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“Marci! Marci!”
My eyes spring open. I’m still sitting, not floundering on the floor. I didn’t flop and drool back into consciousness? Really?! I’m almost ecstatic.
“Hey!” Luke snaps his fingers in front of my face. He’s leaning forward, his face a few inches from mine.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demands. “You were like paralyzed for a few minutes.”
I shake myself, pop my neck. “Azrael, call me Azrael.”
He steps back, looking irritated.
“Don’t let anyone hear you call me Marci, okay?”
I stand, look around the room.
Leaps and bounds, Marci. Leaps and bounds. I’ve had a few extra meditations since Aydan told me that. And this still feels slower than baby steps. Well, I’m too impatient for that.
My gaze stops on the largest of the pictures on the wall. It’s an oak tree in the middle of a sunny field. The wooden frame is dark and heavy-looking, probably five by three feet. I focus, immediately sense its rectangular shape and less-than-precise dimensions. There’s a nail in the wall, holding me in place. I shake, unhappy with what I am. The picture sways on its nail, making a slight whoosh, whoosh sound.
I snap out of it. Luke startles, whirls in the direction of the sound. He stares at the moving picture as if he’s seen a ghost. “What the hell?!” he exclaims.
My heart beats faster. With effort, I reach out once more. I sense the picture frame but don’t manage to experience the same feeling of oneness. This time I’m separate, an outside entity with no business being an inanimate object.
Anger settles heavily in my stomach. Why is this so freakin’ hard? I need to get out of here. I need to help Aydan! I lash out at the picture, my power unfurling like a whip. There’s a crack, then the scraping of the frame against the wall as it comes unhooked and crashes to the floor. Luke jumps back. The picture hovers for a moment then face-plants on the carpeted floor.
“Crap!” Luke turns pale, as if he’s seen a ghost.
I bite my lower lip to stop from busting out laughing. I’m not sure why I think this is so hilarious. It isn’t. This is pathetic. I still have no control. Imminent danger or frustration can’t continue to be the only things to truly activate my powers. That’ll get me killed, sooner or later.
“Hey!” A loud knock at the door. “What are you two doing in there?” Lamia sounds furious. She’s still out there, alone. No replacements. One guard, against two of us.
“Um, nothing,” I say, making it sound like something. I wait, exchange a glance with Luke.
“Don’t fuck with me,” she calls out from the other side. I stare at the doorknob, move closer. My hands are up, ready to grab her if she comes in. A quiet moment passes.
“She’s not coming in,” Luke says.
I exhale, deflated. My hands fall to my sides.
“What were you doing?” he points toward the sofa.
“Trying to sleep,” I say.
Luke doesn’t buy it. I’m sure he knows about “Fenders,” but the fact that meditation helps us hone our skills is something only Symbiots know, and I’m not about to inform him about it.
“Sleep? At a time like this?” He looks me up and down, scowling. “To me, it looked like you were . . . meditating or something.”
“And what if I was? I’m stuck in here with you, aren’t I? That surely entitles me to some peace and quiet.”
“Fine. Whatever!” He throws up his hands and paces toward the door.
I sit back down, place elbows on knees and rest my chin in my hands, thinking, thinking. Luke watches me, chewing on his lower lip. I ignore him.
An hour seems to pass before we hear activity outside the door. The voices are muffled, but it seems Lamia’s replacements have finally arrived. Luke and I glare at the door. He looks as tense as I feel. I know this isn’t good and, for once, I prefer Lamia over anybody else. With her gone, Lyra could dismiss the new guards without raising suspicion, then she’d be free to waltz in here and shoot us.
Convinced that this is what Lyra will do, I jump to my feet and pick up the fallen picture frame. After inspecting it, I set it back down and rest it against the wall, angling it just so.
“What now?” Luke asks.
“Nothing.”
“Marci—”
“I already told you not to call me that!”
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
I rub sweaty hands against my thighs, eyes roving around the room, hoping for the spark of a better idea to come to life.
“Elliot Whitehouse is a twisted man,” Luke says out of nowhere.
“No shit,” I respond absentmindedly.
