Eclipse the Flame

by Ingrid Seymour

  Possessed by ire, I try to stand, to tackle the beast away from my friend, to stop him from defiling one of the kindest souls I’ve ever met. I lurch forward, then fall on my face, an insult stuck in my aching throat. Tusks frowns, regarding me as if I’m the most useless creature he’s ever known.

  “Should have let that traitor kill you.” He spits the words out. “Now I have to haul you back. You might still be useful, though I doubt it.”

  He stomps out of the room. “Bring her! Whitehouse will want a report and will probably want her back.”

  Tigress and Dillon walk in the room. I look up. Their shapes blur into one.

  I’m going back when all I want to do is die.

  Chapter 30

  “It wasn’t my fault.” Tusks stands at attention in front of Elliot’s desk. I slouch behind him, flanked by Tigress and Dillon. “He really is fast as she said. One second he was there. The next he was gone. There must have been another way out, which she conveniently failed to mention.” He points at me.

  “Is that so?” Elliot asks, giving me a cold, suspicious look.

  “She killed one of them,” Tigress interrupts, her left ear twitching. I stare at it, realizing for the first time that it has small hairs sticking out from the tip, like a bobcat’s.

  Tusks glares at her over his huge shoulder, his nose scrunching upward, revealing coarse hairs inside his nostrils. It’s gross. I wish I could dim the lights to hide all these new details that I never saw from Azrael’s perspective, and to stifle the awful pain wreaking havoc inside my head. The buzzing seems louder than ever, more so now that I’m aware of the different pitches everyone puts out. Elliot’s is shriller than ever. My perception has changed—like I had a buzz-o-meter upgrade or something.

  “Is that so?” Elliot says again. He doesn’t sound impressed, but his suspicion seems to ebb. I give Tigress a sideways glance, wondering why she would choose to help me.

  “We did destroy all their equipment,” Tusks adds a little louder, trying to affirm his authority. “Computers, servers, microscopes, papers.”

  “I certainly hope so.” Elliot is a tough customer to please, which clearly rubs Tusks the wrong way. I expect nothing short of James’s death would impress the bastard.

  Tusks isn’t ready to give up yet, though. “I left guards in place, in case they come back for any reason.”

  Elliot waves a hand in the air. “Bah, they won’t be back. At least it wasn’t a total waste of time.” He stands and walks around the desk. The buzzing in my head gets even louder as he approaches. Tusks and my two feline guards lower their heads. Elliot gives Tusks a pointed look. The thug moves his massive frame out of the way to allow his leader a better look at me. Tigress and her partner take two steps to the side. My knees shake and I feel I may collapse again.

  “You’re very quiet,” Elliot points out, looking me straight in the eye.

  I should spit on his haughty face, but the idea of going back to “Doctor Sting’s Chair of Agony” shakes me to the core. I was more than willing to die a swift death at James’s hands, but torture and the distinct possibility of falling under the agent’s clutches again is more terrifying than anything I can imagine.

  “James,” I say, making my voice hoarser than it already is after nearly being strangled. I put a hand to my throat, which surely must be bruised. “He almost strangled me. It hurts. A lot.” Remembering Azrael’s crazy rants, I add, “A lot, lot, lot.”

  Elliot makes a skeptical sound. I do my best to keep eye contact, even though his intense golden eyes make me want to crawl under the desk.

  “Who was this person you killed?” he asks.

  I have to sell this. If I don’t, I’ll find myself back on that chair, my fingernails yanked out from their beds one at a time. “Some good for nothing,” I say, bile burning in my throat at the awful words.

  As if Oso hasn’t been defiled enough already. I’m a coward, a despicable coward.

  Elliot turns on his heels and walks off toward a glass box that I hadn’t noticed before. A warm yellow light shines behind its clear walls. I stare at the back of his head, barely containing my rage and desire to scratch his eyes out. But if I die right now, he will go on, the way Oso can’t go on.

  If I stay, though … I look around the room, an idea taking shape.

  If I stay … I could have revenge, a revenge that will be sweeter for the wait and cunning it would take. Because I’ve just realized: I can be a Trojan, a perfect computer virus working from the inside to cause a lot of damage.

