Mark of Four (2 page)

“
If
they label you a Water-Wielder,” her dad had cautioned two days ago. “I don’t think there’s much doubt that they’ll put you in that group, but don’t get your expectations up too much, Bug.”

Most of the post-rain moisture had disappeared, and the heat of the evening sun roasted her face and legs as the hour grew later. Alayne shook out her limbs, loosening them for the journey down the mountain.

The sun was already setting; purple dusk tinged the sky. Her mother would be pacing by now. But she had told them she’d go by the market. It’s not like they would expect her back so soon anyway. Still, guilt stirred inside Alayne. She hit the sidewalk, which was dry now, though the moisture in the air still slid into her lungs. She inhaled a few more deep breaths as she dropped to a walk, lengthening her strides as she passed the blocks to the busy market.

All around her, people pressed and pushed and seethed and roiled, all of them presumably innocent of the crime of Shadow-Casting, but how would she know? The prickle of fear that had seized hold of Alayne’s spine during the newscast refused to let go.

Blend in
, she told herself.
The wolves never go for the sheep in the middle of the herd.

With gaze downcast, she entered the market square, carefully avoiding eye contact with anyone.

I
t was busy this evening
. The stalls would close shop in another hour, so Alayne didn’t have time to linger over food selections.

Alayne scanned the booths as she turned the corner into the market. Her mother had mentioned a chicken and some butternut squash yesterday, but those stalls stood near the far end.

Lettuce had returned with the cooler weather. Alayne paused under a canopy that shaded mounds of lettuce heads from the glare of the evening sun. A boy looked up from a book as he relaxed on a stool. “Can I help you?”

“Just a head of lettuce, please.” Alayne twitched her thick honey-gold braid over her sweaty shoulder and opened her wallet. She slid some coins onto the table as the boy lowered her lettuce into a bag and handed it to her. She thanked the boy and turned to go.

She’d stepped back into the main walkway when, through the undulating chatter of many conversations, she heard her mother’s name, followed by her own. “Do you know Wynn Worth? Her daughter is Alayne Worth.” There was a jumble of noise, and then, “Don’t the Worths buy your wares occasionally?”

Alayne’s gaze brushed the vendors in their stalls, the swarms of busy produce customers, the general melee that reigned in the market before closing time. Who was talking about her? She looked to her left, searching for the source of the words.

She found it in a dark-haired, rat-faced man with a diamond earring in one ear. His thin hands twitched as he fingered the weave of a basket the vendor was selling. He looked familiar, but Alayne couldn’t place him.

The vendor with whom the man spoke was Dale Trentwood, and Alayne had bought several baskets from him for her mother. He would recognize their names.
What does that man know about my mother and me?

She took a deep breath and walked on. For once, the full impact of her mother’s fear pulsed in Alayne’s head. She sped up her pace, glancing over her shoulder for one last glimpse of the rat-faced stranger. Dale Trentwood shrugged, his gaze searching the crowd.

His eyes met hers. His brows rose, and his lips formed an O. He nodded to the stranger, his finger pointing her way. Alayne froze. The man saw her now, and malice tinged the downward curve of his lips. He nodded his thanks to Dale and turned out of the booth.

Alayne panicked. She wove her way through the crowds, risking a glance backward once or twice, but she couldn’t see him. Maybe she had lost him. She breathed a little lighter.

The crowd thinned as Alayne pushed her way through. She broke into a jog, knocking against shoulders as she went. “Watch where you’re going, lady!” The woman who’d yelled muttered a curse.

Alayne whirled around and ran face-first into the diamond earring man’s chest. He grinned as he gripped her shoulders, seemingly to steady her, and his rank breath smelled of fish. “Let’s get you out of this crush.” His grip tightened into a vise, and he pulled her through the stalls. Alleyways lay behind the market, empty ones that were now almost pitch-black. The lights of the square didn’t glow far down the streets.

Alayne yanked herself backward, but the man’s grip was like iron. He faced her again as he pulled. “Come
on
.” He jerked her forward so she stumbled. A sing-song chant issued from his lips. “I got her first, Malachi, and you’ve been searching all these years. But I ain’t gonna tell you, no, not for a thousand lemps, not for
any
amount of money.”

Alayne opened her mouth to scream; surely someone in the crowd around them could see what was happening and stop it.

The man turned, aiming for the gap between two stalls, when a wooden crate of cucumbers arced through the air and crashed into the back of the man’s head. His grip loosened. Alayne whipped her arm away, staring in shock as the man crumpled to the ground. He moaned, shaking his head. A circle formed around them, curious gawkers gazing at the scene.

