Chapter Ten #3
Then I siphon Candace and Bree.
No more rhythmic breathing. No more soft touch. I’m fast, rough, greedy. I rush in a crackling wave over Candace’s greenery and Bree’s wool, eating them up for fuel.
Power surges into me. The last choice-points spring clear of the bright blur: candles six, seven, eight, nine, and ten dying in perfect order.
Bree struggles, her convoluted nav shrinking away. From the real, I hear a pained whimper. I feel sharp annoyance—doesn’t she want us to win?—and incinerate the rest of her.
It’s the last bit of power I need. I gather all the nav I’ve stolen, and I force probability to bend to the future I want.
I fall hard out of flickerstate.
Bree kneels on the floor, pinching her nose. Blood drips from her chin, spattering her blue shirt purple. Beside her, Candace crouches, white as marble. Vomit, more coffee than solids, stains the floor in front of her.
“What happened?” I blurt.
“You.” Bree speaks around her pinched nose, nasal and pissed. “You happened.”
I look to Candace.
She stares through me. “It’s done. Go.”
It’s done. Meaning what? Meaning I can’t take back the damage I dealt out?
I turn away from my teammates and face the candles.
You’re doing it for Dad. You did it for Dad.
The damp wind blows. One by one, the candles die.
***
All ten candles stand extinguished, black wicks drowning in white wax.
“Perfect,” Mr. Davis says.
Elena stalks through the open door into the rain. Rafe, glaring, follows. Carrie mumbles “Good job” and flees after them.
Bree sits on a lab stool, jamming tissues against her nose. Candace stands beside her, arms crossed over her stomach. I’m tempted to flee too, but I’m not a total coward, so I walk over to them.
“Through to trial two,” Candace drawls before I can speak.
“I want an A as much as the next striver,” Bree says, muffled through her tissue wad. “But not enough to break somebody’s nose over it.”
“I broke your nose?” I ask, shoulders hunching.
She sighs. “Hyperbole, Norah? You’ve heard of it?”
I relax a little. If she’s sarcastic, not crying, I can’t have hurt her too badly. But it freaks me out that I don’t know what happened. “Why’d you stop channeling to me?”
Candace tilts her head, calm as a surgeon about to cut. “How deep were you in flickerstate?”
“I’m not sure. Deep.”
“Could you hear the real?”
“I heard shouting. Was that real?”
“Sam tried to cheat. He counter-navigated Antoine’s candles. When Antoine caught him, they were both pretty unhappy. Dr. Langmore disqualified Sam’s whole team.”
I glance around the room. Dr. Langmore is speaking soberly to Antoine near door 9. Sam’s nowhere to be seen. “What does that have to do with stopping channeling?”
“When navigators hear trouble in the real, they usually stop navigating on reflex.”
Bree nods. “Like how, when you get into a car accident, your bladder seizes up so you can’t pee yourself.”
Candace winces at the comparison. “We were working to reopen the channels when you smashed in and took everything. Why did you think you had to siphon us?”
I wasn’t thinking. I was too scared of losing, too desperate to control the outcome. “I—I’m sorry.”
Bree huffs. “If you can’t help siphoning us, our main navigator can’t be you.”
I want to cave: Of course. I’m so sorry. But at the same time—because I siphoned them, we won the trial. Isn’t that what matters?
“Let’s discuss it later.” Candace gives me a wary look.
With a sick pang, I realize she’s even angrier than Bree; she’s just more reserved about it.
“When we’ve had time to think. No practice tonight.
And why don’t we…skip our team dinner. Take a breather.
Catch up with friends who aren’t in the trials. ”
I bite back a bitter response: Right, all my friends who aren’t in the trials. I know what Candace is doing. She’s giving us time to cool off. We’re all angry, vulnerable, and exhausted, and people make bad decisions when they’re sweaty and pissed.
That doesn’t mean I like it. Not when I’m the reason we need to cool off.
I grit my teeth. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”
Candace and Bree quickly gather their bags, like they can’t wait to get away from me.
I scan the room for Vik. Did he see me siphon my own teammates? What did he think if he did?
Vik stands near door 12, wet hair painting black strokes across his forehead. Nearby, Griffin lifts Mirabel and spins her while she raises her fist, triumphant. Guess their team won too.
I might end up facing Vik after all. Hurting him. Like I hurt Candace and Bree. Like I hurt Dad.
I’m wallowing in guilt—when suddenly, the short hairs escaping my ponytail, damp with rain and sweat, prickle upright.
A weird odor, hot metal and sulfur, teases my nose.
I’m tensed to run before I even remember where I’ve smelled that before. Then it hits me.
Oh, God—
A rent opens midair in the room’s empty middle. A chitinous leg—real, flickerstate, real—pokes through. An arachnoid beast, fully manifested, falls to the floor with a slithery thud.
Another beast falls through. Another.
The screaming starts.