Glass Sword
Page 64

A breath of biting cold gets the better of me, and I spin to find a wall of ice shards sailing my way, driven by the shiver. They melt before they reach me, destroyed by a blast of Cal’s fire. It quickly turns on the shiver and the strongarm, surrounding them both, trapping them so I can finish the job. Two more shocks knock them out, slamming them to the floor. The last officer, the unknown, tries to flee, pawing at the still open door. Farley grabs him around the neck, but he throws her off, sending her flying. He’s a telky, but a weak one, and quickly dispatched. He joins the others on the ground, his muscles twitching slightly from my electric darts. I give the banshee an extra shock, for his malice. His body flops against the steps like a fish from Kilorn’s nets.
All of it takes but a moment. The door is still open, swinging slowly on massive hinges. I catch it before the latch locks in place, forcing an arm into the cool, circulated air of the Security Center. Inside, I feel the rush of electricity, in the lights, in the cameras, in my own fingertips. With a single, steadying breath, I shut them all out, plunging the chamber beyond into darkness.
Cal steps carefully over the unconscious bodies of fallen officers, while Farley does her best to kick each one in the ribs. “For the Watch,” she snarls, breaking the banshee’s nose. Cal stops her before she can do any more damage, sighing as he loops an arm around her shoulder, hoisting her up the steps and through the open back door. With one last glance at the sky, I slip into the Center, and shut the steel firmly behind us.
The dark halls and dead cameras remind me of the Hall of the Sun, of sneaking down to the palace dungeons to save Farley and Kilorn from certain death. But I was almost a princess there. I wore silk, and I had Julian at my back, singing his way through each and every guard, bending their will to our purpose. It was clean, spilling no blood but my own. The Security Center is not like that. I can only hope to keep the casualties to a minimum.
Cal knows where to go, and keeps the lead, but he does nothing more than dodge the officers who try to stop us. For a brute, he’s quite graceful, shouldering around blows from strongarms and swifts. He still won’t hurt them, and leaves that burden to me. Lightning destroys just as easily as flame, and we leave a trail of bodies in our wake. I tell myself they’re only unconscious, but in the heat of battle, I can’t be sure. I can’t control my surges as easily as I make them, and it’s likely I killed one or two. I don’t care—and neither does Farley, her long knife plunging in and out of the dark shadows. It drips metallic silver blood by the time we reach our destination, an unremarkable door.
But I feel something remarkable within. A vast machine, pulsing with electricity.
“Here. The records room,” Cal says. He keeps his eyes on the door, unable to look back at our carnage. True to his word, he bathes the surrounding hallway in flame, creating a wall of twisting heat to protect us while we work.
We push through the door. I expect mountains of paper, printed lists like the one Julian gave me, but instead I find myself staring at a wall of flashing lights, video screens, and control panels. It pulses, sluggish from my interference with the wiring. Without a thought, I put a hand to the cold metal, calming myself and my ragged breathing. The records machine responds in kind, and kicks into a high whir. One of the screens blinks to life, showing a fuzzy black-and-white display. Text flits across the screen, drawing a gasp from Farley and me. We’ve never imagined, let alone seen, anything like this.
“Remarkable,” Farley breathes, reaching out with a tentative hand. Her fingers brush along the text on-screen, reading slowly. Large letters spell out Census and Records, with Beacon Region, Regent State, Norta written in smaller type below.
“They didn’t have this in Coraunt?” I ask, wondering how she found Nix’s location in the village.
She dully shakes her head. “Coraunt barely has a post office, let alone one of these.” With a grin, she clicks one of the many buttons beneath the glowing screen. Then another, and another. The screen flashes each time, typing out different questions. She giggles like a child, continuing to click.
I put my hand over hers. “Farley.”
“Sorry,” she replies. “A little help here, Your Highness?”
Cal doesn’t step back from the door, his neck craning back and forth to check for officers. “The blue key. Says search.”
I press the button before Farley can. The screen darkens for a moment, before flashing blue. Three options appear, each one inside a flashing white box. Search by name, search by location, search by blood type. Hastily, I hit a button marked select, choosing the first box.
“Type in the name you want, then hit proceed. Hit printout when you find what you want, it’ll give you a copy,” Cal instructs. But a shouting curse draws his gaze away, as an officer makes blistering contact with his fiery barricade. A gunshot blasts, and I pity the stupid guard trying to fight fire with bullets. “Quickly now.”
My fingers hover over the keys, hunting down each letter as I type out Ada Wallace in frustratingly slow motions. The machine whirs again, the screen flashing three times, before a wall of text appears. It even includes a photograph, the one used on her identification card. I linger on the picture of the newblood, taking in Ada’s deep golden skin and soft eyes. She looks sad, even in the tiny image.
Another gunshot echoes, making me jump. I turn my focus on the text, skimming through Ada’s personal information. Her birthday and birth location I already know, as well as the blood mutation that marks her as a newblood like me. Farley searches too, her eyes scanning over the words with abandon. “There.” I point a finger at what we need, feeling happier than I have in days.