After that, the lobby explodes in a ball of red flame. The fire touches everyone except Cissy, Zeke, and me. The three of us haul ass out the lobby door and into Times Square.
Another explosion sounds. All the windows in the Hunter Enterprises building shatter, sending shards of glass out onto the street. The huge monitor attached to the structure itself sparks with flame and electricity as it loses its tether to the building’s façade and crashes onto a sidewalk. Humans scream as they leap out of harm’s way.
A cab pulls up to the curb. The passenger side window rolls down halfway. A voice sounds through the window. “What’s going on?”
I shake my head in disbelief. We’ve been here all morning, and not a single New Yorker has said a word to us, outside of Felton and Albinia. Now there’s a fire, and everyone is chatty.
“You’re taking us to our hotel, that’s what’s going on.” I quickly usher Cissy and Zeke into the waiting cab. “We’re staying at the—Where are we staying, Cis?”
“The Industrial Arms. Soho.”
I slide into the back seat beside Cissy and Zeke. “Oh, and there’s an extra five hundred if you most fast.” I have no idea if that’s a lot of Earth money, but it sounds good.
The driver peels away from the curb at almost supersonic speed, so I’m guessing $500 is pretty good, after all. Sirens sound behind us as we drive away.
“Did you guys see anything strange in the lobby?”
Cissy rounds on me. “You mean other than the Razor Guards, researcher and random explosion.”
“Yeah.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if they saw a little glowing man, but I hold off. Chances are, I’m having stress-induced visions or something.
“Nope,” says Cis. “I didn’t see anything else.”
“Same here,” adds Zeke. “Did you?”
“I’m going to catch my breath now.” It’s not an answer, and Cissy gives me the side eye. But with the cab veering through traffic and sirens still going off, it seems like she’s willing to drop the subject. Which is fine with me. I don’t need to share my wild imagination with her.
I slump back into the seat, clutching the ledger and binoculars to my chest. These are what’s real and important.
They’re my keys to finding Lincoln.
Once we get back to the hotel, I know we’ll do just that.
Chapter Seventeen
Eight hours later, we’re all still hanging out in the Industrial Arms hotel, only we’re no closer to finding Lincoln. I’m trying to be patient, emphasis on the word trying.
I shift my position on the mega-uncomfortable couch of my fancypants hotel suite. It’s like someone painted a bunch of cinderblocks, jammed them together into a couch-shape, and then decided to charge people two grand a night to sit on its chilly magnificence.
Come to think of it, I wouldn’t be too surprised if that’s the real plan here. After all, I am staying in the penthouse of a swank boutique hotel. For all I know, cinderblock couches are the latest thing.
Zeke sits at a massive table on the other side of my equally massive suite. At least, I think the thing is a table. To me, it just looks like a big blob of Plexiglas stuffed with rusted screws. Cissy calls it post-industrial chic.
Whatever.
She can call it anything she wants, so long as we figure out how to use those magic binoculars and the ledger soon. The three of us escaped from Ethan’s research building more than eight hours ago. Once we showered the smoke away, we changed into new jeans and T-shirt combos thanks to Cissy’s superior shopping skills. Ever since then, the three of us have been holed up in this hotel room, trying to get the binoculars and ledger to work.
Needless to say, that’s been a big bust. I had the first go, and that’s three hours of my life that I’ll never get back. For the last ninety minutes, it’s been Zeke’s turn while Cissy sits by him for moral support. Mostly, every time he loses his cool, she pats his hand and says, “Try again.” It’s really cute.
I fiddle with the TV remote for the umpteenth time. It’s my job to watch for any reports about Hunter Enterprises and their big Touch The Tech Event at the airport. It’s all over the news, so tracking the latest info should keep me busy.
And it is.
Sort of.
I try to focus on the screen, but I keep sneaking looks at my friends. Are they making any progress? I’m trying not to hover and glare, but it isn’t easy.
