My thoughts reel. Were Lyra’s suspicions right? Is Elliot traveling to England to bring his London-based Spawners here, to tip the odds back in his favor by stealing our human soldiers and turning them into monsters that will fight for him instead?
At the idea, my blood begins to boil, bubbling and rising all the way to my head. Getting the list of Whitehouse’s reproductively capable members and convincing James to trust me on the matter was no easy task. All the Seattle IgNiTe cells fought, at great peril and loss, to exterminate every single Spawner. I can’t allow Elliot to fetch more of those creatures to replace the ones he lost here. The scales are slowly tipping in our favor. We can’t lose this small advantage we’ve gained.
My hands shake at my side. I imagine a gun between my fingers, my grip tightening around its cold handle. But I don’t have a gun. I’m not allowed to carry one in here. There’s only me and a crowd of people between us, and I would never get to him. I’d be ripped to pieces before I’m able to pull one hair off his miserable head.
But you don’t need to get to him, Marci. You could just …
Suddenly it’s not a gun I imagine in my grip. It’s Elliot’s heart, supple and fragile. My body tingles with a strange energy that should, by now, be familiar. My powers are surging. For once, I let my instincts guide me, willing the energy to find its way to the surface.
Elliot’s mouth continues to move, but I don’t hear the words. I’m in a vacuum where nothing can reach me. My eyes focus in and out, and I’m pulled forward as if sucked through a giant straw. There is a flash. I see Elliot for an instant, then he’s gone, obscured in a sea of black and red. A part of me urges me to pull away, but I ignore it. Like sand slipping through fingers, my mind falls away from the moment and into that strange reddish darkness.
The world thuds around me, making a rhythmic whooshing sound. I am bone and tissue and heart. In a detached way, I’m aware of my body, still standing on the chair. But, at the same time, I’m here, just where I want to be.
Blood rushes in and out, relentlessly. I’m strong and feel as if I could go on forever, except, maybe, that’s a bad idea. Actually, a terrible, terrible idea. What if I just stop. What if I refuse to go on.
There’s a cough, followed by another and another. There’s pain, the brutal, arresting kind. I sense it, taste its bitterness as if from a distance. I will it to grow, to paralyze this black, cruel muscle that I’ve become, except something fights me, but what? I can’t tell.
I gather my will, pack it as tightly as I possibly can, then release it.
Stop.
Beat no more.
I stretch and stretch and stretch. I have no end and no beginning. The effort to impose my will tugs in both directions and my center becomes thinner. I’m a piece of chewing gum pulled to the point of breaking apart.
A shadow rises in front of my eyes, followed by a hundred more. They take me by surprise, swarming my thoughts like starved piranhas. They haven’t attacked in weeks, and I think they’ve been hiding, waiting for this chance.
Everything is thrown into a deeper darkness. My heart, my own heart, thuds out of control.
No. No. No.
I’ve been eclipsed. Azrael bided its time, made me think I had defeated her for good and I was safe. But that was never the case.
My heartbeat escalates, reaching its peak. I’m at the sharp edge of no return when my defensive mechanisms engage, and my thoughts begin to jump like never before.
Greasy hands.
Chalked hands.
Cues and billiard balls.
Another life. Not this life.
A better one. A lost one.
My chest spasms. My eyes spring open as I take a deep breath and resurface. Miraculously, I’m still standing, feet planted on the chair, even as I sway and put my arms out to regain my balance.
My eyes dart desperately in all directions. Did anyone see? Does anyone know what I was trying to do, what I was going through? Has the mole been unearthed?
The first thing that registers through my addled senses is the uneasy silence that hangs over the room. Sweat and fear slide down my spine, turning my courage to pulp. I’ve been discovered I’m done for.
But, as my senses settle back into place, I realize no one, and I mean absolutely no one, is looking at me. Instead, everyone’s attention is still glued to the front.
Shaking my head, I grab on to the moment and process the situation. My gaze snaps forward like everyone else’s, taking in the sight. Confused, I wonder why Elliot isn’t talking anymore and, instead, is standing slightly bent over with a hand to his breastbone. Lamia hovers over him, touching his back, wearing a worried expression.
He coughs and thumps his chest. I stare at the top of his head, shocked with the realization of what I’ve manage to do. I press trembling fingers to my mouth. To anyone, I may look like a scared Eklyptor, anxious about her leader’s wellbeing. But what I am is a traitor full of expectation and hope.
God, what if he dies? James thinks his death would mean chaos. What if he’s right?
Elliot coughs a few more times, then straightens suddenly, slapping Lamia’s hand from his back. His face is pale and twisted in a hideous grimace. He takes deep breaths and rubs his left arm, eyes darting around the room, examining the upturned faces of his followers with something that looks like hatred, as if he blames them for this lapse, for this display of weakness and vulnerability.
Does he suspect one of us did it? Can he tell?
His golden eyes scan the room. I fear the moment they’ll meet mine to discover it was I who supplanted his heart and tried to steal everything from him—just the way his kind supplants us and steal everything we hold dear. But when he sees me, propped high on my chair, a hand pressed to my mouth, he doesn’t pause—not even for an instant. And why would he? He thinks I saved his life. I couldn’t possibly be trying to kill him now. I’m his loyal Azrael.
When he’s done with his inspection of the crowd, he jerks his jacket down and squares his shoulders with determination. He takes a step, falters. Lamia’s hand flies to his elbow to steady him. He shrugs from her grasp and throws a nasty glare in her direction.
Head held high, he takes another step, then a third one. Finding himself steady, he descends the two steps in front of him, then strides resolutely toward the double doors, Lyra and Lamia following at a respectable distance.
I almost killed Elliot. The thought soaks through me like a downpour, chilling me to the bone. Would meditation bring me that kind of power? Would I want it?
After Elliot leaves the mess hall, I jump off the chair and sit down, feeling dizzy. The din of cutlery and conversation returns by degrees. I rest my elbows on the table and hold my head, thoughts still jumping, shifting away from the shadows that still loom over my mind.
Damn you, Azrael!
I almost killed Elliot. I shake my head, thinking how easy it would be to be rid of him if I could fully control my powers, how quickly I could end this war if I systematically killed every Eklyptor leader. If only I could practice meditation every day, but I haven’t seen Aydan in weeks, haven’t had his help, and I’m still too