He turned to face me, waggling a fistful of tubes in my face.
“Thanks for the supplies,” he said, and had the audacity to wink at me before turning and speeding out of the guild hall.
Outraged and trapped as I was, I jumped straight up, hoping to at least come out of my sinking shoes, but only managed to send sharp pains through both my ankles this time, which also unbalanced me. I went down hard on my ass, and, despite what I perceived as a lot of padding to it, I felt the stone slam hard up against my bones, which took all the fire out of me.
Anger gave way to humiliation as I lay there, hurt, but all of that went away as my mind cleared and my thoughts turned to Rory, lying not more than ten feet from me, still unconscious. I needed to check on her . . . and where the hell was Marshall? With the stranger gone and my wits somewhat calmed, I reached out with my hands to the stone encasing my feet.
The stuff was impossible to grab ahold of, both solid and malleable at the same time, almost like trying to grab handfuls of quicksand. Using my will, I worked it around in my head, which also tried my patience in the process, and I once more felt my control over the stone returning as the effects of whatever the stranger had done to it faded. The rock gave way to my spell and thoughts, and I pulled my feet free, my boots covered in a thick black powder of stone.
I ran over to Rory, careful not to twist my ankle on any of the broken bricks of the floor as I went to her.
Movement in the doorway caught my attention.
“Don’t start the party without me,” Marshall sang out in a singsong voice. “Surprise!” He stepped into the room smiling, holding a large tray stuffed with an array of food. When he saw me kneeling beside Rory, the smile vanished from his face.
“Marshall!” I shouted at him. “What the hell took you so long?”
“I told you I had to pee,” he said in a quiet voice, looking worried. “Then I thought I’d surprise you with some snacks while we went over our notes and stuff. So I raided your fridge. I washed my hands first . . .” His words trailed off for a moment as his mind worked to process what he was seeing, his eyes fixating on Rory’s fallen form. “Is she okay? What happened?”
“Someone was down here,” I said. “In here. Now help me.”
Marshall dropped his tray, full of drinks and assorted snacks, on the main stone table at the center of the room and ran over to us. Falling to his knees. “Can we move her?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “I don’t want to make anything worse.”
The two of us quickly looked her over. There were no visible signs of damage, but that didn’t mean jack.
Marshall moved closer to her, and I reached out a hand to push him back.
“I’m not going to touch her,” he said, hurt. “I just want to try something.”
I let go of him and nodded, waiting.
Marshall leaned forward, hovering over Rory’s head, mere inches from her face. “Rory,” he whispered. “I drank the last of the milk and used the last of the toilet paper . . .”
Our friend remained lying there, unmoving, and I was already reaching for my cell phone. I wasn’t sure how I was going to explain to paramedics that my friend was under the influence of some kind of Sandman dust, but I could worry about that later.
Marshall grabbed my hand before I dialed, then leaned even closer to Rory’s ear this time. “Aurora,” he said, singing it out long and slow, like a nursery rhyme.
Rory’s hand shot straight up, grabbing him by his neck meat, choking him. Surprised, I let out a small yelp and fell back from the two of them. Marshall tried to pull himself away, but Rory had him in a grip so tight he couldn’t escape.
“Don’t,” she said, eyes still closed, “call me . . . Aurora.”
Marshall’s eyes turned to me, and he wrapped his hands around her arm. “Yeah,” he croaked out. “She’s fine.”
When Marshall couldn’t break her grip, he reached out to me and placed my hands around hers. Despite our joined effort, Rory’s grip still held tight, but after a minute or two, we managed to pry her thumb away from the front of his throat, and Marshall managed to slip free, falling back on his ass.
He scrabbled to his feet as he cleared his throat and rubbed his neck, moving to the tray he’d brought in on the table at the center of the room. Rory, still out, lay there with her hand still up in the air as if still clutching Marshall.
“Awesome,” he said, his voice raspy. He grabbed a bottle of seltzer off the table and took a deep swig, clearing his throat. “I think she’s sleep strangling. Just what you want in a roommate.” He walked back over to the two of us and stopped, just standing there looking down at me. “You’ve got my back, right?”
I nodded, but warily. “Sure. Why?”
“Just remember you said that,” Marshall whispered, then upended the bottle of seltzer into Rory’s face. It poured down on her, and her eyes shot open, her glasses doing little to protect them. Her mouth opened, too, and the carbonated water ran into it, causing her to choke and sputter.
Marshall was already stepping away from her, but Rory—prone though she was—launched in a defensive reactionary mode. Her legs whirled out toward him, catching Marshall behind his knees, knocking him back onto his ass. His head bounced off the stone floor once, and it was his turn to lie there, eyes open and groaning.
Rory sat up first, swallowing. Marshall was a bit slower, clutching the back of his head when he rose. “I think that’s enough concussions for one day,” he said, pulling his hand away and checking for blood. Luckily, it came away clean.
Rory hopped up onto her feet, staying squat. She wobbled forward, and I caught her before she could fall on her face.
“Easy, now,” I said.
“Where is he?” she asked, looking around.
“Long gone,” I said. “I mean, did you see how fast that guy was moving?”
Rory nodded and stepped away from the hold I had on her.
“Your intruder was superhuman?” Marshall asked from his place on the floor of the guild hall.
“Yeah,” Rory said as she stared death at him. “And where were you, by the way? You might not have helped in a fight, but maybe I could have got the drop on him while he was beating on you.”
Marshall pointed to the tray. “I was being a good friend,” he snapped, looking back and forth between Rory and me. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t expect you two to get attacked in your own home.”
He had a point, and I did my best to let go of any anger I felt building up in me toward him.
“Sorry, Marsh,” I said, offering him my hand, helping him up. “We’re just a little on edge. There was a stranger in not only my home, but this space, which I consider sort of sacred.”
“What did he look like?” Marshall asked.
“Stone,” I said. “At first, anyway.”
“Like Stanis?”
“Not quite,” Rory chimed in. “When Lexi pulled me out of harm’s way, the first good look I got of him, he was sort of . . . a chameleon.”
I nodded. “Yeah. He was blended with the stone of the wall, but then he sort of . . . morphed.”
“Blond hair, hipster-tousled, this long brown coat he kept pulling vials out of . . .” Rory trailed off, her eyes growing darker behind her glasses. “I really can’t wait to hurt him.”
“I need to ward this place,” I said. “Ever since the building collapsed—when we thought Devon died—I suspected this new place might need it, but this clinches it.”
“Can we at least do that later?” Marshall asked. “I brought snacks and my notes from the other night’s experiment that we really should go over. I promise I’ll help you ward the place later.”