“It wasn’t my fault.” Tusks stands at attention in front of Elliot’s desk. I slouch behind him, flanked by Tigress and Dillon. “He really is fast as she said. One second he was there. The next he was gone. There must have been another way out, which she conveniently failed to mention.” He points at me.
“Is that so?” Elliot asks, giving me a cold, suspicious look.
“She killed one of them,” Tigress interrupts, her left ear twitching. I stare at it, realizing for the first time that it has small hairs sticking out from the tip, like a bobcat’s.
Tusks glares at her over his huge shoulder, his nose scrunching upward, revealing coarse hairs inside his nostrils. It’s gross. I wish I could dim the lights to hide all these new details that I never saw from Azrael’s perspective, and to stifle the awful pain wreaking havoc inside my head. The buzzing seems louder than ever, more so now that I’m aware of the different pitches everyone puts out. Elliot’s is shriller than ever. My perception has changed—like I had a buzz-o-meter upgrade or something.
“Is that so?” Elliot says again. He doesn’t sound impressed, but his suspicion seems to ebb. I give Tigress a sideways glance, wondering why she would choose to help me.
“We did destroy all their equipment,” Tusks adds a little louder, trying to affirm his authority. “Computers, servers, microscopes, papers.”
“I certainly hope so.” Elliot is a tough customer to please, which clearly rubs Tusks the wrong way. I expect nothing short of James’s death would impress the bastard.
Tusks isn’t ready to give up yet, though. “I left guards in place, in case they come back for any reason.”
Elliot waves a hand in the air. “Bah, they won’t be back. At least it wasn’t a total waste of time.” He stands and walks around the desk. The buzzing in my head gets even louder as he approaches. Tusks and my two feline guards lower their heads. Elliot gives Tusks a pointed look. The thug moves his massive frame out of the way to allow his leader a better look at me. Tigress and her partner take two steps to the side. My knees shake and I feel I may collapse again.
“You’re very quiet,” Elliot points out, looking me straight in the eye.
I should spit on his haughty face, but the idea of going back to “Doctor Sting’s Chair of Agony” shakes me to the core. I was more than willing to die a swift death at James’s hands, but torture and the distinct possibility of falling under the agent’s clutches again is more terrifying than anything I can imagine.
“James,” I say, making my voice hoarser than it already is after nearly being strangled. I put a hand to my throat, which surely must be bruised. “He almost strangled me. It hurts. A lot.” Remembering Azrael’s crazy rants, I add, “A lot, lot, lot.”
Elliot makes a skeptical sound. I do my best to keep eye contact, even though his intense golden eyes make me want to crawl under the desk.
“Who was this person you killed?” he asks.
I have to sell this. If I don’t, I’ll find myself back on that chair, my fingernails yanked out from their beds one at a time. “Some good for nothing,” I say, bile burning in my throat at the awful words.
As if Oso hasn’t been defiled enough already. I’m a coward, a despicable coward.
Elliot turns on his heels and walks off toward a glass box that I hadn’t noticed before. A warm yellow light shines behind its clear walls. I stare at the back of his head, barely containing my rage and desire to scratch his eyes out. But if I die right now, he will go on, the way Oso can’t go on.
If I stay, though … I look around the room, an idea taking shape.
If I stay … I could have revenge, a revenge that will be sweeter for the wait and cunning it would take. Because I’ve just realized: I can be a Trojan, a perfect computer virus working from the inside to cause a lot of damage.
A lot, lot, lot.
Elliot leans his face into the glass box—some sort of terrarium, I decide—to admire whatever pets he’s keeping in there. He gently taps the glass and smiles with fondness. He whispers something over the cover as I strain to see what he keeps inside. Something black scuttles sideways as if performing a little dance for its master, much like everyone else around here does. I squint to make out the shape of his mascot and realize it’s a rather large scorpion with pincers the size of quarters and a huge, curved stinger on the end of its tail.
Figures.
“A good for nothing, you say?” Elliot asks without looking at me.
Sell it, Marci. Sell it. For revenge’s sake.
“Yeah, he was the driver, the cook. Terrible, terrible cook,” I say, my brain trying to find the exact brand of crazy that Azrael treated everyone to, the one worse than a room full of caffeine-deprived hackers. “Syrupy sweet, always sticking his nose where no one invited him, like everyone’s good ol’ uncle, or something. That one there,” I point at Tusks, “didn’t want to let me go in. Nope. Didn’t even give me a weapon. You know I wanted to kill me some Symbiot scum, but couldn’t do it. The cook was a worthless human, a waste of space.”
