Fine by me. I drop the gun and zip in his direction. While I'm faster, he's somehow more agile and keeps eluding me. Office equipment -- staplers, tape dispensers, the occasional computer monitor -- flies in my direction, and I have to concentrate on knocking it out of the way. I can still be hurt, after all.
A woman in slacks and a businesslike blouse comes around the cubicle corner and sees what she thinks is Ezra Hirsch floating in the air. She stops, steps back, and turns to run, and in that moment I see Zakrazgo's essence lift from Hirsch -- who collapses to the ground in a heap -- and surround the woman. She has time for one sharp scream before Zakrazgo takes over, turning to me. "This is much better," she says, the inflections the same as they were when the demon had possession of Hirsch. "Did you know this body does kickboxing?"
"No. I've never met her before."
"Me neither. But I just love getting to know new people. Don't you?" She's got that same ugly smile that I saw before on Hirsch's face, and she's heading in my direction. "Let's get to know each other, Alexandra."
It's been a long time since I've fought a human being, and while I'm going to have to find a way to stop Zakrazgo, I don't want to cripple this woman. I'm not going to be able to fight full-force, and to control myself that much, I'm going to have to slow myself down.
She lands the first blow, a closed fist that I barely manage to take on my shoulder, and it hurts like hell -- clearly this woman knows how to throw a punch. Well, so do I, but if I punched her in the same place, I'd dislocate her arm and possibly break her bones.
But while I have to fight at a tiny fraction of my ability, Zakrazgo is giving the woman that much more of itself. She moves in close and hits me twice more, both in the stomach, and although I tense my muscles I still feel the breath rush out of my lungs.
Shit.
She's close enough, though, that I can wrap my arms around her and hold her against me. In this position, I'm exerting enough strength to keep her from escaping, and she's too off-balance to do much damage with her knees. Now I just have to--
--let go as stars explode in my eyes and a throbbing pain spreads outward from my nose. I fall onto my ass and blink hard, tears forming in my eyes. Despite the strength and healing powers, I still feel pain just as much as anyone else, and when the woman slammed her forehead into my face, rest assured that it did its job. I'm so stunned that she manages to snap-kick my chin; my teeth clack hard and my head practically whiplashes backward. On instinct alone I roll to the side, taking her stamp-kick on my shoulder instead of in the chest, and that's it. I've had enough of this crap.
I marshal my strength and fly backward, only a foot or two above the ground, until I'm against the windows at the end of the cube-hall.
Zakrazgo smiles and begins stalking in my direction. I bring my fists up and move into a fighting stance, and Zakrazgo's smile widens. "Doesn't that hurt?" she asks.
"Like hell." I can still feel blood dripping down over my lips and I sniff hard. The clot of it thuds against the back of my throat and I swallow the thick gobbet. "But I can't stop."
"I know," she says. She's only a couple of yards away now. "That's what makes it fun!"
I bet Zakrazgo thinks the jump-kick is a surprise, but the Dark King's minions are dumb. They still haven't figured out the whole playing-possum thing.
And I'm way faster than Zakrazgo. I'm out of the way in plenty of time, grabbing the woman's leg and slinging her against the window. She smashes into it with a terrific thump and the glass cracks a little on impact.
I'm ready to hit her again -- to hit her for real, to use all the strength I have -- but she falls to the floor, her face a mess, her nose clearly broken. She's unconscious but still breathing, blood trickling from her nose. At least she's on her side, so she won't choke on it or drown in it.
I pull out my phone and call the lab. "Zakrazgo," I say the moment Dr. Colibri picks up. "I need to banish him. How?"
I hear her looking it up on her computer. She sucks in a sharp breath.
"I'm going to have to kill her, aren't I."
"No," Colibri says.
Then she tells me what I have to do.
The secretary yelps sharply when she sees me kissing the unconscious woman, but I don't care. Nor do I care that her lips -- and mine -- taste like blood. I don't know why kissing the host body banishes Zakrazgo, but the kiss does exactly what it's supposed to; I feel it in the back of my neck when the demon is sent back to the King's pocket dimension.
