escapes her is the corrupted version of the way she used to laugh as a girl. She pulls the hand with the leash close to her chest. “I’m not into anything, Z, just having some fun. Like you.”
I roll my eyes and scoff at her, good-natured, amused. “No people, Demeter. Only birds. Give me that.” I’m close to her chair now, holding my hand out, watching her every move. A place in my chest collapses at the sight of her. She’s pretty, the way she always was, but her eyes are dead things, animated with a spark that looks like a fever. She’s sick. She’s fucking sick.
And I couldn’t stop it from happening.
She giggles again and unwraps the leash, throwing it petulantly into my palm and dropping back into her seat. “Happy now?”
I return the smile and her own gets wider. “You have no idea how pleased I am.”
Demeter flushes at this, savoring it while Savannah crawls unsteadily toward me, past me. I hold the bundled leash behind my back. Come on, Brigit. See it. They’ll have to take it off out in the hall. It’s more important to get out of Demeter’s sight. The leash lifts out of my hand a moment later and I catch a glimpse of Brigit in the corner of my eye. They’re the last two people.
“I’m so mad at you,” Demeter says, her eyes unfocusing. “You made me do this.”
I get to one knee in front of her chair, the way I did when I would tie her shoes years ago. There was a time when I could do it but she struggled with her small hands. “Demmy, wouldn’t you like to go back to your fields and your plants?” The very last part of this hasty plan is to replace the clients with our own people. “I can take you there now.”
Her eyes clear, and she shakes her head, curls rustling over her shoulders. “I won't go.”
“Why not?”
“Because I want to kill you.”
“You've killed enough people, don’t you think? One of my girls, even.” I furrow my brow. “Where is her body?”
“Downstairs in the walk-in refrigerator.” She frowns, blinking hard, and another piece of clarity slots into place. She’s been experimenting, and whatever she took last is wearing off. “You came here for her, but not me.”
“Of course I came here for you,” I lie, scanning her for her next move. “You’ll always be my best girl.”
The last word out of my mouth snaps in the center and breaks off. I’ve found it, next to her foot.
A silver switch for a bomb.
Her hand shoots down, lightning quick, and she snatches it up.
Not a switch—this is a bomb. It’s compact, lightweight, and easy to hide. I recognize it because Xavier Morris has been bragging about getting them for his SWAT teams.
They’re all still too close.
If she sets it off in here, Brigit could die.
There’s no time to look around, no time to think. I put my arms around Demeter and lift her out of the chair, pinning the bomb between us. What the fuck. It digs into my chest, against hers, and I have no plan. I should have had a plan for this. I always have a plan.
In the absence of a plan I reach between us and pinch it between my fingers. “Tick tock,” Demeter says. Her hands are pinned down by mine, but not for long. She’s small. Slippery.
I throw it.
Demeter twists her body and drops out of my arms. I rush her, trying to corral her away from that fucking thing, but she runs, light on her feet. Brigit and Savannah are at the door. There’s nowhere to go but out, so when Demeter stops and wheels I block her path and herd her out, too. I can’t pin her to the bomb without going with her. And I’m not going with her.
I find Brigit's eyes. “Run,” I say, or shout, and she bends down and puts her arms under Savannah’s.
Demeter’s between me and the door now and I move toward her. She startles and jumps to the side, laughing, and I see what she’s planning to do—lock me in here and waste me with a fucking bomb. A graceful twirl, and she dances across the threshold, reaches for the door—
And screams.
She tears back across the floor, toward me, and I get her around the waist.
Poseidon streaks in the door and jumps like he’s going to catch the rigging of a ship. “Window, window, window,” he bellows, and I drop