I have no idea how he hopes to fight them while still holding on to us. From the way he hesitates, I don’t think LB does, either.
“Cyn!” Peter shouts. “You have to help him!”
At first I think he means sharing my protection, but as soon as the idea surfaces, I know it won’t work. The monsters in this place — LB included — don’t seem to be fighting with their demon energy. It’s all physical, and my protective energy can’t help at all with that kind of thing. But then I realize he means I should try to help by using my power as a weapon.
“It’s too weak! I can’t hurt them enough that way!”
“It’s better than nothing!”
Which is a good point.
LB is circling with one of the monsters now, three legs raised in an offensive stance, antennae and pincers spread wide. I can see the other monster out of the corner of my eye, clearly trying to find a way to sneak around and attack LB from behind while he’s distracted by Monster #1.
I try the softball visualization again, which is hard to do when my brain keeps wanting to imagine how we are all about to die instead. Also I have never actually been any good at softball, and so the focus of my visualization fails to be especially compelling. Sports have never really been my thing in general, a shortcoming of which I am now deeply regretful. Would some other kind of ball be better? Baseball, basketball, Ping-Pong ball . . . no. My mind is going entirely in the wrong direction. I could try visualizing a gun or something, but I have even less experience with actual weapons than I do with sports equipment.
I mentally throw up my hands.
Screw this.
Instead of a ball, I picture a kind of spotlight — my own personal follow spot. Only instead of directing light, my imaginary lens focuses my roachy power. This immediately feels much more right; my fingers curl instinctively to form the barrel as I stretch my hands forward toward Monster #2, who still thinks he is being stealthy and unseen. I concentrate on the way I’ve come to imagine my resistance, as a sort of glowing energy inside me. At some internal lighting console I am opening the faders, feeling the buzzing as I slide them all the way up. And then I open my eyes and stare at my target. And I turn on the light.
It hits Monster #2 square in the face. This is definitely a more effective mode of attack than the dumb softball. His face doesn’t explode or anything immensely satisfying like that, but he jerks backward in surprise and — I hope? — pain, and manages to smack his own head against the wall behind him.
Monster #1 is distracted by this sudden interference from an unanticipated source, and LB takes advantage of the moment by grabbing the monster’s head in his pincers and squeezing for all he is worth. Monster #1’s face does explode, and it is immensely satisfying, although it is also immensely disgusting as wet pieces of bug-face fly outward and splatter all three of us in insect gore.
Monster #2, the would-be sneaky bastard, takes in this new development for one silent second and then turns and runs away. Fortunately (for us), he runs in the direction we had originally been headed before, and I smile at the thought of him racing headfirst into the pack of other monsters who I assume are still coming this way.
LB doesn’t waste any time. He shifts Peter and me more firmly against him and then continues his flight.
“That was awesome,” Peter says. His voice comes out weak and shaky despite his enthusiasm, and I look at him in alarm.
“Peter! Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
“The poison,” he says. “I’m okay. It’s mostly blocked by my clothes, but it’s still . . . uh . . . there. Draining. But I’ll . . . I’ll be all right.”
I can’t tell if he’s telling the truth.
There’s nothing I can do, anyway. I’m inclined to trust LB if he thinks it’s still necessary to carry us and run. I hope he’s still trying to run in the right direction to find Annie and Ryan. I’m afraid to distract him by asking, though. Also the motion is starting to make me feel a little carsick. Demonsick. Whatever.
I close my eyes and think about not throwing up. Also I think about what just happened with Monster #2. Because Peter isn’t wrong — it was awesome. I can actually fight these things. Well . . . I can actually hurt them, at least. Or . . . okay, surprise them and make them smack their heads into walls. But I bet I could do more than that, with practice.
For the millionth time, I wish I understood more about how it worked. My resistance power seems to be fairly steady-state in nature . . . I can share it, I can use it, and it doesn’t get diminished over time. But sending it out that way, to use it as a weapon . . . that might be different. As with most demon-related things, I don’t know what the rules are.
Eventually I feel LB come to a stop. I open my eyes to find we’re in a roundish space between two passages. LB gently lowers Peter and me to the floor.
“Rest,” LB pants, and then slides to the floor himself.
“Are you okay?” I ask him.
“Yes. But need rest.” I guess any increase in energy he got from killing the bug demon wasn’t enough to balance out the rest of the fighting and running. And physical and demon-energy strength levels only seem to overlap in certain ways that I don’t really understand.
“How about you?” I ask, turning to Peter. But I can tell at a glance that he is not okay. He’s shivering a little, and his face is pale and drawn. “Oh, no. Peter. What can I do?”
He gives me a tired almost-smile. “You don’t happen to have Darleen and Celia from camp in your back pocket, do you?”
Right. Because the last time he was affected by LB’s poison, a little interpersonal camper drama was exactly what he needed to recover. “Sorry,” I say. “Could I — maybe I could do a monologue or something?”
