“Go ahead—ask me what it is,” Hosea said, displaying the small tube on the flat of his palm.

Jetson’s jaw jutted. Tension radiated from his back.

“It’s a weapon,” Hosea supplied.

“It’s not going to stop me from protecting Arika.”

“Be assured, brother, it is going to stop you,” Hosea said.

“The only question is how much suffering you’ll have to endure.”

“I’m not your brother.”

“You’re not my enemy.”

“Yet you come at me with that.” He nodded toward the device.

“Only to show you how futile resistance will be.” Hosea moved and the tube rolled over to rest on the back of his hand. He made a quick fist, bumping it into the air. Like magic, the flat circles at either end of the tube lengthened into snub points. The points peeled back, and pushed outward again and again, sharpening with each revelation. When the device was four times its original size and glinting, it rested. The whole process had taken less than a second. “Do you need to see more?” Hosea asked.

Jetson raised his fists and hunkered down. “You’re not leaving with her,” he insisted.

I groaned deep in my throat.

“So be it.” Hosea tightened his fist, and the spear lengthened, sharpening further. The points at either end were razor sharp. “This position is for hand-to-hand combat. Or, if I don’t want to get too close, I can do this.” He flipped the daggered spear into the air. It curved into a longbow. A glowing blue string shot from either end of the bow and connected in the middle, sending off sparks. He caught the bow just above his head. With his arm straight out and the longbow extended on either side of his hand, he hooked the blue string with two fingers. As he drew back, a blue arrow formed in the half-moon arc of the bow. The further he pulled, the larger the arrow grew, until, finally, its blue feathers quivered in the air by his ear.

“This arrow is pure energy,” he said. “If it pierces your skin, its force will rip you apart at your most basic level. Your cells will combust.” He let the arrow fly toward the closet door. Blue veins laced out from the point of impact and the door burst, scattering in a million directions.

A fine mist of wood dust settled over my face. I’d seen enough. I rolled onto my stomach and struggled to my feet. Jetson blocked my path, but I dodged him to stand behind Hosea.

“He’s not taking you!” Jetson cried. His eyes skated, searching for his next move.

Just then, someone tapped at the door. I turned—Covington! She stepped inside, dressed in an intricately embroidered aura and blouse. The brassy length of her hair was piled atop her head. As always, the steep slope of her nose was offset by her tendency to point it toward the ceiling.