Free Destiny's Child (Kitsune series Book 3) by Morgan Blayde

forward.  They held machine pistols by front and rear grips, the ammo clip in the middle between their hands.  The guns chattered, breathing fire and blue smoke.  Spent casings spun through the air, littering the rooftop.
    Either my senses were completely unreliable—for some reason—or time was broken, out of joint like a big dawg.  The chopper’s whumping became a drawn-out, sludgy drone.  The gunfire attenuated, turning brittle.  Cassie’s screen of dancing flames slowed, fire taking on a weird glassy sheen.  It seemed I could actually see the spinning slugs melting to nothing.
    Whatever they tranqued me with is off the hook!
    Cassie faced the weapon fire fearlessly, as though it were a summer shower.  Her face melted, reshaped, and darkened with rusty red-orange fur as she waded forward.  Her golden eyes brightened, incandescent coins in her head.  Long, pointy ears appeared atop her head.  Fox ears.  Her head became a fox’s, though the rest of her remained…  Wait a minute.  Is that a fox tail flopping out of her pants?
    Epic kewl.
    Fox mixed with human, I wondered if I could do the half-and-half thing too.  I fingered my cheeks, kneading them like dough.  “Foxy face, foxy face…  Where are you?”  Damn.  It didn’t work.
    Missy gave me a long stare, her eyebrows arching as though my words were incomprehensible, or maybe it was just me.  She dragged her attention back to the battle.
    The machine pistols were empty, and rather than reload, the gunners let their weapons hang from straps as they drew gently-curved katanas.  With aching slowness, Missy’s goon squad fanned out to hit Cassie from all sides.
    She brought her hands together.  A bar of golden light welled up in a column from her fists.  Her surrounding flames weakened as the sword formed, as if one gave life to the other.
    Time healed, back in joint again.  All the figures moved at normal speed again.  Sounds lost distortion.  Screams of exertion from the hit squad made a shrill chorus.  Cassie whirled in their midst, skimming across the red, painted design on the white gravel. 
    I’d seen that pattern somewhere, recently.  But where?  If I could only view it from above …
    Movement drew my eyes away from the spray-painted puzzle.  Cassie’s light-sword slithered and fluttered like a tiger’s tail as she turned away blows, t hat is, those that didn’t miss entirely due to her nimble footwork.  Shaun danced better, but she wasn’t bad.  Several of Missy’s gal pals fell dying—hacked, slashed, or gutted as opportunity allowed.  Tar-like blobs splattered the rooftop from Kevlar vests melted in spots at the kiss of Cassie’s sword.  War cries were replaced by screams of pain and piteous moans.  And through it all, a fierce, predatory grin never left Cassie’s face.
    Ah, this is what it means to be kitsune!
    Exhaustion set in as if I’d just run a marathon, but my head was clearing of whatever drug I’d been given.  I felt nausea and fought the urge to hurl.  What was I doing sitting here, watching the show as Cassie risked her life for me?  Once I was out of danger, Cassie could disengage and wait for back-up.  I reached for the veil, but paused, smelling something putrid-sweet like rotting, maggoty flesh.  I knew that scent, or one like it.
    Demon!
    But not Wocky.  This was stronger, sharper.  There might well be quite a few.  Something had drawn them to the battle.  Suddenly, my wheelchair became the safest place to be.  Cassie had to smell them too.  It explained why she wasn’t taking shortcuts across the ghost world, popping in and out of sight.
    Missy stepped forward, showing me her back.
    That left just one of her soldiers guarding me, a thin, gaunt blonde with mean eyes.  She saw me eying the machine pistol in her hands, and glowered at me.  “Don’t even think it,” she warned.
    Missy looked over her shoulder.  “She’s coming out of it, Evelyn?”
    “A little,” my guard