Broken Warrior (The Weavers Circle 1)

But as human as they looked, something was also off about them. Not that Clay could put it into words. It was that same uncanny valley response people got to robots that were so damn similar to humans but gave off a creep factor because something was just wrong.

The only thing he could clearly point out now were the waves within the air, as if the creatures were so hot the air shimmered around them. But Clay had been touched by them, and there was no extreme heat. No, maybe it was that they were so foreign to this world, the air itself was repelled by them.

“You know,” Baer drawled. “Our odds are better now. Two against three isn’t horrible.”

“True.”

“But…I’m thinking run.”

Clay’s grin reappeared. “I was thinking run, too.”

Baer and Clay took off like a shot, barreling through the aisle and dodging people as much as they possibly could. Baer appeared to be only a few inches shorter than Clay, but he was nearly as wide. They were little more than a snowplow between the two rows of booths.

Behind them, shouts and angry screams rent the air. The pestilents were following, and the people of the West Savannah dirt mall were not happy about the mess they were making.

Baer glanced over his shoulder and swore. “Getting closer.”

“Then let’s make it harder.”

Okay, so there was a small sliver of guilt that shot through him as he snatched up an ugly pale-green blender straight out of the sixties. He spun on the balls of his feet and hurled the small kitchen appliance at the lead pestilent. He twisted and continued to run with Baer now in front of him. There was no seeing the impact, but there was a crash of glass and a shout from the crowd.

Baer glanced over his shoulder and snickered. “Nice. Let me try.” He darted toward a table with the creepiest china dolls Clay had ever seen. The seller shouted as Baer grabbed one up and threw it at their pursuers.

“Fuck. Not heavy enough,” Baer complained. “Oh! That is!” Baer wrapped his hand around the neck of a bowling pin and chucked the thing end-over-end down the aisle. There was a satisfying wooden knock of it making contact.

“You know we’re never going to be allowed here again,” Clay said before darting to his right and then left up a different aisle

“Shit! Really?” Baer replied. His voice was so full of mocking.

“See something you wanted?”

“Velvet Elvis.”

Clay almost choked on a breath at Baer’s words. “Shame. That’d look good in the house.”

No, it would look hideous in that elegant old house, even if she was still recovering from neglect and decay. Jo might be convinced that he and his so-called brothers were living in the beast, but Clay wasn’t feeling it. All the same, he was not bringing such an artistic monstrosity into a house that Dane was turning into a real beauty.

If Dane wasn’t working on it, he’d consider it just in hopes of pissing off Flo.

Clay opened his mouth to direct Baer to a different aisle when something hit the back of his leg hard. He crashed to the ground and Baer tumbled after him. Gravel and dirt bit into the palms of his hands and scraped along his jeans, probably tearing new holes. A few feet away lay a baseball bat. A motherfucker had hit him with a bat.

With his hands braced on the ground to push himself to his feet, Clay gritted his teeth against the surge of something roiling through his chest. It clawed and scratched like it was trying to climb out right between his ribs. That damn whatever Flo had put inside of him was demanding to be released.

Fine.

If he did have some power, he was going to force that shit out. Make it work for him if he had to carry it around.

The power ripped through him, sending sharp jabs of pain straight into his brain. He clenched his teeth and pushed even harder. The energy soared out of him and into the earth beneath his body.

It took Clay a moment to realize the entire world was shaking. The vibrations started off slow, but they grew quickly. A stack of old video game cartridges spilled off the table to the ground. People screamed and shouted. Car alarms started splitting the air one after another. And the rumbling of the earth grew bigger, louder.

The ground split wide in places as if opening hidden mouths to consume anything stupid enough to fall into its dark maw.

“Clay! Clay!”

Clay blinked and looked up at Baer, who was pressed to the ground, his hands folded on the top of his head to protect himself from falling debris. There was a look of confusion and fear in his face. Did he know Clay was doing this?

With a groan, Clay forced himself to lift his hand from the earth and pull the power back into his body. The living force felt irritable and tired. It crawled to its place in his chest, seeming to petulantly kick organs along its way.