I took the frustration out on a reinforced combat dummy at Thruor’s safehouse. It was the only thing I could do. If I didn’t, I’d end up taking it out on somebody else.
Clara could even be dead and there was nothing I could do. Absolutely nothing. I’d even managed to work out how to help Mike.
I couldn’t work out how to fight people who had a weapon that worked on me and, as far as they were concerned, didn’t hurt innocent bystanders. The fact that they were wrong…
I had to find whoever was making those bombs. The coven would rescue Clara. I was sure of that. And I was sure that if Clara was dead, Marie would know. And it occurred to me that sometimes I had to learn to trust other people to do things for me.
Odin delegated, after all. Not that I would ever be that powerful, but…
I felt fire within me. Pushed it away again. Not accepted, but not rejected either. Not until I knew what it meant. Not until I knew where it would lead me.
My phone rang. I knew who it was before even answering – and not just from the ring tone. “Kanesha.”
“Thanks for putting me in touch with the witches. Me and Seb are going in to grab Clara. We know exactly where she is. And Mike’s running backup.”
I wished, suddenly, for something like the base in the Flash TV show and ear buds so I could at least talk to them and give them directions, instead of having to wait this out.
Maybe Kanesha could set something like that up – but most of the time, we wouldn’t have anyone to run it. “We need a Felicity Smoak,” I added, forgetting I was mixing up my TV shows.
“Yeah, we do.”
She hung up. I looked around, then decided that I was going to look for trouble.
Or at least put myself somewhere where trouble could find me. I picked up my sword on the way out, slung it over my back.
As I did so, my phone rang again. This time it was the ring tone for an unidentified number. “Hello?”
“Is this Jane Rudi?” came a female voice.
“Yes.” I thought it was somebody after a modeling gig. I stepped outside, and then regretted it…there was some construction going on across the street. “Hold on.”
Whoever it was held on while I got further away from the power tools. “Sorry about that. What’s this about?”
“I could use your help.”
“Who is this?”
“I’m a friend of Monica’s.”
So…it was modeling stuff after all. “Alright. What with?”
“Uh…I don’t know that I want to talk about it over the phone. Can you meet me at Lark’s Deli?”
So much, I thought, for my patrol.