Chapter 12

From my agonizing, front-leaning position, I looked down at the steel skewer protruding from the forty-five-pound plate, its sharp point less than a hand's width from my chest.

Psycho warping wouldn't save me. No amount of halluci-bombs or invisi-warps could untie the ropes or move the skewer.

So that left reality warping. Kade had engineered this trap to thwart that very option, but beneath the agonizing strain that threatened to tear my muscles apart and the rushing whitewater of fear that threatened to drown me, I still clung to a tiny glimmer of hope.

Since my conversation with Lienna about my reality warps and transmutation, a silly little idea had been bouncing around in the Kit chaos of my brain: if transmutation was an extra complex form of Arcana, did that mean reality warping also had degrees of difficulty? Had I skipped past the introductory water wings and wading basin to dive straight into the deepest end of the pool?

And if there were easier forms of reality warping than transmutation, could I tap into one to free myself?

The big question was what else reality warping could involve. I was already accomplished at one form of mind magic—psycho warping—and I'd just discovered I had access to another—telepathy.

With as much focus as I could gather, I fixated on the pointy murder stick under my chest. That warm, bright spot in my brain where my powers lived lit up, and I visualized what I wanted, just like when I'd transformed Kade's metal cuffs into brittle plastic.

But I didn't imagine a transmutation. I imagined something much simpler.

I visualized the rod lifting out of the plate that held it in position. I pictured it drifting gently upward with exhaustive detail as though I were projecting the most convincing warp I'd ever done—except I was my own target.

A foreign tension threaded through my muscles, almost lost in the excruciating burn of my arduous position. It felt as though a weight had been added to my shoulders. I could almost feel the cold steel in my hands.

My fingers curled instinctively as I dedicated every neuron of my psychic power toward the rod. The muscles in my hands cramped, forearms straining?—

And the rod moved.

With no pomp or circumstance, it rose from its spot, defying gravity to hover above the plate.

Holy shit, it had worked! I could now add "telekinesis" to my expanding CV of psychic skills.

Redoubling my concentration and fighting through the agonizing strain wrenching every inch of my body, I visualized the rod gliding out from under my chest. It followed my thoughts, the process rapidly smoothing until it didn't feel all that different from warping—except for the unsettling additional pressure on my muscles.

I guided the rod up past my head and toward the single line of rope connecting my wrists to the pull-up bar. Craning my neck painfully to bring it into my line of sight, I pushed the sharpened tip into the tensed strand. Stress burned through my muscles as the rod met the rope's resistance.

A telekinetic's psychic strength was linked to their physical power—if they could lift it with their body, they could lift it with their mind—but my body was under excessive duress. The strength I was using to control the rod was little more than the fumes in my proverbial gas tank.

Gritting my teeth, I mentally shoved the tip of the spear into the strands of the rope. The burn and pressure on my muscles intensified, and a groan rattled in my chest.

Snap!

The rope broke and gravity sent me face-first toward the concrete floor. I managed to get my arms in front of my head, breaking my fall and bruising my elbows. The rod clattered noisily to the ground, its metallic clang ringing throughout the warehouse.

"What was that?" a distant, unfamiliar voice barked.

I gasped like a deep-sea free diver coming up for air. My muscles throbbed violently, and all I wanted to do was curl into the fetal position until the pain subsided. Unfortunately, I had no time to rest.

My wrists were still bound together—I'd only severed the piece tying me to the bar—but my fingers were free, so I grabbed the sharpened rod, sat upright, and jammed it into the rope wrapped around my ankles.

A door clanged—the one Kade had used to exit the oversized equipment graveyard. The bald bastard reappeared, flanked by a tall, lanky woman carrying a black case and a short, stocky bruiser with bulging muscles.

I didn't wait for their reactions to my semi-freed state. I twisted back toward my ankles and shoved the rod into the rope with all the force I could muster. Ripping apart my bonds sans telekinesis was a much quicker endeavor, and my restraints snapped cleanly.

I jumped to my feet, whirled around, and swung the sharp end of the rod wildly, forcing Kade to backpedal an instant before he would've tackled me to the floor. Teeth bared, he grabbed for the pseudo-spear, but I whipped it sideways, catching his arm and scoring a shallow cut.

It wasn't much of a weapon, but it was better than fighting empty-handed.

A glimpse of movement caught the corner of my eye—the alchemist lady's beefy sidekick was pulling a black pistol from his belt. I backed into the weight rack, using the steel frame to keep Kade in front of me, and simultaneously unleashed a Blackout halluci-bomb. Kade had already pummeled my body, brain, and soul, so the hefty warp weighed heavier on my psyche than normal.

Both the lanky lady and stocky sir went down, writhing on the gym floor, their confused and terrified shouts echoing off the rusty stationary bikes and dusty rowing machines.

