“That’s what I’m talking about. That’s your truth...your perspective. Just one of many possible realities. You think your truth is more valid than anyone else’s?”
“The historical timeline isn’t a judgment call to make. It just... is.”
“Only for those who lack the courage to change it.”
A surge of energy takes root in my chest. All the anger, sorrow, mourning, frustration, and helplessness of my life compresses into this single match strike. The fuse lit and it has nowhere else to go but into a powder keg of wrath. The Benefactors used me like a thermonuclear bomb they programmed for maximum destruction and then set off in the middle of King Henry’s court.
“Brave words for someone who won’t come out of the shadows,” I say.
“I thought you loved mystery games and riddles.” Her voice is an echo. The acoustics make it seem she’s everywhere at once; I can no longer pin down where she is.
A few more steps and I’m standing in a large gap in the wood beams above.
“Come out and we’ll discuss this face-to-face.”
“As you wish.” Her voice is right bloody behind me.
I turn toward the sound just as Trevor swings down from the rafters and plants her feet squarely in my shoulder.
The blow knocks me sideways. The rake head scraps the floor catching in the seam of a loose board, causing me to lose both the implement and my balance. I scuttle backward like a crab, using my hands and feet, trying to put as much distance between us as I can.
She picks up the rake and swings it over her head like an ax, bringing it down hard and fast on a narrow sliver of floor between my legs.
I send a feeble kick at the rake, but it’s enough force to knock it out from under her. I roll to the left just out of her stumbling path as her weight pitches forward.
She chuckles, regaining her footing. “It seems I must put some effort into killing you.” Her eyes gleam and she twirls the rake from one hand to the other over and over like a martial arts master wielding a staff.
“You talk too much.” I jump backward into the edge of a tool bench shoved up against the wall.
She swings the staff again, this time toward my lower legs, trying to sweep them out from under me. It’s a narrow miss.
Stumbling backward down the bench, sweeping my hands along its splintered surface as I go, I search for anything I can use to block the blows so I can get to the knife in my boot. Lunging, I grasp a wooden shovel propped against the wall.
It’s barely in my hands when the rake lands with a solid thwump on the table leg just in front of me.
“You’re playing with me,” I say. “Won’t your superiors be angry that you’re taking so long to kill me?”
“As long as you’re dead, they won’t care how long it takes. You’ve outlived your usefulness.” She circles to the right, balancing her weapon first in one hand, then the other. “I’ll be rewarded for dispatching you. I might even get a medal.”
“Dodger,” Nico says. “That shovel isn’t gonna do the job by itself.”
I take in his meaning: the knife. I swallow hard, knowing that I’m not likely to get out of here in one piece if I’m not willing to take her life before she takes mine.
“Your boyfriend’s right. That shovel is useless.” Trevor sweeps the rake down and then quickly up, catching the metal binding behind the bowl of the shovel between two of the rake’s tines. One quick tug and she snatches the implement out of my hands.
It’s enough time for me to get to the knife and rush her. The instant Trevor spots the blade, she flips the rake around and swings it at my head.
The corner glances off the spot just above my right ear and I feel the blood gush. My head throbs.
She cocks her weapon back, preparing for another attack, but leaves just enough of an opening that I can slip under her arms and thrust the blade upward.
We’re nose-to-nose as I feel it slide into her and it’s nothing like I expect it to be. It moves through her skin with so little resistance, it’s like she’s made of soft butter.
I feel her blood on my skin.
She staggers back, eyes wide, then falls.
Carter, having seen the whole thing through the LensCam, jumps into action, barking orders to everyone. “Team One, get in that mill and secure the prisoner. Team Two, get Fagin and Lady Anne to safety.”
Nico follows up with a command of his own. “Team One, get Dodger back to the ship fast. She’s hurt.”
“Both of me,” I say. “Don’t forget the version lying outside the stable.”
“She’s been found by one of the grooms of the stable and taken to the castle. She...you will be fine,” Nico replies.
The blow to my head isn’t as serious as it could have been, but a light-headedness sweeps over me that drops me to my knees. Murdock places a steadying hand on my shoulder, then pulls me to my feet.
“I can’t believe you’re still alive,” he says with a grudging sense of admiration in his voice.
“Neither can I,” I say, still gasping for breath.
Becca Trevor, weak but still alert, meets my eyes; she’s still lying on the floor allowing one of our guys to field dress her wound as we prepare to transport back to the ship. She really doesn’t have a choice in the matter. She has six phasers pointed at her head.
“I know where Isabella is.” Her voice is raspy with the effort to speak through pain. “When I escape, I’ll pay her a little visit.”
Chapter 30
I wake to Nico’s arm draped over me and the feel of his slow, deep breath, warm