“I didn’t want things to be this way. I wanted us to start over, to really get to know each other. I wanted to help you see things the way I do.”
My eyes stop wandering and lock with his. “Again with that. I already told you that would never happen, and you well know it.”
He sighs. “Once you understood what we are, once you came to terms with—”
“I’m human, Luke,” I interrupt.
“Of course you feel that way. You grew up thinking—”
“No! I am human. My DNA is human. And Elliot isn’t going to be happy when he finds that out.”
Luke shakes his head and looks at me sadly, as if I’m a deluded child who thinks her plain vanilla ice cream is better than cookies and creams. But he’s the one who’s deluded.
“Think what you want,” I say in disgust. “Either way, that’s not going to stop the bastard from turning us into lab rats. You’ve got your trusty Tauro to thank for that.”
“He’s just trying to keep me alive. Elliot was going to kill me, and Tauro has worked too hard to see it all go up in smoke.”
I scoff. “Of course you’d think he’s justified. For my part, I think he’s a jerk.”
Luke rubs a hand over his face, then lies down on the bed, his feet touching the floor. Suddenly, I’m reminded of the easy-going boy I’ve known for over ten years, the one I found intriguing and challenging, the one I once considered a friend, a brother. For a moment, I wonder if, deep down inside, he’s still the same. But when he turns to face me and his unreal eyes connect with mine, I curse my stupidity.
Of course, he’s not the same.
The person I used to know never existed. He was just a facade to hide an otherworldly creature that was created to exterminate an obsolete species and personally replace it with a new and improved one. He’s the Adam to a couple of Eklyptors who dared play God. He even thinks I’m his damn Eve. What a load!
Luke sits up with a jolt, pulling me out of my thoughts. He cocks an ear toward the door.
“What is it?” I ask.
He presses a finger to his mouth and closes his eyes, listening. “She’s here,” he whispers.
“Who?” I whisper back, my eyes flicking to the picture frame resting against the wall.
“Lyra.”
Adrenaline bursts into my system. My heart begins to drum.
Luke gets to his feet. “She’s ordering the guards to leave.”
“What?! How do you know that?”
He taps his ear.
My eyebrows go up. So he also enhanced his senses, not only his appearance. I should have guessed. I wonder how long he’s been this way. When I was hiding in the vent ready to shoot Elliot, he seemed to hear me cock the gun. I guess he did. Bastard!
I shake my head and focus on the now. My attention flies back to the door. I take a few steps closer to the picture frame, fingers twitching at my sides. Luke steps next to me. I cast a glance in his direction.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Marci,” he warns.
“I told you she wants to kill us.”
“Maybe we—”
The lock on the door clicks open. The knob turns. My heart is a pounding hammer in my chest. I don’t want to fight Lyra. She’s fast. Way too fast. I’m not confident about my chances with her. But what other choice do I have? God, I hope I’m wrong about her.
The door opens slowly. Lyra’s dark shape comes into focus. She’s standing in a slight crouch, her round eyes all pupils with thin slivers of green around them. She looks feral.
“Lyra,” I greet her.
She says nothing.
“Are you letting us out?” I ask, still holding on to a little bit of hope.
She doesn’t even look at me. Her eyes have gotten stuck on Luke.
So she’s here for him.
Good.
Good.
Good.
I repeat it several times, but the idea doesn’t sink in—not the way I want it to. Instead, I find that my head is shaking from side to side, and I’m stepping protectively in front of Luke.
“Why are you here?” I need her to say it. I need to be 100% sure before I do something I might regret.
Lyra steps into the room, shuts the door behind her. Her furry breasts move up and down with each deep breath she takes. She looks like someone getting ready for something. I stare at the twitching fingers at her side, the gun mere inches away from them. If she shoots, will I be able to stop that bullet? I did it once, after only a few meditation sessions. In theory, I should be able to do it again—except theories are worth jack when a life is on the line.
My right eyelid jumps with a nervous tick as I feel an imaginary bullet strike the middle of my forehead. Great confidence booster, Marci.
“You know my orders, Cher,” Lyra says.
