Throw an elbow into Edgar’s forehead, and another dart digs into me—into the center of my back.
Roderick moves toward me. Edgar shakes the remaining dizziness from my elbow shot to his head.
Ambrosia is standing on her toes looking from the door to Roderick and back to the door.
I charge at Roderick and shout, “Run, Ambrosia, get out of here! Now, now, now!”
Roderick throws another dart that lands in my left biceps.
Ambrosia runs over the books scattered on the floor before the bookshelf and then disappears out the hole.
My head grows foggy—muscles feel heavy.
Roderick throws a punch at my head. Dodge—sway my torso back. Too close—I’m moving too slow. Something’s wrong.
Catch Edgar moving in the corner of my eye. Have to move fast—got to get both of them on the same side of me or this won’t last very long.
Roderick swings wildly at me again.
I duck down and with a leg scissors trip him face-first to the floor.
Edgar’s footsteps are scrambling loudly on the wood floor, but they’re moving away from us.
I jump onto Roderick’s back, pushing my knees into his spine and pulling up on his chin—tying him up and putting pressure on his lower back.
We both look to Edgar who’s nearly out the hole in the bookshelf.
Roderick shrieks, “I need you, you weasel!”
Edgar puts a hand to the edge of the hole in the bookshelf and stops. Pointing with his other hand to the corner front window, “No, you don’t. Look to the window.”
I drop my hold of Roderick’s chin as I see two vampires—Quint and Carvelli crouched on the ledge and lifting the window. Their faces are scratched harshly, but they’re ready to fight.
Head’s sludgy—dizzy—breaths coming hard—balance is off. Darts must’ve been poisoned—same stuff as before.
Quint and Carvelli drop down to the hardwood floor.
I break a leg off a nearby lamp stand—lamp crashing and shattering on the floor.
Two more figures have jumped up to the window sill—must be climbing to the edge of the balcony that is still standing and not completely in flames and then jumping to the sill.
The two jump into the room. Desirée—one of Edgar’s little needle girls—her eyes look raw. Speaking of needles—my eyelids are getting heavy. Poison’s working fast. The other vamp is a guy—young one, short brown hair—long sideburns—don’t even know his name—must’ve been born in the last five decades when I was away.
Footsteps pound their path up the stairs—a lot of them.
Did Ambrosia have enough time to get downstairs? Hope so.
The approaching horde stomp higher and higher up the stairs—some smacking their feet down this hallway—getting close to this room.
Another dark figure jumps to the windowsill.
Roderick, now up on his knees, throws the last dart—piercing its way into my thigh.
Yank it out of my leg—yank the other out of my biceps. Put both of them between fingers in my left hand—going to need them—won’t be enough. Can’t reach the one still stuck in my back. Thoughts getting slow…heavy.
Roderick smiles as the first of his lackeys reach the opening in the bookcase. Must be the horror shelf.
I hate it because it’s his smile. Hate it because of the malice in it. Hate it because it’s smug. Hate it because I’m fading. Hate it even more because it’s the last thing I may see. Hate it worse ‘cause don’t know how far Ruby’s gotten away from all this.
I’ll fight till my eyes shut for good, but looks like Roderick’s won. Fighting just to keep eyes open now, and it hasn’t even begun.
Doesn’t look good.
Run, Ruby, run.
Hold them off as long as I can. Fangs and claws surround me—closing in at all sides.
Dear God, Ruby, run.
Pale, pointed-tooth creatures rush past.
Their footsteps were close behind as soon as I started up the first set of stairs. Sprinted up to the second floor—ran down the hallway where I was imprisoned just a short while ago.
That’s where I peer at them now, from behind the corner of the hallway—right where I ran into Katrianna earlier.
At least a dozen of them—loud racket—running up to the third floor.
Look back to the room where I was held captive—no guards—dead or alive. Door is shut but blood covers the floor in front of it.
Maxine—hope she’s alright. Hope she struck the blood and didn’t do the bleeding herself. Have to check on her before we leave, but right now I have to follow after this unholy herd up the stairs to save Simon.
The trampling feet are off the stairs and on the third floor now—where all the noise was coming from before they started stomping up the stairs—must be where Simon is, maybe Ambrosia too.
“Aaaaaah!” squeals from my old cell.
Ambrosia—it’s her. Girl squeaks like no other. Run toward the door. Grab Ambrosia—go after Simon—get the hell out of here. Smile everyday that I wake up somewhere other than this hellish place.
I slam Ambrosia’s wrists against the wall, and holding them between my thumb and fingers, I drive my fingernails into the wall, shackling her to the sheetrock with my flesh.
Her eyes weep as she whimpers, spreading her overdone makeup down her face like she’s crying blue blood.
Her blubbering almost makes my aching body feel better after fighting Simon. Thinking of the hell he’s going through now makes me feel better. And, looking down at Ambrosia’s stomach that squirms left and right with the rest of her body, trying to break free of my hold, my senses think of what they’ll be enjoying later on—the special fix like no other. That definitely makes me feel better.
Was all too easy to grab her, stumbling clumsily down this hallway, running away from the clamor coming up the stairs toward her. Breathing on her neck, sliding my fangs across her thin skin before she knew there was anything in the darkness behind her but her fear. With a quick, “Hello, sweetheart,” a moment to enjoy the terror in her eyes, and a hand over her mouth, I pulled her in here. As easy as breathing—grabbing a scared, little thing in the dark.
“Let me go, Edgar! I have a child now.”
“You have a monster child, Ambrosia—an abomination. Something that would be better off never being born.”
Her chest pumps up and down—sadness shuts her eyes that still leak.
“What—what are you going to do?” she asks.
“Nothing much, love. Just take away something that should never have been. Who knows—if you’re a good little blue thing, you might not even have to die.”
“Share it with me,” she whimpers.
“What?” I ask.
Raising her glossy, smeared eyes to look at me, “Share it with me, then.”
Pushing my tongue to the tip of a fang, “Want a taste of the good stuff, do you? You’re a sick one…starting to like you, blue.”
“Just—just wanna know what’s worth all of this fighting. What could possibly be so good? Must be something special.”
“You have no earthly idea.”
The moonlight and flames of the fire below reflect in the myriad bits of shattered glass that fly and twirl in the air all around me.
The third-floor broken window they just threw me through looks like a jagged black hole into the white house. My shoulder slams onto the second-floor balcony—sliding toward the front edge.
Can see flames flickering and rising in the air at the front of the half balcony that remains. The tiny partial platform sags to the side at my right, and flames rise there against its edge too.
My shoulder’s slide toward the front edge of the balcony begins to slow down, and my body starts to slide down the slope into the flames to my right.