Page 70 of The Hive Queen

Even with Anny, after the first twenty minutes, my head pounds, and an uncomfortable buzz fills my body, like my bones have been vibrating too long.

It comes as a relief when Sharpe turns into the business district and the number of life forces drops to only random dots of night workers and those who prowl the streets at night for less honorable reasons.

My magic brushes against a familiar energy, and I yank it back, pointing at the short building as Sharpe drives past. “There! Stop! She’s there!”

Sharpe swerves over to the curb and slams on his brakes, snapping me forward in the seat.

I throw a hand out against the dashboard, and Anny’s claws scramble on the rubber mat at my feet.

I glare at Sharpe. “A little slower next time.”

“Wear your seat belt next time.” He shuts off the engine and unbuckles. “Where is she in the building?”

“On the roof.” I pat Anny’s head. “I need you to stay here, okay?”

She wines and paws at my leg.

“No rooftop chases for you.” I pop open the door and slide out, then push Anny back in when she tries to follow. “Be good. We’ll be right back.”

I close the door, and she scrambles up onto the seat to stare at me with wide, shimmering eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I hiss. “It won’t work.”

Sharpe joins me on the sidewalk and looks at Anny with sympathy. “Are you worried she’ll get in the way?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know what Amalia will do when we corner her, and I don’t want Anny accidentally getting hurt.”

Sharpe frowns. “You think she’ll fight that hard?”

“Amalia didn’t grow up like regular kids.” I turn my back on Anny’s pleading gaze. “If cornered, Amalia will do what she has to in order to survive. Be on alert.”

“I’m regretting leaving my gun at home,” Sharpe mutters as we head for the building.

“I’d prefer we not kill her.” When I test the front door, it opens easily. “We should start carrying stun guns, or tranquilizer darts.”

“I have those, too, back at the office.” Sharpe goes in ahead of me, heading for the door next to a bank of mailboxes.

The building must rent out space to small businesses, because I don’t feel anyone else’s energy signatures inside.

We sneak up the five flights of stairs to the rooftop and pause at the access door.

A slow twist of the knob reveals that someone before us picked the lock.

Breath held, I push the door open an inch, testing for a telltale squeak that will alert Amalia of our approach.

When the hinges glide soundlessly, I nod to Sharpe and push the door wider to slip through.

Sharpe follows, catching the door and easing it closed.

Amalia’s energy pulses from behind the building’s rooftop air conditioning unit, and I point for Sharpe to go one way while I go the other. Our old protégé is a slippery one, and we can’t allow her any avenue of escape.

As we approach, her energy signature remains still. It looks like we caught her sleeping.

I come up alongside the large air conditioner, the noise of the machine blocking out the ambient sounds of the night. If luck is on our side, the Shard will be easy to grab, and we can get out of here before she wakes, avoiding the need for a confrontation.

Another foot forward, then another, the far edge of the machine coming closer with every step.

My shoe comes down on something that squishes at the same time a sickly-sweet scent tickles my nose.

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