From the moment she finally jolted awake, Mandy’s mind was working. Hazily, she’d have to admit, but still: working.
Right up until Morgan hit the ground.
Then there was no thinking, only running—a straight shot that, like Morgan’s, was less than graceful. She stumbled and dropped down next to the bleeding woman, still in the somewhat unfamiliar position of trying to catch up to her surroundings; her thoughts dragged, stumbling as obviously as her feet.
She couldn’t understand her disorientation. Usually, these things were easy to plan—dozing was not napping was not actual sleep—but what had started as a light doze in the car (during which she could still hear everything, including Morgan's muttered complaints beneath the chaos) had skipped right past nap and deep into REM sleep with neither her notice nor her permission. And now she was paying for it.
She heard Morgan bark information, smelled gasoline, caught snippets of a plan tossed between their two magic experts. Glanced Morgan over, winced at her injuries and the tang of blood in the air. Managed to duck out of the way as Emma, too, was thrown aside.
And still her mind was working, working, working. Scrabbling for all of the pieces and trying to pull them into a cohesive whole.
And something stuck. Whether or not it was the right something was anyone’s guess, and she had a feeling at least a few of the others would disagree.
Guardian, she thought. This is a guardian.
Mandy jumped back to her feet and took off. The treads of her shoes almost slid on the cool asphalt—yet another pair of beloved Keds worn out by her new choice in career.
She shot a glance at Rob and Jacob over her shoulder—the only people left who weren’t injured, and the ones most likely to jump to more...extreme measures. They looked like grim twins to her in this light. Grim twins that would hopefully have her back, but would also hopefully wait before doing anything too drastic.
“Cover me, please!” she called, in that frantic, less-than-confident way that kept it from being a demand. Other members of the team threw around orders and requests as easily as they did banter, but for Mandy, every imposition came out sounding like a preemptive apology.
Then, more certainly: “And don’t kill it!”
* *
She found Beth crumpled, more blood, and a guardian spirit that seemed to be getting angrier by the minute—angrier, and no smaller.
In a desperate gambit, she grabbed the stone, trying to ignore the slick feel of it beneath her fingers. Like Beth, she felt magic thrumming through it and the creature in front of her. Like Beth, she took a breath and clasped it tightly, trying to wrap the object in her will.
But she also reached out, a fluttering, tenuous tendril of glamour, and touched it against the crackling power that could probably overwhelm hers in a second.
And this time, she addressed the creature, not the caster.
Please, she begged. I don’t know who brought you here, I don’t know what they said, but we’re not here to hurt you.
Possibly, she was going to hear about this later. Possibly, she shouldn’t be speaking on the others’ behalf.
But possibly, if she were an ancient guardian, jerked around—without sentience, exactly, but also without consent—and dumped in a strange new place, she would be cranky, too. Even crankier when everything in her was screaming, You’re being attacked!, and then a gaggle of strangers showed up to confirm the theory.
Her hands trembled, head aching with the effort of maintaining even the smallest contact with something so much bigger than she was.
We’re trying to protect this place, just like you.
Mandy was, in general, an optimist, but she wasn’t stupid. Even as she said the last few words, trying one last piece of grasping logic, she braced herself for the backlash. Will you let us help?
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Tim the Yeti