Plus, there isn’t a whole lot else to check out in this hotel suite. Everything is black leather and rusted machine parts encased in Plexiglas. It may be industrial chic, but I keep worrying that I’ll need a tetanus shot if I get too close to anything. Even so, what really has me concerned is how the suite is covered in old mirrors. I check them constantly, but I haven’t seen Lincoln at all yet. Craning to look over my shoulder, I peep at the big mirror behind the couch.
Nope. Still no sign of him.
Again.
My stomach churns with nausea. It’s been hours since I last saw Lincoln reflected in the mirrors in Arx Hall. All the waiting and worrying is making me seriously queasy.
Although that could be the pregnancy, too.
Or the fact that I just escaped a burning building.
Right after I watched one of my guards die.
And let’s not forget—all that happened after recently witnessing my husband getting hoovered out through a magic mirror.
Leaning back on my brick couch, I let out an exasperated sigh. The last twenty-four hours have really been a shit show. Tossing the remote aside, I give up on watching more television and turn to Cissy.
“Anything new?” I ask.
“Not yet.” Cissy leans back in her chair. The thing looks like a rusted bucket with legs, but what do I know?
Zeke stays hunched over the table, twiddling with some dials on his binocular headgear. “How about you?” he asks. “Any luck scanning the news?”
I gesture toward the flickering screen. “They’re still talking about Ethan’s blimp—excuse me, dirigible—at LaGuardia. The entire airport is shut down so they can fill the runways with different tech from Hunter Enterprises.”
“Sounds like a war zone,” says Cis.
“Nope,” I counter. “It’s actually a big family thing with a kids’ costume competition, face painting, balloon animals, all sorts of crap like that.”
On the TV screen, there appears some video with kids dressed up as superheroes, princesses, and animals. To my eye, it looks everyone of them is a trio of two smiling parents with their small, beaming child. Everyone’s waiting in line for the costume contest. I rub my hand over my belly and think of child inside me. Will I ever have that with Lincoln and Maxon—costume contests and smiles?
“What’s up, Myla?” asks Cissy.
“Nothing, just looking at this costume contest. It’s part of Ethan’s Touch The Tech Event.”
Cissy isn’t buying that answer for a second. Not that I blame her. I really didn’t put any energy into making it a good lie. She leaves the table with Zeke and sits beside me on the cinderblock couch. “You seem so sad, girlfriend. Have you seen…anything else?”
That’s what she says, but I know what my bestie is really asking: have I seen anything in all the mirrors on the walls?
“No, Cis,” I reply. “No sign of Lincoln yet.”
Cissy tilts her head and gives me one of her sympathy looks. It involves her already-big eyes getting bigger as her lower lip puffs out. That look always undoes me. All day long, I’ve been trying to be brave, but now? I can’t stop sniffling.
Cissy pats my hand. “Don’t worry, Myla. We’ll find him.”
“Every minute that passes, that becomes less and less likely.” Frustration boils inside me. My tail stabs into the couch and takes off a chunk of concrete. Cissy is smart enough not to make a comment.
On the television, the music from a commercial break fades. Another reporter appears on screen: an older, serious-looking dude who’s standing in Times Square. Smoke and e
mergency vehicles are clear in the background.
“Authorities are still unclear how the explosion was initiated,” says the newscaster. “Some are speculating that this is another example of demons in our midst.”
I stare at the screen, my mouth falling open. That newscaster said demons in our midst with a totally straight face. Hiding this side of reality is why the thrax exist in the first place. If humans know about angels and demons, then their free choice goes out the window. I turn up the volume.
“We do have word from Hunter Enterprises,” continues the newscaster. “If demons do infiltrate their facilities, then H-E has enough Razor Guards to protect us all. We can sleep well tonight.” The newscaster smiles.
Unbelievable. The faith these humans have in Ethan is terrifying.
I stifle a groan. If we get through this, the magical clean-up is going to be nasty. Thrax will have to magically wipe millions of human minds in order to erase these memories of demons. It’s do-able, but a pain in the butt. And now that I rule the thrax? That pain would land soundly on my shoulders.
