I could see how wide Damsel’s eyes were, and I could see her lips move.

Her hand went out, and she blasted. The two in the range of the blast were quick enough to dodge away, and they didn’t move quite like humans anymore. Too fast, too jerky.

“Damsel!” Sidepiece called out. “Get clear!”

Damsel blasted, aiming at the ground with both hands and firing with both, kicking up dust and debris, and catching the front of the motorcycle, shredding it.

The things avoided that blast as well, but as she moved skyward, Nailbiter and Sidepiece both went on the offensive. Sidepiece threw two chunks, and Nailbiter clawed out.

Several of the things seemed to die. Others folded back into each other, and used the momentum of that reabsorption to leap backward. They scrambled for the bike that had been abandoned when Sidepiece screwed up the rider’s landing.

I could see Damsel panting hard.

“Wretches!” she howled the words. “Scum of the earth! You do not deserve the breath you draw!”

She was going to go over the top on them, and I wasn’t sure she was going to hold back or be just bark with no bite. Not like she had during the test skirmish or the train ride with Presley.

“Damsel!” I called out.

She wheeled on me. I saw her eyes widen as I dove.

I put my hand at her neck and another at her arm.

Carrying her, I flew her back and away from the fight.

I could hear the sound of Byron’s power going off again, cutting into the earth, but my focus was on Ashley’s eyes beneath the black mask, lacking any pupil. Her lips were parted to show teeth, and it wasn’t a smile.

Off to the side, her fingers opened, spreading.

She fired her power into the air. I was flying, carrying her, and with the blast, we were forced off course. We hit the soft dirt at the edge of the dirt road and landed in a heap together.

I could have sworn at her, I could have been pissed.

It wasn’t worth it.

“Hi,” I said. We were far enough away we wouldn’t be overheard by others.

She pressed her lips together. Her hand went to my neck, like I held hers. Her fingers felt like real flesh should, but they were cooler than fingers should be.

“This is an act, remember?”

“I’m all out of patience,” she said. “I’m ready to kill someone.”

At the hospital, I’d dealt with a tinker who had the freak-out rants. I’d dealt with people with distorted views of reality. Mostly I’d dealt as an observer, sitting in for the group therapy. I’d thought about what I wanted to say, cringed when people said the wrong things, and I’d written emails to support them or give advice after the fact. Glacially, slowly.