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I’ve only turned halfway when someone kicks my arm so hard that my hand opens on reflex. The gun crashes against the wall and clatters to the floor, right on the path of the fallen flashlight. The loss of my weapon sends my already surging adrenaline to new levels, spurring my survival instincts to the max. If my powers were reliable, I would order my attacker’s brains into next week, but for the moment, I have nothing but my own fists to defend myself.
I jump back, doubling the distance between us, giving me a fighting chance.
The flashlight illuminates the gun and casts a faint light on a pair of man boots. I squint, trying to see a face, but all I see is a dark silhouette.
“Hello, Marci.”
Recognition thrills through my body in a sickening wave.
“Luke!” My voice is a hateful growl.
“I knew you would find your way here sooner or later,” he says in a conversational tone that could make someone think we’re friends. Except we are not. What little used to be between us, whatever that was, never even came close to friendship.
My eyes dart around, looking for his Hailstone cronies. He seems to be alone, though I highly doubt it. They’ve probably surrounded the house by now.
Careless. So careless and stupid.
He must have left a trigger behind, something to let him know the second someone crossed the front door. I should have guessed that, but I clearly underestimated how badly he wants me.
Now, how the hell do I get out of this one?
I look to my backpack, which is closer than the gun. I try to remember what I packed. Could any of it help me escape? Extra bullets, a few of the surveillance gadgets Lyra gave me, and some food. That’s it. Shit! Why didn’t I pack a grenade? That would have been useful. Now my only hope is to club him to death with a protein bar, then snatch the gun and run out of here, bullets blazing.
“How have you been?” he asks.
“Screw you, Luke!” If words could kill, mine carry the weight of an Avada Kedavra.
I wish him dead and reach for his heart with my powers. I wait for my vision to tunnel, for that clarity and awareness to flood. Nothing. I quest for the gun next, imagine it flying into my hand, but it’s the same. Nothing happens. I feel empty, as powerless as an infant. There isn’t the slightest surge of energy within me. I’m useless.
He chuckles sadly. “I know I’m not your favorite person, but it can’t be that bad. Can it? I’ve never harmed you, Marci”
“Your faction killed Xave. Trust me, it is much worse than you think.”
“Him?” he scoffs with dry amusement. “That was an accident. He was in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and with the wrong crowd. Besides . . . you must know, he wasn’t good enough for you.”
“Shut up! You’re the one who’s not good enough, even to speak his name.”
Fuck this! I don’t have to sit here and make small talk just because I’m a good-for-nothing Symbiot whose powers won’t kick into heart-crushing mode. I have my own hands to do the job.
I crouch low, a smile suddenly stretching my lips as I realize something. He doesn’t want me dead. If he did, I’d already be lying on the floor with a bullet hole between my eyes. I guess that means he needs me.
For my part, I have no intention of falling into his web, plus I do want him dead. And, I’m not afraid of him. He might be big and muscular, but he has no sparring training, at least not at my level. I can take him.
Without warning, I sprint at his dark shape, accidentally kicking the flashlight. Shadows revolve in the narrow hall as it spins.
Dark. Gloom. Dark.
It’s like fighting my agent. My thoughts begin to jump as I close in, slamming my shoulder into Luke’s stomach.
He staggers back, hands flying to his middle, bending forward, gasping to catch the air I just forced from his lungs.
The spinning flashlight and shadows slow down.
Dark . . . Gloom . . . Dark.
It stops and goes out.
Pitch black.
Quickly planting my feet on the floor, I throw a front kick to his head. He surprises me by lifting an arm and blocking it—quicker than I thought he could move.
Damn! Where’s the gun? Eyes flickering downward, I search for it. Luke finds it first and, again, moves faster that I expect him to. He kicks the heel of his boot backward, sends the weapon spinning into the darkness.
In the split second it takes me to consider what to do next, Luke’s huge, dark figure lunges forward and tackles me. I stagger backward, trying to keep my balance, but he’s too heavy.
My legs give. We fall to the floor, knocking my backpack on its side. My neck snaps. My head hits hard tile. Pain. Specters awaken in my mind, ready to take advantage of this awful moment.
Agony crawls up my spine. I desperately shake my head. I can’t fight the agent and Luke at the same time. I can’t. The fear sends my mind into overdrive, and I imagine Luke’s Eklyptors outside the house, swarming like fluid shadows, swaying and shifting, creating shapes more monstrous than Azrael can.
They’re swallowing the house whole, their inky essence climbing up the siding, covering the windows until there’s no light left in the world.
God, no!
I need a light.
A flame.
Anything to shatter this awful darkness.
Luke tries to pin me down.
I jam a knee against his crotch. He rolls off to the side, groaning. I wriggle out of his grasp, scramble to my feet, and desperately reach for the flashlight.
Luke clasps my ankle, and I go down. Both hands out, I brace my fall. The side of my face hits something. I panic for an instant until I realize it’s my backpack.
Terror still scratching its way up my throat, I jerk my leg to yank it free, but Luke’s grip is strong. I try again, this time twisting my body and, at the same time, kicking at his knuckles with my free leg. He lets go.
“Would you stop?” Luke says between his teeth.
With a furious growl in the back of my throat, I jump to my feet again, the backpack in my clutches. Making a big show, I dig inside of it, causing the impermeable fabric rustle.