I lift the woman off the floor, carrying her carefully, her blood smearing on my shirt, and turn to face the secretary. "You're..."
"Yes, I'm Alexandra." I incline my head at the unconscious woman. "Call 911. She's going to need to go to the hospital."
"What happened? I mean, I heard you were back, but--"
"No time," I say. "Call 911. Now." As she does, I add, "and find me a couch. You're going to make sure she keeps breathing."
"You're not staying?" she asks. Then, to the phone, "one of my coworkers was hurt. Alexandra's here, and she saved her, but she said to call you." A pause. "Her face is all bloody. I think her nose is broken." Pause. "No, but she's breathing." She gives them the building address and suite number, and by then we're in the lobby. I carefully lower the woman to the couch, propping her head up on a couple of stiff throw pillows. "Yeah, we'll be okay. Thank you."
"What happened?" I ask as she puts her phone back in her pocket.
"They said to call them if something else happens, and they'll be here in a few minutes."
"That's weird. I thought 911 is supposed to stay on the phone with you."
The secretary shrugs. "What happened to Eveline?"
"You know about the Dark King?" I ask. "And... do you have any makeup wipes?
She nods and goes behind her desk. "That wasn't him, though, right? I mean, you killed him."
"Yeah. I did." She hands me the package of wipes and I pull one out, scrubbing it across my lips. I discovered years ago that these things also do a number on blood. At least the pain in my face is down to a dull roar; I bet in a few minutes I won't even remember getting it nearly smashed in. "But that doesn't mean there isn't evil in the world."
"Well, where have you been the last eleven years?" I can tell she's trying not to sound accusatory, but she's right: lots of bad shit's gone down since I lost my powers. "And don't give me any bullshit about only fighting demons or whatever -- my uncle died in Hurricane Sandy."
"I'm sorry," I say, wondering exactly how I could've stopped a natural disaster that no one could have predicted. Maybe she thinks I could've helped with the evacuation -- and I certainly would have, if I could have. "I lost my powers after I defeated the Dark King. They've only now started coming back."
"Why?"
"Your guess is as good as mine." Actually, my guess is probably better, but I'm not going to tell her. I probably shouldn't be talking to her about it at all, but I'm pissed off that I had to nearly kill Eveline, and I'm tired, and I'm getting hungry, and I'm covered in blood and I can still taste it and--
I sigh and throw away the other wipe before handing the package back to the secretary. "Thanks," I say. "I've got to go. Keep an eye on her, okay?"
"Okay."
"And send someone to check on Ezra Hirsch."
"What happened to him?"
"Me." Her eyes go wide. I shrug. "I didn't hurt him, but he's probably going to be disoriented when he wakes up. The same thing that possessed your friend Eveline got to him first."
"Oh."
I go to the lobby door. "Thanks again," I say. She offers a little wave, and I wave back. It's times like these that I wish I had a catchy catchphrase like "up, up, and away", but I never bothered to make one. I just leave the way I came in, heading up to the roof, and once I'm there, I pull the mask off and turn eastward, letting the sun's warmth play over my face.
But only for a minute or two. Then I put the mask back on -- thankful I remembered to stick the little tube of glue in my pocket
-- and take off. I can feel the acid building in my stomach again, and I know there's more evil to fight
It's just after eleven when I finally have time to breathe. I'm dirty, tired, and starving, and although I know I shouldn't, I walk up to the Varsity and order a couple of burgers and some onion rings. To their credit, the employees working the morning shift don't give me any crap about the mask or the blood -- my money's just as good as anyone else's -- and I take my lunch with me to the lab. Actually, I fly into an alley a couple of blocks away, remove the mask, and walk the rest of the way, but close enough.
"Could you be any more obvious?" the doctor asks as I plop down at her lab table and unwrap a burger. "You're all over the news already, and it's not even lunchtime!"
"It's my lunchtime," I say. I'm not a huge fan of fast food, but it does the job when it comes to filling me up. "What the hell's going on?"
