Enemies: The Girl in the Box, Book Seven (4 page)

“I’m not sure.” I held my hands up to the sides of my head, as though I could clear it by doing what I’d been doing for the last few minutes, but I was failing miserably.

Makes sense,
he said quietly.
It is the last thing you have to lose, isn’t it?

I staggered up the platform, large tiles covering the walls in a strange mosaic pattern. The platform was narrower than I expected, roughly the size of the train, and I followed the glaring sign that said, “Way Out,” with an arrow pointing to the left.

Little Doll isn’t feeling so well,
Wolfe said in a voice almost like a chirp. I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the spin that had taken it over. I wondered if I was ill but only dimly, as though my brain weren’t working at its full capacity.

Are you all right?
Zack’s voice was filled with concern. I could almost feel his hand on my wrist, trying to help me up.

“I’m fine,” I said, taking the steps two and three at a time as I climbed to where a crowd waited in front of an elevator. Signage told me that the “Lifts”—the Brits and their damned word differences; it’s an elevator—were on reduced capacity. The crowd filled the area, and my eyes veered to the right, where a sign announced that there were 179 steps to the surface. It also suggested not climbing them, making me wonder what the hell they were there for if not to climb.

I shook my head again, trying to ignore the swirl of conversation that was now happening behind my eyes as they all talked, talked, talked. It was like I wasn’t even there, that all the people currently occupying my brain were having a meeting and I, the one who actually owned the body, wasn’t even in attendance.

Something is very wrong with her,
Zack said in concern.

Under stress,
Bjorn said, not concerned but wary.
She’s—

Weak,
Kappler said.
She’ll crack, just watch. I can’t believe I was killed by this whelp, she is so pathetic—

She’s tough enough to kill you,
Bastian said.
She’ll get through this. It’s a difficult time—

All difficult times,
Wolfe said, relishing my pain. The stairs thudded under my feet, but I barely noticed them. I started to run, my bag slapping at my sides. The walls of the spiral staircase were closing around me, the tiles a mosaic of dim colors, of darkness spinning around, as though they were lit up and not just some dull tiles from the 1980s or earlier. The world spun as I went up the staircase, and my reflexes allowed me to dodge around the one person in front of me, though I heard a gasp from someone.

I needed air, needed to breathe. The world was tight, and I hit my head on the ceiling as I took a high step. I didn’t bother to check, but I knew a normal person wouldn’t have done that. Even I wouldn’t have done that, not unless I was jumping or doing something I shouldn’t. My chest felt tight, my mouth felt dry, and I wondered what Omega had done to me, if anything. I hurried up the steps, and the taste of the meals I’d eaten on the airplane came back on me, acid reflux, in the back of my throat, gagging me. I kept on running until the stairs emptied into a hallway that I followed into the main station. I leapt over the gates that separated me from freedom, not worried about giving them my ticket, just trying to get away from the confining space, the world closing in around me.

I burst out into the cool, sunny day, autumn in full glory all around me, and caught a blustery breeze. It wasn’t as bad as what I’d left behind, that much was certain, and it took me only a moment to get my bearings before I hurried down the street, hoping no one would follow me, or that if they did, I could lose them. There wasn’t much of a crowd; it was the afternoon, and some stands were set up to my right to vend fruit and newspapers. I ignored the smell of citrus as I went by, though I realized I suddenly wanted a drink of it, of orange juice.

Can’t handle the pressure,
Bjorn said, and he shook that flat face of his.

Can’t shoulder the weight of responsibility,
Eve said.

Little Doll,
Wolfe said with a wicked grin.

You’re falling apart,
Gavrikov whispered.

