I’m crawling through the ducts again, trying not to sneeze. The tenth floor is always guarded and not by the same over-confident jerks they keep elsewhere. Elliot’s personal guards know what they’re doing. I’ve already climbed up the shaft to his floor and, now, I’m trying to move away from the elevator area as quickly as I can. I don’t know if the twin dwarfs are still guarding the floor, but I’m not taking any chances at being heard or sensed.
The ducts grow narrow, and I’m forced to slither like a snake. When I reach the vent in Elliot’s office, I rest for a moment, eyes closed, breaths slow and deep. I listen and wait. Nothing. Good.
I get to work on the vent’s screws with a pair of pliers. Through the slats, the room beyond is dark, empty, just as I expected. I don’t know Elliot’s schedule, but I figured he wouldn’t be here at dinner time. Besides, with Lyra watching my every move at bedtime, I didn’t want to risk coming here in the middle of the night. She’s at the mess hall right now and should be there for at least thirty minutes. She thinks I’m in bed still recovering from Tusks’s beating, so I need to hurry.
The screws are tricky. I have to get them out backwards, so it’s lucky I can see their pointy ends. I work methodically, paying attention to every turn of my wrist. I can’t rush this. My every move has to be planned, purposeful. Any small mistake could get me killed.
The first screw falls with a small clink on the other side. I curse inwardly. I pushed the screw too far out. In a place where there are beasts with enhanced senses, even the tiniest sound can give me away. I sniff myself for the fifth time, worried about someone catching my scent. In spite of the sweat caused by the exertion, I still smell fine, at least to my perfectly human nose. Hopefully, there aren’t any bloodhounds around.
As I work on the next screw, my vision tunnels.
I blink, shake my head, and wait for it to pass. The same thing happens as I try again. I frown at the familiarity of the feeling, and it takes me a moment to realize what the eerie sensation is. This is exactly what I felt the night I helped James open the lock to the cryobank.
One meditation session with Aydan and already there are benefits? I press the back of my hand to my mouth, pondering. If only …
I remove the pliers and, this time, allow my senses to take me wherever they want. My body tingles. Again, my vision focuses and I can almost see the screw, turning, slowly making its way out of its threads. I nearly feel myself twisting, but only at the edges, not entirely.
“C’mon, c’mon,” I murmur.
I swallow the sharp curse that springs to my lips. These freaking abilities are frustrating. I can stop bullets, but not release a miserable screw. The meditation session seems to have helped, but it’s hardly enough. I close myself and take out all the screws the hard way. By the time I finish, my forehead is slick with sweat and I’m as jumpy as a damn Mexican bean. At least, I didn’t drop anymore of the screws inside the room.
I ease the vent off and pull it in, grinding my teeth at the scraping sound of metal. I wait for a moment, imagining stomping boots and angry voices outside the closed door. No one comes.
The vent is so narrow that my only option is to slither out of the hole. Head first, I squirm and wriggle until I’m expelled like a piece of waste. It’s a seven-foot drop. I break the fall with my hands at the same time that I tuck my head in. As I hit the floor after tumbling like a weed, my ribs scream in pain. I grab my side, nursing it, grateful that Tusks’s steel toe boots didn’t split me in two.
I crouch, glad Elliot’s office has no windows. The only light in the room is the yellow bulb inside the terrarium. The large black scorpion skitters over the sand and presses its pincers to the glass. On top of the glass tank, there’s a mesh basket filled with chirping crickets, ready to be devoured alive. A shiver runs down my spine. I feel like one of the poor bastards, just waiting and waiting to be discovered, plucked and fed to a hungry monster. Because isn’t that the way this new Eklyptor world works?
Eat or be eaten.
For so long we’ve tried to be civilized, to help the weak, nurturing the young and comforting the old. And here we are, back to square zero, reminded of the first lesson in survival: the strong take the spoils.
And it’s hard to accept that we aren’t strong after all, even if we thought ourselves indestructible and all-knowing. The truth is: our ways only made us weak, easy prey to those who understand how nature works, those who care nothing for helpless creatures that can only chirp and twitch all the way to the dinner table while the mighty scorpion waits for its terribly fresh meal.