  A lot, lot, lot.

  Elliot leans his face into the glass box—some sort of terrarium, I decide—to admire whatever pets he’s keeping in there. He gently taps the glass and smiles with fondness. He whispers something over the cover as I strain to see what he keeps inside. Something black scuttles sideways as if performing a little dance for its master, much like everyone else around here does. I squint to make out the shape of his mascot and realize it’s a rather large scorpion with pincers the size of quarters and a huge, curved stinger on the end of its tail.

  Figures.

  “A good for nothing, you say?” Elliot asks without looking at me.

  Sell it, Marci. Sell it. For revenge’s sake.

  “Yeah, he was the driver, the cook. Terrible, terrible cook,” I say, my brain trying to find the exact brand of crazy that Azrael treated everyone to, the one worse than a room full of caffeine-deprived hackers. “Syrupy sweet, always sticking his nose where no one invited him, like everyone’s good ol’ uncle, or something. That one there,” I point at Tusks, “didn’t want to let me go in. Nope. Didn’t even give me a weapon. You know I wanted to kill me some Symbiot scum, but couldn’t do it. The cook was a worthless human, a waste of space.”

  Tusks scoffs. “Takes one waste of space to know another.”

  I ignore him and brace myself for my next words, which, I suspect, might be the only thing that will sell my act. Heartlessness seems to be Azrael’s most predominant trait, so I have to show them that. Symbiots are unprecedented to Elliot. He would have never trusted me if I hadn’t served him James on a silver platter. He knows I would have never done that. He must believe I’m still Azrael, someone he can marginally trust. “Sliced him like a chunk of steak, like he used to cook.” I let out a cruel laugh that colors my soul two shades darker than it already is. I fear acting this way will bring Azrael back, but what choice do I have?

  “Good riddance,” I add. “Next is James. He’s the one. Yeah, he’s the one I wanna cut and cut and cut.” I brandish my hand in the air as if slicing someone with a knife. In the excess, I lose my balance and fall to my knees, dizzy from both shame and weakness.

  “She’s a waste of space and time,” Tusks says.

  Elliot comes away from the terrarium, his features not as pinched as before. “I wouldn’t be so sure.” He wraps a manicured hand around my upper arm to help me stand. “She shows more determination than most.”

  The buzzing in my head moves to the brink of an explosion. My cranium will burst and brains will decorate Elliot’s cravat and entire office. Lovely. My knees start to bend. I will fall again. But I can’t. I have to stand.

  STOP.

  The loud command rings throughout my subconscious, willing the maddening droning to go away. With effort, I look Elliot in the eye.

  You have no control over me.

  I am not one of you.

  Not. One. Of. You.

  Then—not like lowering the volume, but like pulling the plug—the buzzing stops. I gasp and cover my bewilderment by feigning surprise at Elliot’s touch, as if he’s some sort of god who has deigned to bestow his gifts on me. I look for a reaction, wondering if he can’t sense me anymore, but he gives no signs to indicate that anything has changed. It seems the change goes only in one direction.

  A discontented growl sounds in the back of Tusks’s throat. He’s not happy to see his leader’s attention toward me.

  “The human girl who once owned this body,
” Elliot says, “was strong. Something quite rare among them, but she was. I’m sure it took a similar level of strength to finally escape. Am I right, Azrael?” The name makes me shudder, as if its mention will wake the monster inside of me once more.

  Elliot’s golden eyes twinkle. Without the buzzing in the way, his questions come across loud and clear, but I’m still reeling, still shocked by the fact that I’ve turned the droning off, so I don’t answer.

  Elliot raises his eyebrow in exasperation.

  Focus, Marci. Focus.

  “Damn right,” I say.

  Satisfied, he turns to Tigress. “Lyra, take Azrael with you, find her a spot in your ranks, then show her where she can …” he twists his mouth in my direction, “… wash off and rest. She’s had a rough day. Keep an eye on her, okay? Make sure she’s comfortable. She’s an interesting specimen. Doctor Sting might be able to learn something from her.”

  So Elliot doesn’t quite trust me and I’m to have a babysitter. Great. Tigress, or Lyra, looks as pleased as I do about the arrangement.

