She took aim.
I hurled myself forward and dragged her to the floor. Our limbs locked, her leather groaning under my grip, her nails skittering for purchase on my body armor. We twined together and rolled through the glass and for a moment the violence was almost elegant, like some full-contact ballet. We moved the same way. All grace and flow. Absurdly I thought: she’s a dancer, too. Then we paused and she crouched over me, panting, and I hesitated. She didn’t.
An elbow decked my jaw. I flipped her, pinned her to the hardwood.
Our faces were inches apart. Summer rain and warm sweat filled my senses.
“Stop,” I rasped. “I’m not here for you.”
“You’re good, bad boy. But you hold back too much. That’s why you’re going to lose.”
Her knee swung straight between my legs.
It hurt—getting hit that hard anywhere hurts—and I slammed her down, knocking her breathless. Cress lay limp. Confusion reeled across her face. She hadn’t braced for impact, assuming she’d crushed my balls.
For a second I actually felt shitty for winning this fight. Because of the way I won. Because of what it meant.
I stood, confiscating her weapon. Same caliber, suppressed. She swayed to her feet.
“Get out of here,” I said. “Last chance.”
A steel fang ripped through the darkness. Her knife. Instead of firing I flung my arm out, to catch blade on bone.
Don’t hurt her, don’t hurt her.
Then Blythe flew through the window and tackled us both.
The knife spun away in a fan of silver. The two girls thrashed across the floor, knocking lamps over, a bookshelf they both deftly avoided, a TV neither of them did. I trained my light on them, a blur of slender bodies twisting around and around in vicious helixes.
“Freeze,” I bellowed.
Cress perched over Blythe, but she’d paid for it. Red stripes raked down her neck.
And then it happened.
The knock at the front door.
“Hello?” a woman called.
ELLIS: Oh, shit.
Prim-and-proper Ellis rarely swore. This was bad.
I moved toward the guy on the bed.
“Stop,” Cress hissed. “You take that gag off, he’ll scream for help.”
Tapeface shook his head no emphatically.
Another knock.
“Hello? I live below you. I heard things breaking. Are you okay?”
“Oh, for Christ’s—” Blythe shouldered Cress off and sat up. Her voice turned saccharine. “Er, we’re a little busy right now.”
And she gave a low moan.
And giggled.
From the hall, a pause, then, “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to—sorry.”
Footsteps, receding.
I gestured at Cress with my gun. “Stand up.”
Slowly she rose, eyes locked on me. Glass cascaded off her jacket and plinked musically on the floor. Blythe pursed her lips and spit a mouthful of blood, dark as wine.
ELLIS: Are you guys hurt?
REN: I’m fine. Artemis?
BLYTHE: Think she broke my bloody rib.
ELLIS: Can you breathe okay?
BLYTHE: I’ll live. Especially if I can hit her again.
ELLIS: You need to get out of there.
REN: And how do we do that with two hostile captives?
ELLIS: I don’t know. I think . . . maybe we should leave Crito to her.
BLYTHE: You’re joking.
ELLIS: No, I’m not. We’re not supposed to be here, Artemis. Who knows what we’re interfering with.
Cressida watched us as we spoke, not missing a word. Her gaze ricocheted around the room. Planning a move. She was trained, very well trained, but those eyes filled with curiosity when they landed on me. I’d surprised her.
You were wrong, I thought. I’m not some cocky prick who throws his strength around carelessly. I learned how to survive just like you did.
In a female body.
Crito squirmed and mumbled into his gag. It almost sounded like “She’s going to kill me.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked Cress. “Who are you?”
“How amusing. I know who you are, yet you don’t know me.”
“You know a lot of things you shouldn’t. That’s not good for your long-term health.”
Blythe kneaded her side. “Let me beat the truth out of her.”
ELLIS: [Mutters inaudibly.]
BLYTHE: What?
ELLIS: I said, “Don’t you think that’s kind of overkill, Artemis?”
BLYTHE: Me, taking it too far? Never.
I circled closer, putting Cress between me and Blythe. “I don’t want to hurt you. But if you don’t start talking, I’ll have no choice.”
Blythe’s hand crawled toward the knife strapped to her thigh.
Cressida stood there calmly, loose limbed. In the harsh white beam her eyes were pale gold. Small galaxies of crushed glass sparkled around us, dusting the tumbled books like snow.
“You won’t hurt me,” she said. “You’ve had three chances and failed.”
“I didn’t fail. I was trying not to hurt you.”
“How noble. So chivalry isn’t dead.”
“What do you want with this guy?”
“Same as you.” She glanced at him icily. “To give him a taste of true fear.”
Crito’s eyes bugged.
REN: Anyone else bother to notice that this girl’s not wearing a mask?