In the waiting room, Gus was seated calmly in the center of a long row of chairs against a wall, sandwiched between the nurse and the murderer. I’d already stabbed the nurse twice, so when she saw me appear, she snarled, “Oh hell no,” and got up. I assumed she was trying to walk away but that she hadn’t yet considered the fact that she really had nowhere to go. Nowhere good, anyway.
With a telekinetic push, I forced her back into her seat. “Sit down,” I said lazily. She folded her arms crossly and refused to make eye contact.
“You gonna hurt me again?” the man who’d murdered his family asked. His hand went to his heart, either as a protective instinct or in simple remembrance of our first meeting.
“Yes,” I said. “Many times.”
As if on cue, Jaelin teleported in a few feet behind me, carrying an enormous plastic crate full of glistening steel and keen edges. She set it down heavily on the floor. Without turning around, I asked her, “Did you bring Sylnie?”
“No,” she replied. “Did you need her?”
“Yes,” I said. Then, as an afterthought, I added, “And swing by my office to pick up Torvin, too.”
“Be right back,” she said. Moments later, she reappeared with Sylnie and Torvin.
I tipped the crate over and let all the weapons tumble out onto the floor. It was a big crate. There were a lot of weapons. I took a moment to stare. “How many did you guys get?” I asked.
“Well…” Sylnie said sheepishly.
“We thought you might want some extras, so we went for five hundred instead of two hundred,” Jaelin explained.
“But we might have lost count somewhere around three hundred,” Sylnie admitted. “We got a little mixed up….”
“Suffice it to say,” Jaelin summarized diplomatically, “We brought you a number of weapons no less than four hundred eighty and no greater than five hundred twenty.” Sylnie nodded proudly in agreement.
I shrugged. “Okay, guys,” I said. “Let’s get to work.”