Free The Revenge of Seven by Pittacus Lore

reply, shooting a look at Marina. ‘She senses something.’
    ‘Since when does she …?’ Nine trails off, for once taking a moment to consider his words. ‘It still seems a little nuts to me, Six. That’s all.’
    Before I can respond, Marina waves her hand at us, getting our attention.
    ‘Cut the engine!’ she hisses.
    Dales snaps to and turns off the engine, still not wanting to piss off Marina. Our boat drifts forward silently.
    ‘What is it?’ I ask.
    ‘There’s someone up ahead.’
    I hear it then, too. A motor – one that does a lot less hiccupping than Dale’s – getting louder as itmoves increasingly closer. With the zigzag pattern this tributary takes through the trees, we can’t yet see this other boat.
    ‘Are there other dirtbag swamp people out this far?’ Nine asks, eyeballing Dale.
    ‘Sometimes,’ Dale replies. He looks around at us, as if something has just occurred to him. ‘Now, hold on. Are we in danger? Because I didn’t sign up for that.’
    ‘You didn’t sign up for anything,’ Nine reminds him.
    ‘Hush,’ Marina snaps. ‘Here they come.’
    I could turn us invisible. It occurs to me to grab hold of Marina and Nine, use my Legacy and make it look like Dale’s alone out here. But I don’t. Marina and Nine don’t look like they’re in any mood to hold hands either.
    If there are Mogadorians out there, we want this fight.
    I watch a dark outline pass through the clutter of trees and glide into the water in front of us. It’s a pontoon boat just like ours except much sleeker and probably with a few dozen less leaks. As soon as we come into view, the second boat also cuts its engine. It drifts about thirty yards in front of us, its wake causing us to bob on a gentle wave.
    The boat is manned by three Mogadorians. Because of the heat, they’ve removed their stupid black leather trench coats and stripped down to tank tops, their arms shining pasty white, their blasters and daggers clearly visible along theirbelts. I wonder what they’re doing out here, brazenly out in the open, and then realize that they’re probably looking for us. After all, the swamps are our last known location. These unlucky Mog scouts must’ve drawn swamp duty.
    Everyone is very still. We stare at the Mogs, and I wonder if they’ll even recognize us in the state we’re in. The Mogs stare back, not making any move to restart their boat and get out of our way.
    ‘Friends of yours?’ Dale slurs.
    His voice breaks the standoff. In unison, two of the Mogs reach for their blasters, the third spinning around to restart their engine. I shove forward with my telekinesis, hitting the front of their boat with as much force as I can muster, causing the ship’s bow to rise up from the water. The Mog going for the engine falls overboard, and the other two go staggering backwards.
    A split second after my telekinetic attack, Marina leans over the side and plunges her hand into the swamp water. A sheet of ice spreads out from her towards the Mogs’ boat, the water cracking and popping as it flash freezes. Their boat is stuck on a tilt, half out of the water, as the ice floe coalesces around it.
    Nine bounds out of our boat, gracefully runs across Marina’s ice floe and hurdles over the side of the Mogs’ boat. He grabs the nearest Mog around the neck, his momentum and the boat’s sloped deck causing them to stumble towards the boat’s rear. The second Mog gets his blaster up and aims atNine, but before he can fire, Nine plants his feet and tosses the first Mog at his buddy.
    The scout who fell overboard tries to climb out of the water and onto Marina’s patch of ice. That’s a mistake. A jagged icicle rises from the floe’s edge, impaling the Mogadorian. Before that Mog has even turned to ash, I use my telekinesis to tear the icicle through him and send it plunging into one of the Mogs on the boat. The final Mog, dagger drawn, charges at Nine, but he grabs the Mog by the wrist, twists backwards and stabs