The Blood Order (Fanghunters Book Two) (45 page)

She tried to blank her mind, to not think about what she was doing; to just go on an auto-pilot, get the job done slow and steady and make it there alive. She raised her trembling leg up once more, careful to aim her foot for the groove. This time
,
she made it further, and further. A jolt of adrenaline shot through her stomach, just as her foot reached the groove. She jammed her foot into the gap, her knee literally touching her chest.

She let out an agonized groan. One foot was home, now she needed to get the other one up there.

"Please, God. Please..." she begged, her eyes closed, her throat lumpy. She tightened her grip and steadied herself. "Please make it!" she whispered. With a gasp, she hoisted her foot up. For a brief moment, her mind became a black hole of uncertainty as she felt her body rise up. At the same time
,
she didn't feel it as if she had been taken over, possessed by some other force. Her heart stopped beating, her chest became still, that upward journey lasting forever, its final destination a horrible mystery.

She focused in on that tiny groove, using the leverage of her strong thigh muscles to propel herself up the side of the building, her body like a vulnerable leaf caught in the wind. If she missed the gap, she'd be left dangling.

Make it, Trixie! Make it!

Her aim was perfect. She poked her toes forward and they found the gap; she squashed her foot in until it hurt. She became upright, tightening her grip on the sides of the pane. She then threw herself into the glass, hugging it like it was her lover, her breath coming back to her hot and harsh, her heart pounding. She almost choked on her own relief.

Then a terrifying realization set in, shattering any relief: she was suspended in midair on the side of the building, stuck to it like a fly. If she slipped, she'd die. If the pane gave way, she'd die. It was an intoxicating experience like being so drunk she could hardly walk.

Don't look down, don't look down!
she told herself.

She looked up instead.

The ledge of the ninety-seventh was just above her. Repeat the procedure and she'd be home and dry.

Easy peasy lemon squeezy!
she heard Miranda say in her mind.

Her hands were starting to hurt from all the intense gripping. They were throbbing, begging for a breather. But no can do, they'd all just have to bear it. She ignored her sore hands and focused solely on that ledge above her; her new goal.

She took a moment to compose herself before she released her right
-
hand grip and reached up for the ledge. She grabbed hold of it, her heart jolting with excitement. She reached up her other shaking hand to join it.

"Careful, Trixie, careful,"
she whispered to herself.

Her hand hovered over the ledge, trembling. Then she clamped her hand down on it, gripping it hard. Just as she did, her right foot slipped out of the groove. Her heart lurched, her breath bolting from her chest. Her reflexive grip on the ledge tightened. She groaned in fear, one foot now dangling on the air.

In the ensuing panic, something dropped out of her belt. Her head snapped back. Her eyes bulged. She watched the dart gun spin like an Olympic diver as it fell into a faraway distance. Any second and she'd join it. She gasped in horror. She turned back to face the building. She threw her dangling foot back in, hoping to stub the toe end back into the groove.

"Get in that gap!"
she screamed at her foot. It jabbed the glass pane an inch too low; it bounced back out into the danger zone. She tried again; she missed it once more. Fear juddered through her. The muscles in her arms flexed as hard as they could, taking almost all of her weight; they ached as the strength deserted them.

GET IN THAT GAP!

She raised her panicked foot higher and threw it forward. This time
,
it found the gap. She pushed in hard, so hard her toes hurt. Her arms relaxed and the strength slowly returned. She gripped everything tight, relief washing over her like a cool shower.

"Do not do that again!" she scolded herself.

She took a moment to regain her composure; she still wasn't in the clear. She needed the safety of the ledge beneath her feet and not a tiny groove. She removed her right hand from the ledge and worked it up the side of the pane above as far as she could. She then sent her other hand up and then she straightened. Her head popped up past the glass window of the ninety-seventh. She wished she could see inside, but it was like staring into a coal mine. A brief moment of panic hit her; if Leviah was just on the other side of the glass, he'd now be able to see her. She huffed in frustration; it was too late to worry about things like that. Let the chips fall where they may. If he could see her or not, it didn't matter. The important thing was to get into the ninety-seventh.

She got back in the groove. She was now set to get her feet up to the ledge where she'd be home dry. She eased her hands up the sides of the pane as far as they'd go, her legs tense and trembling.
Just hold on a little longer,
she told herself.
Just a little longer.

She stole a quick breath before removing a shaky foot from the groove; her other leg tensed harder as it took the strain. She raised her dangling foot up toward the ledge, her breath and mind frozen. Adrenaline was pumping around her body and it wasn't helping. It was making her jittery. She could taste her heart; it was hot and uncomfortable like having a morsel of food lodged in her throat.

She did her best to blank it all out and push on. Her foot found the ledge. Now with a small platform to work with, she could propel herself up. She paused, muttered a tiny prayer while she set herself. She pushed down, and then up.

Her thigh flexed, levering up her other leg.

Her heart stopped. Her other foot found the ledge. She let out an agonized choke as she jammed that foot into the ledge alongside the other. She groaned as she straightened, her thighs aching. Once upright, she hugged the pane ahead of her for dear life. She closed her eyes and panted with relief.

"No more climbing," she gasped. "Thank God no more climbing." The cool glass pane was heavenly on her hot cheek, even though she was shivering with cold. She dug her toes into the groove as far as they'd go. Her breathing was crazy erratic. She was there. Floor ninety-seven. She'd made it; not the route she envisaged when she was back in the lobby, but still, by nook or crook, she'd made it to the ninety-seventh.

"I made it," she said to herself, with a drunken-like laugh. The sense of irony of hanging off the side of the building was toxic. A hot juddering breath escaped her.