And Lincoln’s too. Because I will get him back.
Cissy stares at the screen. She’s not as hip to thrax culture as I am, so the whole “seeing demons” thing doesn’t set off her internal alarms. “The fire we started in Times Square office building,” says Cissy. “Is that still smoldering?”
I lift the remote and mute the screen. “Yes, but some fires burn for a long time. It doesn’t mean that anything supernatural went down from anyone.” Like the little glowing dude.
“What?” Cissy’s staring at me like I sprouted a second head.
Oops.
Nice job, Myla. Like that didn’t sound totally suspicious.
Cissy leans across the couch and grabs the remote, which is a total danger sign. “So.” She taps the device against her palm. “You were acting mighty strange when we first got into the cab after leaving Times Square.”
“I was?”
“Yuh-huh. How about you tell me how we escaped from those Razor Guards in the Hunter Enterprises lab building?” She tilts her head and stares at me without blinking. I know that stare. It means there’s no way I’m getting out of this.
Which is a major bummer. We escaped Times Square without Cissy asking too many questions. After the whole thing with the lime kiln, I’m just not ready for another major interrogation. Plus, I really have no idea who—or what—the little creature was anyway.
Plus, maybe the newscaster was right. It could have been some kind of bizarre malfunction, and I just imagined a little dude running around and saying, “Bigga boom.”
Cissy smacks her lips. “Talk to me, Myla.”
I shrug. “Nothing to say.”
In the back of my mind, some part of me shouts that when I’m stressed, my default position is to hide information. After all, that’s how I survived more than a decade being both an Arena fighter and my mother’s daughter at the same time. Sometimes these habits get extended to other people as well.
“Bull,” says Cissy.
“We went over this,” I say. “I monkeyed with one of the machines to knock that guy Felton out. It must have caused a chain reaction.”
“And I told you.” Cissy gestures toward my feet. “Your tail keeps skulking behind your ankle when you say that, which means you’re lying. I didn’t push it before because it seemed like we’d find out something from the ledger at any second, but…” She looks over her shoulder at Zeke. “It appears that we have time for a chat.” She points at my tail. “And it’s still skulking.”
For the record, my tail has a special relationship with Cissy. Nothing like the near-adoration it holds for Lincoln; it’s more of a sibling-style relationship. And yes, it does act all guilty when I’m lying to her.
Which I am right now.
“Out with it,” says Cissy. “What happened, really?”
I kick my heels onto the plastic rust blob that is the coffee table and give Cissy my pinky. “Pinky swear you won’t freak out?”
Leaning forward, Cissy loops her pinky with my own. “Pinky swear.”
“Okay. You know how I had weird dreams after I transported to Earth?”
“You mean when you exploded?”
Zeke looks up from the ledger. “Did you say explosions? Are we going to get grenades?”
I roll my eyes. “No, Zeke, we aren’t getting grenades.”
“Keep going,” says Cissy. “You were just saying that something else strange happened after it appeared that you crawled into a fiery oven and blew yourself up like a bad soufflé.”
“Soufflé?”
“You know what I mean.” A muscle twitches my Cissy’s eye. This is yet another warning signal. My bestie is not handling this story well.
“Cissy,” I say in a warning tone. “You pinky swore not to freak out.”
“Fine. Look at me. Totally cool.” She slaps on a smile, but I can’t help but notice that her tail is wagging in a weird lurching motion.
“Are you forcing your tail to wag so it looks like you’re not freaking out when actually, you’re about to lose it?”
“Ummm.” Cissy bites her lips together. She’s totally doing a forced wag with her tail. That shiz hurts.
“Forget it.” I fold my arms across my chest. “I cannot handle you losing your cool.” For Cissy, this process involves demon eyes and the silent treatment. I have enough on my plate right now.
“Hey,” counters Cissy. “I’m a badass Senator these days. That means I can be a little concerned and yet, still not lose my mind.” She tilts her head and gives me those puppy eyes again. “Honestly. How are we going to save Lincoln if we don’t share important information with each other?”
