“There’s a door in the library,” I say.
Bonnie nods and turns us down a hallway, but when we get to the library, we find the door to the outside chained shut. Bonnie unstraps her gun and slams the butt against the metal links, but it’s no use. It’s too thick and strong.
“Step back,” she says, then turns the muzzle on the door.
I hear a crash, but it doesn’t come from gunfire. I turn to find Bumper standing nearby, next to an overturned bookshelf, cornered by Svetlana and two dozen of her friends.
“You are disgusting,” Svetlana cries. “All of you are pretty gross, but you are by far the ugliest little freak in the bunch. What the hell are you supposed to be? A squid?”
“I only wish to pass,” Bumper says. Her voice gurgles like it’s full of water. I think it’s the first time I’ve heard her speak.
“Tough.” Svetlana shoves Bumper, and the small Ceto stumbles back. Svetlana’s fingers are covered in ooze that came off of Bumper’s skin. It’s like paste, and she smears it across her jeans.
“Leave her alone,” Bonnie demands, but Svetlana ignores her.
“I want you out of here, freak, so I’m going to be in your face every day. I won’t let up. I’ll mess with you until coming to this school gives you nightmares.”
“Svetlana, stop,” I cry.
“Shut up, Lyric. You’re next.”
“Leave me alone,” Bumper says calmly.
“Make me.”
“You do not understand our ways, human,” Bumper says.
“All I understand is that you’re a creepy little monster.” Svetlana punches Bumper in her face, and a red dot appears at the point of impact. It grows and seeps across Bumper’s cheek; however, she acts as if it didn’t hurt.
“I will not tolerate any more, human,” she says. “If you continue, I will understand it to be a challenge and I will fight back.”
Svetlana laughs, then punches Bumper in the face again. This time, black blood dribbles from the Ceto’s mouth and down the front of her white T-shirt. She reaches up and touches it, while Svetlana is already throwing another haymaker. I cringe, preparing for the sick thud, but this time Bumper catches the girl’s fist in her own hand.
“Challenge accepted,” the Ceto says as her entire body glows.
Svetlana’s eyes roll into the back of her head. She twitches, then shakes like a spastic marionette, flopping around in unnatural ways. Her arms and legs spin at the joints. Her tongue wags out of her mouth and turns white, then black. Her head jerks in every direction while the sounds of cracking bones fill the room. And there is a smell. Bumper is cooking Svetlana.
“Let her go or I will shoot!” Bonnie says, her gun leveled at Bumper’s face.
The Ceto nods and pulls her hand free with a sickening and sticky slurp, but Svetlana’s body is stuck in a jittery slow-motion dance. She looks down at herself, at the smoke coming from her clothes and fingertips, then lets out a shrill, agonizing wail. Her hair catches fire, and she topples over. Her head hits the floor hard, a smack I will never forget, and she lies twitching as a soldier runs forward and falls to his knees to administer CPR. He sets one hand on her and flies back several feet with a snapping shock.
Six more soldiers race down the hall.
“What happened?” one of them shouts.
“The little one killed her,” Bonnie says, pointing at Bumper.
“She would not stop,” Bumper explains, then turns to the other Niners. “None of you will stop. I think you’ll stop now, yes?”
One of the other soldiers reaches for his handcuffs.
“No, don’t touch her,” Bonnie says. “She used some kind of electricity—maybe a weapon, maybe something that’s inside.”
The soldiers raise their weapons and train them on Bumper.
“Keep your hands where we can see them,” Bonnie barks.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I hear what happened at school,” Mrs. Novakova says when my parents and I get off the elevator. “I told you those things are dangerous.”
“Mrs. Novakova, today has been a very difficult day,” my mother says.
“I hear you spend time with fish-head prince,” she continues.
“We just want to get her inside,” my father says as we try to step past the old woman.
“Don’t bring him here. I told you before. I won’t have it. I don’t want their disease!”
I snap. “You’re a miserable old cow, and you’d better get out of my face,” I shout. It causes neighbors to peer into the hall, but they close themselves up when they see Mrs. Novakova.
“You let your daughter talk to elders like that?” she spits at my mother.
“You’re right. There are far better things to call you, like a heartless old hag.”
Novakova shakes a finger at us and stomps down the hall.
“Mrs. Novakova,” my father shouts, and the old woman spins around so fast, she nearly falls over. “If any of your friends show up tonight, I will arrest you for conspiracy and I will have you locked up in the Tombs.”