vest. She has a knife and a look of wild agitation on her face; I struggle to keep it from connecting with my throat even as I desperately try to concentrate on returning to one of my shifter forms, but it’s impossible to multitask, and she’s a lot stronger than I am.
“Millie!” yells Landon, turning to me, but Josie is faster, whirling around and extending a hand. The woman is lifted off of me telekinetically before the witch launches her into the far windows, sending her crashing through the glass. I scramble to my feet, shooting her a grateful look. She turned around to save me, and that was exactly the opening the humans needed.
I watch in horror as one of the attackers pulls the pin out of a grenade and hurls it at the ceiling; as soon as it connects with the tiles, the whole roof gives out, sending chunks of concrete and mortar raining down on us from above. Landon yanks me away at the last second as I stand there gaping, letting out a strangled cry as more guests - along with a giant piece of the ceiling - come crashing down on Josie, burying her in the rubble. “No!” I yell, my eyes wide, and I struggle out of Landon’s grip to rush forward, trying to get at the faculty fellow.
“Boots, we have to go!” yells Shade, grabbing me by the wrist. He’s back in human form, looking uncharacteristically scared as he pulls me back.
“We can’t just leave her!” I yell.
“We have to! This whole place is collapsing!”
Looking up, I see that he’s right; the second explosion seems to have destabilised the upper floors, and the building lets out a low groaning noise as the pillars supporting the floor begin to give out. The convention center is falling down on top of us, and if we don’t get out, we’re going to end up buried. I glance at the others; they’re making for the doors, beckoning to me, and with a sinking feeling I realise that it’s now or never. I give one last, regretful glance to the pile of rubble where Josie is before following Shade, tears streaming down my face from the smoke and the trauma as we race for the exit. With one last sprint, we force ourselves out the door, running faster than we ever have out into the courtyard and towards the street. All around the convention center, bystanders are staring with their hands to their mouths, and in the distance I can hear police sirens and fire engines.
We’ve barely even made it to the curb when a great, thundering rumble emits from the building. I turn around just in time to see it give a last shudder before the whole convention center collapses in a heap of rubble. All any of us can do is stare in horror.
I feel numb as I sit at the kitchen table back in our suite, my head in my hands. I’m filthy, still in my torn and rumpled uniform. Some of the others have showered and changed, but I can’t bring myself to do anything other than stare into the distance, the tears on my face stinging my eyes along with the coating of dirt and grime. Hazel and the twins have gone back to their room to clean up, leaving me and the guys in our suite, trying to process what happened.
None of us says anything; we’re all standing around the common area, listening to the broadcast on the TV.
“...Tragedy struck this morning when an occult convention being held in downtown Boston was attacked in what authorities are calling a terrorist bombing. The current death toll is around 79, including several faculty members of a nearby boarding school, as well as six international businessmen. The conference, which was advertised as a “by invitation only gathering of supernatural enthusiasts from around the world”, was the first of its kind, and has been surrounded in secrecy ever since its announcement. Authorities have not released a motive, and no known group has yet taken responsibility for the attack. The story is unfolding.”
Landon shakes his head and mutes the TV. “This is unreal.”
None of the others speak immediately, until finally Silas asks, “Does anyone know if Josie made it out?”
Shade snorts dryly. “You think she would’ve? The whole ceiling came down on her.”
“Hey,” Hunter snaps, glaring at the wolf shifter, “don’t talk like that.”
“What? I’m just being realistic!”
“You’re not helping.”
“Guys, stop,” I tell them weakly, lifting my