Sorceress, Interrupted - By A. J. Menden Page 0,42

good time, guys.”

“Oh, I’ll show you a good time,” one of them said.

“You’ll make time,” another grunted.

“We’ll make you scream.”

So they were planning to rape me. Awesome. The EHJ would grab these guys and bring them all in for justice. I just wanted to go home.

I aimed for the biggest, probably the leader, and stared into his eyes. That alone was enough to give him pause. He eyed me warily, like he didn’t understand what was happening but knew that it wasn’t right.

“Sweetheart,” I said, in a voice somewhere between a growl and a whisper. “Use the big head on your shoulders and not the little one in between your legs. Somewhere in there, something inside you has to realize that I am not someone to tangle with. You might be dangerous, but I’m just a bit more. Every good predator must learn to size up his opponent and run when overpowered. Walk. Away.”

There was quiet in the alley. One of the other men cursed.

The leader seemed torn, not wanting to either lose face or take on someone so clearly tougher than himself. At last he took a step back.

I turned to walk away. It was a mistake. He grabbed me, whirled me around and snarled, “Bitch.” His face had gained a bit of cockiness, now that he had shown both me and his friends that he wasn’t scared. Pulling out a knife, he thrust it right at my chest.

The blade hit me. The moment it did, it shattered into a million pieces, like glass striking concrete. I stared down at what was now really just a hilt clutched in a shaking hand, and glanced back up at him. My eyes narrowed and my jaw set.

“You cut my shirt,” I said.

The look on his face went from swaggering assurance to sheer horror. The other members of his entourage were slowly backing up, as if afraid any sudden movement would set me on them.

“And you tried to kill me,” I continued. I took a step forward, closing the distance he was now desperately trying to create. “You don’t know how much that pisses me off.”

“W-what are you?” he blubbered.

“Something old and horrible,” I said, mentally calling up my magic. “You don’t know the half of it.” Power washed through me. I reached for the would-be attacker, not touching but still controlling him in a noncorporeal grasp. “And I think I’m going to be doing all of womankind a big favor. I probably should have done this the moment I saw you, and maybe this will make you think about picking on people smaller than yourself next time. We’re not always weaker.”

I batted my hand toward the wall. Instantly, the goon’s body went crashing into it. His friends went running off in the opposite direction, but I just smiled and smacked him against the unforgiving brick again. Again and again and again. It was awfully cathartic.

“What the hell is going on?”

I glanced over my shoulder to see Cyrus. He was standing on the street, watching with an open mouth.

“He asked for it,” I said, turning to face him. I kept my bloodied assailant magically pinned to the wall. “He wanted to rape and kill a defenseless woman. He just picked one who wasn’t so defenseless.”

“I know. I saw that part,” Cyrus said. “And I also saw the part where his knife shattered against you.”

I dropped the bully in disgust. He didn’t get up. While he wasn’t dead, he wasn’t in good condition. Probably needed a hospital. A good person would take him to one. I’m not a good person.

“Remember when I said I’m immortal, Cyrus? You just got visual proof.”

“How did you do that—a force field spell?”

“No.” I ran a hand through my hair. “The wards, remember? I have a djinn paint wards on my skin to protect me from weapons.”

“I’ve heard that before. The story I heard, actually, is that someone tried to shoot you to try to avoid paying for one of your favors.” Cyrus was looking at me very strangely. “So, they’re not tattoos.”

“Nope. With this kind of ward, you have to change the runes up every so often, use different ones. They can’t be permanently attached because they won’t work forever. Hence the painting. Not tattoos.”

He seemed slow to process the concept. “So, they’re not tattoos you glamour away, make them disappear from the human eye?”

“No,” I grunted, annoyed.

“So, how are they working when they’re gone?”

Too late I remembered that I’d magically wiped them off earlier at the