Page 6

Emma

The robot doesn’t come through the portal. It arrives via private jet, because that’s Henrik for you. His precious plastic army man is too good for standard shipping. Why not destroy the planet a little bit more just to deliver something I don’t even want?

I received a call from one of his underlings about an hour ago when the plane landed at Manchester Airport. Now Ziggy, my cat familiar, and I are sitting on my couch, watching through the window as we wait for it to arrive.

Did you have a good time with Vyla? I send through our mental link. While I was away, he stayed with the lovable orc who bartends at Fast Glass Tavern.

His thick black tail twitches. Eh. Satisfactory. She likes to talk. I could’ve done with less of that.

I chuckle as I rest my head on the back of the couch, looking at him. I’m sorry I was gone so long. I promise to never leave your side again. When I scratch behind his ear, his foot kicks out, and a deep purr sounds from his chest.

I really do hate leaving him. He’s been my familiar since my second birthday. There are things he knows about me even Ezra’s never heard.

Liar. You always say that, and you always leave again. I’m no fool.

I chew on the inside of my cheek. Well, hopefully this time I can keep my promise. There will be no reason for me to leave once they catch the portal bomber.

I was hoping to have an update to share with Ezra by the time I returned to Mapletown. Even more so, I was hoping they’d be awake by now and would be able to hear me. When I visited them in the hospital on my way home from the airport, there was no change in their vitals. Stable, but still in critical condition. My heart broke all over again seeing them like that.

Does the committee have any suspects? he sends back.

I shrug. They’re supposed to be here sometime this week with an update. I haven’t heard anything since they took the case away from Otto.

Ziggy blinks slowly as he settles into the shape of a black cinnamon roll. Otto must’ve been crushed by that.

I nod. Oh, he was. To finally have the chance at a real criminal case only to get it hijacked by the higher-ups? I thought he was about to rip off one of his own tentacles.

Ziggy’s purr speeds up slightly, which I’ve come to learn is his version of laughing.

A nondescript box truck turns into my driveway, and I take a few deep breaths, trying to center myself in the last few moments of the normal version of my life. The one where I’m not constantly surveilled and followed by a machine shaped like a Backstreet Boy.

“Ready?” I ask Ziggy aloud.

For an intruder to move into our sacred space? No, he sends.

My stomach is in knots as I watch two men unload the giant box. Ziggy paws at my hand, hiding his claws so I can only feel the velvety texture of his toe beans, and the knots loosen a bit.

I press a kiss to his head as a thank-you before heading to the front door to greet them.

Only one of the men enters with the giant box on a dolly. It’s not Mikael. It’s another one of Henrik’s developers. I’d ask his name, but it’s clear he’s not interested in pleasantries when he makes a mess of opening the box in my living room, extracting the pod, and launching into his spiel.

“You, Emma Crane, have been gifted model A-B-E-3-9, an innovative guard bot designed with the specific directive of keeping you safe at all costs, by our courageous and brilliant CEO, Henrik Olsson.”

I don’t roll my eyes. They roll themselves when I hear words likely chosen by Henrik to describe himself.

“A-B-E-3-9 is not only supremely skilled in hand-to-hand combat and threat neutralization, A-B-E-3-9 doesn’t eat, doesn’t sleep, will never fall ill, won’t waste your resources or increase your utility bills. Because he’s not human, he’s the ideal roommate and protector.”

Right, because humans are the ones wasting resources. Sure.

“Okay, can we move this along?” I ask, moving my finger in a circular motion. “I’ve met the robot already. Can you just show me how to turn him on?”

I help the delivery guy set up the pod in one of the downstairs guest bedrooms. The pod is where I’ll need to stash the robot when he needs to be charged––once a week, apparently––or if part of him gets damaged.

“Damaged?” I ask. “You mean if I spill my drink on him? Do I fill the pod with rice?”

The guy doesn’t laugh at my joke. He gives me a puzzled look and says in a curt tone, “No, it may get damaged if a bullet enters the charging port, or if it’s hit by a car and one of its limbs gets flattened.”

“Wow, way to sour the mood.” I say it like I’m kidding, but it’s really starting to hit home how serious my situation is. The robot is designed to withstand bullets and cars smashing into it, and there’s written instructions inside the pod on how to repair him if either of these things occur. That’s not great for me.