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.”
