Better than I could have hoped.
I stopped and looked up. Slayers could see other slayers when they were in spirit form, even when the watchers weren’t in spirit form themselves, and vice versa. Every face in the crowd gaped at me.
Smiling, smug, I joined the two halves of me. But my flames hadn’t died down, and they flickered over my skin. I didn’t disintegrate, but my clothes were a different story. They vanished in a puff of smoke.
Crap! This had happened once before, when Zombie Ali launched her final attack against me. My spirit had gone a little wonky, struggling to survive. I must be on the fritz again, must have pushed myself too far.
At least Cole was in the pit with me. He leaned against the wall, polishing one of his daggers, as if he hadn’t a care.
“Um, problem,” I said.
He met my gaze, frowned. “Come here,” he said and motioned me over. “Don’t get rid of the flames.”
As if! Right now, those flames were the only thing preventing me from giving a full-on peep show to our audience. Mortified, I beat feet over to Cole, and though he hissed when he clasped my wrist, he drew me against the wall and shielded me from prying eyes.
“I’m going to give you my fire,” he said.
“But that’ll just make everything worse!”
“Or better. Mine might give you the strength you need to control yours.”
Risky, but okay. I didn’t have a better idea.
He split only long enough to press his fiery hand into my chest. I felt it, despite my condition, which shocked me, and met a new part of myself. Sailor Ali. She had a few things to say about the pain it caused.
But my fire did begin to wane.
“Don’t put it out yet,” Cole said, rejoining. “I’m going to take off my jacket and shirt. The moment I’m free of them, then you douse the flames. I’ll dress you.”
I kind of wished I’d died in the zombie fight.
“Ready?” He waited for my nod, then dropped his jacket and jerked off his T-shirt. “Now.”
I closed my eyes to shut off the heat—shut off, shut off, freaking shut off. Success! Cole tugged the shirt over my head and fit my arms through the holes. The material hit me midthigh. He then tied the jacket around my waist, letting it double as a skirt. And, humiliatingly enough, underwear.
“All covered,” he said and kissed the tip of my nose. Short and sweet. An offer of comfort. “You did good, Ali-gator. Real good.”
“Th-thank you,” I said, my teeth now chattering.
He wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. “And now,” he said with more volume, turning and facing the crowd, zeroing in on River, “we talk.”
A dumbfounded River crossed his arms over his chest. “How did she do that?”
“Here’s a better question,” I said, just to be contrary. “Why can’t you do it?”
He flicked his tongue over an incisor, and for a moment, I was certain he would vow to leave us in the pit until his curiosity was satisfied. But he nodded to one of his boys, and a ladder was dropped inside. Cole climbed out first, then helped me over the ledge, making sure all my girlie parts stayed covered.
“She needs clothes,” Cole said, his command unmistakable.
“She’ll get them.” River reached out and pinched a lock of my hair. “Impressive work down there.”
I jerked away at the same time Cole pushed him back.
“No touching.”
Unfazed, River grinned. “This way.” He pivoted on his heel and strode into the building.
Tattoos and Knuckle Scars flanked him, both casting curious glances my way. How wonderful. I was now a circus freak.
Wouldn’t be the first time.
Inside, the warm air still managed to prickle against my exposed skin, and I broke out in goose bumps. Cole kept me tucked in tight, and that helped, but it also undermined my image as a cold-blooded Z-killer.
Oh, what did I care?
The journey ended inside a spacious sitting room. There were several couches and chairs in varying colors. The coffee table was scattered with weapons and various parts to weapons. I saw the makings of a .44, a .22 and some kind of spiked sword.
Tattoos took off but returned quickly with a stack of clothes. “Here,” she said, thrusting the bundle at me.
“Be courteous to our guests,” River admonished. To me, he said, “Please, forgive my sister. Milla doesn’t make new friends easily.”
I snorted. “Really? Hardly noticed.” But in a snap, I realized something important. River was shrewd. The zombie cage fight had nothing to do with proving our loyalty or our dislike of zombies and Anima. He’d wanted to know what we could do—if we were worth aligning with or better off culled. He’d clearly decided we were, in fact, worthy, because he was pure sweetness now.
“Take her to your room,” he said to Tattoos—Milla. A delicate name for such a hard-core girl. “She can change there.”