A voice hissed in Alayne’s ear. “Come on. Get out of here!” She glanced up.

Daymon Houser. Visceral hatred shot through her, but his look was so urgent, and the rat-faced man was struggling to his feet.

“Come
on
!”

Alayne freed her mind from shock and ran. The lettuce bounced against her leg as she dodged through the crowd. Daymon’s blue t-shirt was barely visible in front of her.

They plowed through the stalls at the far end of the market, pounding up the alley.

“This way.” Daymon pointed to his right, and the two of them crashed into an open doorway in a tenement basement. Daymon slammed the door with a thud.

The only light in the place filtered through dirty half-windows high on the walls. Pipes lined the ceiling, and cobwebs blanketed the corners and bare spaces between them. Alayne blinked dust from her eyelids. “What’s going on, Daymon?”

“Shh.”

Alayne listened to the rapid thud of her heartbeat in the heavy silence. Hurried footsteps pounded down the road outside the door. A shout echoed down the alley, followed by another one farther away, and then silence again.

“Daymon, what in CommonEarth is going on?” she asked again. Now that her adrenaline ebbed, the flow of dislike for the boy who crouched opposite her returned in full force.

“Hush, keep your voice down.” He moved to a window, standing on tiptoe to peer out. The dull light from the alley filtered across his short dark hair, and his muscles tightened beneath his fitted t-shirt as he swiped his fingers across the dusty glass.

Alayne shifted, her stance wary. Sparks of panic still sizzled in her head. Her mind captured the picture of the diamond earring man, and fear streaked her spine. Though Daymon had saved her from an unknown fate, her dislike of him rankled.

Daymon Houser had been in her class at Basic School. They’d had a cordial non-relationship with each other until the day Alayne had accidentally intruded on a group of boys in the outside corridor of the school.

Daymon had taken Alayne’s friend, Leesha, to a movie the week before. Leesha was thrilled, calling Alayne to tell her about it. She and Daymon had talked until curfew. He’d laughed at all her jokes, and she thought he might ask her again.

Alayne was happy for her friend until she heard the boys talking.

“Leesha’s a snob.” Daymon’s laugh echoed in the hallway. “And boring as sand. I thought the date would never end.”

“You should dump her for her friend.” Alayne recognized the voice of Chan Lakes, a boy in her history class.

A long pause ensued. When Daymon spoke again, his voice was rough. “Alayne?”

“Yeah, that girl is hot.”

“Hot?” Daymon snorted. “She’s an ice queen, Chan. Who’d want to try to chip away at someone like that?”

Alayne stood around the corner out of sight, horrified pity for her friend and blazing fury about his comments regarding herself struggling for first place in her mind.

“Back to Leesha, then,” Chan said. “Eh, it’s not a bad deal. Her dad’s rich.” The boys melted into laughter.

Alayne had heard enough. She rounded the corner and marched down the hallway. The boys didn’t notice her until she stopped a few feet from them. Daymon caught sight of her first. His laughter silenced, and he narrowed his eyes. “What do you want, Worth?”

“Just one thing.” Alayne weaved her way between the guys to stand in front of Daymon. Her head only came to his chin, but anger momentarily drove all fear from her mind.

“You are a low-life scum.” She grabbed his upper forearms and brought her knee up between his legs, hard.

Daymon doubled over, a shrill howl tearing from his lips. The other boys stared open-mouthed, immobilized with surprise. Without another word, Alayne turned and ran the length of the hallway, half-afraid the boys would come after her. She glanced back as she reached the corner. Daymon had regained his composure, but his furious blue gaze burned a pathway down the hall toward her.

Those eyes stared at her now, the blue barely visible in the light from the window. She swallowed her reluctance and forced herself to speak. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Daymon stared silently at her. Alayne endured his gaze as long as she could and then whispered, “Do you know who the man was? And why was he asking questions about me and my mother?”

Daymon didn’t break eye-contact. “I’m surprised you don’t know. Don’t you ever watch the news?” There it was, the antagonism that had always laced his voice the times he’d been forced to speak to her.

“Of course I watch the news,” Alayne hissed. “Every day, I watch the Shadow-Caster-infested
news
. Why?”

Daymon shrugged. “That man was one of Malachi’s Casters, Hans Jannis. But he’s a rogue agent. They did a little story on him a couple of months back. Four years ago, when the Casters went on their rampage, he tried to Shadow-Cast a whole office building and march them out to face Malachi directly.”

“He did?” Alayne couldn’t recall hearing the story, but Daymon’s explanation made sense. The rat-faced man’s mutterings just before Daymon had extracted her from the situation came clear.

