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“And they got your bird?” I ask, feeling sick. Aside from the danger posed by Icelus, the delay doesn’t bode well for Valerian and me. “As in, they know we’re coming?”
“They might not know the bird was a helper,” Rowan says without much confidence. “As soon as they caught it, I withdrew my control, so they might think it croaked from the fright of being caught.”
“Everyone,” Valerian shouts. “We need to talk!”
Fabian, Ariel, Felix, and Itzel rush over, and Rowan tells them what she just discovered.
Some of the same questions as earlier get asked all at once.
“Guys, shut up,” I say sternly. “We need a plan, not a game of twenty questions—and I think I have one. Felix, what’s the reach of your powers?”
He looks like a lightbulb has just lit up above his head. “I’m on it,” he says and shoots an arc of magenta energy into the distance.
Soon metal glints in that direction, proving Felix and I are on the same page.
Rowan cocks her head. “Is being coy part of the plan?”
“Felix is about to reunite with his robot suit,” I explain. “Inside the suit are our weapons, including poison grenades. My plan is inspired by what Exozar did to us. You send in a zombie with a grenade and—”
“When pre-vamps die, they turn into vampires,” Ariel says with distaste. “We’ll just be facing more powerful enemies.”
“But we have a necromancer.” I nod at Rowan. “She can take over vampires and make them do her bidding. Can’t you?”
“It’s a good plan,” Rowan says. “Unless the wind blows the poison toward us, that is.”
“The masks block poison,” Itzel chimes in.
“That’s great for those with masks,” Rowan says. “What about me, sleeping beauty”—she looks at me—“and her beau?”
My beau?
“We have spare masks that were meant for members of the team that didn’t make it,” Itzel says. “Those masks might not fit the three of you well enough to wear for long, but if you hold one tightly against your face, you’ll block the poison.”
“Why would we get close enough to Icelus to be in danger of the poison in the first place?” Felix asks.
Rowan scratches the bleached side of her head. “I’ve only taken over a vampire once. It was in self-defense when I was on Earth. I’m pretty sure I need to be nearby to do that.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Valerian says. “Pre-vamps or vampires—I can make us invisible to their eyes.”
Rowan looks skeptical, but Valerian must show her a quick demonstration of his power because her eyes widen and she gives an impressed whistle.
“I like this plan,” Fabian says. “Especially if Rowan can make one or more of the Icelus come with us to Gomorrah for questioning.”
“Seems feasible,” Rowan says. “At least in theory.”
“I also like the plan,” Valerian says, darting me an approving glance.
Something flutters in my belly in response, almost making the virus-driven stomach upset recede.
“That doesn’t look like Earth technology,” Rowan says, looking at the four limbs of the approaching robot.
“I helped Felix build that,” Itzel says proudly. “A lot of the parts are from Gomorrah.”
“Please,” Felix says. “I could’ve built it on Earth if—”
“Open the thing and let’s get to business,” Valerian says sternly.
Looking sheepish, Felix stops the robot and has it open its shell.
Ariel rushes over and reverently grabs the handle of the gate sword Chester gave her. She then examines the guns and throws them in the backpack, muttering about the lack of ammo.
Fabian pulls out a Gomorran gun and Stanislav’s saber, and hands both to Dylan. When their fingers touch, Dylan blushes.
Valerian repossesses his sai, and I get my katana and Gomorran gun.
“You shouldn’t have gotten up,” Valerian says as I secure my weapons. “Take it easy.”
I lift my chin. “You got up, so I got up.”
He shakes his head, walks over to his chair, and demonstratively plops into it.
I mime his actions, and as soon as I do, I realize how weak the virus has already made me.
Sitting is a relief.
Felix removes the backpack from the robot and sets it on the ground before letting the suit envelop him.
Itzel rummages in the backpack until she locates three masks that look to be about the size required, along with a set of tools.
When we try the masks on, not a single one fits.
“That’s what the tools are for,” Itzel says, unperturbed, and starts messing with the masks.
Meanwhile, Fabian takes out a poison grenade from the backpack and hands it to Rowan, who gives it to a zombie with particularly muscular legs.
“Here,” Itzel says, handing me just the front of a mask. “Hold it tight against your face.”
I do, and the ad-hoc scents of the mountain air go away.
Nodding approvingly, Itzel gives the hacked masks to Valerian and Rowan as well. Like me, they press the masks against their faces and hold them there, their muscles tense.
