The Hunt for Snow by S. E. Babin Page B

widened as everyone imagined what horrible fate would befall the man who dared to speak up to her. “And who are you?” she asked him coolly.
    I had to hand it to the poor bastard. He looked like he was about to pee himself, but he jutted out his jaw and met her stare directly. “Gerald,” he said after a long pause.
    “Gerald.” Naomi rolled the name around, tasting. “And what part of the Forest are you from?” He hesitated, and Naomi loomed over him. “If you lie to me,” she said through gritted teeth, all pretense of friendliness falling away, “I will pull the thoughts right out of your brain. And if I find out you have a wife or children I will slaughter them in front of you.”
    For one brief moment I lamented the loss of a nice dinner and catching up with friends. Normal just wasn’t possible around me. Once I’d had my brief pity party, I lowered my head, thinking furiously. I had twelve bullets in my clip, a hair barrette and about four bursts of pepper spray left in my canister. What were the odds I could take out a master sorceress, while not hitting any bystanders and, oh yeah, maybe not go to prison? If we were home, I wouldn’t hesitate to go kamikaze on her ass. But we were in a public hotel, and although I’m sure we were all under a heavy glamour in this room, the sound of gunshots tended to carry. Making a decision I might later regret, I looked up, saw Naomi looming over a terrified Gerald, and bit my lip.
    Even knowing this would surely come back to bite me later, I pulled out my Sig and clicked the cocker. The sound of the hammer being pulled back caught her attention, and as she turned I noted with satisfaction the flicker of surprise over her face until she replaced it with her usual cool mask of indifference. I moved forward swiftly through the tables until I stood just a couple of feet away. I was a helluva good shot. I wouldn’t miss. We both knew it.
    A collective gasp of shock rounded the room, and murmured whispers about what the hell I was holding in my hand made it to my ears. When Naomi’s brain exploded across their fancy china, they wouldn’t care what it was, but they’d know I meant business. I held the gun at eye-level, pointed at her face. “Leave Gerald alone,” I said, my tone brooking no argument.
    Naomi stepped away from the table. “You think a weapon will protect you against my magic?”
    I grinned and saw her mask of confidence slip. “Yup.” I waggled my eyebrows. “Unless you can conjure your magic to travel a couple of thousand miles per hour, the odds are you’ll have a bullet in your brain way before you even think about firing off one of your fancy spells.”
    The room was tense, but I was confident. I’d trained for this, damn it, against some of the best people in the world. They might not be magical, but they didn’t have to be. We weren’t immortals; we were merely more than humans. Harder to hurt because many of us possessed magic, but not impossible to kill. The smile held firm on my face as I watched Naomi’s mind work furiously to think of a solution that still involved killing Gerald but not taking a bullet herself.
    “It’s not going to happen,” I said. “You walk away now, and I give you my word I’ll let you live. If you raise one finger against Gerald or anyone else in this room, I’ll riddle your body with holes and throw your body into the closest pit I can find.”
    The sound of one person clapping rang out in the back of the room, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet room. I flinched, but held the gun steady. Seconds later, the sound of a second person clapping rang out, then a third. A fourth, and soon the entire room rang out with roars of approval and the sound of hundreds of people clapping. Goosebumps ran down my skin, but still the gun remained trained on her. Anger bloomed on Naomi’s face, redness spreading across her cheeks and down her neck.
    “If you stand against me now, there will be no forgiveness when we