Page 109 of Last of Her Name

The vityaze is slow to move, blocking Volkov’s shot. I grip the bare staff with my hands and focus on the energy humming inside me. With a thought, I push it back.

The current reverses. It races up the staff, and as I shove it toward the vityaze, driving it into his chest, the charge leaps on him like a spider with lightning legs. He seizes and drops, blue charges still rippling over his body.

Volkov fires, but I’ve already rolled aside. Still, I feel the bullet whiz just inches above my head. The sound of the shot makes my ears ring. Volkov pushes forward, trying to get clear aim again.

Spotting a power dock in the wall, I raise the staff, twirl it, and slam it in, sending a current of electricity into the system. The lights around us swell brighter and brighter, until I’m blinded by the glow.

Then, with a pop and a shower of sparks, the power shuts off.

Volkov curses. “Catch her! Now!”

The vityazes flick on the lights fixed to their guns, but by the time they train them on the sparking staff jutting from the power dock, I’m already gone.

I slip around them and toward the door, figuring the power outage is only localized. It’ll take just minutes for the system to reconfigure, rerouting power to this sector of the palace. When the lights come back, I need to be gone.

Through the door and down the corridor I go, shining my multicuff’s flashlight ahead. Glancing back, I see the vityazes spilling out, heading my way. Volkov takes another shot; it bites into the wall over my shoulder, and bits of plaster explode into my face. I yelp and scramble onward, wondering how many bullets he has in that little gun.

Panting, I slide through a security door and slap my hand against the lock mechanism, but there’s no power. Swearing under my breath, I fumble with my multicuff, popping open a panel in the wall and jamming my hand inside. Normally, I’d expect to be shocked into senselessness, even with the power down, but with a little thrill, I realize I don’t have to worry about things like that anymore.

Volkov and the soldiers have almost caught up. He fires again, trying to hit me through the window in the door, but though the glass splinters, it doesn’t break. I have a few more seconds.

I pull wires out of the wall until I see it—the manual door override, a little lever that probably hasn’t been touched since it was installed. I yank it now and feel a rush of relief when I hear the heavy metal bolts in the doorway slide in place. The door is locked tight. It won’t open until the power’s back on, buying me a few precious minutes.

Even so, when Volkov slams into the other side, I freeze for a moment, terrified it will open for him. But when he scans his palm over the unresponsive lockpad, the door holds fast.

Our eyes connect through the fractured glass window. He looks distorted through the cracks, more like the madman he is.

“You’re too late,” he says, his voice muffled by the door. “I’ve got what I need. Nothing will stop me now, Anya.”

Swallowing hard, I back away from his crazed stare, only to bump into someone.

I whirl, automatically going into the fighter’s crouch my dad taught me, but then I see my fists are pointless.

The person standing in front of me is Natalya Ayedi.

She catches my wrist, and when I try to pull away, she tessellates. The grating sound drowns out my cry of pain as she increases the gravity around me, pulling me to the floor. I land on my hands and knees, struggling to stay upright. Natalya watches in silence, her eyes empty.

“Please …”I cough as breathing becomes harder. She is impassive, cut off. It’s like she can’t even hear me for the brainjacking in her head.

Behind me, Volkov shouts through the door, “Kill her!”

My hand finds Natalya’s ankle. I grasp it hard, reaching out with the only instinct I have left—the Firebird. At first, nothing seems to happen.

Then I sense it: the chip in her skull, the only part of her where Prism energy pulses. It’s faint and small, like seeing a distant candle’s flame in the midst of a storm. With a cry, I focus on that little pulsing spot, willing it to power down, hoping I’m not killing her in the process. When Dr. Luka tried the jack on me, he was able to power it down remotely. Can I do the same?

It seems not, because she tessellates even harder, and the air is pressed from my lungs in a raspy exhalation. My cheek grinds into the floor, and I can feel my ribs compressing. The pain is like nothing I’ve ever felt; it’s as if a ship has landed atop me. An image of Riyan crumpling Pol’s gun flashes through my mind, and I can see myself going the same way—being crushed into a little cube of matter, small enough to fit in Natalya’s pocket.

I try to cry out, but I have no breath left in my body. My mind starts to dim, the pain swallowing me whole.

Then, suddenly, Natalya gasps and stumbles backward, releasing me. The cracks in the air vanish and I throw myself forward, awkwardly tackling her ankles, my limbs stiff and clumsy with pain. Her head strikes the floor, and my hands find her wrists, pinning them to the ground.

I suck down air, releasing a sob of relief. I’m trembling, my muscles are on fire, and my bones ache, but at least I have control of my own body again.

Behind me, Volkov pounds on the door in a rage. I can still ignore him, though not for long—the power will come back on any minute.

Natalya’s eyes are wide, glancing around in confusion. She doesn’t fight my grip. Her chest rises and falls, as if she’s filling with panic. “Who are you?” she moans. “Where am I?”

Stars above. It actuallyworked. The chip must have shorted out.