I grabbed a nearby cable and pulled. It came out the machine with a flash of sparks and an angry buzzing like a nest of aroused bees. I held the sparking end in front of me like a talisman. Cocteau’s creation looked at the cable suspiciously but continued to advance.
“Stop,” I said. “I do not wish to hurt you.”
She curled her fingers into claws and lunged. I stepped aside, jamming the live end of the cable into her spine as she passed.