"The King's moving fast this time," she says. "Take a look at this."
I sigh and get up from the stool, carrying my soda. Ideally she'd have one of those big situation monitors that all the superhero movies do, but I get the feeling she's more inconvenienced by my existence than anything else. I wonder what she does when she's not supporting the hero of the day. "What am I looking at?" I ask as I stand next to her, staring at the computer screen. It's showing some sort of heat-map-looking thing, and there's a big, ugly blob downtown.
"Do you know where this is?" she asks, tapping the blob.
I peer at the map. "That's the new stadium, right? Isn't there one of those motivational rally things there today?"
Dr. Colibri nods. "Tens of thousands of people. All of them hungry."
I understand instantly. "Famine."
"Famine."
I sigh. "Good thing I got some extra food."
She doesn't justify that remark with a response. "Come on," she says. "I have something for you."
"I have to admit," I say, "I didn't think you were a fashion designer."
"I didn't make it."
"Of course not." I stare at myself in the mirror. "If we had more time, I'd ask you just exactly who did."
"But we don't."
"No. We don't."
It really is a nice suit. The material, while still stretchy, is at least more comfortable than the old one. It's also much more grown-up than the old suit: the singlet is sleeveless and flesh-toned; the boots come up to my knees although they thankfully still aren't high-heeled; the skirt is a little shorter, but I find that I don't mind it so much. It's still mostly blue and white, and there's still a cape, but Dr. Colibri -- or whomever -- added a headband-tiara-thing that keeps my hair back without the epic amount of hairspray I used to need. Even the mask is better -- I have more mobility around my cheekbones, and it's more up-swept toward my temples.
I turn to Dr. Colibri. "Any last words?"
"I don't think they'll be last words," she says. "I fully expect you to win. But just in case..." She takes what looks like a hemp bracelet out of her pocket and puts it on my left wrist. "This will help keep Famine from feeding on you."
My brow wrinkles -- under the mask, though, so she can't see it. "Okay, two questions."
She sighs. "What now?"
"First of all, who made this?"
"I don't have time to explain. Suffice it to say that there are more of us than you know." Yeah. That's not any more of an answer than it was last night. And if there are all these other people fighting evil, why aren't they here, helping me? This whole one-girl-against-the-world thing is rather cliché. "What's the other one?"
"Why didn't I get one of these last time?"
"You didn't need it last time."
"Bullshit." When I fought Famine in my senior year of high school, he stripped almost twenty pounds off me before I finally beat him. He just kept pummeling me and sucking my energy until I shoved him into the shallow end of a swimming pool and held him there until his host body died. I passed out afterward and fell into the pool, and if the Professor hadn't been watching from afar and gotten there in time to get me out, I'd have drowned. Plus, I was hungry for about a week and had to take time off school because they would've frowned on my constant eating.
"You did fine the last time. But you're more powerful now, and Famine will be as well." Her severe expression softens ever-so-slightly. "Be careful. You're not just Alexandra anymore; you're Andrea, too."
I get the feeling there's supposed to be some sort of deeper meaning to what she's just said, but I'm not following, and I don't have the time to dig into it. Later, I suppose. For now...
Up, up, and away, I guess.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
PANGS
+++++
I've never actually been to one of these motivational rallies before, but I have been to a Falcons game. The atmosphere is remarkably similar, although there are fewer football jerseys. The new stadium is pretty full, and while most people are in their seats there's a continuous stream of attendees coming and going to the bathroom, to the concession counters, to the memorabilia sellers. I take a closer look at those -- it's not t-shirts and hats; it's books and CDs.
I bet if I went down to the stage and insisted on talking, the sheer amount of belief would charge me up like nobody's business. Or the crowd could panic, or turn on me. No, better to stay out of sight, flashing from place to place, following the sick ache in my stomach until I'm at the very top of the dome, in the back row of what, during a game, would be the fifty-yard-line. No one's within ten rows; no one's paying attention to us.