  “What a stupid name,” Dillon says with a smirk as Lyra and I head out. “Did not your host watch The Smurfs?”

  I give Dillon a mean look. He chuckles and calls me an “idiot” under his breath. I return the favor.

  This stupid name is not my fault, but I’m stuck with it, regardless. Having everyone think of me as Gargamel’s cat isn’t as threatening as I’d like, but appropriate since it fits my intentions of revenge just as well.

  I turn to leave, surprised to still be on my feet.

  Rest. Elliot mentioned rest. Just the word makes my eyes close.

  Since that night at the dojo, I haven’t slept. I can’t remember eating much. I’ve been beaten, tortured, imprisoned inside my own mind. I’ve lost my family and … Xave.

  I flinch inwardly. Just recalling his name tears my heart open all over again. What I wouldn’t give to see him one more time. My world has gone from chaos to clustermess in a handful of days and has left me no one to fight with. Of course sleep sounds good. Awesome, really, especially if it is the never-waking kind. So, right now, I’d follow Lyra wherever she wants as long as a bed is involved. And maybe, just maybe, after I wake up, I’ll be able to hatch a plan to make any angel of death proud.

  Chapter 31

  Tigress escorts me out of Elliot’s office while Dillon and Tusks stay behind. Above the door, there’s a number: 1006. I memorize it. To the right, there’s a secretary’s desk with file organizers and a phone with a hundred buttons. The area is carpeted, clean smelling and professional-looking. Corporate America in all its glory.

  I went through this area before, but I didn’t have a chance to notice much given my anxiety at making Doctor Sting’s acquaintance. I wonder where the hell I am. I haven’t seen the place from the outside. Both times I came in while I was passed out, and the one time I went out, I was in the back of that army truck. It’s a tall building. I know that much. The elevator has thirty-two buttons: thirty-one regular floors plus a service one. I shudder. I’ll kill myself before I go back down there. It’s a promise.

  “There are empty beds on my floor,” Lyra says, her French accent clipped and thicker than before.

  Normally, I would simply nod, but I have to keep the charade. Any amount of suspicion could prove disastrous. “A bed. Yes, a bed! Don’t remember the last time I saw one of those. I wanna sleep sleep sleep.” Not that I really deserve to sleep, not when others are fighting or dead because of me.

  We come to the elevator. It’s guarded by the same two squat, barrel-sized men I saw on my previous visit. They look like they’re either trying to morph into brown bears or dwarfs, I can’t decide—twin dwarfs, that’s my best bet, judging by the matching long beards and tomato-shaped noses. They both growl like guard dogs as we walk up. Lyra ignores them. I do the same.

  “Well,” she says, “sleep while you can, before Elliot decides what to do with you.” Her strange green eyes watch the elevator numbers go up. Elliot’s office is on the tenth floor. I take a mental note of that as well. The elevator opens and we go in.

  “What d’you think they’ll do?” I ask, trying not to come up with any scenarios.

  The doors slide shut and Lyra presses a button.

  “They’ll let me go after James. Right? Right?!” I add. “’Cause I wanna catch me some traitors, make them pay.”

  Her gaze meets mine. We’re the same height, so we see eye to eye. Her small, furred breasts move up and down. We’re so close I hear her slow exhales. The elevator dings and the doors open on the sixth floor.

  “What exactly did they do to you?” she asks before we step out into a small lobby area. “They didn’t tell us much. They never do.” Her last words sound bitter. Another disgruntled party in the ranks?

  As we walk down a windowless, long corridor, I tell her about Symbiots and how they manage to keep the agents prisoner while “taking advantage of us”. I tell her about meditation and how it’s the most horrible type of torture. I tell her how I’ll make IgNiTe and every one of its members pay for all that pain and misery. It’s no secret anymore. Tusks knows. I’m sure it will get around. All thanks to me.

  “I had no idea that was possible,” Lyra says, her eye as rounds as nickels.

  “Better believe it.”

  “Well, you might feel safe here, but don’t get too comfortable.”

  I almost laugh. I’m as safe as a guest at one of those parties at Elliot’s house.