I get the urge to snatch Elliot’s pet and crush it under my boot. I imagine the crunch it would make, the way its guts would stain the carpet, and Elliot’s expression at discovering his little pet turned into pulp. I smile a twisted smile.
A slight shuffle by the door catches my attention. I hold my breath, heart beating in my throat. Two shadows shift under the door. I look back toward the vent. Crap! I have no time to climb back and replace the cover. And even if I did, the buzzing will give me away as soon as they come in.
I’m dead. Dead.
A key slides into the lock. From my crouching position, I shuffle to the side like a monkey, hands and feet maneuvering me behind a leather armchair in the corner. I curl into a ball, back against the wall, thighs pressed to my chest.
I fumble through my mind, imagining flips and switches in all sizes. I turn them all off with a giant hand that is clumsy with fear. I don’t sense anyone, but I have no idea if they can sense me. God, please. This is a two-way street. If I can block one side, I should be able to shut the other one, too.
My mouth is at the brink of letting out a desperate scream when the door opens. The lights come on. Someone walks in the room. My eyes flick toward the vent again, the wide-open escape route that can give me away as easily as the buzzing.
Don’t Don’t Don’t—the chant of a dead person.
Even though the shadows are barely there, my thoughts jump in all directions as my heart speeds up. I hold my breath, wish I could also hold my heart to stop it from thumping so loud.
Elliot, I assume, sits at the desk, picks up the phone, dials.
I’m frozen, disbelieving that I’m still here and he hasn’t sounded the alarm. Did I block my signal? I must have. That’s the only explanation. Unless … unless he’s being cruel, letting me believe I’m getting away with murder.
“Hello.”
Yes, it’s Elliot, his cool, commanding voice is unmistakable. He barks several orders, demanding more updates on the situation, whatever that is. He makes two more calls, sounding unhappy with everyone, then slams the phone down.
A drop of sweat slides down my temple. If he discovers me, I’m done for. Does he really not know I’m here?
There’s silence for a long moment.
He’s sensed me, seen my boots. He’s laughing inwardly, thinking of the most theatrical way to let me know how screwed I am.
Elliot heaves a heavy sigh, then dials another number. I press my knuckles to my lips and squeeze my eyes till they hurt.
Calm down, Marci. You did it. He can’t sense you. He can’t.
“Mrs. Zara Hailstone, please,” Elliot says.
My eyes spring open.
“Elliot Whitehouse, returning her call.”
I lean slowly toward the edge of the couch, peek with one eye. Elliot’s high-back executive chair faces the wall opposite mine. All I see is his arm resting on the desk. A cufflink twinkles in the light as he drums his fingers.
“Mrs. Hailstone,” he says, diplomacy dripping from his refined British accent. “I understand you have a proposition for me. I’m all ears.”
A proposition? Super hearing would be nice right about now. This can’t be good.
Elliot stops drumming his finger and begins to trace lazy circles on the desk.
“You have my attention,” he says, sounding extremely interested in whatever Zara has just told him. A pause.
“I understand. I suggest a meeting, then. Here. And to prove my good faith, I promise full disclosure and cease of hostilities until the meeting takes place. Does that sound fair?”
Elliot’s chair swivels. I pull back and hold myself tighter than before.
“Excellent. I will work out a date and let you know. Until then.” He sets down the phone and stands.
His steps are muffled by the thick carpet, but he sounds like he’s headed for the door. Suddenly, he stops, clears his throat. He’s close enough I can hear his breaths. I put a hand over my nose and mouth and don’t breathe. Of course asphyxia might be useless because he already knows I’m here, because the buzzing gave me away the minute he stepped into the office, because he’s just playing a vicious cat and mouse game with me.
“Are you hungry?”
The sudden sound of his voice startles me. He moves away, toward the terrarium to feed his pet. He talks to it in strange hisses that make the primal side of me shiver.
When he leaves, turning off the light and closing the door behind him, I stay frozen, unable to move. Minutes ticks by.
Get up. He didn’t sense you. He really didn’t. Get up!
I only have fifteen minutes before Lyra gets back from dinner. And I have no doubt she’ll check on me then. I have to get moving. There’s no time for relief or shock. I have to do what I came here to do before the door opens again and some giant hand pinches me out of the room and throws me into the gaping mouth of some hungry beast.
And, even as my legs tremble under me, I get to work.