then hopped straight up into the air, passed over my sword, and lashed out with its backwards-bent legs, tried to rake me with the claws there. I went sideways in a cartwheel, barely managed to avoid the attack, then bounced back at the thing in a spinning aerial kick. I caught it across the side of the head, sent it staggering, and managed to jam my sword up under its ribs from behind before it could get too far away. It fell over dead-or-dying, and I turned to look deeper into the crowd.

That turned me to the stage. Even as I looked that way, I saw something that told me I'd been right about what the lead singer for Wolfman in Spats had been about to say when he introduced their lead guitarist.

The lead guitarist, the group's "Wizard of Oz," had set down his guitar and moved towards the front of the stage, looking at the crowd with a calculating look, Even as I watched, a jaguar-demon vaulted up on the stage, charged at the inoffensive little guitarist— and the man didn't run. Instead, he lifted his right arm, and I watched as fur and muscle suddenly rippled into being along that arm, and huge, thick claws grew from the ends of the fingers. The guitarist tore the demon's gut open with those claws, then snapped his hand up and tore out its throat. It dropped to the ground, dead— and the guitarist met my eyes as I charged into the crowd, heading for a crystal demon.

I knew. I understood. I gave him a thumbs up as I leaped at the demon feet first, and I had time to see him look relieved before I hit the crystalline monster. Even as I tried to drive the thing back into something sturdy enough to let me break it by kicking it into something harder than it was, I again spoke softly as I sent to Ripley.

"Sweetie, please relay to all dragons for their companions, including those not here yet," I said, leaping and kicking, leaping in again, dodging under a deadly, faceted arm and kicking again. "There is a werewolf here, but he is not an enemy, repeat, not an enemy— he's under control by his human side, and he's a good guy."

Even as I finished sending, the guitarist— whose name simply had to be Daniel "Oz" Osbourne, given what I knew and had seen— transformed to a big, powerful half-wolf-half-man, and launched himself at a jaguar demon that was leaping towards a group of girls who looked to be about thirteen, intercepting the monster and taking it to the ground, both clawing and ripping at each other.

I grinned and wondered how Willow would deal with this even as I finally drove the crystal demon back into a concrete light pole and kicked it as hard as I could while it stood against the pole. With nowhere to go and something hard enough to break it holding it in place, it fractured down the torso, a deep, bloodless fissure— and shattered into a million pieces.

Then someone let out a scream of agony somewhere to my left, and I turned that way, started moving— but I thought I was too late. A jaguar demon had picked up this guy— boy, I guess, he looked sixteen or seventeen— out of a wheelchair, had him around the throat with one big hand. I ran that way, went into a series of handsprings to get speed and height— but too late. The demon shoved its other hand into the kids gut, tearing and ripping. Its paw-hand came back out, and intestines and other things spilled out behind it. It dropped the boy, and I got mad— seriously mad, finally. It had hurt someone, probably killed him, and his death wouldn't be easy unless he was a quadriplegic, which I didn't think he was— it was a standard wheelchair, not powered, and a quadriplegic couldn't use one of those. If he'd been quadriplegic, he might not have been in the terrible pain that comes from a gut wound. As it was… poor guy.

I tore into that demon like I was one of its brethren, so pissed and hurt that all I wanted was this thing dead before it hurt or killed someone else. I was pissed, and I was acting on instinct— but this time, it was the right kind of pissed, the right kind of instinct, not something that would cause a problem, but something that drove me to solve a problem.

For a moment, the demon and I traded blows, blocked each other effectively, then I took a swipe at it with my sword, hoping that it would react the same way the first one I'd attacked that way had— and it didn't disappoint me.

I slashed, it leaped up over my blade and lashed out with it's backwards-bent rear legs, meaning to rake me from shoulders to hips with its rear claws. I timed it carefully, and as the rear claws approached, I leaned backwards, just out of the reach of those deadly-sharp claws, then turned my leaning back into a fast-as-I-could-do-it back walkover. My hands hit the ground behind my head, my legs came up, feet together— and slammed into the demon's upper thighs, right below its ass. I was ready for the impact, compensated for it— it wasn't ready for it and didn't. It flipped over backwards from my transferred momentum, hit the ground leading with its chin even as I landed neatly on my feet. While it was still trying (weakly) to push itself off of the ground, I jumped forward and drove my short sword through the back of its neck just below the skull. It shuddered and died, and I straightened.

I felt a tug at my hair from behind, and a faint wind, heard the roar-shriek of a pissed-off jaguar demon and spun around to see the most amazing thing I'd seen in a while.

Standing behind me, looking puzzled and pissed, one of the jaguar demons still had the claws of its right paw-hand trying to get to me— but it couldn't quite reach me, and couldn't move forward because of the dying kid who'd been in the wheelchair.

From somewhere that kid had called up the strength to roll over and grab the feet of the demon as it passed. It had balance enough to keep from toppling forward, but no real leverage to pull loose of the kid's arms— not surprising, those arms looked big and powerful, corded with muscle, and I knew I'd been right, he was paraplegic, not quadriplegic, and his arms had built up from using a wheelchair, probably long term, and some serious exercise besides, I thought.

I went into a Capoeira move, spun and threw my head and torso down, cracked a heel across the demon's head, then slashed its throat with my sword as I finished the kick and my torso came back up. It fell to the ground, gurgling its hate as it died, and I shouted "Thank you!" at the kid, needing him to know I knew what he'd done, wishing I could stay with him, but needing to go to my next target.

"No… problem," he wheezed, the pain in his voice making me still more angry, and more determined to end those fucking things.

I nodded at him, said, "I'm sorry," wanting him to know that I wished I could help, and I saw understanding in his eyes, and then this huge flare of blue light came from all around, lit up the whole area in a bright, pretty glow— and I couldn't move.