Bound by Prophecy (Descendants Series) (3 page)

As I stepped into the street, Emily peered at the sedan several blocks down. “Hey, um”—she hesitated when she realized she didn’t know my name, and then shook her head, deciding it didn’t matter—“I think I know that car.”

I was running for her before I heard the engine accelerate. She’d no sooner realized it was speeding toward us than my good arm was around her waist, dragging her back from the street. But it didn’t matter, it was all asphalt here. There was nothing to shield us. I ran against the fence, Emily in tow, knowing there was nowhere for us to hide, realizing I’d have to make a choice.

The property beside us was theirs. Nothing but the warehouse they’d apparently been using and could be in now. The opposite side of the road held brick-walled industrial units, abandoned and closed off. It was too far to the populated areas. Too far for any kind of shelter. If I was alone, I’d make it. But I wasn’t. There was Emily. It would have to be her or me, and I wasn’t even sure she could do it; I was practically dragging her as it was.

And then she was running with me, suddenly aware of the danger. I knew why. Sparks flew as the car swerved onto the sidewalk and scraped against the chain-link fence in broken shrieks. It was too close. We weren’t going to make it.

We passed an electric pole and I cut left, pulling Emily with me as I ran forward across the two-lane road. I could see the sedan in my peripheral now, and as soon as it was close enough it would have to account for the pole, I cut back, running straight in the opposite direction. Its tires squealed as it spun to chase us.

The girl was fast, I’d give her that. But even I couldn’t outrun a Buick.

“There.” I tilted my head toward a dark alley between two buildings. “Don’t stop and don’t look back.”

She glanced at me, but only briefly, because the car smashed into a trash bin on the roadside behind us.
Too close
. Her jacket dropped to the ground behind her as she fell into full speed. I didn’t know when she’d lost the duffle bag.

As Emily’s track veered right, I stayed left, an easier target for the driver. And I’d been fairly certain I was the target. Until the car sped, and raced straight for Emily.

I cursed and adjusted my path, hoping the sight of me so close to his bumper would have some effect on the driver’s course. It didn’t. He was going to run Emily down.

Time slowed as I watched the car advance on her, helpless. Each footfall stretched into minutes. She didn’t look back, but as if she could feel she was losing ground, had only moments before it was too late, she ran impossibly faster.
Faster than me
.

But I didn’t have time to process the thought, because only seconds since the chase began, the car smashed into the block corner of the building. Metal shrieked and twisted as its forward momentum pushed against the immovable wall, and time returned again.

Panting, I ran toward the mess, leaping over the smashed hood where steam billowed from the crumpled metal. The car’s horn blared as the driver slumped against the steering wheel, splattered with blood and broken glass. My feet came down hard on the other side of the car, in the narrow space between the buildings. As I searched for her, my mind raced, replaying the images from the crash, what I thought I’d seen.

I had to be sure.

I numbly called her name, and then looked down the alley. She was there, two blocks down, still sprinting as she turned the corner.

I stared dumbly for a long moment before finally running after her.

When I caught her six blocks later, it was only by chance. She’d taken a wrong turn and had gotten trapped by a too-high fence. Not that she planned to let a fence stop her, because she had climbed to the top of the eight feet and was lifting her leg over as I watched, but at least it had given me the break I needed to close the distance.

“Emily,” I called as I drew closer.

She looked up at me, surprised, and froze halfway across the metal bar that topped the chain link. Her chest was heaving with the exertion, but she’d somehow managed to make it.

My hands went up in a frustrated gesture and she stared down at me blankly. And then, as it dawned on her, she simply shrugged her shoulders. “You said don’t stop.”

I sighed and then gave her that shooing motion she’d given me in the shed before grabbing onto the fence to follow her up. I dropped to the ground beside her, surreptitiously checking her condition. It appeared she’d only skinned her palms, which left her in far better condition than I, considering what the fence climbing had done to my injured shoulder. When she saw me looking, she curled her hands into fists, though I believed it was due more to the trembling in her fingers than the scrapes on her palms.

We continued wordlessly out of the industrial area at a jog. I was surprised she could maintain the pace after what she’d been through, but I refrained from questioning her just yet. We wouldn’t be safe until we’d gotten locked inside somewhere.

We kept jogging, past the now-empty apartments that had once housed the industrial workers. It didn’t feel safe, not yet. I didn’t stop until we reached the edge of downtown, the parking garages and empty alleys that would be crowded on a weekday. Emily didn’t appear too keen on running down another alley, but she didn’t argue, simply keeping pace beside me until I ducked behind a low bin that would allow me to see in both directions.

Panting, we leaned against the brick wall of an old building, struggling viciously to catch our breath. Emily wheezed and bent over to brace her hands on her knees. Our chests heaved, pulses still racing, limbs tingling and weak. I was certain she’d slide down to the pavement if not for the filth that lined the alley. I’d no idea how far we’d run, but we had farther to go if I were to keep us safe. I glanced at the girl beside me, baggy tee shirt draped as she leaned against herself and the wall, hair a mess of damp curls and loose waves shifting in the breeze.

Morgan had targeted her, not me. He’d known he needed to keep me alive if he wanted to find Brianna, so he’d used her. He’d run from the warehouse and set that human after Emily. To prove a point? To hurt me? It didn’t matter. He’d tried to kill her. He
had
killed the driver of that car.

The image of the sedan smashing into bricks, nearly grazing Emily as she ran, replayed in my mind and I cursed.

She looked up, still panting. “Okay.” She swallowed hard against her parched throat. “I’ll play along.” She wagged a finger vaguely in the direction of the incident, now miles away. “Who was that?”

I waved away her concern. “Just a commonblood. Morgan’s not wasting any of his men on this.”

Her brow raised in utter disbelief.