“Especially about that explosion stuff,” adds Zeke.
“Quiet, Zeke!” Cissy and I call in unison.
A long moment passes where Cissy and I say nothing. Well, we do say a lot, but not with words. I slump into my uncomfortable couch, feeling guilty for not sharing with Cissy. For her part, my bestie keeps right on staring at me with huge puppy-dog eyes. That only makes me feel guiltier.
Finally, I crack.
“You made a great point. We need to share info.”
Cissy raises her pinky. “And I pinky swore.”
I take in a deep breath. If I can’t trust Cissy, who can I trust?
A little voice in the back of my head says, Lincoln, but that little voice is also really upset about what we saw in the labs. I mean, who traps people in glass cases so he can zap out their souls?
Focus, Myla. Thinking about Lincoln is not going to help.
I blink hard, forcing myself back into the present moment. “Okay, Cis. Here’s the deal. After I got into the line kiln—which was totally not hot at all inside—I found that it had transformed into a small crawlspace with a round floor.”
“A Pulpitum Chamber,” says Cissy.
“Exactly.” I squirm on the couch, and it’s not just because the concrete is putting my butt to sleep. “After that, the Pulpitum platform does its thing and starts transporting me to Earth. I’m lurching all over as I hurtle upward.” I stare at Cissy as if this is a crucial piece of information and not just me stalling.
“Got it. Hurtling. Keep going.” For the record, Cissy can always see through my stalling techniques.
“Then, I found you and passed out. I had a dream where I saw someone.”
“Who?” asks Cissy. Her face looks totally open and eager for whatever I have to share. For his part, Zeke stops fiddling with the ledger and looks over intently too. No doubt, he’s hoping that Rambo showed up in my dreams with a ton of ammo.
I swing my arm over the back of the rock couch, all suave-like. “I saw a little guy.”
“A guy.” Cissy twirls one lock of blonde hair around her finger. “That’s all?”
“He was little.”
“I got that part. But I know you. You wouldn’t have held back on me if there wasn’t something really off about this so-called litt
le guy.”
She’s totally on to me here. Best to fess up.
“Fine. He was glowing like a lightbulb and had fire dripping off his palms. Whatever. No big deal. It was probably just pregnancy hormones.” I make grabby hands at her. “Can I have the remote back?”
Please don’t make a big deal about this. Please don’t make a big deal about this. Please don’t make a big deal about this.
Cissy gasps.
Ugh. She’s totally going to make a big deal about this.
“A glowing little man? Dripping fire? Are you sure you’re okay? Nothing wrong with your brain?”
“It was probably just hormones, that’s all.”
“And what does this glowing little man have to do with the laboratory?”
“I might have seen him again at the Hunter Labs. Maybe he was running around and laughing or something.”
“Or something.” Cissy narrows her eyes.
“Fine. After the Razor Guards had us cornered, I saw him out of the corner of my eye. He ran by, laughed, and said, ‘Bigga boom.’ After that, everything exploded.”
“Whoa.” Cissy slumps back against the brick couch. “Your life is so weird.”
“I know, right?” I raise my hands, palms forward. “For the record, I was really hoping this was pregnancy hormones. It really is too bizarre otherwise.”
“Bigga boom.” Zeke pipes up from the table. “Told you there were munitions involved.”
“Quiet, Zeke!” Cissy and I say again.
My bestie hops to her feet and starts pacing around the room. I don’t like this. At all. “You said you wouldn’t freak.”
“I’m not. I’m processing unusual information.” She takes in three deep breaths and reseats herself on the couch. “Okay, I’m fine now.” She pauses. “No, I lied. What is a little glowing man doing following you around?”
“I don’t know. If it wasn’t hormones, then it was probably a dream.”
And again, from the corner of my eye, I see a little glowing figure in the kitchenette. My mystery lightbulb buddy has returned. And considering how Cissy is having trouble processing his ability to blow stuff up, I’m not ready to introduce the pair of them yet. Especially since I just had the mother of all realizations.
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