The smarter acolytes backed up a step, reading in my posture that they were going to be hurting in the morning. I reached behind me to the splat gun, putting one foot on the circle so it couldn’t be invoked anew. “Tom,” I said, smiling, “you are so stupid.”

His confusion showed, and when I brought out my gun, he jumped to the side.

I shot three of them before anyone else had the smarts to move.

The room seemed to flow into motion. Shouting in fear, the three men left standing scattered, looking like frogs with their silly black robes streaming behind them. The woman on the floor was crying behind her gag, and I shot over her as she rolled to her hands and knees and tried to get to the metal door at the stairway out of here.

A tingle of ever-after prickled through my aura, and I left the raised stage, heading for the nearest guy. They were setting a net, basically an undrawn circle that took three or more proficient ley line witches to hold. He was on his knees, wide-eyed and scared, and when he saw me coming at him, he increased the volume of his voice, screaming Latin at me.

“Your syntax sucks!” I shouted, then grabbed the copper pot off the table and threw it at him. Yeah, I was ticked, but if I didn’t get him to stop talking, they might have me.

He ducked, and in the instant he was distracted, I plowed into him.

Yanking him up by his shirtfront, I drew back to slug him, my balance shifting forward when something hit me from behind. Yelping, I let go and stood up, trying to get out of my coat. It was smoldering, covered in green goo.

“Hey! This is not my coat!” I shouted, turning to see Tom winding up again.

The guy I had pulled up from the floor skittered away, and swearing, I remembered my gun and just shot the poor sucker. He dropped like a bag of flour, sighing as his nose broke and blood soaked the ugly carpet. Poor Betty. She was going to have to get out the Shop-Vac again.

The woman screamed, and I spun at the piercing sound. My look-alike had gotten her gag off and was curled up at the door with her hands and feet still bound. I could hear Sampson on the other side, yapping and trying to dig his way through. The sound of her fear dove to the primitive part of my brain and set my adrenaline flowing.

“Please let me out,” she sobbed, trying to reach the knob with her bound wrists. “Someone please let me out!” She saw me looking at her, and she scrabbled harder. “Don’t kill me. I want to live. Please, I want to live!”