“That’s good news,” I explained. “If they want to kill you, then they haven’t found the car, haven’t figured out who you are yet.”

She straightened, but it was only to lean back. Away from me. And then I winced as I realized how it all must have sounded to her.

I didn’t know how to make her understand, so I didn’t try. “I’m sorry,” I said. “But Brianna is safe, I promise you that.”

At the mention of Brianna, something changed in Emily. Her breathing steadied and she became remarkably still.

Motionless, except for the tiniest quiver in the curve of her lip, and it broke my heart.

“Come on,” I said, holding out a hand toward her. “We can walk from here.”

Chapter Three

Shelter

Emily didn’t take my hand, but she did move to walk beside me. I wasn’t sure it would have worked out that way if not for the mention of her sister. She had to be starving, so when we crossed in front of a shop that was actually open, I deposited her between two brick columns beside the storefront window.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

She glanced up at the sign hanging above us before giving me a raised brow. It read something like “tobacco,” “spirits,” and “open all nite,” in heavy script. I didn’t attempt an explanation.

This wasn’t the busiest part of town and I knew pickings would be slim, but that didn’t stop me from grimacing at the selection of foodstuffs inside what had to be the dirtiest display case I’d ever laid eyes on. I took the last two plastic-wrapped packages that I assumed were sub sandwiches and three bottles of water to the counter, where I added a handful of jerky sticks from a wire display rack and took one deep breath before looking up.

The cashier was old in a way only a hard life can make a person. His grayed hair stood in thin tufts that were likely once curls. His skin fell slack and wrinkled over hollow cheeks, and his eyes were downcast and uninterested in me. I reached forward, as if sliding my merchandise closer, and then grasped the ashen skin of his mottled hand. His eyes shot to mine and I prayed the gift hadn’t left me.

I didn’t like to steal. I earned my living where I could. Where the Council had let me. But right at this moment, I didn’t have much choice. I stared into his eyes and focused my energy on hypnotizing him with both sight and touch. His pupils flinched an instant before his face relaxed, and I tried not to lose myself in the relief that it had worked.

Two minutes later, I was back in the street with Emily, who examined the shape of my brown paper sack. Apparently satisfied it couldn’t possibly be a bottle of liquor, she followed me the three more blocks we had to walk for what passed as a hotel.

Like the package store, the hotel didn’t list a name on the exterior of the building. Flecks of faded white paint had long since been swept away, leaving the word “rooms” checked with the red brick beneath it. I glanced sidelong at Emily, expecting at least some sign of protest, but she seemed beyond that now. She waited by the entrance while I acquired a key, and then trailed numbly behind as we climbed the seven flights of stairs to the room. When we finally made it inside, she fell into a chair without so much as a glance at the questionable stains marking the cushion.

If I had been a psychopathic killer, her mood would have taken the fun right out of it.

I secured the door and briefly glanced out the window to assure myself of an escape route before I joined her. I resisted the urge to apologize as I sat two bottles of water on her side of the small round table between smashed gray-brown globs of hardened chewing gum.

“Drink,” I said, and she straightened a bit as she came out of her trance to take a bottle.

When she’d finished about half without heaving or any of the other terrible scenarios I’d formed in my head, I unwrapped the first sandwich and surreptitiously sniffed for signs of rot. I was fairly certain it was ham, and there didn’t appear to be much for toppings, which made me feel moderately better about handing it over. Emily took the offering without question and I sat my own sandwich and water on my side of the table before dumping the remaining contents in the center. The three jerky sticks didn’t look out of place in our sad little situation.

The pain in my shoulder had dulled, but I knew it wouldn’t fully heal until I’d slept, and that was the last thing I could do here.

I became aware of Emily’s stillness and glanced over to find her watching me, half-eaten sandwich rewrapped and lying on the table. She was clearly exhausted and probably traumatized, but alive.

I’d saved her.

After a moment, I said, “Aern.”

“Huh?”

“It’s Aern,” I explained. “My name.”

She nodded, unsure how to respond. I wondered if she was in shock, or still convinced I was a crazy person.

“You’re shivering,” I said, and then stood, thinking what a stupid remark it had been as I pulled the threadbare blanket from the bed.

“I dropped my jacket,” she mumbled through trembling lips.

By the time she wrapped herself in the blanket, she’d progressed to shuddering. I forced myself to let her. To not touch her.

I sat again in the chair across from her, and the room was quiet for a long while. When she at last broke the silence, I was lost in thought and her soft voice sounded too loud.

“It wasn’t my car.”

I gave her a questioning look and she went on.

“The car, the one I used to follow you, it wasn’t mine. I… I stole it from my foster parent.”

I realized my face betrayed my surprise, but I couldn’t do much for it.

“That’s the good news, right? It didn’t have my name on it, just his and an old address. And even if they find him”—she shifted under her cover—“well, he’s a bastard.”

Her eyes met mine in a challenge, but relaxed when she didn’t find the answering one in my expression. In fact, I’d schooled my features to blank attentiveness, though I was severely concerned about both her comment and where this discussion was headed.
Don’t ask
, I thought.
Leave it be. We’ve got bigger problems right now.

And whatever he’d done to earn the label, Emily was right, they
would
find him.

“The bad news?” I asked evenly.

“Yeah,” she said. “That would be my bag.”

A memory of the lumpy duffle bag flashed in my mind, along with a dozen or so ideas of what it could have held. School books? Gym clothes? Chinese throwing stars?

She sighed. “Things have been kind of rough for me and Bri.” She winced at her own use of the name and my gut twisted. “I try to keep us together, to make things work.” She shook her head. “That doesn’t matter. The thing is, the bad news”—her eyes came back to mine—“everything important was in that bag. Everything I’d need. To run.”