Now he almost laughs. “I’m tempted to say yes just to watch you try,” he says. “But no. I don’t think that would be much help. I can feed on fictional drama, but — and please don’t take this the wrong way, Cyn — it needs to be good drama. Powerful. A quality reenactment of Dear Evan Hansen, sure. Even a decent production of Cats might help a little, if the performances were good enough. Well, maybe. If it didn’t include ‘Skimbleshanks: The Railway Cat,’ I guess. But you, here, trying to recite some lines from a play from memory, or even attempting to sing something . . . it wouldn’t be quite the same.”
I want to be offended, but of course he’s right. I’m no performer, or even a halfway decent singer. I bet if Ryan were here, he could do something feeding-worthy. My heart twinges at the thought of him, and I have to tamp down the panic beetles that suddenly want to swarm up from where I’ve been keeping them locked deep inside myself.
No. No falling apart. I can’t do anything to help Ryan right now. But maybe there’s still a way I can help Peter.
“The poison,” I say slowly. “Is it physical? Or, like, demon-energy based?”
Peter perks up slightly, considering this question. “You think your resistance can help?”
“Maybe? It seems worth a try anyway. Considering we don’t really have a whole bunch of other options.”
He agrees with this assessment. I scooch over to sit beside him and take his hand. And then I realize that I have no idea what to do. How can I target the poison?
Peter notices my hesitation and guesses the reason.
“Maybe if you try to share it with me, like when we were going through the wall before? I might be able to — to direct it, once you do.”
I nod and do as he says. It ends up being a strange combination of the way it works when I share my power with my friends and the way it feels when the demoness takes it from me. I let it flow through my hand and into Peter’s, but then I can feel him sort of take hold of it and draw it toward where he needs it to go. It’s — weird. But not unpleasant. I do begin to lose track of time, though, as I kind of float inside my body, caught up in the movement of the energy between us.
At some point I become aware that Peter has released my hand. “Cyn? Can you hear me?”
I
blink and he slowly comes into focus.
“You look much better,” I murmur. He does. His color has returned and the smile he gives me now has no almost about it.
“I feel much better. Thank you. But how do you feel? You seem a little . . . tired?”
I nod. I am tired. And suddenly the panic beetles are back, and I look at Peter in alarm.
“Could — do you think I did too much? Gave too much away? Oh, God, Peter, what if . . . what if it doesn’t come back?” The thought is terrifying. I never wanted this power in the first place, but knowing how . . . how diminished I feel when I don’t have it . . . the idea of losing it forever makes it suddenly hard to breathe.
“Shh,” he says. “I don’t think it works that way. I suspect you just need to rest for a bit. Using it as a weapon and then using it to heal me . . . that’s a lot more than you’re used to, especially all at once.”
“Okay.” I try to feel reassured by his words. But then another thought strikes me. “Wait — no. I can’t rest. We have to keep going! We have to find them!” I struggle to get to my feet, but it’s really a struggle; whatever I did to Peter just now, it totally wiped me out.
“Cyn, stop! Just . . . just sit there for a second, okay?” Peter runs a hand through his hair and glances at LB, who is still sprawled on the floor a little ways away. “I promise, as soon as the big guy is ready, we’ll start moving again. He can carry you if you’re still resting then. I will walk, and keep my distance from the poison. But we can’t go anywhere until he’s ready, unless you want to leave him behind?”
“No,” I say wearily. “No, of course not.”
I see LB’s massive bulk shift, and I wonder if he is listening. I thought he was asleep.
“All right, then. So you just sit there and close your eyes for now, okay? If you’re still resting when LB is ready to go, he will give you another lift. Deal?”
“I’m not making any more deals with demons,” I mutter, but my eyes are already falling closed of their own accord.
Peter laughs. “Understood.”
“Also I’m mad at you,” I add sleepily.
“What? Why?”
“I’ve got freaking ‘Jellicle Cats’ stuck in my head now, you jerk.”
He laughs again, sounding relieved. I feel like there’s something else I want to say, but before I can remember what it is, my head leans back against the wall and I float away again into oblivion.
I wake up with LB’s spider leg plastered against my chest.
The smell and the motion hit me all at once, and I struggle in his grip. “Let me down!” I shout, and then, remembering that he’s probably just trying to be helpful, I add, “Please.”
He stops and lets me down. Peter, who was walking a careful distance away, comes over immediately.
“Feeling better?” he asks.
“Yeah. How long — ?”
He shrugs. “Not sure. Time is weird here. A couple of hours, maybe?”
And still no Annie and Ryan.
I look up at LB, who is standing patiently where he stopped to let me down.
“This isn’t working. There has to be something else we can do.”
He shifts uncertainly. “We follow the right paths to get to where they should be. But if they wandered far, or if the monsters —”
“Let’s assume they are still alive,” I break in, not willing to entertain the other idea. “Isn’t there any way to try to track where they might have wandered?”
LB and Peter look at each other. “There are some demons who could track humans that way,” Peter answers for them both. “But not, unfortunately, either of the demons currently present.”
“What about the monsters in here? Can they track humans?”
