He vanished again, and I doubled over, the air spinning out of me as he reappeared to slam his boot into my body. I fell to my knees, wheezing, clutching my stomach.
I spat onto the floor. “You’re a fucking asshole, Royce.”
“Quit flirting with me,” he said, chuckling. I yelped when he grabbed a fistful of my hair, pulling my head up to face him, the way he’d done at the Prism. God but I hated myself. How the hell had I fallen for the same tricks?
“Not this shit again,” I mumbled. “You’re not getting your hooks in my brain this time.”
He laughed. “All it takes is a couple of fingers on your forehead, and I’m in.” He flexed the fingers of his other hand, his knuckles popping, cracking. “Buckle up, Graves. Or don’t. This is going to hurt either way, and I’m going to enjoy it.”
My breathing quickened as I watched his fingers loom in. Too late to summon Vanitas, or even to call on the Dark Room. My hand twitched as I very briefly considered setting him on fire, but then he’d just teleport away, put it out, then come back to harass me again. That was it, then. Only one option.
Null Dagger in hand, I stabbed him, deep and hard in the meatiest part of his thigh. Royce screamed. I shoved the blade harder. He let go of my hair and I staggered away, perhaps enjoying the look of panic on his face a little too much.
“You trying to teleport away? Come on, Royce. Fun’s just getting started. Stick around a while.”
He kept screaming, his hands hovering over the Null Dagger.
“Don’t be such a baby. You’re not gonna bleed to death.” Hell, what did I know? I wasn’t a doctor. But I could help in one regard, make him forget some of the pain.
“Vanitas,” I thought. “Send the scabbard.”
“On it.”
From far across the newsroom Vanitas’s blunt half came whistling. Royce was too busy yowling about the blade stuck halfway through his leg to see the threat coming. The scabbard slammed into his face, leaving a nasty imprint of its ornate engravings in his cheek, and likely, another black eye to go with the first one. His lashes fluttered, his eyes losing focus. Then Royce toppled to the ground with a heavy thump.
“Good dog,” I said to his motionless body. “Stay down.”
I got to my knees, swerving out of the way as Vanitas’s scabbard flew right back into battle, then retrieved the Null Dagger, wiping its blade on the corner of Royce’s coat. Hah. He deserved that cleaning bill, on top of the wound in his leg and the possible concussion.
I ran back towards the center of the office, the Null Dagger’s field still generating that odd, fuzzy buzzing around my hand. Lucky that it could only dispel magic in a small range, and even luckier that it truly worked its best when thrust deep in someone’s body.
It meant I could still use my magic with it in hand. If we timed things right, if we got him distracted enough, I could quickly shadowstep behind Bastion when we found him, stab him nice and deep, and end Adriel’s enthrallment. No sweat.
But to be safe, I kept the Null Dagger lowered as I approached the thick of battle. Correction: what was once the thick of battle. Tw
o of the Hands were softly snoring on the ground, no doubt struck down by one of Carver’s breath-stealers. Sam stood silently over a third Hand, his unconscious face swollen and bruised. Sterling was bent over the body of a fourth, this one riddled with nicks and cuts, courtesy of Vanitas.
“Dude,” I said. “Sterling. Come on, not cool.”
He wiped his mouth guiltily as he turned to me, frowning. “It was a freebie, okay? I didn’t even bite him. I just lapped up whatever your sword cut out of him.”
“Gross.”
“No,” Sterling said. “You are.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
Carver coughed. “If you children are quite done, then perhaps we can move on – finally – to seeking out and neutralizing the Bastion boy.”
“Agreed,” Sam said. He’d hardly broken a sweat, though his knuckles were redder, both from repeated impact, and a little bit of blood. A Hand’s blood, evidently, not his.
“Back to the end of the corridor,” Carver said, leading the way. We followed, Vanitas hovering at my side, flanking me with blade and scabbard.
“So did you have fun?” I thought to him.
“Oh, yeah. Lots. And I didn’t even cut off any extremities.” He sounded satisfied, and maybe a little proud of himself.
“Good for you,” I thought. “The night’s not over, though. I’m convinced there’s more violence on the horizon.”