She glared at me. “Because we are entertaining a goddess. Diyosa. Say it with me. Diyosa.”
“Diyosa,” I said, eagerly receiving more of my education. Between Rosa, Asher, and Gil, if I lived at the Boneyard long enough, I might actually pick up a whole new language.
If I lived long enough, that is. Because both Mama Rosa and Gil were suddenly staring over my shoulder, straight at the front door, where two men were waiting.
“We’d like to eat some of your fine Filipino food, please,” one man said.
“We’re closed,” Gil said gruffly.
“Oh,” the other man said. “But we’re very hungry.”
He stepped into the restaurant, hardly perturbed by the decor, or the dancing flames. Behind him, more men intruded, until there were six of them in the restaurant with us. A tight fit, to be sure, not at all comfortable considering how threatening their body language was.
Mama Rosa muttered under her breath. “Mister Carver warded the entrance. They should not be here. They could not have entered.”
“Demons,” I whispered back. How I wished I had brought Vanitas and my backpack out of the Boneyard. “Sent from Mammon.”
One man smiled. “Oh, the prince didn’t send us. Tipped us off, though. We’re from the Society of Robes.”
Mama Rosa swept past me, pushing her huge fists into her waist, thrusting out her bosoms. “This means nothing to me. To me, you are all tarantado.” She turned her head towards me, then muttered. “It means ‘bastard,’ Dustin.”
“Got it.”
“Though it is difficult to translate,” she added. “Asshole, jerk, moron, it could mean one or all of those things. I think.”
“Duly noted,” I said, also noting the fact that this tiny space meant Rosa and I couldn’t risk using fire magic. I wasn’t sure how much of her enchanted jungle was real, but I wasn’t keen on the idea of burning down her hard work, or her restaurant, for that matter.
I cursed myself, wishing I knew how to work some of that more complicated pyromancy Carver had talked about. Boil their blood, burn their lungs? Less of a mess that way. But maybe I could improvise with some flaming darts, tiny projectiles I could fire into someone’s eyes. Hmm. That could work.
Gil, apparently, had less need for strategy. I hadn’t even noticed him engaging the wolf t
alons on his finger tips. He plunged them into the first man’s chest. Both of them screamed.
The restaurant – jungle, whatever – erupted into a brawl. Rosa had clearly thought things through, and threw flaming punches instead of fireballs, smashing anyone she could reach right in the cheeks, in the chest, leaving blackened imprints of her fists. It was fucking awesome.
I leapt into the fray, my own hands wreathed in fire, and in my head I was Bruce Lee, Jackie Chan – fuck, I was Prudence Leung, martial artist supreme, delivering flaming karate chops at everything I could reach.
There’s a reason martial artists train, though, and that’s to avoid the rookie mistakes someone like me would make.
I didn’t anticipate the first punch to my stomach, which knocked the wind out of me. I also missed the kick to my shins, which made a horrible noise, and hurt even worse. I fell to the ground, clutching my leg, watching as my attacker prepared to stomp on my neck with the sole of his boot.
He never did. Bright pink tendrils wrapped around his foot, reaching up to the rest of his body, until he was restrained in a familiar, hot pink cocoon.
“En garde, motherfuckers,” Metric Fuck-Ton yelled.
Behind her, Imperial Fuck-Ton delivered a spinning kick to another man’s face, her stiletto leaving a trail of arcane shimmer in the air, her heel smashing into his skull. Hot damn. The Fuck-Tons, just in time to save the day.
I struggled to my feet, then kicked at some dude’s stomach – which isn’t as impressive as it sounds because he was on his side, on the ground. With the Fuck-Tons present, it took a matter of seconds to restrain and bind the Society’s goons.
“Thanks, ladies,” I breathed, adrenaline still pumping through my blood. “I don’t know how you knew about this, but your timing is impeccable.”
“We’ve been tracking the Society’s activities since the incident at the Ramsey House,” said Metric, examining her nails.
“And there was some talk of an attempt to retrieve our furry little friend,” said Imperial. She looked around the restaurant, nodding approvingly. “We followed them here. They must have used some kind of artifact to pass through your wards.”
“Found it,” Gil said, lifting an amulet triumphantly, its chain snapped right off someone’s neck. “I think we’ll be holding on to this, just to be safe.”
Metric fell to one knee, grasping a thug by the collar, and screamed in his face. “Why are you here? Who sent you?” She shook him, her eyes huge, his eyes even huger, widened in terror. “Answer me or I’ll rip your heart out.”