Don’t fight it, I thought, taking my first real breath of cool winter air. Yet that was like telling a driver not to tense before a car accident. My knee-jerk reaction was to try to control the situation, but it was release that I needed. Remember, I told myself, in a head-on collision it was the careless ones, those already out of control, who came out fine.
Then a sphere began to take shape in front of me. It grew larger, flipping over itself and expanding to the size of my head, doubling again on the next rotation to become a large mirror.
Catching my reflection, it froze. Cleopatra eyes, ruby lips, leather halter, cuffs and hoops, winking silver. I had a single moment to take it all in.
Then the mirror began ripping away the powers I’d lost in a game of chance.
I’d once been cold-cocked in a sparring match with a guy who didn’t take well to being beaten by a girl. It had been a controlled situation-in a dojo, on a mat-but none of that meant a thing once the blow met my jaw. Tingling launched through my limbs to pool in my fingertips, while my eyes rolled into my head. Numbness had me crumpling like a wad of paper instead of catching myself, and I felt that now, except it was concentrated on the inside of my skull, shot like novocaine upward through my spinal cord.
My eyes remained unblinking upon the reflection that locked me immobile against my wishes. My scream was silent, rebounding off the vacated places in my mind where three powers were methodically ripped away. I tried to protest, but my mouth wouldn’t move. The mirrored eyes shot to silver and then black, like they were catching light from a dark sun. Numbness ran through my mind like maggots over meat. Bitterness drained down my throat as infection was introduced, then cauterized.
And for one last, brief moment my bartered power was reflected back at me, beauty being torn away like pages from a book. And without them, I suddenly realized, the rest of the story wouldn’t make sense.
You can’t have it! I thought, staring back into eyes that were and were not mine. But those black eyes only winked to silver.
You have to leave me something.
The silver began to fade.
No, I thought. I’ll keep it for myself.
I fought then. I didn’t need to move to will every nerve and neuron into fighting for the information. Don’t you know who I am, what I’ve done? I’m the Kairos, I’ve survived attack before, I’ve adapted to other bodies and worlds. I’ve always fought for what’s mine. And…
And I didn’t know who I was without my power. I didn’t want to be incomplete. I wanted to run with my troop, battle the Shadows and defeat the Tulpa. I needed these powers because they were the foundation for so much more! Returning home without them would be like standing on pockets of air. Without them, I’d be less than Kimber, or even Chandra-relegated to an auxiliary role. If Warren even allowed that, I thought, panicked. I wouldn’t be permitted, or even able, to fight. Not for myself, and not for people as injured as I’d once been.
And who was I, if I wasn’t a fighter?
So I used all my strength of will to mentally hold onto the powers that had been taken from me. Suddenly I knew these losses would shape my future happiness more than any other.
No, I stated again, still holding tight.
And I continued to hold tight until their last precious tendrils slipped away.
My reflection winked. The mirror began spiraling back into the mist, shrinking in size as it went, until it was no larger than a mere gaming chip. I blinked and it snapped from sight, and I was again alone in the dark.
13
Taking a shaky step forward to be sure my legs were working properly, I realized too late that I was back where I’d started before entering Midheaven. The candle was burning again, but behind me, so it didn’t light the gaping hole directly before me…one that I dropped through with an amazing lack of grace.
My left ankle twisted over on itself as I dropped, but the short fall-and my pained grunt-was quickly followed by a joyous squeal. I’d escaped! Olivia’s curves now burst from the halter and chaps that had been merely snug on my athletic frame, another physical sign my return to Vegas had been successful. Checking for injury, I was dismayed to find a small new scar on my left forearm from Mackie’s knife, and though healed over, the fact that it’d scarred at all told me that blade was the equivalent of a conduit. I’d been lucky not to suffer a direct hit. Of course, there was also…
“The friggin’ belly ring,” I muttered, touching the stupid thing, voice resonating softly through the tunnel.
A surprised grunt echoed back at me. I froze. There was a charred growl, like something awakened from slumber, and a heavy exhalation…and a scent I immediately recognized over the stink of the tunnel. I froze like a doe, but instead of headlights, found myself staring down the concrete corridor of inked-out darkness. The serpentine tunnel system, so spacious moments ago, shrunk in on itself. It was only perception, not an adjustment of time or space the way the passage to Midheaven had been, but I suddenly felt small, and all too vulnerable. I even thought of vaulting back up into that vertical shaft, grabbing that candle by the base and giving it another good puff.
After all, I thought, what was worse? A fight against the Tulpa or a return to Mackie and his soul-infused knife? A gamble with my life or with my soul?
Damned. Hard. Call.
And in a few more moments, I thought as the scuffling sounds drew nearer, the decision wouldn’t be mine to make.
“Who’s there?” The breath was gurgled, labored and pained.
My glyph began to pulse with heat, and the drip-drip of the drain’s befouled water joined it in syncopation, as if marking off seconds of my life.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
Instinct screamed to retreat, but I forced myself to inch forward instead. It was the first rule of combat, one my trainer, Asaf, had drilled into me. Always move forward. Through. Advance. Attack. It lent physical momentum, mental courage, and took your opponent off guard. Unless, I thought swallowing hard, your opponent was never off guard. In that case, the rule meant advance, attack, and if you were going to die, do it on your feet.
I could see, via my glyph, another three hundred feet of drain before it trended right. The shuffling sounds had ceased, which gave me hope as I inched past a lateral pipe, the source of that sulfuric dripping. That’s when I spotted rungs. I tested them, looking straight up into a concave hollow. If I hid there, the Tulpa might pass right beneath me. Then my path to Vegas would be open, and I’d be free. It was preferable to the head-on collision I was currently facing, Asaf’s instructions be damned. So I climbed. Once there, I used shaking hands to yank on my identity-shielding mask, then wrapped my shoulder bag around the highest rung. The chips inside clinked softly, like tiny cymbals.