  “Where’s everyone?” I ask.

  “Sleeping,” Lyra says. “It’s 2 A.M.”

  “Oh.”

  She guides me through a set of metal doors. “Young Eklyptors are protected at least until they are able to develop a few useful adaptations. That’s if you make it that long.”

  “Humans are useless like that.” I roll my eyes like a pro. “But they’re in their place now. Yep, they are. Shouldn’t have been in control so long. Puny bastards! Brains aren’t everything to stay on top. I’ll show ’em some brains and then some. Might just grow me a set of sharp claws to shred their tender, little throats.” I make slashing sounds by pushing air through my teeth.

  Lyra grimaces in my direction and I wonder if I’ve gone overboard with my act. But when she says, “I’d rather not even touch them. They disgust me!” I realize she’s just as fastidious as any feline.

  “Voilà,” she whispers, putting a finger to her lips to indicate silence.

  I follow her gaze and blink a few times to adjust to the dim light. After a moment, an expansive area that seems to be as big as a basketball court takes shape. There are beds lining the walls on both sides.

  Lyra walks forward as silent as a cat—which she almost is. I follow her, surveying the setup which makes me think of army barracks, except modern and better equipped. The bed linens are gray, just like the walls. The beds themselves are of decent size with thick mattresses that rest on top of wooden frames with built-in drawers underneath. Each bed is sandwiched between a dresser and a small desk. And, of all things, the desks have computers. I try not to salivate.

  I count fifteen beds on each side, all occupied by lumps that, for the most part, look human. However, a few drastically different lumps under the sheets unsettle me, making me think of Komodo dragons or larger-than-life horned beetles. Maybe unicorns, but I doubt it.

  I wonder how long these people have been here. Did they just move in? Or were they here long before The Takeover? From the looks of it, Elliot makes sure his faction members are comfortable. Maybe that helps with retention factors? He might rank as a leader in the buzz-o-meter, but rank doesn’t seem to guarantee loyalty or respect, not judging by Tusks’s attitude when the attack on The Tank didn’t please.

  Still shocked by the fact that my head is not buzzing, I wonder if that hellish side effect is gone for good and if that’s an advantage or disadvantage. I’m too tired to ponder that right now, though, so I push the question aside for the moment.

  We reach the end of
the room. I run a hand through my hair. “Where do I crash?” I whisper, suddenly feeling the fatigue deep in my bones.

  “That one is empty.” She points to the very last one on the left. “This is mine.” She walks to the bed next to mine, sits and begins to unlace her tall boots. “I will take you to get clothes tomorrow. Sleep in those now.”

  With hope for rest so close in sight, my body finally becomes unhinged. My shoulders slump. My legs go limp—my very insides seem to collapse. I don’t care if my clothes smell and look as if I’ve been inside a Dumpster. I stagger forward and fall on the mattress face first. The pillowcase smells fresh, much better than the one at the fleabag motel where Aydan found me.

  Aydan.

  He must have gotten away. I keep thinking he did, keep wishing he fried those meatheads to a crisp. I wish I could call him to make sure, but I never knew his phone number. Not like I have my cell with me, anyway. It’s in my backpack together with my laptop in the rear seat of his Jetta.

  My heavy eyelids open and close in slow motion. I glance at the computer monitor on the narrow desk next to my bed. Ideas swim through my head, but they’re foggy and I can’t get a hold of them.

  “You stay in the barracks,” Lyra says from very far away.

  “Count on it,” I mumble, willing sleep to take me. I’m exhausted enough it shouldn’t be hard to simply pass out, but my mind gets busy imagining the creatures that lie on the many beds in the room.

  God, I shouldn’t be here. This shouldn’t be my life. I should be home, worrying about homework, learning something useful from a father who never died, arguing with my mother about the holes in my jeans, or on the phone with my boyfriend planning our next date.

  My chest clamps tight. I fight the tears that seem to be at the ready for the moments when I can’t help but think of Xave. I curl up into a ball and push aside the memory of his pale face and empty eyes. I will not remember him that way. His hazel eyes could express so many emotions, so I think of him smiling, of his fingers brushing my cheek, of the first time we kissed.