sat on a mound of salt, which represented earth—the one element in which I had not yet earned anything. And yet, iron represented fire. Air was in abundance, and if this was a ship, then there was water nearby.
How could I combine fire, air and water? Fire and water canceled each other out—or fire caused water to transmute and combine with air . . .
What could I do with steam?
I had to get off this salt.
Wriggling and dragging myself across this would take forever. Without my hands free to balance, hopping or crawling was out. I figured rolling would be the best way—and most painful. Gritting my teeth and tensing to restrict some of the movement my shoulder was about to endure, I made the first and second rotations. I had to catch my breath, then I made two more. Following this pattern, I neared the wall quickly.
Guided by the light of my mantle, I sat up and scooted into position by the ladder. I lifted my arms and, using only my left, levered my feet under me. I stood—too fast—and had to grapple for the higher half-moon rungs to keep from keeling over. Holding on, I shook off as much of the salt as I could, then slid my foot into one of the half-moon openings. They were too far apart for my bindings to reach both, so I had to settle for having only one foot bearing me. Like an inchworm moving one end, then the other, I eventually had myself three rungs from the level of the salt.
After securing my balance with my knee, I reached around the support bracket, placed both palms against the iron and focused my will.
My thumbs tingled, and I felt a jolt like I had when under my mother’s truck trying to get the tire.
In yogic theories, the mudras were various hand gestures and positions that awakened the kundalini, or the corporeal energy. Each finger represented a different element. Thumbs represented fire, and metal represented fire, which explained the charge I got under the truck and here!
Bending my thumbs back to touch the rope as much as I could, I pressed the outermost loop against the edge of the bracket. I smelled smoke. Maintaining my single-mindedness, I rubbed the rope against it and snorted against the stink of burning fibers.
Incredibly, the silvery threads I’d noticed in the rope before were some type of metal—and the metal was part of Liyliy. It liquefied and re-formed as barbed wire, cutting into me as I applied pressure to the rope.
I had to work fast—surely Liyliy knew I was doing something now.
Increasing the pressure of the rope on the heated bracket, the sharp barbs of the wire broke my skin, and the wire heated. As the rope burned, so did I.
Grinding my teeth, groaning through the searing pain, I kept pushing.
The rope severed. I jerked from the bracket, steadying myself with my knee, and flapped my hands so the rope would unwind itself—but the wire did not fall away. In fact, the weight of the rope seemed to push the barbs deeper.
I used my thumbs to touch the bracket and thrust the wire against the edge directly. The wire fought, tightened, and tore my skin before the heat melted it through. I pulled free of it so fast I probably did more and unnecessary damage, but I didn’t want to risk the stuff re-forming.
I leapt down to the salt. I had to get my feet free now; Liyliy was surely connected to this stuff and knew what I was doing.
The knot in the rope around my ankles was in the back, so I couldn’t see it well. Additionally, my thumbs were numb from directing so much of the fire element through them, so I dug at it with my fingers. Messing with it caused the wire in it to grow barbs as well. These seemed to spring up everywhere I reached—until I dug my thumbs under the wire. “Fire!”
The wire melted around my touch and fell into the salt.
I rolled away from it and worked at the rope. Where my thumbs touched, the fibers burned. Knowing what to do now, I touched my thumbs onto the rope—on a spot not in contact with my skin—and burned through.
Kicking free of the coils, I tore off my shoes, climbed to my feet and reached for the ladder.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Mero, Ailo, and Talto were being given a tour of the haven by Menessos. “And concluding our little tour, this is the Haven, with a capital
Mero was impressed. “It will support the entire group?”
“We believe so. There will be plenty of job openings for my . . . I mean for Goliath’s Offerlings and Beholders there, as well as at The Blood Culture.”
“What is that?” Ailo asked.
“It was Heldridge’s brainchild. An ingenious combination of business and strategy, The Blood Culture is a bar located between the Cleveland Clinic and University Hospitals. It is also right on the Health Line, a designated transit that connects them. Local healthcare professionals supplement their income by giving blood, as do the many area college students. Then the bar sells it to the local vampires.”
“Do they cater to a mortal clientele as well?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“And your local government does not object?” Mero asked.
“Only the local Red Cross was bothered. We made a deal with them. They have their people collect the blood, and we donate half of it to them. We had a surplus anyway.”
A silence lingered, and Menessos gestured them out of the construction zone and back into the haven. “Do you mind if I make a call?” Mero asked, getting out his cell phone and putting it to his ear. “My reception isn’t the best below.”
“Indeed,” Menessos said. “Ladies.” He gestured again, and they preceded him to the stairwell. The elevator dinged and opened as they started down.
“There you are,” Giovanni exclaimed. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
Mero kept his phone at his ear, as if he were continuing to talk to someone, even though he’d halted his call when he spotted Giovanni. He listened as Menessos asked, “What can I help you with, Giovanni?”
“Not you. Meroveus.” Giovanni spotted him and aimed his course right for him.
“I’ll call you back,” Mero said and shut his phone.
“Yes?”
Giovanni opened his mouth and shut it again.
“What is it?” Mero asked.
“I need a favor.”
It evidently cost him to say the words, so Mero responded benevolently. “What is wrong?”
“I loathe the paperwork of a haven. I am no businessman. And I am no mediator, either. I am a warrior, I settle disputes by killing my enemy. And I now long to slay both the masters of the Columbus and the Cincinnati havens.”
“But of course you cannot. What can I do?”
“Talk to the Excelsior. Have him revoke my status as Interim Quarterlord and call me back to Washington.”
Mero put a hand on Giovanni’s shoulder. “I will see what I can do.”
After speaking with his son, Mero returned to the lower levels of the haven. Just as he drew near to Mark,
