“How the hell are we supposed to do this?” I whisper. I’ve seen Gaia take magic before, sucking it into her lungs like a vacuum. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but I hadn’t considered the size of those fangs. Or does it work like it did with Michael and the staff? Will I have to kill her to claim her magic?

Either way, I’ll have to grab her. My hands are sweaty, and I wipe them on my jumpsuit. The snake rears back, mirroring my movements as I inch closer, forcing her into a corner.

She hisses as I feint. Sweat trails down my temple as I dart again, aiming for the slender line of muscle behind her pitted jaws.

She strikes and I cry out as her fangs sink into my wrist. My other hand closes around her as she whips her body like a tail. I try to dislodge her, but her jaws are locked tight. The bite grows hot, like fire under my skin.

A horrible, throbbing pain seizes me. My heart pounds like it’s coming out of my chest and my skin burns, my desire for the magic pushed aside by the basic overwhelming need to survive this.

I squeeze, cutting off the snake’s air, remembering how Lyon held the staff as the lightning passed through it. How Michael had writhed and fought against him. I remember the blinding flash of light as the magic passed from one man to the other just before Michael died.

My skin around her mouth begins to glow. The magic spreads up my arm. White-hot lines of it radiate like forks of lightning under my skin. Just when I can’t hold back my scream anymore, the snake goes limp.

Her fangs retract. She falls against the floor with a heavy, dull thud.

I wince, blinking away tears, as the snake crumbles into a pile of ash. Breathing hard, I drop to my knees, struggling to focus on the two small punctures she left in my hand. My eyes feel strange, too sensitive to the light. It’s as if they’re trying to see the entire room at once.

I lunge for the floor lamp.

Dragging the base toward me, I search for my reflection in the lamp’s surface. Instead, I see Lyon. I see my face reflected in his eyes. I see myself, holding his staff. I blink. Blink again. The brilliant facets of two diamondlike eyes stare back at me from the brass.

By the time I turn to leave the office, the Guard is a shapeless pile of ash on the carpet. I keep my head down, my wrists held passively in my restraints and my sleeves pulled low to conceal the bite. My bangs hang limp over my eyes as I retrace my steps to the Control Room, moving through the halls by memory.