“Stay where you are or I’ll shoot you,” I say, my voice firm in spite of the lie. I squeeze the handheld surveillance receiver in my hand and point it at him. It’s too dark in here for him to realize I couldn’t kill a roach with this thing.
“Call your men off or I swear you won’t make it out of here alive.” I take a few steps back, feeling for the real gun with my feet, but it’s hopeless.
“My men?” Luke moves. I squint at his dark silhouette. He just sat up, I think.
“Don’t move,” I yell.
“I won’t. I’ll just sit here. I promise. I’m just . . . ow . . . seeing if my balls are broken.”
“I sure hope so.” My breaths pump in and out.
Calm down, Marci. Calm down. Think!
My fear subsides a notch, but I’m drunk on adrenaline. My body tingles. My fingers twitch, and I’m sure that if I really had a gun, Luke would be dead by now.
“Don’t be so mean. I’ll need them one day.” Luke moans.
I ignore his revolting comment. “You’re gonna tell your men to leave unless you want me to kill you,” I repeat. “I’d have no problem facing them, knowing you’re nice and dead.”
He sighs. “I’m alone, Marci. There’s no one else here.”
What? Is he serious? There’s no one out there to stop me from racing away on my bike. Why would he come alone?
“I don’t believe you,” I say. “You’re a coward. You wouldn’t come here on your own.”
“A coward? That’s what you think of me?” He sounds genuinely surprised.
“That’s just the tip of the iceberg.”
Another sigh. “No point in arguing your misconceptions. But I did come alone. You can go check if you want. I’ll wait right here.”
Something in the tired and resigned tone of his voice lets me know he’s telling the truth. I relax a little more, but don’t let down my defenses by any means.
“All right, don’t move. I’m going to pick up the flashlight.” I take a sideways step and snatch it off the floor. I’m afraid it’s broken, but it’s only switched off. I flick the button and light pierces through the darkness, creating looming shadows too similar to my own specters for comfort. Better than the alternative, though.
I shine the light on Luke. He turns his face away and places a hand in front of his eyes. “Do you mind?”
Taking advantage of the deer-and-the-headlights effect, I shine the light to the floor and quickly look for the gun. Nothing.
Where the hell did it go?
I bring the light back to Luke’s face, just out of meanness.
“Seriously? Don’t be childish?” He places his hand over his eyes, blocking them completely. In this light, his features look strange, too sharp and savage.
I ignore his comment and take several backward steps to the still-opened, front door. The evening outside has fallen into full night. I lean backward, stick my head out and look right, then left. No one is out on the porch, so I move outside to take a better look. The street is empty, and the only difference since I came in is the large car parked behind my bike.
“Satisfied now?” Luke calls from inside.
For a moment, I weigh my options. I could turn tail, hop on my bike and leave Luke’s ass sitting there in the dark. The thought is fleeting, though. I can’t run, not when there’s a chance to find answers to the questions that have plagued my mind since Kristen ran those DNA tests. Besides, there’s Dad’s box. I can’t leave without it and have it disappear like Xave’s.
I crack my neck, square my shoulders and go back inside.
“Glad to have gained some of your trust,” Luke says.
I laugh, really laugh. “You have some nerve. Trust is a severed road between us. The kind that can never be rebuilt.”
“Forgive me, if I disagree.”
“Well, let’s not waste our time in hopeless conversation. What do you want to talk about?”
“Everything.”
“I said let’s not waste our time. Why don’t you begin by telling me who the hell you are and why you destroyed my home?”
“May I stand? I want to talk about that and more, but not like this. Maybe somewhere else, somewhere with light and a hot drink. A coffee with ten packets of sugar, just how you like it.”
I scoff. “What are you, now? A comedian?”
This is not a world for conversations and shared cups of coffee. This is a world where hungry girls cling to bags of potato chips, and friends don’t trust friends without blood proof.
“If you want to talk to me badly enough to do this, then talk here and now. If not, I’ll be on my way. I don’t share drinks with beasts.”
“Clearly, you’ve spent too much time in Whitehouse’s company. I am not like him. Not in the least.” Luke pushes to his feet.
“Don’t move, I said!”
He ignores me, stretches to his full height, then steps out of sight into the kitchen.
Marci, you idiot.
He probably has weapons stashed in there, just for this sort of occasion. And even if he doesn’t, there are knives in there—much more effective than a handheld receiver at making people dead.
The sound of a drawer opening breaks through the silence. I back away and stop at the threshold, shining my light all over the floor.
There!
I spot the gun, rush to it and replace it for the tracker. Shuffling backward, I move to the threshold once more and raise the weapon, heart still thundering but considerably tempered by the very real, very deadly thing in my hand.
A match strikes to life in the kitchen. The glow of a warm light follows. Candles.
I watch in disbelief as, gradually, the hall grows brighter and brighter.
“See, I don’t have to be a comedian. Just a bit smart,” Luke says from around the corner. “Come sit with me.” He pulls a chair—making the sound of its dragging legs obvious—and, presumably, takes a seat.
I consider the possibility that he’s waiting, weapon in hand, then come to the conclusion that if he’d wanted me dead or trapped, he wouldn’t have come alone.
Inhaling resolve from the air, I take long, quick strides toward the kitchen and go in ready to shoot. What I encounter under the candlelight, however, sends an eerie shock into my veins and freezes the very bullets inside my gun.