“No!” I yelled, running after them. The woman was headed for an intersection with a traffic light. Well lit. Full of witnesses if Jim tried to take her down, witnesses who would only see a woman being attacked. Just past that intersection was a gas station, with a few cars filling up. The female Mazikin looked over her shoulder and smiled a gap-toothed, chilling smile.

“Jim!” I cried out, right as the Mazikin screamed, in a very human voice, “Help me! Don’t let him hurt me!”

A middle-aged bald guy and an older guy in a red scarf, who had both been standing by their cars beneath the gas station overhang, looked up and noticed our little drama unfolding in front of them. The Mazikin darted into the intersection as both men started forward.

Jim slowed enough for me to tackle him from behind. It didn’t knock him off his feet, but he finally stopped running when I landed on his back. “You idiot,” I said into his ear. “Come on. We have to—”

“Get off me.” He shoved me away so hard that I nearly fell on my ass. “I almost had her!” He began to run again. Stunned at his complete disregard of my orders, I followed but couldn’t close the distance before he made it across the street.

“Hey!” shouted the bald guy as the Mazikin sprinted toward the older man who protectively opened his arms to receive her. She sobbed loudly while he examined her bloody mouth and wiped at it with his scarf.

“Did you hit her?” he barked at Jim.

“No,” he replied, stopping a few feet away, “but I’m about to.”

“No, you won’t!” I shouted, finally catching up. The bald guy was dialing his cell phone. This was so far out of control that my head was spinning.

“Miss, I’ve got this handled. You should probably stay away from him,” the old man said to me. “I’m going to take this young woman inside and help her get cleaned up.”

“The police are on the way,” called the bald guy, waving his phone at Jim.

Jim paid no attention. He lunged, clearly intending to attack the Mazikin. I threw myself in front of him, planted both hands on his chest, and pushed him backward. He made a move to shove me off again, and I lost it. I looped my hand around the back of his neck and jumped up, kneeing him in the stomach. “Stand down!” I yelled.

He let out a grunt and grabbed his abdomen, but straightened quickly. A siren wailed. Jim startled, looking around, and I slapped him across the face, desperately needing his attention. When his eyes locked on mine, I said in a low voice, “Jim, we have to go, unless you want to spend the night in a tiny holding cell.”

“Where you belong,” snapped the bald guy, still gripping his phone and watching us warily.