“Customers can’t be back here.”

“Good thing we’re not customers,” I said as we breezed by.

We shouldered our way outside, the door slamming behind us. As we ran down a darkened alley, the door slammed a second time. We were being followed. Good. I glanced over my shoulder, cataloging our opponents. A male, our age, a knife hilt sticking out the waist of his leather pants. A female, slightly older, with her weapon already in hand. Both were dressed in black.

Anima must have sent them to make it look like gang members had finished the job.

Anger ignited. Another alley loomed ahead. We took a corner at top speed, always staying in the shadows of the buildings. My heart beat against my ribs, a war drum I wasn’t going to deny. Kill...kill...kill...

“Maybe I can stop them,” I said. I might have had reservations about my new ability, but I wanted our pursuers at my mercy, mine to do with as I pleased. However necessary.

You have to be careful with this particular skill, Helen had said.

Why? Right now I couldn’t see a downside.

“Like you did with zombies?” Cole said. “Maybe, maybe not. You didn’t lift any slayers, so I’m not sure you’d be able to lift an actual person now. Besides, we’re too public.”

Well, crap. He just had to go and be the voice of reason, didn’t he?

I could guess how civilians would react to people being tossed into the air by nothing but, well, air. They would panic, and chaos would ensue. Worse, Anima would learn what I could do, and we’d lose a major advantage.

I filed the new ability in the back of my mind under the heading: Favorite toy. Subtitle: Zombies go boom, boom. Humans? Not sure.

With a flick of his wrist, Cole lifted the lid of a Dumpster, and for a second, I thought he actually expected me to climb inside. But he jerked me around another corner and finally stopped, pressing me against the wall, acting as my shield. As always. I heard the Dumpster’s lid fall back into place and realized what he was planning.

Here’s hoping it worked.

As his warm breath fanned over my face, I reached in my purse and withdrew the Judge, a small revolver that used the same ammo as rifles. This thing could do serious damage.

I was in a mood to do damage.

Footsteps echoed...slowing the closer they got to the Dumpster.

Cole and I shared a look rife with anticipation. He tensed, waiting.

Then the footsteps ceased altogether. The pair responsible hadn’t reached us, so they must have paused at the receptacle, thinking we were dumb enough to hide inside. The moment we heard the hinges on the lid creak, Cole whipped around the corner and aimed his .44.

“Drop your weapons,” he commanded.

Dark curses rang out. There was a rustle of clothing, a thud.

“I know who you are.” The female. “You won’t kill me.”

“Try me,” Cole said.

“You can’t shoot us both,” she taunted. “You can kill one, but by the time you’re ready to aim at the other, you’ll be dead and I’ll get to hunt down your friend. She’s a civilian, isn’t she? Oh, the things I’ll do to her. Maybe I’ll even go after your girlfriend when I’m done. I hear she’s a hulking he-beast.... I’ve always wanted to slay one of those.”

Time for bad cop/worse cop. I stepped around the corner with my own weapon aimed and ready. “I’ve never been described that way, but I approve. Oh, and if you make a move on him, you’ll get slain.”

Cole had managed to get the guy on his knees, the butt of a gun pressed against his skull. The girl stood at Cole’s side, her gun aimed at his chest.

She scowled at me. One heartbeat passed. Two. Three. The tension between us thickened.

“You’re the he-beast?” she asked.

“The one and only.”

She grappled for a response, finally settling on “Well, you won’t squeeze that trigger.”

My smile was ice and menace. “Try me,” I said, mimicking Cole. “Please. All I need is an excuse.”

Another heartbeat passed. Ultimately, she dropped her weapon and kicked it toward me. Smart.

“On your knees,” I demanded. “Put your hands behind your head.”

“Watch one too many cop dramas?” she mocked.

“Now!”

Though she hesitated, she obeyed.

Would it be wrong to pat myself on the back?

I studied our pursuers more intently. The girl had a short crop of bleached hair. There were two silver hoops in her eyebrows and a stud in her upper lip. The collar of her black leather jacket gaped open, revealing a shirt that plunged to her navel in a deep vee. Every bit of visible skin had been marked by black and white tattoos.

The boy was short and stocky, with a shadow beard that gave him a kind of wolfish look. He had so many muscles he could probably lift a Mack truck over his head without breaking a sweat.

“Trust me, kiddies,” Stocky said, his grin as cold as mine. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Wrong,” I replied. “I love doing this. It’s fun.”

“You’re playing with fire, and you have no idea.” Tattoos raked her golden gaze over me. “But how could a delicate little thing like you know?” she said, sneering. “You think you want to walk on the dark side, but one step over and you’d crumble.”

Okay, I admit it. My cheeks heated. In our world, “delicate little thing” was the equivalent to a slap in the face.