“Yeah. So I would have
thought
you’d have a little more sense than to wander around the market by yourself. Skies, Alayne, there are Casters on the loose!”

“You were wandering around by
your
self,” Alayne snapped. “I don’t see why you think it’s so awful for me; it’s not like I’m anyone special.”

“Alayne, in spite of the fact that you
think
you know everything, I hate to break it to you. You’re clueless. So here’s a hint to help you survive. Your world where you live is not as small as you think, and your actions affect far more people than you will ever understand.”

Alayne flushed in anger. “Everyone’s actions affect the people around them, not just mine.”

“Sure, sure, kid.” Daymon’s voice was condescending. “Just try to be more careful, would you?”

“Why do you care what I do?”

Daymon advanced until he stood toe to toe with Alayne. Brilliant anger crackled beneath dark lashes that should be too long for any boy. “I don’t care in the least what
you
do, but I do care what happens to others because you choose to
do
it. Are we clear on that?”

“Crystal,” Alayne snapped, more confused than ever.

Tension-filled silence riddled the basement. After a moment, Daymon stepped back. “It’s time for you to go. I’ll walk you home.” He moved toward the door.

“I can take care of—”

“Shut up!” Daymon’s voice whipped across Alayne’s. She gulped down the last of her sentence as Daymon released a carefully controlled breath. “I said I’m walking you home. Jannis is still out there, or did you forget?”

Of course, she hadn’t forgotten. Even now, she trembled at the memory of the man’s iron grip on her shoulders. With a sigh, she relented. “Fine.”

Daymon nodded and cracked the door open. Cautiously, he led the way out, glancing both ways, up, all around before motioning to Alayne. She jumped up the steps to the road.

Grasping her lightly by the arm, Daymon slid them through the shadows toward the market.

The vendors packed up their tents in the square at the end of the alley. Alayne glanced over her shoulder hundreds of times between the tenement basement and the lights of the square.

At the mouth of the alley, Daymon released her arm, but stayed close as they wove through the market stalls. Daymon’s impatience was nearly tangible.

Alayne tightened her grip on her bag of lettuce as they hurried homeward, Daymon dogging her steps. “Daymon, you can go home now. I’m fine, and there’s no sign of whatever-his-name-is, Jannis or something. Besides, aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for your assessment tomorrow morning?”

“Special arrangements. I’m leaving tomorrow, but I don’t have to be assessed.”

Alayne was surprised. Everyone her age was supposed to take assessments. She pressed her lips together, biting back a snarky retort. She didn’t want to dwell on people like Daymon Houser who made her life miserable. Daymon’s heroic aberration in behavior did nothing to improve her opinion of him. She wished she could talk to Leesha about it, but her friend’s family had moved to a different City Centre soon after graduation from Basic School.

When Alayne’s small house and white picket-fenced yard slid into view, she stopped her walk and turned to face the tall, broad-shouldered boy who walked next to her. “Listen, Daymon, I appreciate your help today. I—I’m not sure what I would have done if you hadn’t shown up when you did.”

“You might have tried running,” Daymon muttered. Tension laced his words. “Fun as it was to play nursemaid, Worth, I’ve got to go.”

Alayne stared at him, registering the animosity in his gaze.
Well, more power to him,
she thought.
I never liked him in the first place.

Alayne turned left as Daymon turned right. She walked across her yard to the side entrance of her house, glancing once more over her shoulder at the boy. He’d shoved his hands in his pockets. His shoulders were rounded as he slumped away in the darkness. She knew it was immature, but she stuck out her tongue at the back of his head and then opened the screen door to enter the kitchen.

The panic of the whole episode, the questions that clouded her mind, the overwhelming fear she’d experienced half an hour ago burned a brand into her brain as she set the lettuce on the table.

Wynn burst through the kitchen door from the living room. “Skies, Alayne! Thank goodness you’re back. We’ve been so worried.” She placed her hands on Alayne’s shoulders, and Alayne flinched in memory of the stranger’s hands holding her in the market. “Are you truly all right?” Wynn asked. The older woman glanced down at the bag Alayne still held against her chest. She released Alayne’s shoulders and took the bag, placing it on the table and emptying it. “They didn’t have poultry or gourds this evening?”

Alayne cleared her throat. “I forgot.”

Wynn stared at her before picking up the lettuce to take to the counter. When she spoke next, she seemed to be trying to remove the tension that still hung in the room. “How was the market?”

Alayne picked at a loose thread on her shirt.
I was nearly kidnapped. There was a man; he mentioned your name. He tried to drag me away to do who knows what to me. Daymon said he was a rogue Caster from Simeon Malachi’s group. I barely escaped. What haven’t you told me, Mom?