Even with Kirk using all his weight, the snow leopard man was free again in seconds. He aimed his pistol and fired but Kirk had turned invisible, leaving only the wall to be injured. Bluebell’s mouth hung open as the man was knocked back down by an unseen tackle. He slammed onto his back, wrists frozen in midair as Kirk grappled with him.

He kicked one of his heavy, black boots upwards. Bluebell heard a pained grunt. The blow hit Kirk squarely in the stomach, causing parts of a maroon sweatshirt to flicker back into view.

Bluebell rushed over–shotgun in hand–and pried the pistol from the man’s grip, throwing it aside. The snow leopard man snarled, flashing dagger teeth. Kicking again and again, he finally got the wheezing Kirk to release his wrists. He rolled over, ready to bolt out from under his opponent until he heard the click of the shotgun’s safety being turned off.

It was pointed right at his head.

Bluebell held the gun steady and glared. “Kirk, are you alright?”

Kirk’s glasses bobbed up and down but his breathing was labored. From the sound of it, he wasn’t speaking because he wasn’t able to.

“Cat, get down here!”