Her orders from James are to kill Luke. Her orders from her French IgNiTe leader have always been to finish the Hailstone faction and its grand plan. It’s not hard to guess which ones she’ll follow.
“Lyra,” I say in a pleading tone as I take a step forward.
She stiffens, leans back and rests her hand on her gun.
At least she hasn’t drawn. Maybe there is hope.
“Killing him right now is a bad idea,” I say, my thoughts speeding their way through words, sentences, paragraphs that can offer an argument she will understand.
“Um, you . . . we need to look at the bigger picture. It’s not just Hailstone. There’s Whitehouse to consider, too. There’s the rest of the world and who knows how many other Eklyptor factions out there. We have to think of James, of his plan.”
Lyra’s gaze drifts away from mine and focuses somewhere over my shoulder. Hatred burns in the depths of her huge pupils—a smoldering flame against depthless black.
“That’s a twisted, twisted thing you’ve done, connard.” She talks to Luke as if I’ve suddenly gone up in smoke.
Stupidly, I want to argue it’s not his fault. He didn’t come up with this plan. He’s just another pawn on the game board. But showing any sympathy for Luke would be a mistake, so I don’t.
“It’s fucked up, yeah,” I put in. “But if you kill him now, we’d have to leave this place, and we can’t do that. We have to help Aydan. We have to set things up for the rest of James’s plan. Bigger picture, Lyra.”
Her eyes return to mine. “We?” Her whisker-like eyebrows move up. “Non, Cher. I have only one set of plans that matter.”
I’m opening my mouth to protest when she jerks out her gun and aims.
“No!” I put out a hand and desperately call on my power. Energy pulses in my chest, filling me to the brim. My eyes go wide with shock at the quick, obedient response. Something like an electric impulse darts through my arm. My wrist flicks as if swatting at a bug, and Lyra’s gun flies from her hand and crashes against the wall.
She hisses and, in spite of her surprise, whirls into action, going after the gun. I jump sideways and crash my boot against the picture frame. It cracks and splinters. I pick up a jagged slat and wield it like a sword, twirling it over my head, then smash it against the base of Lyra’s neck. She staggers forward, hits the wall and falls.
I jump on her back, force her flat against the floor, and press the splintered side of the wood to the side of her neck.
“Lyra, please,” I say. “I don’t want to—”
She bucks with incredible force. I’m thrown off balance. Rolling on top of me, she grabs my arm. We struggle for control of the jagged board. I press my free hand to her chest. She feels like a solid wall of muscle. I seize a handful of black, orange-striped fur. She growls and angles her mouth to my neck, baring sharp canine teeth.
“Stop!” Luke commands. There’s a click, the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking.
Lyra freezes. There’s a rumble deep in her chest. “This is your fault,” her eyes say to me. Her face turns away from mine, toward Luke. The gun is held firmly between his large hands, pointed straight at Lyra’s head.
“Get up.” He flicks the weapon upward.
Lyra stands. I follow suit, the broken piece of wood still in my hand.
“Drop that,” Luke orders me.
What?! Wait, what is he doing?
“DROP IT!”
My fingers go limp. The board falls to the floor.
I call on my energy again, trying to yank the gun from his grasp. The surge comes, but it’s weaker than before. Luke’s arm jerks a bit to the side, but his grip holds fast.
He shakes his head at me and holds the gun with both hands. “Nice trick,” he says. “You never mentioned you had such skills.” His tone is conceited, nothing like the repentant one he was using just minutes ago.
What a fool I am. I thought he . . . I don’t know what the hell I thought.
“Now you’re going to take me out of here,” he says, “and you’re going to come with me. I tried to do this the nice way, Marci.”
Lyra’s gaze dances between us.
“But I suppose this is the way it was always meant to be.” He points the gun at Lyra. “Turn around and walk to the wall!”
Lyra gives me a hateful glance before doing as she’s told. When she stops, Luke steps forward and smashes the butt of the gun against the base of her neck. She goes limp and crumbles, unconscious.
He turns to face me. “Let’s go get your friend,” he says, offering me the gun.