“Heya, Hercules,” I said, keeping my distance. “I guess you’re the brawn of this operation.”
He almost snarled. “I was their escort, yes.”
“Ooh,” I said, “you sure you don’t mean ‘bodyguard’? Because ‘escort’ kinda makes you sound like you were their hooker.”
He didn’t bother to respond, just came at me in an attack, leading with a hard punch. I’d seen a Hercules type before, in a dream. They grew muscle mass on command, getting insanely strong. I dodged back, only narrowly avoiding his punch. He was fast, too, less out of shape than the Hercules I’d seen in my dream a few months earlier. My gloves were on, and that wasn’t going to help my cause because putting my skin against his was the fastest way to make sure he went down.
A blast of wind shot by me, stirring the Hercules back a step but not lifting him. He smiled at Reed, whom I saw just over my shoulder. “Mass increase,” he said smugly. “Your little gusts aren’t gonna do squat to me, Windkeeper.”
He came at me again, and this time I vaulted back over a planter, clipping a palm tree as I rolled back over the edge and back to the blue, thinly carpeted floor on the other side. He hit the sculpted concrete edge of the planter with his fist and it shattered, slinging dirt, plants and pieces of tile and stone in a shotgun blast pattern toward me. I was already low to the ground from having rolled over the planter, but I ducked down and avoided all but a little dirt that hit my right eye over the edge. It hurt, though, and I felt tears spring to my eyes. I kept my left eye squinted open and tried to open my right as well, my cheek pressed against the planter’s uneven, graveled surface and the floor.
I sprung up to my feet in a quick move that looked like an overpowered pushup, which it was. The Hercules was still across from me, looking smug, the wreckage of the planter separating us. “Tough luck,” he said.
It took me a second to realize what he meant. I glanced back and saw Reed on the ground, blood and shards of the planter scattered around him, his shirt soaked with red and dirt stains. Breandan was a little farther back, clutching his midsection and rolling like someone had kicked him in the gut. I saw Foreman off a little farther, apparently uninjured, but keeping his distance from the fight. He didn’t look like a man who was well versed in the martial arts, so it was probably better that way.
The blood around Reed and on Breandan chilled me, like the air conditioner had just kicked on in my soul. I felt my pulse slow as I looked back at the Hercules, who was grinning like he was enjoying a particularly hilarious joke. “Look at you kids, playing at being big boys and girls. What are you? Twelve?” He laughed, sneering derisively. “The kid gloves are off, little girl. Now run home and wait for us. We’ll be back for you later.”
I pulled my hands up, slowly, showing them to him. “My gloves are still on, actually.” I ripped the leather, tearing them from my hands. “Now the gloves are off.” I clenched my fists open and closed.
He watched me, a wary caution creeping over his face. “I know what you are, and if you think you’ll even be able to lay a hand on me—”
I threw myself at him, but I went low, rolling over the remains of the planter and throwing a sharp kick upward from the roll. It connected with his thigh and he grunted, balling up slightly. When I came out of the roll, his face was right there from his instinctive turtle maneuver and I punched it, hard, in the nose and heard the cartilage break. I followed with another and his head snapped back, sending him staggering a step. His hands came up to defend his face but it was too late; I was on to other things.
I went low, grabbing him on the back of the neck, and swept his feet from underneath him. He tried to grab at me, but my free hand slapped his aside and he had no leverage for all his strength. His back and shoulders hit the hard floor and I stomped on his face, twice, then kicked him in the ribs with so much force that he flew in a low roll through the air and into another, smaller planter, roughly the size of a vase. It broke open, sending a cascade of dirt down his prone body.
I jumped through the air to follow him, landing both feet on him with all my force. I hit his belly, causing him to gasp with the shock of my impact, all forced through the toes of my boots. I didn’t stop there, though, savagely assaulting his fallen body with a series of devastating kicks as he tried to get to his feet. I broke his face, shattering it with a volley of attacks that stopped only when his head slumped and he sagged to the ground, his overmuscled frame beginning to deflate. His body was limp, and I reached down and grabbed him around the neck, holding my hand there until I heard the screaming in my head, the sound of his soul starting to pull away from his body. In the moment before it left, I slammed the back of his head to the hard tile floor and let myself sag to my hands, down on all fours. I stared at the fountain, roaring just in front of me. I hadn’t even realized I’d gotten this close to it.