location, too. That will really come in handy if one of us manages to break out.>
The Ukrainian Welcoming Committee took her to a large lab room. The Red Cube of Doom was there, the thing her father had called the Codex. The symbol-covered rock was floating in the air, suspended in a force field. Several guys in lab coats over green uniforms were aiming assorted devices at it.
Christine felt a surprising burst of anger at the sight. Hey! That’s my cube! Leggo my Codex, d-bags!
“Why is she smiling?” Crazy Eye said, and Christine realized she’d grinned in real life. Not good.
“Just glad to see the Codex is in one piece,” she replied.
“So she knows what it is.”
“Yes.”
“She will tell us what it is.”
It rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose; I get it, Mr. Psycho A-hole . Out loud: “The Codex is, uh, a repository of knowledge, like the Encyclopedia Britannica, only bigger.”
“Where does it come from?”
“I don’t know for sure. I think it’s a gift from the same aliens who gave us our super-powers.”
Slappy translated her words for the benefit of Lady Yaga. Christine found herself mildly miffed that one of the Big Bads didn’t speak English, then reproached herself for her parochialism. Cultural supremacist much? None of that was important now, of course.
Mark asked her.
The Mind turned back to her. “We have tried to access the Codex, and failed. The object stubbornly resistant to any form of analysis and probing remains. Even our industrial lasers cut into it cannot. Its composition cannot be determined. She will make it available for study.”
“Okay, I’ll try.”
“No try. She will do.”
Eff you, Yoda. “Okay. I need to touch it, though.”
That request sparked another discussion in Ukrainian.
Before she could come up with an answer, Baba Yaga walked up to her wheelchair and sat on Christine’s lap. She was very heavy for a woman her size and body type; her weight pressed down uncomfortably on Christine’s thighs. The Bitch of Pinsk put her arms around her and leaned close, way close, until their noses were almost touching. Very invasive of her personal space. At least her breath was minty-fresh.
Baba Yaga wagged a finger in Christine’s face. The finger changed in between wags, becoming longer and thicker. The nail on its end grew into a black talon, at least three inches long. It moved towards her face. Oh, no, no. She tried to move her head, but the straps held her in place. The disruptors kept her from calling a shield, and her protective aura was nowhere to be found. The talon touched her bare skin. Baba Yaga smiled and put some more pressure on it.
It hurt. It wasn’t a deep cut, but the pain as the talon sliced into the skin of her left cheek, right below her eye, was sharp and agonizing.
Blood was dripping down her cheek, her blood, mixing in with the tears she couldn’t help shedding.
Mark sounded cool and dispassionate, and somehow the seemingly unsympathetic words helped her keep control over herself.
“The Lady will closely watch during the process,” said Red-Eye. “Any attempt to use the Codex in an unapproved manner punished will