CHAPTER 93

"No. But he is hurt very badly." He knelt down and picked up Dana, who snarled at him. He was shrinking back down to his usual size. "I'll get her. You get Mike inside. I can come back for Yuki."

"I've got her." Abella limped from the darkness, her tail dragging behind her in the snow.

Velvet picked up Mike and rushed him toward the cabin. The Nirumbi had gone silent, and she assumed it was because they had seen their leader get dusted.

Once inside the cabin, she laid Mike down on his belly. The arrow sticking out of his back had gone through pretty far, and she suspected that it may have hit a lung by the strange wheezing sound he made.

Bigfoot stepped into the cabin and roughly shoved Dana inside the closet. He held the door shut and shook his head at Velvet. "The poison they use will kill him. I'm sorry, fluffy girl."

She shook her head in denial, then knelt down by Mike and lovingly stroked the hair away from his face. Black lines had formed along his veins and were getting wider.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Tears spilled freely and she covered her eyes. The door opened again and Abella came inside with Yuki. The kitsune stumbled over to Mike's bedroom and disappeared inside just long enough to come back out with a handful of potions.

"It isn't going to work," Bigfoot warned. When he saw the look that Abella gave him, he shrugged. "I don't want you to get your hopes up. If it almost killed me, it will definitely kill a man."

"He isn't most men," declared Yuki. She grabbed the arrow and pulled it free, causing Mike to groan in agony. "And he isn't dead yet."

Bigfoot nodded. "He should be dead already. Perhaps there is hope after all."

Emery descended from the rafters, clutching his hands nervously. "What can I do?" he squeaked.

"Bandages. Any first-aid supplies. Bring them to me right away." Yuki's eyelids fluttered, and her fur shimmered brightly and then faded back to its brown color. "And some coffee. Or tea. Anything caffeinated. I'm exhausted."

Emery flew away.

Velvet knelt by Mike's side and took his hand in hers.

"Please be okay," she whispered. A reassuring hand squeezed her shoulder. Assuming it was her uncle, she reached up to squeeze it back and was surprised to discover that it was made of stone.

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The flames of his mother's station wagon curled around his legs like slippery ropes, threatening to pull him further into the blazing wreck. He could hear her screams of agony behind him like a record stuck on repeat. When Mike tried to close his eyes, he discovered that he couldn't—the flames had melted them away.

"I told you, Mike Radley!" The shadow sat in the back seat of the car, buckled in place so that he was hanging upside down. "Your world will burn!"

Mike cried out for help, but none came. Every time he tried to crawl out the window of the car, he was dragged back in again. Each attempt seemed to pull him closer to his mother, who was now trying to grab his ankles.

The inside of the car was distorted and huge, and the passenger window was nearly ten feet away. Was he shrinking? Or maybe just burning up?

It hurt to crawl. His shoulder was numb with pain, and he could no longer move his arm. Black lines ran up and down his skin, lines that smoldered with the flames.

"Hold him down!" someone yelled, and then he felt phantom hands on his body.

"Please!" he shrieked. "Somebody, anybody!"

"I can help," the shadow whispered. "But it will cost you!"

The flames were climbing Mike's legs now, threatening to consume him. When he reached for the window again, the world outside was dimmed by a large figure who blotted out the sun.

"Help me!" He crawled forward, his legs now numb as well. Was he dying, or had he found his own personal hell?

"How is he this strong?" someone wondered, and then he felt pressure on his shoulders, as if someone was holding him in place.

"Can anybody hear me?" He rolled on his back and tried to kick his mother's hands away.

"Mike Radley, of , we can hear you." Death now sat in the backseat next to the shadow. He was holding his cup of tea upside down to keep it from spilling. "You are making quite the commotion."

"I don't want to die!" He kicked at his mother again. "I'm not ready yet!"

"I'm afraid nobody is ever ready." Death sipped his upside-down tea. "Dying is quite like reading a book and having it close itself unexpectedly. Absolutely no one enjoys that."

Gasping for air, Mike sobbed as the flames crawled past his waist. His scars burned, the wounds suddenly fresh in his memory.

Powerful hands gripped him by the wrists, and he looked up to see Tink. She smirked at him, then looked over her shoulder.

"Tink has good grip! Pull!"

They slid across the car, the metal warping to extend the cab. His mother's arms stretched as well, but they eventually became too thin like putty and melted, leaving a trail behind him. Tink gritted her teeth as they were dragged into the sunlight. Once Mike's hands passed outside the car, he felt the body of the vehicle shrink around him.