Page 2 of The Girl Who Should Be Dead

“Boltiex is one of them?” the kidnappee says, immediately identifying the dangerous one out of all of them. It’s good he’s probably a bit smart, if he’s catching on. “Whywould they let him get access to a demon, he’s almost insane.”

“Once they piece through the wreckage your Half Demon left there, they’re going to try to get me back,” Ambra states, as matter of fact as she can, but a shudder still shakes down her spine at the thought. “Hence, you.”

“Still don’t follow,” the kidnappee murmurs, but his eyebrows are still furrowed. “Can you return me back?”

The unease tightens across her shoulders. “I’m not going back to that prison.”

“No, not the base, obviously, but…to my friends. They’re heading to…a safe spot with backup. The College can’t get to them there, you might be safe.”

She squints at him, like that can give her clarity.

“Alright,” her kidnappee says, clearly unnerved. “Ambra, that’s your name, right?”

It had been a long time since anyone had actually called her that, and a shiver flickers across her body.

He raises an eyebrow, like he caught that. “It was on the nameplate outside your cell.”

“I know that,” she says, and in some odd mannerism left over from the body, hugs herself. “Yes, that’s my name.”

The smudged ward throbs against her awareness, again, the demon testing it. They must’ve set something, to see if someone would come back, and she likes that not one bit.

She hasn’t faced another demon since the merge, and if her less than perfect control is an indication, she’s not sure she would win any fight.

“Okay, Ambra,” he starts again, the body shivers around her. “I need you to explain to me, in easy, human terms, what’s going on.”

She doesn’t stop staring at the rune, and she doesn’t think her protections have weakened enough so thatanother demon could just teleport in, but the itch to go elsewhere already eats at her gut.

Her gut, with the wound from the first fight at the bar still slowly bleeding. And hurting, far more than such wounds should.

Thankfully, the kidnappee stays silent, as she prods at the physical lines she etched into the wood of the safe room wall.

The safe room is little more than a single structure, deep underground, the air connected through an odd series of tunnels leading up to the surface. A few ages ago, she had teleported in wood plank by wood plank, then wired it when electricity became popular, and had a perfectly good collection of preserved books on the shelves.

It is also blessedly quiet, most of the time, and the presence of a living breathing human in it clashes.

One of the worst things about the merge is the noise.

That’s a lie.

But it’s an easy lie, kinder than thinking about it more.

“As long as the three are out there, they can pull me back,” Ambra says, spinning and facing him with enough speed that he startles. “Needless to say, I don’t want that.”

“I’m not a fan of them being able to control a demon, either,” the kidnappee agrees, which at least shows some common sense. “I don’t know how they succeeded, but it’s not good.”

“I don’t want to be controlled,” she shoots back at him. “But you…” she lets her eyes wash over him, a direct motion that she observed her human handlers do to make people uncomfortable, and he grimaces in response. “I doubt you could.”

He raises his hands, as if showing he’s unarmed, despitethe gun he set down on the bench. “I’m not going to try to control you.”

“Good,” Ambra replies, then, some strange quiver in her chest, some leftover response from the body, continues, “So you’ll hold the leash, hold it tight, and they can’t pull me back.”

He listens, actively, and she can see his mind turning over her sentence, picking it apart, like it’s some puzzle to be cracked.

She lets him, returning her attention to the runes, which buzz, and she prods it with the fingertip of the body.

Of course, that does nothing, which is even more annoying. Dead bodies gave her such better control, more fidelity in her actions and perceptions, and this living one is like fitting into a box a bit too small.

The fingertips tremble, just a bit, and she shakes out her hand, as if that could stop it.

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