I hurried on, taking the turn when I saw the street I was looking for. Russell Square’s greenery stared back at me from the opposite corner. I ran up a block as fast as I could, without thinking. I felt myself breaking into a sweat. I didn’t know what was wrong with me but it was dire, urgent, and I needed to get away from public eyes. I heard the honk of a horn as I started to step out into the street and I saw a car coming toward me without stopping. I didn’t even think, just pivoted into a spin and brought my leg around into the air, then down like an axe in a straight line. My heel landed on the hood of the car and I heard the bumper hit the pavement as I completely arrested the forward momentum of the vehicle. There was a sharp sound of the engine falling out, along with the transmission and several other vital parts, and I stood there in my ready fighting stance, breathing heavily, sweating uncontrollably. The driver stared at me from behind a deployed airbag with eyes as wide as any I’d ever seen.

Well done, Little Doll.

Not as weak as I thought—

Strong—

Run, Sienna.

She has a fire in her,
Gavrikov said.

Run—

Getting better,
Bjorn grudgingly admitted.
Like that—

RUN, SIENNA!
Zack’s words lit an alarm in me, and I took off down the way, hugging my bag to my side as I tore up a street, dodging down the next avenue at a speed I usually didn’t exhibit in public. I saw the sign for my hotel and slowed, ducking into the entrance. I stalked across the lobby to the front desk, wiping the heavy perspiration off my face, off my hands.

The girl behind the front desk was young, maybe only a year or two younger than me. “May I help you?” she asked softly, in a thick Russian accent.

Like Klementina—

A Little Doll, she should be played with—

I shook the thoughts that weren’t even mine out of my head. “I have room reserved for Sienna Clarke.”

The Russian girl looked at me with her delicate features and bright blue eyes. “Can you spell that, please?” I did, and she fumbled with her computer. “I have you here for … indefinite stay?” She blinked and looked up at me as though to confirm.

“For now,” I said, almost gasping. I needed to get out of sight. Needed to do something to cool down my overheating skin, to stop this panic attack or heart attack or whatever attack I was having.

“May I see your passport?” She reached out a hand out to take it from me and I offered it over to her. She took forever, typing things into the computer.

She’d be such a sweet taste,
Bjorn cackled.

Could taste her for hours,
Wolfe said.

You’re disgusting,
Eve pronounced.

“If you could hurry, that would be great,” I said, catching the clerk’s eye.

“You have free breakfast—” she started.

“Don’t care,” I said. “Room key?”

She blinked at me again and wordlessly handed me a little card that would unlock my door. “Room 7015.” She handed me a small piece of paper. “Present this if you want the breakfast—”

“Thanks,” I said, and snatched the key card and my passport out of her hand. She pointed wordlessly to a hallway behind me and I walked toward it before she got another word out. I saw elevators as I rounded the corner.

She’d be a sweet meal,
Bjorn said.
Could enjoy her for a day or so before she was all done.

Little more than an appetizer,
Wolfe said with a grin that made me ill(er).
You would need something heartier afterward, to get the taste off your tongue. Something like—

“Oh, God, you people are appalling,” I gasped as the elevator door dinged and opened to discharge a few people. I got in and hit the close button repeatedly before anyone else could get on.

Little Dolls are the sweetest meat of all,
Wolfe seeped into my head.
Little girls, they’re like—

“Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up—”

Don’t be so crass, Wolfe,
Bjorn said with a grin of his own.
The girls should feel special, privileged to be chosen out of the whole world of humans, to be consort to gods—

“You’re a special sort of disgusting, and I’d like you to shut up now.”

This is pathetic—

So weak, can’t even control her own mind—

Shut up—

I could use a taste of something Russian right now, maybe a French girl afterward as a chaser—

The little blond ones are the best, they’re so smooth—

Just leave her alone—

You’re all pigs—

Like Klementina—

“SHUT UP!” I screamed, pleading. “SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!” The elevator dinged and I staggered down the hall, the world pitching from side to side. The dull grey walls were closing in again. The elevator had been like the box, and the hallway wasn’t any better. I heard movement behind the doors, and I hurried along, running now, watching the room numbers blur past, until I finally reached my own. I halted, slowed down, let myself breathe for a moment before I gently slid the key card in the reader and heard it beep then I forced the door open and shut it behind me. It still slammed, even though I was being gentle.

