Page 84 of Red Rooster

Jake managed to suppress his frown. “Yes, sir. She seems…” Like a kid. Like a sweet, innocent kid who happened to be able to heal burns just by touching someone. And who, according to diner gossip back in Evanston City, could shoot fire from her hands. A pyrotechnic trick, he’d thought, but then she’dtouchedhim, and…He didn’t know anymore. This whole mission was starting to leave a very bad taste in his mouth.

Over the top of the laptop, Ramirez cocked a single brow, curious, almost mocking.

Jake cleared his throat. “She’s very young, sir,” he said, squaring up his shoulders.

“Yes, well.” Dr. Talbot sighed, gaze hard to read behind the lenses of his glasses. “I’m afraid her age doesn’t mitigate the danger she poses – both to herself and the community at large. She’s very powerful.”

“Yeah. You’ve said that before.”

Talbot tipped his head to the side. “Has something happened, Major? You sound troubled.”

Ramirez’s other brow went up.Now what?she asked, silently.

“No. Nothing.” Jake’s headache spiked, and his vision blurred. He squinted, trying to cut back some of the computer screen’s glare. “Just trying to decide how we’re going to take her into custody.”

“Ah. I see. You have all the necessary equipment, Major.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t be afraid to use it.” The doctor sounded almost cheerful now, smiling.

“Right. Sir.”

“You’re supposed to have her back here by the end of the week, Major, don’t forget.” Andthere, now, finally, was the knife-edge of a threat under the smile.

Jake felt something whither inside himself, some small kernel of hope. “We won’t let you down, sir.”

“Glad to hear it. Check back in tomorrow, Major. Have a pleasant rest of the night.”

The connection cut out, screen going blank.

Jake sighed and closed the lid, reached up to massage his eyes. Little starbursts of color blossomed behind them – for now. The blurring was worse by the minute. If he let it go another hour, he’d be crawling around the room on his hands and knees, helpless as a baby. Ramirez would have to administer his injection, and she didn’t strike him as the sort of person who’d be gentle about it.

As if reading his thoughts, she said, “What was that?”

He dropped his hands and stood up, going to the fridge in the kitchenette. “What was what?” he asked over his shoulder.

Their injections were kept in labeled plastic boxes in the vegetable crisper, nice and cold. Jake found his box and set it out on the counter, fumbling a little against the condensation-slick sides with shaking fingers as he worked the latch.

“You hesitated,” she said, chair legs scraping the floor as she stood.

Jake grimaced, in part because he heard her footfalls moving toward him and he didn’t want her any closer, but also becauseholy Jesushis head was starting to hurt.

“Something really did happen,” she said, pulling up beside him. “You had a run-in with the target.” Not a question.

The syringes, cold from the fridge and now fogged with warm air, slid like fresh-caught fish through his fingertips. He fumbled one twice, teeth gritted, vision beginning to swim. The first ring of black was creeping in around the edges, his window of sight starting to tunnel.

“Good grief,” she muttered. “Here.” She plucked the syringe from his hand.

“No–” he tried to protest, but her other hand was on his shoulder, steering him back toward the table.

“You can’t even see.” She pushed him down into the chair she’d vacated. “You’re gonna stab yourself through the arm. Where’s a tourniquet? Oh, there’s one on the fridge.”

Jake subsided into the chair, shoulders slumping, feeling inept and defeated as his vision dimmed and Ramirez bustled around. She tied off his arm, swabbed him with an alcohol wipe. “Hold still,” she murmured, and then came the bite of the needle, the warmth and relief.

His vision cleared almost at once, the pain in his head receding.

“Thank you,” he said, and Ramirez hummed acknowledgement, moving to put everything back in its place.