gozen strength

CONSIDERING I’M NOT the world’s youngest executive, I sure have been in a lot of corporate conference rooms. They’re all pretty much the same: big plate glass windows; huge table, usually rectangular or oblong; large potted plants; thick carpet; rolley chairs.
…
He glared at Gozen. Gozen took several quick steps toward me, raising his oversize arm. I leaped onto the table, wings out, ready to fly around like a bat out of hell just to freak them out. Outside, strong winds pummeled the windows, and heavy rain all but obliterated from view the tall buildings around us. The thunder and lightning were constant. Yep, looked like a hurricane, all right.
Gozen froze.
I looked down at the Uber-Director. He was staring at me with a mixture of outrage . . . and hunger.
“Uh, you okay, UD?” I asked. “Is it okay if I call you UD?” I looked at Gozen. “Is he okay? Does he need a feed bag hooked up or something?”
Gozen lunged for me, but I jumped backward. His powerful fist, the size of a ham, crashed down on the table, bouncing me slightly. The table splintered, and I skittered to the other end. I knew my flock was on alert, and I took a second to glance at BoxBoy. His head was leaning to one side, as if he was tired, and I got the impression that if he had hands, he would have been rubbing his brow.


The Final Warning Chapter 65