Tusks scoffs. “Takes one waste of space to know another.”
I ignore him and brace myself for my next words, which, I suspect, might be the only thing that will sell my act. Heartlessness seems to be Azrael’s most predominant trait, so I have to show them that. Symbiots are unprecedented to Elliot. He would have never trusted me if I hadn’t served him James on a silver platter. He knows I would have never done that. He must believe I’m still Azrael, someone he can marginally trust. “Sliced him like a chunk of steak, like he used to cook.” I let out a cruel laugh that colors my soul two shades darker than it already is. I fear acting this way will bring Azrael back, but what choice do I have?
“Good riddance,” I add. “Next is James. He’s the one. Yeah, he’s the one I wanna cut and cut and cut.” I brandish my hand in the air as if slicing someone with a knife. In the excess, I lose my balance and fall to my knees, dizzy from both shame and weakness.
“She’s a waste of space and time,” Tusks says.
Elliot comes away from the terrarium, his features not as pinched as before. “I wouldn’t be so sure.” He wraps a manicured hand around my upper arm to help me stand. “She shows more determination than most.”
The buzzing in my head moves to the brink of an explosion. My cranium will burst and brains will decorate Elliot’s cravat and entire office. Lovely. My knees start to bend. I will fall again. But I can’t. I have to stand.
STOP.
The loud command rings throughout my subconscious, willing the maddening droning to go away. With effort, I look Elliot in the eye.
You have no control over me.
I am not one of you.
Not. One. Of. You.
Then—not like lowering the volume, but like pulling the plug—the buzzing stops. I gasp and cover my bewilderment by feigning surprise at Elliot’s touch, as if he’s some sort of god who has deigned to bestow his gifts on me. I look for a reaction, wondering if he can’t sense me anymore, but he gives no signs to indicate that anything has changed. It seems the change goes only in one direction.
A discontented growl sounds in the back of Tusks’s throat. He’s not happy to see his leader’s attention toward me.
“The human girl who once owned this body,” Elliot says, “was strong. Something quite rare among them, but she was. I’m sure it took a similar level of strength to finally escape. Am I right, Azrael?” The name makes me shudder, as if its mention will wake the monster inside of me once more.
Elliot’s golden eyes twinkle. Without the buzzing in the way, his questions come across loud and clear, but I’m still reeling, still shocked by the fact that I’ve turned the droning off, so I don’t answer.
Elliot raises his eyebrow in exasperation.
Focus, Marci. Focus.
“Damn right,” I say.
Satisfied, he turns to Tigress. “Lyra, take Azrael with you, find her a spot in your ranks, then show her where she can …” he twists his mouth in my direction, “… wash off and rest. She’s had a rough day. Keep an eye on her, okay? Make sure she’s comfortable. She’s an interesting specimen. Doctor Sting might be able to learn something from her.”
So Elliot doesn’t quite trust me and I’m to have a babysitter. Great. Tigress, or Lyra, looks as pleased as I do about the arrangement.
“What a stupid name,” Dillon says with a smirk as Lyra and I head out. “Did not your host watch The Smurfs?”
I give Dillon a mean look. He chuckles and calls me an “idiot” under his breath. I return the favor.
This stupid name is not my fault, but I’m stuck with it, regardless. Having everyone think of me as Gargamel’s cat isn’t as threatening as I’d like, but appropriate since it fits my intentions of revenge just as well.
I turn to leave, surprised to still be on my feet.
Rest. Elliot mentioned rest. Just the word makes my eyes close.
Since that night at the dojo, I haven’t slept. I can’t remember eating much. I’ve been beaten, tortured, imprisoned inside my own mind. I’ve lost my family and … Xave.
I flinch inwardly. Just recalling his name tears my heart open all over again. What I wouldn’t give to see him one more time. My world has gone from chaos to clustermess in a handful of days and has left me no one to fight with. Of course sleep sounds good. Awesome, really, especially if it is the never-waking kind. So, right now, I’d follow Lyra wherever she wants as long as a bed is involved. And maybe, just maybe, after I wake up, I’ll be able to hatch a plan to make any angel of death proud.