welcome mat for it, if such a thing is possible. I have paid a high price for my own selfish nature, and will never stop paying—not until I am allowed final rest.
I crouch in a dark alley, listening to the screech of fire engine sirens. The hulking vehicles tear down the street toward the blazing apartment building, red lights flashing, announcing their presence to the sleeping neighborhood. They will arrive too late.
Danika is dead. The Owlkins are obliterated, massacred by people I once considered friends. Murdered in their homes, punished for their silence, for their loyalty and unflinching desire to protect me—not even one of their own. I ran to them for protection after my own people betrayed me. Their deaths are my fault, and I know I will burn for it.
But not until my betrayers join me in Hell.
My route takes me deeper into the alley, to the service street that runs behind the buildings. I stay close to the shadows, ignoring the stench of rotting garbage. The air is heavy, already hot for May, and presses down like a blanket. Something hisses, but it isn’t a stray cat. It is something else, telling me to keep my distance. I do.
Keeping low, faster now. Two blocks farther and I break into a dead run. Pushed by fear and guilt, I draw energy from a tapped well, and surge forward. At the end of the block, I dash across a busy intersection. A car horn honks. Leaping over a low stone wall with unfailing grace, I hit and roll and run. On through a dark park, its rusty merry-go-round tilted and broken.Swings dangle from fractured chains. The slide is warped, the monkey bars covered in grime.
A trio of gremlins, no taller than my leg, scatter as I pass. I ignore them, unconcerned with their business tonight. The Dregs get a free pass, and I have no time to enjoy their confusion. Tonight, I have no beef with the non humans of the world. My enemy is the Metro Police Department. In one day, I have gone from their star Hunter to a wanted fugitive accused of murder.
They never gave me a chance to explain how my partners died.
At the far end of the overgrown park, I jump another stone fence. I land in a puddle, spraying tepid water over my shoes and black jeans. So much for not leaving tracks. I briefly consider disposing of the soaked sneakers, but I can’t run around the city barefoot.
Once again on a residential sidewalk within eyesight of dozens of apartment windows, I reduce my speed to a fast walk. It’s a good chance to catch my breath, to consider my options. I could just keep running and never look back, get out of this damned city and away from the Dregs. Find a place somewhere else, without the sharply delineated lines. No Triads. No Handlers. Just ordinary people.
But I can’t do that. Leaving means no justice for the Owlkins. It means no justice for Jesse and Ash, no justice for myself. And what of Wyatt? I haven’t seen him in two days. With two of his Hunters dead and a third on the run, what happens to him? Will the brass have him neutralized?
“My first loyalty is to you three,” Wyatt told us once. “It always will be.”
At the end of this block, I dart into a pay phone booth. I dig into my pocket for change. A few coins are all that I possess now, and I drop most of them into the slot. I dial a number as familiar as my own birth date and wait. A computerized buzzer ticks off the rings on his end of the line.
“Be there. Come on, Wyatt. Answer your phone.”
The line clicks, and a familiar voice asks, “Yes?”
“It’s me.”
Silence.
“Don’t come here, Evy,” he says. “The brass knows what you did. I can’t help you.”
The words hurt. My teeth dig into my lower lip to drown out that pain with another. “They killed the Owlkins. Do you hear me, Wyatt? They slaughtered an innocent Clan.”
“It’s a dead end, Evy, I can’t help you. You have to go down this road by yourself, I’m sorry.” Click goes the line.
I drop the phone back into its cradle, hope daring to peek
I crouch in a dark alley, listening to the screech of fire engine sirens. The hulking vehicles tear down the street toward the blazing apartment building, red lights flashing, announcing their presence to the sleeping neighborhood. They will arrive too late.
Danika is dead. The Owlkins are obliterated, massacred by people I once considered friends. Murdered in their homes, punished for their silence, for their loyalty and unflinching desire to protect me—not even one of their own. I ran to them for protection after my own people betrayed me. Their deaths are my fault, and I know I will burn for it.
But not until my betrayers join me in Hell.
My route takes me deeper into the alley, to the service street that runs behind the buildings. I stay close to the shadows, ignoring the stench of rotting garbage. The air is heavy, already hot for May, and presses down like a blanket. Something hisses, but it isn’t a stray cat. It is something else, telling me to keep my distance. I do.
Keeping low, faster now. Two blocks farther and I break into a dead run. Pushed by fear and guilt, I draw energy from a tapped well, and surge forward. At the end of the block, I dash across a busy intersection. A car horn honks. Leaping over a low stone wall with unfailing grace, I hit and roll and run. On through a dark park, its rusty merry-go-round tilted and broken.Swings dangle from fractured chains. The slide is warped, the monkey bars covered in grime.
A trio of gremlins, no taller than my leg, scatter as I pass. I ignore them, unconcerned with their business tonight. The Dregs get a free pass, and I have no time to enjoy their confusion. Tonight, I have no beef with the non humans of the world. My enemy is the Metro Police Department. In one day, I have gone from their star Hunter to a wanted fugitive accused of murder.
They never gave me a chance to explain how my partners died.
At the far end of the overgrown park, I jump another stone fence. I land in a puddle, spraying tepid water over my shoes and black jeans. So much for not leaving tracks. I briefly consider disposing of the soaked sneakers, but I can’t run around the city barefoot.
Once again on a residential sidewalk within eyesight of dozens of apartment windows, I reduce my speed to a fast walk. It’s a good chance to catch my breath, to consider my options. I could just keep running and never look back, get out of this damned city and away from the Dregs. Find a place somewhere else, without the sharply delineated lines. No Triads. No Handlers. Just ordinary people.
But I can’t do that. Leaving means no justice for the Owlkins. It means no justice for Jesse and Ash, no justice for myself. And what of Wyatt? I haven’t seen him in two days. With two of his Hunters dead and a third on the run, what happens to him? Will the brass have him neutralized?
“My first loyalty is to you three,” Wyatt told us once. “It always will be.”
At the end of this block, I dart into a pay phone booth. I dig into my pocket for change. A few coins are all that I possess now, and I drop most of them into the slot. I dial a number as familiar as my own birth date and wait. A computerized buzzer ticks off the rings on his end of the line.
“Be there. Come on, Wyatt. Answer your phone.”
The line clicks, and a familiar voice asks, “Yes?”
“It’s me.”
Silence.
“Don’t come here, Evy,” he says. “The brass knows what you did. I can’t help you.”
The words hurt. My teeth dig into my lower lip to drown out that pain with another. “They killed the Owlkins. Do you hear me, Wyatt? They slaughtered an innocent Clan.”
“It’s a dead end, Evy, I can’t help you. You have to go down this road by yourself, I’m sorry.” Click goes the line.
I drop the phone back into its cradle, hope daring to peek
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