“Hi, there!” she said brightly. “David?”
It was hard to imagine anyone looking less like an assassin, especially since she was decked out in a bright pink and green Lilly Pulitzer dress.
David startled slightly, and I wondered if he was thinking the same thing. “Yeah,” he finally said. Then, clearing his throat, he tried again. “I mean, yes, I’m David Stark.”
The brunette reached out and shook his hand. “I’m Blythe,” the woman—girl, really—said, pumping David’s hand enthusiastically.
Then her eyes slid over to me. “Oh!” she said. “You brought a friend!” The dimples deepened, and she leaned forward with a conspiratorial wink. “Or is this your girlfriend?”
Rude, I thought, but then I realized we hadn’t exactly come up with an excuse as to why I was here with David.
David slung an arm across my shoulders, and I automatically slid my arm around his waist. Seeing as how we were standing a few feet apart, I’m not sure if any two people have ever held each other more awkwardly.
“Yup,” I said. “Girlfriend.”
“So my girlfriend,” David agreed, and I would’ve dug my fingers into his ribs if I’d been capable of it.
But if Blythe noticed our extreme awkwardness, she didn’t acknowledge it. “Well, y’all come on in!” she said.
Once her back was turned, David glanced over at me. I knew what he was thinking. How could a girl who appeared to speak only in exclamation points possibly be a hired killer?
“I have to say, David, we have heard so many great things about you,” Blythe said, going over to her desk. As she rifled through it, she added, “Oh, and could y’all shut the door, please?”
David turned to do that while Blythe kept talking. “You do not even know the trouble we’ve had trying to get in touch with you.”
His hand still on the doorknob, David turned back to Blythe. “Yeah, you guys have sent a bunch of e-mails.”
Blythe gave a light, trilling laugh. “Oh, trust me, it’s been a lot more extensive than some e-mails.” Suddenly her face brightened as she found whatever it was she’d been looking for.
“Oh, here we go!” she said chirpily. She was holding a letter opener, one that looked far longer and far sharper than necessary for opening mail.
For a second, all I could do was stare dumbly at the blade, wondering why I wasn’t feeling the chest tightening and the Pop Rocks, and all of that.
Blythe planted one foot on the edge of the desk, launching herself up and over, and I realized why I hadn’t felt like David was in danger.
She was lunging for me.
Chapter 21
Like it had that night with Dr. DuPont, my body started moving before my mind had time to catch up. David shouted, but I was already bracing myself, throwing up an arm to deflect the blow. Blythe landed on me, hard, and I felt something icy arc along the skin below my elbow. Then the ice turned into searing heat, and I saw a flash of red. Oh my effing God, I thought, almost from a distance. She stabbed me. A girl in Lilly Pulitzer stabbed me.
Gritting my teeth against the sudden blossom of pain, I reached up with my other hand, trying to grab her wrist, but she moved faster than I’d anticipated, snaking out one foot to hook around my ankle and send me crashing to the ground.
As she did, I managed to grab the hem of her dress, yanking her off balance, too. We fell together, my head thwacking the base of one of the chairs. I saw stars, and then another flash of silver as the blade darted at my throat. Without thinking, I grabbed at the letter opener, my palm closing around it. I could feel metal cutting into my skin, but the agony was nothing compared to the adrenaline and fear racing through me. Above me, Blythe had her teeth bared in a snarl. Sweat dotted her forehead and her upper lip, and strands of hair came loose from her ponytail to cling to her cheeks. Her face was pale, dark eyes huge in her head, and I realized that despite her being the one with a weapon, she was scared. Terrified, even.
Blythe might have had the element of surprise on her side, but she wasn’t a Paladin. I gripped the blade even harder, forcing her hand away from my throat. Red rivers were running down my forearm now, but I didn’t care. I’d deal with the pain later.
I decided to go with the same move that had surprised Dr. DuPont. Jerking my head forward, I smacked my forehead as hard as I could against her nose. The letter opener dropped to the floor as Blythe raised both hands to her face with a watery cry. Pushing myself up on my elbows, I went to shove her off me, but before I could, there was a crash and the sound of breaking glass.
Blythe slid off me, boneless, and collapsed on the floor. Behind her, David stood clutching the remnants of the desk lamp. His eyes were wild and he was practically panting.
Wincing, I pushed myself up, taking care not to put any pressure on my injured hand. Now that the fight was over, the pain was even worse. I only had to glance at the gash bisecting my palm to know it was going to need stitches. Even as I stared down at Blythe, I was wondering how I could explain this particular injury to my parents.
“Jesus,” David said, looking down at the blood dripping from my hand and arm. “Are you okay?”
When I stared at him wordlessly, he amended, “I mean, obviously you’re not, but . . . are you going to be?”
