Raise my hands either way—to disperse the hallucination or to shove the beast to the side.
She moves as otherworldly fast and frightening as an apparition, avoiding my hands with ease, but her grip is all too real as she grasps my neck, shoving me several feet back into the hallway, turning me sideways, and slamming me against the wall. I feel the sheetrock crack behind my shoulders, neck, and head.
“You’re the one Roderick brought here earlier—Simon’s little princess. The one that got between us all— starting this little war.”
Squirm—struggle to get free, but her hand keeps the back of my neck pinned to the wall. Know she could kill me at any second—crush my throat completely, but I’ve got to try. Got to try to make sure Simon and Ambrosia get out too. Try to fight to see him one more time. At least go out swinging.
“The bad thing about starting your stupid war with them, princess, is that the little people like me go hungry. Right now Edgar’s trying to sneak something out for us little ones who don’t really matter but got caught up in the middle of all this somehow.”
Drive my knee up hard into her thigh.
Her fingers squeeze tighter—deeper into my neck, and she tosses me roughly onto the hardwood floor.
My shoulder hits first, then the rest of me crashes down. Roll onto my back as fast as I can.
In a flash, she’s atop me, knees crushing my shoulders against the floor, her poisoned eyes glaring into mine. Slowly she brings her hand over my face—stretching her fingers wide, flaunting her dangerous nails. Her scent of sweat and patchouli invades my senses.
“I could kill you now. I could put a stop to all of this fighting you’ve started over your silly little friend. Should’ve just given her to Roderick—he’ll get her soon anyway—he always does. The more you keep her from him, the more he’ll destroy to get to her.”
“She’s not anyone’s property to give away, especially not to give away to Roderick.”
“We’re all disposable in the dark, princess. It’s not like your world—your world isn’t real. Your world is what you see when the sun’s bright in the sky—blinding you from seeing all the horrible things that are around you. They’re always there, princess—the daylight just keeps you too dazzled to see them—it lets you pretend we don’t exist.”
“My nose won’t let me pretend you don’t exist. Sweaty patchouli smells worse than death.”
She hisses, sliding her knees further down my torso so she can bend over farther, bringing her exposed fangs closer to my face.
“Your mouth is faster than your little body. Words are all you have—you’re just not fast enough to back them up. I’ll rip your tongue out as soon as I don’t need you anymore.”
“Simon’s fast—he’ll kill you.”
Her knees slide a little lower—digging into my breasts terribly. My arms are free but I can’t move them—strain to breathe.
She sees me wince and smiles, bringing her fangs closer to my face, “Just shut your mouth, and I’ll trade you for some of the new stuff if Edgar gets himself killed up there. Let you breathe—just a little—till then. After that, princess, we’ll see about shutting up that
A loud thud cracks through the air—coming from somewhere above us. A dark sound—something large broke.
Simon! Hope he’s alright—God, let him be alright. My thoughts focus on Simon somewhere in the upper levels of this house that resembles a cavern. I push my chest up hard to catch a breath.
She loves the panicked concern and struggle showing on my face, leaning down even closer—centimeters from diving her fangs into my face, “Maybe I’ll keep you alive just long enough to get the stuff…and…to let you watch just how
She sits up a little—her eyes grow wide and excited as the thought sinks in. The image of Simon dying while she laughs wildly burns inside me.
Stick my right thumb out and jab it into her eye.
She screams—immediately bringing both hands over her hurt eye.
Quickly I jab my left thumb into her other eye.
Her scream turns into a squeal.
I shove both hands into her chest, and she falls backward onto the floor.
My own chest hurts as if she were still kneeling on it.
Her hands still cover her eyes, rocking back and forth on the floor. I give her a kick into her stomach.
“Was that fast enough for you, stinky?” I ask.
She kicks the air in my direction but misses me as I turn back toward the fire, away from where Maxine and Katrianna told me to go—away from where Simon told me to go—away from the only way out that I know that’s not engulfed in huge flames.
Darkness must be eclipsing my sanity. Heart pounds with the thought of Simon upstairs and in danger. Run into the pitch black, much faster than before, hanging to the left to avoid the couch, hoping that’s the only unseen thing waiting to trip me in the hallway.
Sprint into the darkness toward the fire.
My nails rip through the bookcase that’s been shoved in front of the torn entrance to the large room on the third floor. Something unspeakable must be brewing behind the books for the room to be blocked off this way. Fling my arms out, tearing the bookcase apart further, knees and head slamming into it, breaking what remains in the way of my body.
Crash into the room.
Edgar has Ambrosia over his shoulder—she pounds her fists on his back, while he grabs at the closest of three other women backed into the far corner of the room—her arm scraped from his attempts. The two girls behind her try to push her forward into Edgar—keeping his claws further away from them and offering her to him to fill his other empty shoulder so he’ll hopefully go away and leave them alone.
I shout, “Hey, big red, you can’t keep the one girl on your shoulder happy. What makes you think you can handle two?”
His face is ugly with anger—twisted and snarling beneath his rust-colored beard.
“Better run after your own girl before someone picks her up downstairs and does something nasty to her.”
Rush across the room toward Edgar. He turns from the terrified three girls backed against the wall to face me, both his hands at Ambrosia’s waist. He tosses Ambrosia at my head—sending her flying toward me with her back facing me—leaving her unable to see where she’s going—her arms, legs, and blue ponytails flailing.
Both of my hands catch her near her hips. Try to dump her on her feet to the side of me as swiftly as I can. Know something’s coming at me fast.
Before I can release her, Edgar’s boot kicks me in the temple. Ambrosia drops out of my hands—lands on her feet and stumbles till she finds her balance.
Raise my arm—block Edgar’s fingernails from scraping my face. He kicks my leg at the knee—body buckles. He throws a right cross—aiming for the bridge of my nose—pull my head back—grazes me. Kicks at my stomach—I catch his foot, taking away most of its force as it pushes against me—holding onto his foot and calf I turn fast— twisting and falling toward the floor—pulling him over me by his leg—slamming him to the ground. The floorboards crack.
The three girls run to the hole I tore through the bookcase that was blocking the exit. The girl, with the scratches on her arm who was being pushed toward Edgar, smacks her hands at the backs of the other two as they disappear into the hallway.
Ambrosia’s backed herself against the wall, and from beneath smeared and runny blue mascara, she watches Edgar and I scramble to our feet.
First one standing, I charge toward him—jumping—putting my entire body in the air—kicking him square in his shoulders with both of my feet, sending him off his feet and shooting into the wall near Ambrosia.
She jumps back—getting far out of the way as Edgar crashes into the wall.
He bounces back onto his feet, fist clenched and cocked back—looking square at my face where he wants to plant it.
Kick him in the center of his chest. Solid—deep thud. He falls back into the wall again.
Ambrosia squeals.
