Page 12 of Hybrid Heroics

“Aye. But it takes—” Palmer stopped abruptly. “Murphy?”

His brother slashed his arms across his chest to emphasize his denial. “No. Not a fucking chance.”

“Murphy. Help me do this spell,” the mage pressed. “We need to disguise the hounds.”

“I’m not touching her beloved slobber boxes,” Murph snapped. “Fuck you for putting my life on the line like that.”

“Murphy.”

“No.”

Helios growled, and both Lynch brothers rolled their gray eyes.

“Fine.” Murphy kicked at the ground. “Gods. Is he always a dick?”

“Be careful,” York warned. “That one bites.”

“What does it take?” Stone asked Palmer. “You didn’t finish your sentence.”

“The spell I gave her a few weeks ago would have taken me and another mage to turn them into something as small as mice.” Palmer seemed lost in a memory for a moment before he continued. “I was going to help her before we left for Kentucky, but she took one look at the spell and changed them into puppies with nothing but a thought.”

Briggs snorted. “You could probably do it by yourself now. I doubt you need that jackass to help.”

“Hey,” Murph jeered. “I don’t want to help, so let him fuck up on his own.”

“Maybe,” Palmer said to Briggs, studying the picture on his phone before he locked the screen and tucked it back into his backpack. “I’ll give it a go when we get closer to civilization.”

“What are you turning them into?” I asked. “And when did you have time to charge your phone? Mine’s been dead for like three weeks.”

“Uhm. I don’t know.” The mage ruffled his hair, squinting at the hounds.

Novak chuckled. “Butterflies.”

“Why?” Palmer challenged.

The vampire shrugged. “That’s the image they’re all broadcasting right now.”

“You can read their minds?” Thatcher queried, disbelief flitting across his expression.

“Not in the same way I can read yours.” Novak winked when the alicorn glared at him. “They think in images and colors, or that’s the way Sloane trained them to communicate. I don’t know if that’s a hellhound thing, or just a these hellhounds thing.”

“Back to the original point,” Murphy demanded, changing the subject to avoid helping his brother. “You don’t think your mate is crazy because she asked you to shake a few paws. There’s more to it.”

“We know she’s crazy,” York confirmed. “You saw her with Anahein.”

Murph leaned his head forward slightly, urging us to answer. “But how do you know? I saw her fight. Miller was there too, though. I don’t think my sister is crazy based on one single account. That’s been a lifetime in the making.”

“She wore a psycho shirt to a fight,” Briggs teased, reminiscing on the memory that felt like it had happened years ago instead of mere weeks.

“A fight she made to look as simple as walking through a crowd,” I pointed out.

“Collectively, we killed a few,” Stone added. “She killed the rest.”

“There was even time for foreplay,” Palmer supplied, though it didn’t move our conversation along.

Murphy squinted at his brother, shaking his head. “Read the room.”

“What? I’m just saying…” He joked before his grin faded. “We didn’t really do much to help her. We were the support team. There was a moment in that battle, watching her throw knives without sparing a backward glance, that I realized I might have been in over my head.”