“Maybe? It’s their domain, after all — at the very least they’d be likely to notice anything out of place.”
“Okay,” I say, pacing the width of the passage. “So let’s catch one and see if we can make it find them for us.”
Peter stares at me. I think LB is staring, too, but as usual his bug expressions are tricky.
I stare back. “What? We have to try something. LB has killed several of those things; why can’t he catch one instead? And then . . . and then make it do what he wants? Isn’t that how demon stuff works? The stronger ones make the weaker ones do their bidding?”
“Well, kind of . . . I mean it’s not exactly quite that simple. And I have no idea how things work in the prison, Cyn.”
“It works that way,” LB confirms in his gravelly voice. “Stronger always wins. Everywhere.”
“Not everywhere,” Peter objects. “I mean —”
“Stop,” I say. “This is not the time to debate demon sociology. We’re going to try to catch a monster. By which I mean LB is going to try to catch a monster.” I turn to face him. “Okay with you, big guy? Can you do it?”
He draws himself up proudly. “Yes.”
“Excellent! Let’s go find one.”
LB turns and bounces off down the passage with renewed purpose. Peter and I follow more cautiously behind.
“If you have a better idea, you are absolutely encouraged to share it,” I say, not looking at him.
“I don’t. I wish I did.”
“I wish you did, too.”
It doesn’t take long for LB to find a potential victim. He comes upon a lone, unsuspecting, flower-themed monster in a kind of small cavern and jumps mercilessly onto it from behind. The thing literally has a head like a gerbera daisy: perfect yellow circle face containing eyes and mouth with giant fuchsia petals extending like a lion’s mane all around. Except more like a flower than a lion. Except for the face and teeth parts.
“Remember, don’t kill it!” I shout at LB as the fight commences.
The flower monster is surprisingly feisty. (Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, since we are in the demon prison and it’s a monster, but the cute daisy aspects are so disarming and misleading.) But LB seems firmly in control of the situation. In relatively short order he has pinned the monster to the ground, leaf-arms twisted up awkwardly behind it, and is growling some kind of painful-to-listen-to demon-speak at it as it writhes and struggles beneath him.
“What’s he saying?” I whisper to Peter.
“Mostly threats so far, and a few grandiose statements about how strong and mighty he is. I assume he’s working up to the you-have-to-find-Cyn’s-friends-now part.”
He seems to get there eventually, because he allows the flower monster to climb to its feet. He appears to have tied its leaf-arms together with bits of spiderweb, which I have to remember to ask him about later because I had no idea he actually had functioning web-producing parts in his spider sections. But now is not the time for that. Now is the time that the captive flower monster leads us to Annie and Ryan. Who are surely only hiding somewhere very nearby, and are not at all dead.
We follow the monster out of the cavern and down a series of passages.
“Do you think we can trust it?” I ask Peter.
“No way. But I think we can trust that it’s terrified of LB. Now it just remains to be seen if it can actually track humans like it claims.”
“It said it could?”
“Yes, but don’t get too excited. I’d say that, too, if LB had me pinned to the ground and was threatening to eat my face.”
“Hmm.”
The flower monster leads us down several more passages before finally coming to a halt. LB peers past it into a large chamber just off the edge of the passage we’re in. I can’t stand it; I push past them both and run forward, ignoring Peter’s urgent whisper-shouts behind me.
Two figures sit huddled against the wall at the far side.
My breath catches in my throat. They’re not moving. But . . . but they’re sitting. They’re not sprawled out on the floor with their limbs at odd angles. They’re not covered in blood. They might still be fine, totally fine, totally and completely —
Annie slowly raises her head and sees me standing t
here in agonized uncertainty. She blinks, and then her face lights up like the Fourth of July.
“CYN? Oh, my God, is that — are you —”
And then she is suddenly in front of me, throwing her arms around me, laughing and crying and hugging me with all her not-inconsiderable strength.
After a second Ryan is there, too, and once Annie lets go he takes her place, hugging just as hard, harder, but without the laughing and crying. He’s just there, solid, holding on. It’s really hard to let him go.
“Hi,” he says, once he finally pulls back. He brushes a few strands of hair from my forehead. “Nice to see you again.”
“We’re so sorry, Cyn,” Annie says. “We tried to wait where you left us, but then you didn’t come back, and we heard something else coming . . .”
I shake my head. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. The stupid prison moves. This place was built by psychopaths. And I was dumb and never thought to ask LB what he knows about the prison before we went through the wall.”
Ryan looks past me at the flower monster still standing with LB in the entrance. “Uh . . . new team member?”
“Oh! No, that’s a monster that LB caught to help us find you.” I turn to LB. “I guess you can let him go now, unless — would he be able to tell us anything useful about the Craftsman? That’s” — I realize we never actually filled LB in on what we were doing in this terrible place — “that’s the demon we need to see to complete our errand. He’s locked up in here somewhere.”
LB has another growly conversation with the flower monster.
Curse of the Evil Librarian Page 14