Famine smiles at me. He looks like a tall, skinny man; he looks like someone I might see on the bus, or in the grocery store. He's wearing a simple black t-shirt, blue jeans, and a pair of All-Stars. If his face is a little cadaverous, and if he looks a little unhealthy, that's no big deal. He could be anyone.
But the urge to vomit all over the place tells me this is who I'm looking for.
At least when he turns his opalescent black eyes on me the bracelet does its thing. I feel a little queasy, but he's not sucking my power out of me this time. Not as quickly, at any rate. "I was wondering when you'd get here," he says. "Quite a show, isn't it?"
I look down to the field. I recognize the politician who's speaking, but I've tuned out his words. All I care about is Famine. "I don't want to talk," I say. "Let's get this over with."
Famine's eyes drift shut and I feel a rush of his power blow past me. As I watch, people shift in their seats before passing out. It's as if I can see their bodies growing thinner by the second. "I'm hungry," he says simply, his voice a soft tenor. "Go away. You can't stop me this time."
Another rush of power and this time people start moaning. I see a few get up, as if they're going to go to the concession stands, but they falter and fall. "Stop," I say. Then, louder: "stop it!"
When he looks at me, his eyes practically glow with blackness. He stands, unfolding his body to its full height -- he's got to be six-and-a-half feet tall in this form -- and walks slowly over to me. He's a foot taller and he's trying to intimidate me, but I think he's forgotten who won the last time. I just stare up at him. "What are you going to do," he says softly, "if I don't?"
I smile. "I'm going to take you for a ride."
Famine probably expected me to hit him. He certainly is taken by surprise when I grab him and throw him into the air. Before he can react, I launch upward, fists outstretched, and drive his body through one of the clear panels of the retractable roof. It crunches and cracks around us, but we only make a relatively small hole as I bring him up into the air, pinwheel, and kick him as hard as I can.
Yeah. He isn't expecting any of that. But Famine's not a Horseman for nothing. I can tell that he's not even really hurt, just off-balance, and in a moment he's flying in my direction.
The fight is brutal. After this morning, it feels good to let loose, to put every ounce of strength into my punches and kicks. We stand toe-to-toe in the sky, trading blows, and I give as good as I get. Famine doesn't have much in the way of
fighting skill, and it's just as well because it's kind of complicated to do this up here. I think I hear a news chopper off in the distance, but I ignore it -- and, anyway, so what if they see us? Let them watch me kick the crap out of Famine.
Except...
Except I'm not.
I'm not kicking the crap out of him.
Oh, sure, the blows are landing, and he's being driven back, but if he had a health meter, it would barely be inching downward.
Out of nowhere, Famine lands a devastating punch to my solar-plexus and I fly backward, spinning in the air. I can't catch my breath and I can barely avoid his next attack. My body begins healing the damage, but Famine's already pressing his advantage and I have no choice but to go on the defensive.
That's when I find out that he's faster than me. He overtakes me, catches me, and bears me down toward the ground. Everywhere he touches me I feel my strength ebbing -- I don't think Dr. Colibri's bracelet is as powerful as she expected it to be.
"Time to say goodbye, Alexandra," Famine says, shifting around, getting a grip on my throat.
My voice is a croak. "Are you going somewhere?"
His smile is too big for his cadaverous face. "Not for a long time, my dear."
I smile right back. It confuses him enough for me to bring my hands up and clap my fists over his ears. I don't expect it to work, not like it would on a normal person, but it slows him enough.
The boot to his crotch does the rest.
I gulp in air as Famine falls back, clutching himself. I should press the attack, but I need time to recover, and I don't know how much I'll get. I fly down -- I can't keep fighting in the air; it takes too much power, and I think Famine's breaking through the doctor's bracelet shield -- and land on one of the Downtown Connector overpasses. Traffic comes to a halt, thankfully without any crashes, and I see people pointing their phones at me.
Brilliant. Really great move, Andrea. Hundreds of roofs and I have to pick a busy street.
After The Apocalypse Page 22
