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I rip one of the Bunsen burners out of its socket and fling it at the furnace, denting its metal flank.
Ilsa laughs. “You throw like a girl.”
She’s already grabbed her own burner, winding up. She pitches it through one of the high windows, glass raining down in a thousand vicious points, embedding in the rotting wooden floor.
“Show off.”
She grins.
I’m not smiling. The destruction isn’t relieving my anger. I’m only thinking how pithy, how pathetic this is. How little it will matter to Adrik when he has all the money, all the deals, all his Wolfpack around him.
The ugly little demon on my shoulder whispers in my ear:
He never needed you. He never cared.
He’s glad you’re gone.
Everyone’s glad when you’re gone…
I wrench one of the drainage pipes out from under the sink and hit the side of the furnace with it, as hard as I can. The impact vibrates all the way up my arms, the sound echoing in my ears, hollow and dead. I hit the furnace again and again and again, until my hands are aching, until the whole room throbs with a noise like a gong.
Ilsa stands still, watching me. She’s not laughing anymore.
After a minute, she grabs a pipe of her own and starts smashing everything in sight — the sinks, the tables, the cupboards, the fridge…
Her eyes are flat and dark, her hair in strings in strings around her face, teeth bared. I don’t think she’s seeing the lab at all, but rather the faces of everyone who let her down. Maybe even my face.
The sounds of destruction pound in my head. My world is crashing down around me.
I’m caught in the frenzy, in the bitter need to see this all the way to the end.
I grab a jug of acetylene and uncork it, pouring it out in a trail on the floor. The fumes are ether-like, they make my head spin.
“Give me a lighter.”
Ilsa pauses, the pipe still clenched in her hands.
“You sure you want to do that?”
“Give it to me.”
Ilsa throws me the piezoelectric lighter I always used on the Bunsen burners. I spark it to life, holding it in my hand.
The lighter seems to fall in slow motion. When it touches the ground, nothing happens for a moment. Then a river of bright orange fire flows outward in both directions, sending up gouts of thick black smoke.
The heat hits me. My skin tightens. My eyes burn.
I’m burning all my hopes, all my plans, all my hard work. All my illusions, too.
Ilsa lets out a startled whoop, excited by the speed at which the flames rip through the decrepit lab.
I’m not excited. Not even satisfied.
I feel nothing but pain.
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