“Shut up,” I whispered. “All of you, shut up. Just shut up. All of you—”

Can’t stop us, Little Doll—

So weak—

No control—

She can’t handle it—

There was a moment of fearful blackness, and there was a voice in my head that I hadn’t actually heard in months, along with a face, one more reassuring than any other I could picture.

“Hold it together, Sienna.”

I could see him behind the fog, but just barely—Quinton Zollers, a man I hadn’t seen since he’d left me lying on the floor of his office. “Hold it together, just hold it together another minute—”

I passed out, slipping into the great dark void of nothingness, and I hoped I would be away from this chaos long enough that the others in my head would be gone when I got back.

I knew her name was Adelaide when I saw her fight. It was inexplicable, but the knowledge simply appeared in my mind, just as I knew the fight I was watching was taking place several years before the time I was dreaming it. There were still ads on the walls of the train and the words carried a British accent, but everything else seemed older—or newer, as the case may be, as if it were the same trains, the same stations as they passed, but from an earlier time.

The 1980s.

The car was bobbing as the train went on, and Adelaide (how did I know her name?) had a mohawk. It wasn’t a subtle one, either, but a full-blown spiked one, divided out into six good points, as if she could drive them into the heart of her foe and put a swift end to him. She whirled in a low kick and I saw her take his legs out from under him. He caught himself on a seat and bounced back up, even though I heard the crack of his back as he did so. People were backed away from the middle of the carriage, where the fight was going on, mashing themselves up against either wall of the compartment as though they could somehow push themselves through the walls and get away.

“You’re not much of a fighter,” Adelaide said, licking her lips, keeping her distance, her dark, ragged jeans and studded leather jacket giving her more the appearance of punk rocker than any kind of fighter. “You sure you don’t want to just pack it in?” She moved fast—meta fast.

He was no slouch either, though. He was bigger than she was, well over six feet, bald, looked like he ate steroids for every meal and at snack times, too. He was in leather also but the more subtle kind, like a biker. He had an earring in one ear, and when he came at her with his hand knotted into a tight fist, he reminded me of Clary, only bigger.

She grabbed onto one of the anchor poles that was designed for passengers to hang on to, used it to whip herself around, and neatly evaded his attack while sweeping in from his own height with a brutal kick that laid open the side of his face from the force she put into it. She had a wicked grin the whole time, as if she was enjoying it. When he staggered, she followed up with a flurry of punches that pointed his nose in a new direction and made his lip over into a bloody Hitler mustache.

“I think I could do this all day,” Adelaide said, taunting the man as he staggered. To her credit, she didn’t slack off; she came at him from the side and pummeled him with a brutal strike to the back of the ear that sent him to one knee. He threw a backhand at her, but it was sloppily aimed and all it did was force her to take a step back. As soon as it was clear, she threw a roundhouse kick that snapped his head forward. He hit the wall of the train and the whole thing seemed to shake, as if it had been knocked off its tracks. I heard metal against metal, a grind as though the brakes being applied, and then the world seemed to slow down.

He whipped a hand around again in that moment and a blast of wind flung Adelaide through the air and sent her crashing into the window, splintering the glass where she hit. I heard the thud, could almost taste the blood from where she’d bitten her tongue, and I could feel the sharp pain in the back of her head. “Aeolus, huh?” she muttered from where she came to rest on the seats, lying across them as though she were splayed out on a couch.

Her foe rose to his feet, his considerable bulk showing in the flash of the overhead lights. “I prefer …
F
ū
jin
.”

Adelaide squinted at him, blankly. “What?”

A flash of insecurity showed on the bald man’s face. “It’s … Japanese. Wind god. You know, it’s more … it has cachet.”