Now she just had to get into the floor. Quick. She removed her cheek from the pane, a small patch of condensation she'd left on the glass evaporating in seconds. She stared right at the glass; it glared back at her, a black mirror. Her tired reflection greeted her.
My God, I look like crap!
she noted with horror.

But, it wasn't the time for stuff like that.

She got herself back in the game. She had no idea what was waiting behind the glass. But she knew for sure that if they could see her, they would've dealt with her by now. Maybe luck was on her side after all.

She looked up and around. There were no latches or open windows for her to utilize. It meant she had to force her way in. But how?

Nice one, Trixie,
she scolded herself.
You didn't think of how you'd get back in before you jumped on the side of the building did you?

She wasn't strong enough to punch her way through. She glanced up. Then down. Nausea shot from the ground all the way up to her head like a hit of gas. She fell forward on the glass, giddy and sick. "Don't look down again," she told herself. But, in doing so, she actually saw the answer. And it wasn't easy.

She groaned. "Why me? Why me?" she lamented, but it was the only clear way in.

She'd have to. Have to pull off some moves. She huffed and then pressed herself up against the glass once more. She found a small groove between the window panes and crammed her fingers into it and curled them around, giving her some purchase. She then released her right foot from the gap between the ledge and the pane and held it out behind her. She then sucked in a breath and held it as she began raising her right foot up toward her shoulder slow and steady, sliding it up the glass pane ahead of her. She kept the rest of her body as still as possible, not daring even to flinch for fear of losing her precarious balance and plummeting to her doom, her eyes fixed on that foot as it rose. Higher. Higher. She watched it like it was a rabid dog about to attack, unblinking.

Slowly, slowly, Trixie,
she said to herself.
Don't mess up!

Her knee reached her chest and anticipation rose inside her belly. She was close, tantalizingly close to where she wanted her leg to be, but if she went too fast, she risked losing balance. "Come on, come on," she whispered, watching her leg rise like a hawk, wishing she could speed up time. Her thigh muscles twitched once they hit the unnatural angle
,
but she withstood the strain. It wasn't new to her. She winced but kept going, feeling the stretch.

Her foot rose high into the sky like the morning sun. Her eyeballs rolled upward alongside it until they met the ever-lightening sky. Finally, she reached the full stretch, her mind swimming with disbelief. Vertical splits on the side of a frickin' skyscraper had to be some kind of world record.

"Another one broken," she said to herself with a hint of irony.

She blessed her supple nature, her years
,
and years of training, her daily dedication to remaining in tip top condition to allow her to perform the impossible.

I should've joined the circus.

She allowed herself a brief sigh of relief. She was right where she wanted to be. She focused on her boot; the tied laces were now dangling down. She readjusted her grip as best she could and then, with a trembling hand, she took hold of a lace and eked it out of its knot. The lace slipped out nice and smooth, the knot untying with minimal effort. Good job no one ever taught her how to tie laces properly.

The laces flopped down and dangled there. The boot was untied. Job done. She paused, holding her leg where it was, a slight ache developing in her thigh muscles.
Just a little longer, girl, just a little longer. Hold on!

She sucked in as deep a breath she dared, her grip on the windowpane still holding true, her hand throbbing with intensity. She closed her eyes for a moment to reset, then opened them again, fixing them on that boot. She reached up, grabbed the sole at the heel and began to yank from side-to-side with tiny mouse-like movements, her cheek and chest pressed up against that window pane for dear life.

"Come on, come on..." she cooed to that boot, willing it to come away from her foot. She held on, shifting the boot from side-to-side, easing it off her foot. "Come on, come on, come on."

A slight wind picked up and brushed against her skin. "Come on! Come on!" she urged, doing her best to ignore the wind. "Come on!"

The boot then came away from her heel and she gasped. She pushed herself into the glass even harder, her cheek completely flattened against it like a piece of kneaded dough. She regained her balance, now holding her boot in the air above her bare foot, which was getting colder by the second. She gave her toes a brief wiggle before she began lowering her leg back down to her side. The ache that had built up in her thigh gradually released as her leg returned to its natural position. It inched back down like a rusty lever before finally, her toes with just a sock protecting them touched the ledge. Without hesitation, she dug her bootless foot into the gap between the small ledge and the glass pane alongside her booted one. She then pulled her free arm in fast and hard, pushing the sole of the boot into the window.

Her chest then released. "Thank God that went well," she gasped, now feeling more secure than with her leg up above her shoulder.

Holding the boot in place against the glass, she maneuvered her hand up and into the space between the collar and tongue, using her fingers as legs, and her palm as a stopper. She managed to slip her hand all the way inside; now she wore the boot on the end of her arm as if her hand was her foot. Remaining with her cheek pressed against the glass, she levered her arm back and thrust it forward, the sole of the boot hitting the window. There was a dull thud as it bounced harmlessly off the glass and that was all. She repeated the procedure, this time exerting more force. The sole of the boot thudded against the glass, causing it to tremble.

"Come on," she urged before trying again. The boot clanged against the glass, sending terrifying reverberations back through her. She managed to keep her cool. Drawing a deep breath, she brought the boot back behind her again and thrust it forward, her cheek still plastered all over the glass. "Come on!"

It banged hard on the window, but the pane held firm.

She closed her eyes, just as the wind picked up again. It cut into her side like an invisible arm attempting to peel her off and whisk her away into the ether. She closed her eyes tight and held on for dear life, ice-cold tears streaming down her cheeks in rivulets. The wind grew stronger and she thought it was the end.
Oh my God, I'm going to die! I'm going to die!