When it's mid-air, Elton smacks the shadow with one of the kitchen chairs like he's a power hitter in the MLB. He isn't sure where that surge of strength came from, but he knows that the creature slams into Boris and both of them roll down the stairs until they hit the bottom.
He drops the chair. There are more important things to worry about right now— namely, that there might very soon be a dead body that was once an admittedly weird American girl on the mud-green carpet in this stupid fucking kitchen.
Elton rushes to Tiff, calling her name, and drops to his knees next to her.
This isn't good. Blood pools beneath her, commingling with shadows. Everything is cracked; everything is broken; and he can see her lungs straining for air in the pleural cavity, can see the way her heart thrashes against the ribs. Oh god, oh fuck— He doesn't know how to do first aid on something like this. CPR isn't going to help here, is it? Oh, this is bad, oh, he's absolutely fucked—
Her eyes flash glossy for a second; then, surprisingly, stardust; then she blinks.
Tiff groans. Wiping saliva against the back of her hand, she sits up and looks into her chest. A heart, slightly-blackened and still beating; ribs, smoky at the edges and slightly broken. It's like staring into the universe. It's like looking down at the autopsy table. "Wow. This is just great. I'm going to love explaining this one to my aunt."
Elton laughs out the sob that was waiting just under the surface. "What the fuck?"
"She's going to be upset, Elton." She pokes one of her ribs and winces. It isn't good that she can see the cancellous bone or that the shards move. She's not a doctor, but she knows that.
He doesn't feel like making jokes right now. "What the actual fuck? You— It stabbed you! In the chest!"
"I'm still alive, aren't I?"
"What are you?"
"I'm not gay."
Despite himself, and probably the lack of consent, Elton hugs her. "Me neither."
"It's the power of, uh— Of being aromantic— Fuck, I can't continue the bit. It's just divinity."
He releases her, staring at the hole in her chest. "Okay. You're, like, immortal."
"Yeah. It's a divine-kills-divine rule. There's exceptions, but— shadows aren't one of them."
"Cool." Elton nods like his mind isn't reeling. "Well, we need to get the fuck out of here or something. Burn this house down, too."
She frowns. Maybe it's the shadows talking; maybe it's the fact that she should have died; but all she can think to say is, "I think I have to kill Boris."
He buries his face in his hands. "Fuck. I was afraid you'd say that."
"You don't have to come with me. You could turn on all the gas." She pauses, stands. "Actually— Don't burn the house down. Don't do that yet. I'm sure there's stuff here that I would want before the government steps in. And I'd like to make my ex-husband look at the clown."
"The clown? You're thinking about the clown right now?"
"Yeah, I'm thinking about the clown. And about how the government—" She pauses again. "Should I— Fuck. I'm going to have to— Goddammit."
Tiff pulls her phone out of her back pocket and pulls up an unmarked contact. She knows who this is: the seemingly-nameless federal agent who dragged her into all of this. It's not the best idea to take a call in the middle of a fight, but she does it anyway.
While the phone rings against her ear, Tiff adjusts her grip on the rolling pin. "I'm going to the basement now."
Elton shuffles behind Tiff as she moves to the basement. "I'm coming, too."
A click sounds in Tiff's ear. A voice she recognizes chimes in with an, "Oh, Tiff! Glad you could call. Any news?"
"Yep." She jumps to a pause at the top of the stairs to watch Kepler and Dingus bite at Boris. "I'm going to kill this guy."
The agent laughs, but huffs out a sigh. "Did you learn anything useful?"
Dingus brushes past the two of them and leaps down the stairs with a bit too much gusto, colliding with a getting-to-his-feet Boris Covington. The Other One doesn't register any of the movement happening in the basement behind it— hellhound and alien rat battling a grown man. It just starts coming back up the stairs.
When it speaks, its voice is soft, hollow, and androgynous. "We remember you. You and this wretched plane. So filled with light and life."
The agent's frown is evident in his voice. "The fuck was that?"
She holds up a finger to the Other One. "I'm on the phone. Give me a minute."
It doesn't listen. It just keeps coming closer, creeping and oozing along the splintered wood and partially-exposed nail heads.
To the agent and the receiver, she says, "You know. Shadow guys from between dimensions. It happens."
Tiff can hear him move. His voice comes out harsher than he probably intended. (She will remember this later, when blood isn't gushing out of her body at rates that are making her simultaneously giggly and morose.) "Switch it to video call. I want to see it."
"You're insane!" she laughs. "I'm not giving you video evidence of me beating a guy with a rolling pin!"
"I'll cut you another check for ten thousand dollars. Let. Me. See."
"How the fuck do you have so much money?" It's more rhetorical than anything. She fumbles her phone until the video starts, then points it at the thing in front of her. "There. Are you satisfied?"
The screen of the phone shines into the dark basement. Glowing amber eyes stare back.
The agent barely breathes. "Oh my God. There it is."
A flash of fire erupts behind the creature, backlighting it against a backdrop of darkness over cardboard boxes and highlighting the edges of its asymmetrical body made of jagged spikes at odd angles. A cry from Boris rings out in the background; Dingus howls, either in pain or triumph.
Looking at the phone, it tilts its head to the side. "Why don't you try and touch us again? Here... We won't fight back."
Elton moves behind Tiff and puts a hand on her shoulder. "Don't touch it, Tiff. Please don't do that."
The inky darkness reaches for her. The shadows behind it make its arm seem longer than it is. "Go on."
"Oh! But now I have to." Shrugging out from under his hand, she hands off her phone to Elton. She considers it again, in the back of her head like she's negotiating with a child about whether or not he can have more Halloween candy. (It's not a good idea! Save some for later or you'll just get sick!) "I don't know, bud. Last time I did that, you stabbed me in the heart with your fingers, and I don't know how I'm going to fix that."
The agent is silent, watching this unfold from the haphazard angle Elton has him at. For his part, Elton still tries to convince her. "I can't imagine it's a good idea, Tiff. Immortal or not, this thing doesn't follow our rules."
"I know. I know. I've dealt with them before. But—" Giggling, she looks back at him. "You have to trust something, right?"
"Not this!"
"It'll be fine. Dingus could kill this thing in a heartbeat. I built a flamethrower last time— they're susceptible to fire."
"That's good to know. But... what am I supposed to do if something happens?"
"Nothing bad is going to happen. It'll just make me more of an asshole. That way, it can't—"
The Other One inches forward with its hand outstretched to Tiff. "Come. Don't you wish to indulge?"
"Hey, hold on—I was still talking."
"We do not care for the long-winded explanations of children."
"Don't interrupt her, man," Elton says, like it's a normal thing to say in this situation. "And, Tiff, seriously— don't touch it.
It insists on putting its hand forward. "Do not mind the other child."
"He's an adult, actually." Knowing this is the only way, she clasps its hand.