“Who?” Ridley repeated, her stomach churning.
“Honestly, I can’t remember the name. Jude Madson was the one who dealt with and then got rid of this person after we acquired the information we needed.” He paused again, watching Ridley’s reaction, then added, “We don’t make deals with people like you.” He glanced at his commpad, then tapped the screen. “Time for my next meeting.” And with that, he walked out and pulled the door shut.
14
Ridley wanted to pace. All the nervous energy building inside her needed to go somewhere, but her feet were still bound, and hopping seemed a little too ridiculous. The heavy fog of grief she’d been wading through over the past few days had mostly cleared, leaving a dull, continuous ache and several plain truths in its wake: She had to get back to Dad. She had to get back to the elementals. They had to rid the world of the Shadow Society and its influence.
Hatred burned through her veins. Hatred for Alastair Davenport. For everyone else who had brought the world to its knees and was firmly keeping it there. They had to be stopped, and Ridley was more than willing to do her part to make sure that happened.
Beep.
Ridley looked up, her hart jolting at the unexpected sound. The diamond mesh layer that divided the room in half flashed into existence and then disappeared. Was it actually gone this time?
Beep.
The door opened and a man walked in. He stopped in the doorway. “Oh, you’re awake. That’s unfortunate.” At first glance, he was a copy of Alastair Davenport. Perfect hair, perfect suit, an unpleasant smile revealing perfect teeth. But he was younger and the suit was ill-fitting, and there was something lacking in his posture. He was a cheap imitation. A knockoff.
“Your precious director didn’t tell you?” Ridley asked.
Mr. Knockoff walked to the armchair and reached toward the wall behind it. “Mr. Davenport is a busy man.”
“I guess I’m special then, if he took the time to come and have a chat with me.”
“Very special indeed,” he said drily as he pressed his fingers to the wall. A square of paneling swung open, revealing a small compartment in the wall. “It’s the only thing keeping you alive right now.”
“Lucky me.”
Mr. Knockoff opened a small container, removed something, and snapped the container shut. When he turned to face Ridley, she saw he held a syringe.
“Whoa, hey, what’s that?” She scooted backward across the bed.
Mr. Knockoff raised an eyebrow as he crossed the room. “Needle phobia?”
“No, asshat, I don’t want you sticking foreign substances into me.”
“Seriously? You realize you were injected with foreign substances before arriving here, right?”
A shiver coursed through Ridley’s body. “What substances?”
“Nothing too exciting. Yet. Just arxium and a sedative. Oh, and that was after we stuck a needle in you to get a blood sample.”
“My blood?”
“Doc doesn’t like it to be contaminated with arxium. We had to knock you out the old-fashioned way, get the blood sample immediately—just in case you escape before we get you to the lab—and then inject the arxium and sedative. Clearly I didn’t give you enough.” He leaned over her. She shoved her elbow upward, but he grabbed her arm and pressed his weight down on her as he aimed the needle at her neck. “So I’ll make sure to give you enough this time, and then we’ll get you transferred out of—”
Ridley drew her knees up and kicked as hard as she could. Mr. Knockoff fell backward off the bed, grunting out a string of curses as he hit the floor. Ridley scrambled up in time to see the syringe rolling away from him. She wriggled to the edge of the bed. Chances were slim she could get to the syringe before he could, but she had to at least—
“Need some help in here?”
Ridley froze at the sound of the familiar voice. Her traitorous heart leaped hopefully, even as the pain of betrayal rushed hotly through her veins once more.
“Yeah, can you get that damn syringe?” Mr. Knockoff said to Archer as he climbed to his feet. “I’ll hold her down.”
“Sure.” Archer walked in and reached for the fallen syringe. “You shouldn’t have come in here on your own.” His gaze—as dark and cold as his father’s—settled on Ridley as he straightened. “She’s feisty.”
Mr. Knockoff chuckled as he approached Ridley again. “You would know, wouldn’t you.”
Archer’s impassive expression morphed into a wicked grin. “I would.” Then he jabbed the needle into the man’s neck.
“Hey! You … what …” Mr. Knockoff launched away from Ridley and threw himself at Archer. There was a brief scuffle, and then Mr. Knockoff slid to the floor. He didn’t move.
Ridley breathed out slowly, her heart still hammering against her chest. “For a moment there,” she said to Archer, “I wasn’t sure who you were going to stab with that thing.”
Archer’s features tightened. “I guess I deserve that.” He stepped over Mr. Knockoff, pulling magic from the air with one hand. “May I?” He pointed to her wrists. She nodded, watching from the corner of her eye as he did a quick conjuration to transform the glowing wisps of magic into a spark that would slice through the cable tie. Quietly, he said, “I will always be on your side, Ridley. Whether you trust me or not.”
Instead of acknowledging his words, she asked, “Why isn’t the arxium in the air interfering with your conjuration?”
“There isn’t any in the air.” He crouched down and did the same conjuration for the cable tie around her ankles. “Well, not just floating around everywhere. It somehow travels along the tiny beams of light positioned to create that dividing layer across the room. I think the arxium particles just hang around in gaps in the walls when that thing is switched off. Oh, and there’s arxium in your body from when they injected you earlier,” he added as he stood. “I think this form of arxium takes longer to work through your system than breathing it in. Anyway, come on.” He reached for her hand as she stood, a gesture that must have been automatic because a moment later he clenched the hand into a fist and lowered it. “Um, sorry. Let’s go.”
They crossed the room, and Archer stuck his head through the doorway before saying, “All clear.”
They hurried into a hallway lined with the same geometric gray panels as the room they’d just left. Ridley said, “This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”
“Rid, can we talk once we’re out of here?”
“Sure. But talking isn’t going to change anything.”
They stopped in front of a closed door at the end of the hallway, and Archer held his commscreen against a plain black pad on the wall. A click sounded from within the door. Archer grasped the handle and pulled the door open.
“Are we below ground?” Ridley asked as they left the hallway behind and entered … a living room? It was a larger space with two comfortable couches, a television screen, and some random, abstract art on canvases. There also appeared to be an automatic coffee machine built into one of the walls.
“No. We’re pretty much as far from the ground as you can get.”