“I-I think so,” I told him, but to be honest, I felt a little faint. Not from the blood loss and the pain—although they were part of it—but from how close that blade had been to my throat. How all my supposed superpowers hadn’t counted for much when someone got the jump on me.
There was a little white cardigan hanging from the back of Blythe’s chair, and I grabbed it, wrapping it as tightly as I could around my bleeding hand. The wound in my arm still hurt, too, but it wasn’t as deep and it had already stopped bleeding.
“Why didn’t you feel anything?” David asked. “Isn’t that part of your whole deal? Like with the guys in the car?”
Staring down at Blythe, I shook my head. “Seems like I only feel that when someone’s after you. She was trying to kill me.”
David blinked. “So . . . your superpowers don’t help you defend yourself, too? That seems kind of unfair.”
It seemed a heck of a lot more than kind of unfair to me, but I didn’t say that to David. “Give me that lamp. Or what’s left of it,” I said. When he did, I ripped the cord out of the base, then nodded at Blythe, who was beginning to groan a little “Help me get her in a chair.”
Once we did, I threaded the cord through the slats in the back of the chair, tying her hands tightly behind her back. Blythe stayed unconscious through the whole thing, blood dripping steadily from her nose, leaving bright red splotches next to all those little pink and green daisies on her dress.
“I can’t believe no one heard all that,” David said, gesturing to the blood on the carpet. Frowning, I looked up from the cord.
“Yeah, me neither. There aren’t many people here, but you would think someone would’ve heard me nearly getting murdered.”
Chewing on his thumbnail, David was still staring at the letter opener. It was laying on the carpet, edge gleaming in the fluorescent lights. “This is insane,” he said at last.
I gave the knot one last tug and sighed. “Yes. As has been established.”
Now that I was certain she was pretty securely tied to the chair, I stepped back next to David and studied our captive.
“She seems . . . younger,” he said at last. “I thought she was too young to work at a college before, but now that I really look at her . . .”
She was young. Barely out of her teens, I’d guess. I looked at her crooked nose, wondering if I should feel guilty. But then I thought of her leaping over that desk, blade in hand.
Nope. No guilt here.
Moaning, she started to stir. “What are we going to do?” David whispered.
“Question her,” I replied. My blood continued to drip steadily on the beige carpet, and underneath the fluorescent lights, David looked greenish. Outside, the leaves of a giant magnolia tree beat softly against the window.
“We can’t . . . are you going to kill her?” I didn’t think it was possible for David to look any more wretched, but as he turned to me, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, I was worried he might throw up.
And I didn’t know how to answer him. I honestly hadn’t thought about that. Meet this chick, question her, get a little more info on what was going on—that had been my whole agenda. But David was right, it wasn’t like we could just leave her here. And she had tried to kill me. Before I could think through that any further, Blythe’s eyes fluttered open.
They rolled around in her head for a second before coming to land on me. “You are a heck of a lot tougher than you look,” she said, her voice thick.
I folded my arms over my chest. “Who are you?” I’d seen enough movies to know this was the part where the bad guys usually laughed and started spitting in people’s faces, but the girl nodded at her name tag.
“Like it says on the freaking tin. Blythe.” There was no hint of a Southern accent in her voice now.
“Yeah, right,” David muttered next to me, but I ignored him.
“I don’t mean your name.” I’d only ever interrogated one person—a freshman cheerleader named Tori Bishop. Of course then, I’d been asking about some car wash money that had gone missing, not my potential murder. Still, I figured the technique would be basically the same. Clenching my jaw, I narrowed my eyes at Blythe. “I mean . . . what are you? You’re not a Paladin—”
Blythe snorted and then winced. “Obviously. And since I’m clearly not an Oracle—” she jerked her head at David—“why don’t you use the process of elimination?”
“You’re a Mage,” David said, mimicking my pose. “Like my— Like Saylor Stark.”
Blythe surged against the cords holding her, eyes suddenly fierce. “No, I am nothing like Saylor Stark. I do my damn job. I am loyal to the people who gave me this power.”
“The Ephors?” I asked as David said, “How long have you been a Mage?”
We glared at each other, and Blythe’s gaze flicked back and forth between us. The corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk, cracking the dried blood under her nose. “Which one of you am I supposed to answer first?”
After a moment, David rolled his eyes. “Her,” he said, gesturing toward me. “Answer her first.”
But instead of answering, Blythe kept looking at the two of us. “How old are you guys?”
“Seventeen,” we answered in unison, and Blythe made a kind of gurgling chuckle. Seriously, I never wanted to break someone’s nose again, even if they were trying to stab me. It had some majorly gross after-effects.
“Me, too,” she said. While she’d seemed young, she hadn’t looked that young. David glanced over at me, and although telepathy wasn’t part of the Paladin-Oracle bond, I still knew what he was thinking: How effed up is this?
Tightening the cardigan around my hand, I stared Blythe down. “You haven’t answered my question.”