The hallway was empty, and my arm hurt from the crutch. God, I hated it.
"So she'll sit in the parking lot until she gets cold," Ivy said with false indifference.
"Besides, we're good at putting the pieces back together," Jenks said, and the door closed behind me.
Yes, they were good at putting me back together, and I felt like Humpty Dumpty as I made my scuff-thumping way to the elevator. My ankle hurt and my ribs ached as I waited for it. I got in when the doors finally opened, punching the lobby button with a vengeance, hard enough to make my bruised hand complain. I should have made a healing curse, but the honest truth was that I was afraid I might get it wrong and end up worse off.
HAPA was deep in the FIB. How long, I wondered, had this arrangement been in force? Had they evolved together? Or had HAPA only recently infiltrated the nationwide organization? And how did the-men-who-don't-belong fit in? Trent said the radio was active. Were they after Eloy themselves, or helping him escape? I was going to find out.
The doors opened, and the cooler air of the deserted lobby brushed my anger-warmed face. I got across the tiny divide and started for the twin glass doors, looking for Trent's car and not seeing it. Hesitating, I heard the lift close and immediately start back up.
My eyes narrowed. Wayde, I thought, then frowned as I looked over the scantily decorated entryway. Three days ago, I hadn't been able to bring myself to hurt him. Today, with a broken ankle, bruised ribs, a damaged hand, and a new outlook, I felt different.
I stood and watched as the light held steady on Glenn's floor, then began to drop again. "Stupid, tenacious Were," I muttered as the elevator dinged and I hobbled to stand next to it, out of sight. I dropped my bag as the doors slid open, pulled back my crutch . . . and as he walked out of the elevator, I swung it at him.
"Holy mother!" Wayde shouted, falling back into the elevator as my crutch hit the doors and splintered. I'd moved too soon.
"Don't follow me, Wayde!" I said as I got in front of the elevator and stopped the doors from shutting with my broken crutch. Wayde was pressed flat against the back of the car, his eyes wide as he stared. "I'm telling you, don't follow me! I need some time alone right now, okay?"
Part of me wanted to tap a line and smack him a good one, but I didn't. Restraint. That was going to be my new watchword. That I'd given myself permission to do demon magic scared the shit out of me. I didn't want to become Al. I'd use my magic only if necessary. Wayde was a reasonable person. We could settle this without violence.
I turned for the doors, angry but trying not to be. It was harder to walk without my crutch, but I managed, my pulse fast as I snatched my bag from the floor and lurched for the handle of the glass doors. Beyond them in the glow of a streetlight was Trent's car, the lights aimed at the front of the building. There was a tiny scuff behind me, and I turned, ticked.
"Hey!" I yelped, scrambling to stay upright when Wayde plowed into me, pinning me to the glass wall beside the door. "What in hell are you doing?" I wheezed, my back to the door and squirming as he felt in my coat pockets.
"Looking for your keys," he said, and my hand met his cheek in a loud smack.
"Get off!" I yelled, and I heard the jingle of keys as he backed up. "What in hell is wrong with you!"
His head lowered, Wayde backed off, my keys in his hand. His face was red where I'd hit him, but he didn't seem bothered about it. "You'll thank me for this later," he said, looking as if he'd won. "I know you're mad about Eloy, but running out and trying to find him isn't going to help anyone, least of all you." He jiggled my keys as if he had the world by the nads, and I frowned, tugging my coat straight. Now? I wondered. Can I use my demon magic now?
Trent hadn't come in yet. I knew he was watching this, and my thoughts whispered restraint. I could walk away, but if I did, he'd just follow me in my car. I needed my keys. "You," I said as I limped toward Wayde and he backed up, blinking, "haven't known me long enough to give me advice that I'm not going to take. Give me my keys."
"No." He raised them high over his head as if it were a game. "Let's go upstairs, have some pizza, beer, and burn HAPA in effigy. Tomorrow when we're done with our pity party, you'll make some charms and we'll find out where they went. We don't have to tell the FIB or the I.S. We can take care of this ourselves."
Taking care of this myself was exactly what I intended to do. Adrenaline seeped through me, erasing every hurt, making me alive. "Keys," I said, backing him up until we were at the elevators again. "Give me my keys!" I demanded, my hand out, and he held them in the air like a school bully. "Wayde, I'm not afraid anymore to hurt you!"
He shook his head. "My God, you're a bitch when you're on pain meds."
"That's alpha bitch, buddy," I said, shaking, "of an honest-to-God pack. And you will respect that. Give me my keys, get in that elevator, and go away, or I'll pin you to the ground and rip off your ear."
Face grim, he shook his head. Pity had slipped into his eyes, and he slid the keys into his pocket. "He hurt you, Rachel, and I know what that does to you. My sister is the same way, and she hurts herself worse trying to get back at them. It doesn't make anything better."
I looked at him for a good three seconds, feeling my impatience grow. Trent was waiting, and Wayde wasn't listening. My ankle was starting to hurt again. Maybe I shouldn't have busted my crutch. I had tried. My idea of no violence wasn't working. "Maybe you're right," I said, relaxing my body as if I had given up.
Wayde smiled. "Good," he said as he looked away to push the up button.
I lunged forward, grabbing his shoulders and slamming his head into the wall. "Sorry," I breathed as he howled, reaching behind to get me.
"Son of a whore!" he swore, and I hooked my good leg behind his and pulled. We both went down, but I was expecting it. Arms pinwheeling, he fell headfirst into the ashtray beside the elevator. Kneeling beside him, I grabbed the heavy metal bowl and slammed it on his head.
Wayde yelled, and I hit him again, adrenaline pulling a scream of outrage from me. He went quiet, and I held my breath to make sure I could hear him breathing. I suppose I could have used my magic on him, but this was a lot more satisfying.
"I never should have helped her off the couch," he whispered, and I hit him again, the ashtray bonging with hard certainty.
He groaned, and this time, he really was out. There were three lumps on his head, and I shoved him over so I could pull his eyelids back to make sure that his pupils were dilated properly. "I told you I wasn't afraid anymore," I said as I slowly got up, shaking. Good God, my mother would laugh her pants off. I'd beaten up my bodyguard.