Free Destiny: The Girl in the Box #9 by Robert J. Crane

answer was a non-answer, two steps away from stuttering. His mouth hung open and he tried to form words. He lifted a hand to point, and it shook like he was in agonizing pain at that very moment. “I … I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave …” I just stared at him, glad I was incorporeal. I doubt I could have hid how much I was marveling at his stupidity.
    “I’ll go,” Antonio said, to my surprise. He shook for a moment, and his skin rippled. He grunted like it hurt, his skin taking on a different texture, a rougher one. He grunted again, and I wondered if he was going to Hulk out like a Hercules-type. His body stayed the same shape, though, his skin just … changed. And not like I’d seen Clyde Clary do.
    Ridges appeared as his body hardened and he gained a few inches in height. Antonio started toward the door and his walk was even slower and more awkward than before, like he was walking on two tree trunks. Like one of the Ents I’d seen in the Lord of the Rings movies. His hips swung wide with every step and he went through the door sideways, shuffling to accommodate his larger frame. His skin had become like tree bark, a layer of protection against whatever came his way.
    I watched him walk, and changed my angle slightly to see him go for a car across the street. He lurched toward it, and as he reached the side I caught a glimpse of the plate number.
    I took one last look at Samuel, against the wall, watching, hand still shaking and stuck in place from where he’d held it out to point Antonio toward the door.
    The memory faded as the pawnshop snapped back into rough clarity around me. The haze of blue was gone, and I realized that the blurring had faded as soon as the stocky woman had run away from the scene. I pulled my hand from Samuel’s and his body slackened, slumping onto the counter. He caught himself with a hand, but he looked as though he was going to be sick right there on the glass display. Which would be a shame, because then the next customer wouldn’t be able to see the ten thousand Pokemon games he had for sale.
    “Wha …” Samuel’s green eyes snapped up to me, cloudy, like he was coming out of a deep sleep. “What … what …” He murmured, nearly incoherent.
    “Go sit down,” I said, turning away. I started back toward the door, the neon signs that lit the front windows looking even more vivid now that I’d returned from the haze of memory. “You’ve had a very traumatic experience.”
    “I … have?” Samuel mumbled. “Did I get robbed again?”
    I paused, thinking of all the things I’d like to say, the things that would sound cool, but the truth was, he was a scared kid. I’d seen that while I was in his mind. He wasn’t any older than me, and he was so bad with people he’d probably be single forever. “No,” I said. “You’re going to be fine. You just got a little lightheaded there for a bit. Have a seat, chill out and get some water, okay?”
    “Okay,” he said as I pushed through the door into the sweltering Vegas heat.
    The bright sun overhead glared down on me. This time I started to sweat instantly, but it still felt like my body was retaining heat so it could cook me internally. I made it five steps before Scott opened up on me. I’d almost forgotten he was there, he’d gotten so quiet.
    “What the hell was that?” He didn’t even bother to restrain his anger; it lashed at me as we walked through the sweltering parking lot.
    “Investigation,” I said.
    “You almost took that poor bastard’s soul!”
    “I was at least ten seconds away from that,” I replied, heading for the car. This time, I felt a trickle of sweat make its way from under my hair down my temple. “Besides, I got a plate number for the robber and some insight into what’s going on.”
    Scott paused, and I could feel his anger without looking at him. He was a black hole of irritation, following just behind me. “What did you find out?” he asked finally, with