That left me, Kade, and his stupid anti-Kit bracelet. The shiny-scalped shithead faced me as I aimed the very sharp point of the broken rod at his chest. He didn't whip out any deadly decapitation magic, though; by his own admission, he was under strict orders not to kill me.

I, on the other hand, had no such orders.

I summoned my inner King Leonidas and attempted a speedy thrust of the pseudo-spear. With the same agility I'd seen from him before, Kade twisted sideways and sprang forward, slipping past my guard and slamming into me.

I crashed over the rear of the weight rack, landing on my ass. Kade ripped the rod out of my roped-up hands. I spun away from him and scrambled awkwardly to my feet.

Standing within the rack that had formerly been my prison, Kade grinned viciously. "You just can't wait for me to make you bleed, can you?"

I didn't waste my breath on a retort. Instead, I sprinted into the maze of deceased fitness equipment. The cluttered storage area had become my advantage—I sprang, zigzagged, and vaulted my way through a haphazard arrangement of dead treadmills. The chaotic obstacles hampered Kade's agility, keeping him two or three steps behind me.

But I couldn't lead him on this wild Kit chase forever. Between the bone-deep muscle aches, physical exhaustion, and continual drain of the Blackout warp, my endurance level was about to hit zero.

I left the treadmill labyrinth and blitzed toward a pile of barbells, dumbbells, kettlebells, and other assorted muscle-growing bells. As soon as I passed them, I spun around, bound hands outstretched as though I was making my final stand.

Kade slowed his advance, smacking the rod against his palm like an all-star batter swaggering up to home plate. At least he wouldn't run me through with it. Probably.

I retreated a few steps, baiting him to attack me—and he did.

Focusing my newly realized telekinetic ability, I locked my psychic fingers on a nearby barbell and yanked it with all my might, throwing it across Kade's path at ankle height.

As he lunged at me with all the aerodynamic power his hairlessness afforded him, his ankles clonked into the barbell, and he went down.

I might not have Blythe-level brain brawn, but my greenhorn telekinesis was getting the job done.

As much as I wanted to cave his shiny cranium in with the heaviest weight I could find, my hands were still tied together and every warning light on my internal dashboard was flashing red. I opted to make a break for the exit instead. A loud clang and a frustrated roar from Kade followed me.

As I whipped through the door into a small office area, I spotted Kade's combat gear sitting on a metal chair—and on top of it was a familiar leather wallet, MPD badge, and cellphone.

I grabbed my stuff, slipping and almost falling on the dusty floor in my frenzied haste, then rammed through another door and out into the cool darkness of night.

Where the hell was I?

An industrial area, it seemed. A wide-open parking lot stretched out in front of me, sparsely illuminated by tall streetlamps. Beyond that were the silhouetted shapes of other massive buildings in the distance, but nothing close. Nowhere to hide.

Which meant I needed to run.

I dropped the Blackout warp, feeling the release on my mind, then turned right and sped along the length of the warehouse I'd just escaped, booking it for the nearest road.

As I sprinted, my mind spiraled dangerously close to outright panic. I was on foot, exhausted, and my hands were still tied. Kade would catch me. I couldn't outrun him, I couldn't fight him, and I couldn't hide from his goddamn sixth sense.

As I reached the end of the warehouse, the street just ahead, blinding white light obliterated my vision. For a bleary-eyed second, I thought Darius was attacking me—then I realized it was actually four different beams of light shining directly into my confused pupils.

"Kit?" a semi-familiar voice shouted in surprise.

I squinted, my exhausted brain failing to identify the voice but recognizing the speaker as a friendly. The lights flashed wildly, and I was abruptly surrounded by black-clad mythics with a veritable crapload of weapons.

"Holy shit, Kit." The bright beam directly in front of me shut off. "Where did you come from?"

I blinked a ginger-haired, freckled face into focus—Aaron Sinclair, the only pyromage I'd actually want to meet in a back alley.

"Oh, you know," I said, hoarse and breathless, "just some casual, late-night escaping."

A Crow and Hammer combat team had encircled me, and the realization that I was safe hit me like a monster-sized bucket of liquid exhaustion. Tremors shook my limbs, and my knees threatened to forgo their lifelong duty of holding me upright.

Aaron grabbed my elbow before I pitched over. "Drew, Venus, get him back to the van and call Darius. Kit, where is Kade?"

I tipped my head toward the warehouse. "In there with an alchemist and some other stooge. Both armed."

Aaron barked a few more orders, and moments later, I was being led across the street by two very capable mythics. Drew was keeping me steady while Venus sorted through her alchemy supplies for a potion that would be much friendlier than whatever Kade's lady friend had prepared for me.

The other four locked-and-loaded combat mythics, led by the top pyromage in Vancouver, were storming the CrossFit castle. In a couple of minutes, they'd come striding back out with Kade's head on a proverbial pike, and this part of the saga would be over.

Deep inside, I knew that wouldn't happen. There was no way that slippery bastard would go down this easily. There was no way this was the last I'd see of Benjamin Kade.