Omega The Girl in the Box - By Robert J. Crane Page 0,61

blindsided by four Directorate agents. She even sat there and monologued until I attacked her. That’s either some deep arrogance or—”

“Or they’re playing at something else, something that would instill a serious overconfidence,” Reed said. A beep came from his pocket and he pulled his cell phone, looking at the screen. “‘Call home.’ Be back in a few.” He made a move toward the exit and disappeared into the hall.

I watched as Old Man Winter asked Eleanor why she was in Minnesota. The English woman did not answer, did not even deign to acknowledge him, and I watched him gesture for Clary. Clary’s skin turned black as rubber, and he stepped into the wading pool and positioned himself behind her, his wrist across her neck, holding her face in place and forcing her to look up at Old Man Winter.

“Enough of these childish games,” Eve said, tapping me on the shoulder. “Let us speak with your incubus.”

“Excuse me?” I said icily. “He’s not ‘mine’.”

Eve rolled her eyes to the side, as though annoyed at my daring to speak back to her. “Let us speak with this little man whom you almost let into your scheide and drag the truth from his lips, all right?”

“Well, when you put it that way...”

As we left, Ariadne was activating the monitor for Fries’ chamber. Bastian and Parks followed a few paces behind us, entering the room across the hall from Ariadne’s. As near as I could tell, Ariadne was going to be watching three interrogations at once, which I did not envy, especially considering the one involving Clary and Old Man Winter was fairly certain to degenerate into something I wouldn’t care to watch.

The door slid open with Eve’s key card and we found Fries sitting at a table in the middle of the room. He went from sullen to all smiles, as cheerful a transformation as I’d ever seen a person make in two seconds.

“Who just shot a ray of sunshine up your ass?” I asked as Eve slid into the chair across from him.

“You are such a colorful person,” he said. “It makes me glad I didn’t kill you in Eagle River.”

“Not for lack of trying.” I said, “The only reason you didn’t is because you got your ass kicked by girls. Twice.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged. “One of them is dead, and the other might as well be. I’d tell you that your aunt is a real piece of work, but you already know that.” He laughed, an empty one. “She is seriously damaged goods.”

“Said the black hole to the kettle.” I folded my arms. “Got anything to tell us, James? Because, otherwise, I’ve got better things to do, like filing my nails.”

“You should try doing your hair,” he said with a nod that almost caused me to subconsciously reach up; I’d forgotten that Eleanor had run ten thousand volts through me. I probably looked like Lady Frankenstein.

“Can I beat him unconscious now?” Eve asked me, ignoring Fries completely.

“I have no objection.” I really didn’t.

“Your hospitality is lacking around here,” Fries said as Eve stood and circled around the table toward him.

“Gloves,” Eve said to me, and I puzzled at what she meant for a second before nodding, taking off my gloves, and placing them into her outstretched hand. She slid them on, one by one, and I heard the sound of leather stretching. “You have small, girlish hands,” she said, but I didn’t really hear any judgment in the way she said it.

“Isn’t that the way you like them?” Fries asked, smiling sweetly at Eve.

“It is,” she said, smiling back, from just over him. “It really is.” The first punch didn’t so much knock him over as flatten him like a wrecking ball hitting a small building. His chair skittered across the floor and hit the wall, making a gawdawful racket. Fries hit the ground sideways, head bouncing of the tile floor with a terrible crack, his hands still cuffed behind him.

“Oh my,” Fries said, his head turning as though he were woozy. “I shouldn’t be surprised you’re a man-hater, really.”

Eve knelt down and got astride him, balancing on one knee, cracking her knuckles. “It isn’t that I hate men. I work with some very decent ones.” She pulled back her fingers, exposing her leather-covered palm, and then reformed her fist and smashed Fries in the side of the head with it, rattling his head against the floor again. “Bastian, Parks, even Old Man Winter. Decent sorts. Clary...has some rough edges.”