Chapter Eleven
I felt the heat and flames from the exploding bomb behind me, but did not look over my shoulder at it in order to save my face. I was trying to keep Plutarch—who had become a quivering mess under me—safe from the explosion, even though my hodgepodge of a costume was probably not good against fire. The volume of the explosion was the worst part, however, because I was practically deafened by the noise it made.
But eventually, the explosion faded. Hesitantly, I looked over my shoulder to see the damage.
The living room looked like it had been completely nuked. The flat screen TV had been almost completely melted, while the sofas were on fire or burnt to a crisp. What remained of the main window had been shattered, while the curtains were nothing more than smoking remains. O
