Sherry Ficklin - Extracted

That’s when I realize how much I really love him. I almost can’t contain it, as if the words want to crawl out my body. But he just winks and turns away, saying, “Hold on tight.”

As soon as he presses the button, the room spins. I blink and find myself standing at the edge of the stream. I pull the Peacekeeper from my pocket and carefully hook it to the buckles on my vests. It springs to life. The little legs saw through the air as if it could fly. I move to swat at it, as I don’t want it anywhere near me, but I can’t bring myself to touch it. It’s tugging so hard it’s all I can do to hold my ground, but it isn’t attacking me, which allows me to let out an anxious breath.

It wriggles like a dog on a leash and as I step into the stream, letting it pull me toward what I hope is my brother. It’s already too late when I wonder, how am I going to turn this thing off when I get there? And a sense of dread turns my blood to ice.

LEX

Hobbling to the window in Claymore’s third-story office, I wipe the grime off one of the panes with my sleeve and press my nose against the glass. I can’t quite make out what’s going on—all I can see is a small fire on the right side of the courtyard.

“Fire!” I say, turning to the desk.

Claymore doesn’t move. The board doesn’t change. It’s as if he’s turned to stone.

“There,” I mutter, pointing to where Bruce and Slap Stick are ducking behind some thick shrubs. There’s movement on the outskirts of the courtyard. Someone is hiding behind the pillar.

From my vantage point I can’t see them well, but from the look of confusion passing between Bruce and Slap Stick I don’t think they can see the intruder at all. But who do I tell? Claymore hasn’t said anything since his warning and I’m beginning to wonder if something shook loose inside him during the explosion. I turn back to the windows, using my cane to shatter the glass. Maybe I can at least call to Bruce and point him in the right direction.

Watching through the broken windows, I try to decide if I will be more helpful here or if I should go help my friends. There’s only one intruder that I can see, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t more lurking out there somewhere. Just as I decide to go, my leg groans and seizes up. I smack the metal straps with my palm, trying to get the gears to start turning again. Movement draws my attention back to the window. The intruder hasn’t moved, but I notice a small metal object reflecting sunlight in the middle of the courtyard, weaving through the spray of bullets that Bruce lays down.

“Gear Heads!” I yell through the broken window. I am too high up, too far away for them to hear me through the pop of gunfire. I have about a minute and a half to be grateful there is only one before it doubles back, crouches down and starts spitting little gears at Bruce from behind. Slap Stick runs to his aid but the Gear Head lunges, digs into his arm, and sprays what looks like steam in his face.

The Gear Head then generates the rusty old saw I loathe and cuts into his flesh. Slap Stick tears the little creature off his arm before it can move its way up to his face. He throws it aside, motioning for Bruce to take care of it as he advances on the person hiding on the outskirts of the courtyard.

The Gear Head doesn’t even miss a step in its pursuit. It’s so much faster than the others we’ve dealt with—it’s on Bruce in the blink of an eye. I smack my leg again, harder this time. I need to get out there. The Gear Head backs up, scurrying into a crouched position. I can see where it has taken cover behind a scraggly bush on the other side of the courtyard. It is waiting for a sneak attack. Smart, sneaky little monster.

The only thing I can think to do is to grab my cane and use the oil slick feature. I lift it up to my shoulder like a long rifle, glad I have the gear settings memorized by now so I don’t even have to look down to see which one to use.

The cane doesn’t kick when I squeeze the small, concealed trigger. Oil starts to ooze out of the end of the cane. The flow is slow and it drizzles down in spurts.

I slap the side, thinking maybe it isn’t functioning properly.

Then, without warning, the cane gushes with oil like water out of a fire hose. Surprised at how much the skinny cane holds, I rotate my body back and forth like a sprinkler so I can get a good covering of oil in front of the Gear Head. Slap Stick gives me a thumbs-up.

Soon the path between the Gear Head and its prey is covered, slicked with the shiny substance. The steady stream continues for a long moment. The Gear Head tries to get its balance. But even though it attempts to cut into the ground with its saws and pincers, it is unable to advance on my team. Slap Stick takes advantage of the oil and moves toward the floundering Gear Head. With the stride of a football kicker, he boots the Gear Head over into the far corner of the courtyard. It flails, bounces, and slides under a bush. Sparks fly and the dry tumbleweed bursts into flame. There is no explosion.

From behind the pillar, the intruder puts both hands in the air and shouts, “Will you stop shooting at me, you lunatics! I said I surrender!”

At the sound of the voice, my heartbeat quickens. “Anya!” I yell, smacking my leg once more to get the gears grinding back into motion, and I limp to the main room.

Nobel and Gloves converge on the courtyard. The other Hollows watch intently while Slap Stick grabs the intruder from her hiding spot and heads to the entrance of the Tower. Grabbing my jester’s hat, I head downstairs, desperate to confirm what I hope I heard. As soon as I clear the hallway, my heart leaps into my throat.

“It’s okay. Let her go,” I order, pushing past Nobel so hard I practically body-check him into the wall.

Slap Stick cocks his head, giving me a funny look, but he obeys.

“She’s my sister,” I say, holding my hand out to Anya. She hesitates, glancing over to where Bruce is giving her a stern glare, and holds up her hands. They are bound with thick brass cuffs. She steps forward, her heavy black boots making the old floorboards creak, but Bruce grabs her tightly by the arm, preventing her from going any farther. She twists away from him but he grabs out, catching her by the back of her leather vest and tugging her. I’m about to step in, but moving so quickly it’s hard to follow, she kicks Bruce. The kick catches him in the side of the knee, and he falls forward. Slap Stick steps between them to stop the fight, but Anya pushes him away, comes up behind Bruce, and slips her arms over his head, using her cuffs to choke him.

“Whoa, what? Really?” Slap Stick asks, surprised by the assault.

“Relax, I come in peace,” Anya says, releasing Bruce with a rough shove.

“Anya, you’re in hostile territory, about to be tortured, possibly killed, and all you can come up with is ‘I come in peace?’” I almost laugh.

“Ember,” she corrects me. “My name is Ember now.”

I bristle. It must be her nickname, but I don’t like it. It just doesn’t fit her. “So if you come in peace, why the Gear Head?”

She bites her bottom lip. It’s a gesture I remember all too well. “I used it to track you guys through the time stream. It sort of escaped. Sorry about that.”

“And the explosion?” I ask, rubbing the back of my neck.

Bruce holds up a geared hand. “That was me. The perimeter sensors went off, so I fired a warning shot. From the cannon.” He shrugs unapologetically.

“Idiot,” Anya and I mumble at the same time. Then we look at each other and smirk.

“Okay, girly, that sounds good and all, but if you aren’t here to spy on us, then why are you here?” Slap Stick asks, rubbing his neck.