Summon Lyght(102)

"No." Maxwell shook his head. "The boy helped but it still wasn't enough. The blast. Her intention was to protect you. She shielded you with her own life."

Tears filled his eyes and he gasped, pulling her face to his. "Then you can help her," he whispered to the doc.

"The second you give me space to work."

Francis couldn't lay her on the floor fast enough.

Thank you God.





Chapter Thirty-Four



Damn, this was stupid. Tyler hovered next to the cement wall feeling like a ball rolling along on a string, constantly falling off. Why was it so difficult to navigate out here? When he exited his body, the pull from the monster vortex all around him became extra strong, telling him this was a stupid idea. There was a component to this trick he wasn't aware of. He'd just be extra careful. No way could he chicken out if he was going to be any damn use besides giving warriors somebody to babysit.

He'd extracted the coordinates to Abigail's apartment from Peggy quite nonchalantly and easily. He hated to do it with the intentions he had. Especially after she'd been so sweet. Even gave him a present. A white leather wallet with the gang's symbol on it. A way to belong without advertising it to the bad guys she said. The lettering was metallic and when he asked about it, she said she'd done it with her mercury. Because he was hers. She said it in a jokingly possessive way, but Tyler had grinned with an "Okay." He hoped she realized he was more than good with being hers. He loved that she thought about his feelings. She was very intuitive about that kind of stuff for a new human girl. She'd done her homework well.

Guilt plagued him. He'd lied so much to her in that one damn date. Not out-right lies, all lies of omission pretty much. But they stung his conscience like the sin of murder where she was concerned. She'd gotten the 911 text from Max, and he told his last lie, 'I'll be fine here. Go."

And really, he wouldn't have followed had it not been for the look in her eyes. She was afraid. What if they got in trouble? What if they needed help? Not that he could do anything, but he could report what was going on. At least. Or be decoy. Distraction. Something. And maybe find out as much info as he could while he was at it. He wasn't going to be foolish about it. He'd hidden his body well beneath the stairwell in a rundown building. Then he went projecting. Nothing to it. Like going hunting. Or fishing. Only, going projecting. Fishing for details. Catching some wild game.

He finally made it to the building leading to Abigail's apartment. Gunpowder hung in the air and he tensed. He remained still, listening. Low chatter rose out of the night from his right. He listened closer. An explosion…red light….screams….gunfire….

Shit. What had happened? Whatever it was, it was over.

Pain shot through his back and Tyler gasped, zapping his spirit back to his body. He grabbed his head while being dragged. "What do we have here?"

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

They jerked him around and shoved him to the floor then he bit back a scream when a knee crushed his spine between his shoulder blades. They dug through his pockets. "Let's see what kind of goodies our little trespasser is carrying." Tyler didn't struggle. He'd learned in training to wait for his moment to escape in situations like this. A thousand times he'd mentally replay how they'd managed to snag him the first time around and he'd devise a plan to not let that happen again. He needed to just wait for the opportunity. It would come.

"Fancy wallet you got here." Heavy breathing. "Check what he's got for us Burger."

Tyler waited for him to find it empty.

"Pfft," preceded a hard kick in his ribs. The crack came with Tyler's choked scream. He fought to stay completely aware, not to miss his escape window. They were too brief, sometimes only a second. Gasping for air, he moaned and squirmed through the agony that seemed to only spread like fire in his body. "Pretty wallet ain't got shit in it. Figgers."

He was yanked to his feet by his hair and the dude before him grinned, flashing a row of gold upper teeth. "Time to pay up. You ain't got no money. But 's all good," he rapped, tilting his head side to side, "cuz we accept blood."

Tyler focused on details. Black cap. Latino maybe. Young. Early twenties.

The hold on his hair abruptly let go, throwing him off balance even as the dude's fist barreled toward his face. Tyler ducked and ran. Three steps. That's all he got before his body slammed to the ground. The side of his face hit the asphalt hard. The explosion of pain was brief before it went numb.

"Cracka don't run, bitch."

"What the fuck is going on?"

He was yanked to his feet again. "We found this little fucker hiding under the stairs."