Hector knew he didn’t have time to stay down. He rolled off the pile of lavatorial debris he’d made and sprinted for the door, but a string of explosions sent him through another wall instead. He could hardly tell what was happening, but he could hear acid hissing against his armor and feel the fumes burning his nostrils. He found himself in a darker room this time, perhaps some kind of storage closet, but he didn’t get the opportunity to check, instead hearing that deep piping sound closing in again.
Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Two: ‘Diversion of Fire...’
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The evening fete was finally underway. There had to be hundreds of people here, most with very recognizable faces. Unfortunately, he needed to find a face that he didn’t recognize. At the moment, all he had to go on was a name.
“Jimmy, don’t walk so fast!” came that agonizing voice.
The last twenty-four hours had been an exercise in patience, thanks to that voice--or rather, thanks to the person it belonged to.
He had to resist the urge to break out into a run. “Yes, Miss Reach,” he said instead.
“What’re you in such a hurry for, anyway?” She held her hand out for her purse, and he gave it to her. She retrieved a compact mirror from it, checked her face for half a second, and then promptly returned it to him. “Excited to see someone?”
“Something like that.”
“Mm,” she mused. Even among all the fanciful dress around, her attire stuck out. The strings of feathers in her blond hair and the huge sleeves on her long dress gave it a faintly tribal look, even if the colors on it were probably too varied and bright. “Well, if you’re nice to me, maybe I’ll go talk to whoever it is you’re interested in.”
“Impossible,” he said.