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Lamia paces in front of us, her tail swinging from side to side with every slap of her boot against the floor.
She brought us to a small conference room on the main floor, probably trying to stay close to her leader. Ironic how, now, she’s stuck with what she called babysitting duty while Elliot headed toward the auditorium with Rheema, his twin dwarfs, and Charger, leaving Lamia looking pissed. I’ve never been in there—it’s off-limits to most, except Elliot’s closest captains. Lyra calls it his war room. Called it, I remind myself, regret for her wasted life filling my chest in spite of everything.
Luke and I sit in conference chairs side by side, hands cuffed to the armrests.
I close my eyes and lower my head. I can’t stand to look at her face, which has slowly changed from a gloating mask to a pissed off grimace.
At the verge of tears, I think of James and the assault he’d planned on Whitehouse. He and the best from his crew were supposed to ambush Elliot, supposed to capture him, supposed to administer an improved cure, one that may not kill him, though if it did, the world would be better off.
Now, instead, James and his crew will be the ones ambushed, greatly outnumbered by Elliot’s personal army, the best Eklyptors the Whitehouse faction has to offer. Monsters and soldiers alike, all with express orders to behead James.
He’ll get away. He’ll get away.
The chant rings inside my head over and over. There’s no IgNiTe without James. No home without James. I chide myself for this selfish thought. There are far more important people than me and my daddy issues in this fight.
If there was a way I could warn him. . . My eyes drift to the conference room computer. It is hooked to the projector overhead, meant for presentations during meetings. It’s just a basic machine, but one I could use to connect to mine in the barracks.
But there is no time for a warning. I look at the round clock on the wall. It reads 4:02 P.M. James is surely on his way to SeaTac, and I’m bound to this chair with no way of reaching a computer.
Unless . . .
I stare at the cuffs on my left wrist and focus. The metal is tight against my skin, biting into it. It was cold when Lamia first fastened it, now it’s warm, though not the least bit more comforting for it.
A handcuff is simple compared to cylinder locks like those I opened at Elliot’s fertility clinic. So I concentrate, imagining myself becoming one with the metal. At once, my body becomes rigid, dense. Nearby, I perceive a hollow space, a small chamber that holds a simple lock. I clench my teeth, sharpening in my focus. The mechanism materializes before my eyes. I almost gasp at its simplicity. All I have to do is push a metal bar out of the way. With more ease than I could have imagined, I drive the obstruction out of the way.
Click.
My eyes spring open.
“What the hell?” Lamia covers the short distance between us, her keen eyes immediately on my wrists. She tests the cuffs, squeezes them even tighter, activating the lock once more.
“No!” I exclaim, anger exploding from my mouth in this one word of frustration.
Lamia stares at my face, confused. “I know I secured those. How’d you do that?”
“Don’t be stupid. I didn’t do anything.”
In one swift motion, she grabs the back of my hair and pulls, throwing my head back. “Are you like that electric Fender?” Her breath blows over my nose.
I wrinkle my face and turn away. “Are dead mice your favorite snack or something?”
For a moment, she looks ready to slap me but—by some miracle, or Elliot’s warning to make sure we’re unharmed—she jerks away with a frustrated growl and begins to pace again.
Determined to make something happen, I do one of my best Azrael impersonations. “Why don’t you fuckin’ sit, huh? Huh? Just fuckin’ sit, will ya?”
Lamia comes to an abrupt stop and whirls to face me.
“Shut your mouth, bitch. Or . . .”
“Or what?” I challenge.
“Marci.” Luke shakes his head at me, letting me know it’s not smart to piss this creature off.
“Listen to your baby daddy,” she says with a laugh.
The comment sends my hackles up, but I hide my reaction and keep poking. “How do you like missing all the action while you babysit?”
Her mouth twists, looking as if she’ll say something. Instead, she presses her lips together and resumes her pacing.
My fists clench as I try to think of something that will make her lose it. Words might work eventually, but time is running out. An idea occurs to me. I straighten and do something sure to throw her for a loop.
I turn off my buzzing so she can’t sense me. No need to pretend I’m one of them anymore. Just as I expected, she reacts. Immediately. Her spine shoots up straight. Her tail uncurls to its full length. Very slowly, her eyes swivel in my direction. When they lock with mine, her face turns red with fury.
I don’t miss my chance to taunt her. “How do you like that trick? I’ve been using it all the time to sneak around this place with no one the wiser. You Eklyptors are such idiots.”
“Marci, you’re gonna get yourself killed,” Luke says in a near growl.
“Shut up!” I snap back, then refocus my attention on Lamia. “I can flip it both ways, you know? I bet you’d love to learn how to do that. It would be nice not to have to feel inferior to the likes of Lyra and Elliot all the time, wouldn’t it?”
I know I’ve done it when her face goes from red to incandescent. Temper clearly out of control, she stomps back in my direction. Faster than the eye can see, her tail slices through the air and lashes across my face. My neck whips back. Pain erupts down my spine. White lights flash before my eyes and, for a moment, I think I’ll pass out. I inhale in short spasms, willing myself not to lose consciousness.
It takes me a moment to recover and another to gather back my courage. I can’t break now, not when lives depend on me.
Ignoring the pain, I peer up at Lamia. She’s breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling, her fists clenched at her sides. I taste blood in my mouth. One of my teeth feels loose. Dammit! If she’s messed up my teeth, I’m going to make her pay.
“You’re a coward,” I say. “You couldn’t even touch me if I wasn’t tied up.” I struggle with the cuffs, making them rattle against the chair. “Just wait ‘till I get loose. You’ll get the ass whipping of your life.”
Lamia bares her teeth in a parody of laughter. “I see what you’re trying to do, bitch. You think I’m gonna take off the cuffs and give you a fair fight. Ha! I guess you haven’t learned nothing in your time here. Only humans care about stupid things like fairness and honor.” And with that, she raises her tail and clobbers my face again.
“Stop!” Luke screams. I hear him as if from far away, his voice barely filtering through the ringing in my ears. My head swims. Lamia could kill me in her rage and no one would know. These conference rooms are nearly soundproof.
Impotence settles in the pit of my stomach, pain fueling it, stoking it, like coal into a fire. It trembles inside of me, fuses with my anger and hatred for this woman, for her kind. Like lava inside a volcano, the mixture of emotions rise, rise, rise until they have nowhere to go but out.
The chair trembles under me. A whining metallic sound fills the air. Suddenly, the armrests twist as if made from play-dough. Screws drop to the floor with a ding.
For an instant, I sit, dumbfounded, not realizing what has happened, then it hits me.
The armrests aren’t attached to the chair anymore.
I don’t wait for an invitation.
I shoot to my feet and swing my arms upward. Pieces of chair fly into the air. The armrests slip out of the handcuffs and hit the carpeted floor while the cuffs dangle uselessly from my wrists.
I’m free.