The Rising (14 page)

I head-gestured for him to go back to the street, then I pantomimed climbing the wall. He understood then. I think. But he refused to leave. Just told me to lie down and be quiet and no one was going to come back here. Wait until I shifted and we'd sneak out together.

So we waited. After about ten minutes, I heard a woman's voice say, “I'm picking up a presence back there.”

“Probably homeless guy number four.” Moreno. “Look, we know she's with her brother, so you need to detect two bodies. She's probably shifted back by now and they're long gone.”

I waited, tensed, hoping they'd decide Moreno was right. I was guessing the witch only detected one form because we were huddled together. I inched closer to Ash.

Footsteps started down the alley.

“Does anyone listen to me?” Moreno said.

“Do you really want me to answer that?” Antone replied.

I leaped up. Ash started jogging toward the voices, his footfalls silent. I froze, panic filling me. But he only went a couple of meters, then turned around and ran at the wall.

I twisted, unsheathed my claws, and grabbed hold. As I scaled it, he took a running leap, grabbed the top and swung onto it with a gymnast's ease. Instead of going over, though, he crouched on the top, looking around. I scrambled up and perched awkwardly beside him.

On the other side of the fence was a tiny courtyard with a picnic table, a bicycle stand, and a tin half-filled with cigarette butts. A place for employees from a neighboring store to have a smoke and store their bikes. The only way out of there was a door into the shop. A solid metal door with no handle.

Ash wasn't looking at that, though. His gaze was turned upward, to a window on the building beside us.

“If we hide down there, she'll find us,” he whispered. “We gotta go through the window. Can you make it?”

I nodded and cast an anxious glance at the alley. I could hear them coming slowly, checking behind every box and bin.

“I know,” he whispered. “We need to move fast, especially since I have to bust that window to get in. They'll hear it.”

I motioned for him to go. He jumped. He landed on the ledge easily enough, but it was only about ten centimeters of concrete, and he nearly lost his balance. He caught himself, turned his face away, and rammed his elbow into window, shattering the glass so expertly that I knew it wasn't his first break-in.

He looked back at me, still on the fence. I jerked my muzzle, telling him to go inside. He hesitated, but he didn't have a choice—I couldn't leap through with him blocking the hole. He quickly cleared the broken glass with his sleeve, then hopped down. It must have been a long jump because I heard him hit hard and let out an
oomph
. I listened for any sound of real pain. None came. When I was sure he was fine, I jumped off the fence—in the other direction.

As I tore down the alley, I thought I heard his voice. I flattened my ears and kept going. This was the only way. Otherwise, the moment they came around that corner, they'd know we were inside the shop and they'd surround the building. The witch only picked up one presence. If they saw me, they wouldn't go after him.

If I ran, he'd be safe. They'd never know he was there, and once I'd led them out of the alley, he could run. Maybe he'd try to find me afterward. Or maybe he'd finally realize the danger and decide it wasn't worth it—I wasn't worth it. I almost hoped he did, for his sake.

I whipped around the corner. I heard the witch cry out. I saw legs ahead of me, but I didn't look up, just kept running, ears down, eyes slitted, gaze fixed on the end of the alley. Get to the end. Barrel past them.
Through
them if I had to. Get to the road and let them chase me . . . while Ash escaped.

Antone leaped in front of me. I didn't look up to see his face, but his smell filled my nostrils. I hit him in the legs and he flipped up over my back. A dart whizzed past me. I hunkered lower, putting all my power into one last sprint. Behind me, I heard the witch say something. Words in another language. A spell? It didn't matter. I was almost to the street. Whatever she hit me with, however much it hurt, I'd just keep—

I stopped.

I just . . . stopped. My legs froze, like someone had disconnected the link to my brain. I skidded muzzle-first to the ground.

“Tranq her,” the witch said. “I can't hold the binding spell for long.”

My brain shouted orders.
Jump up. Fight. Run.
But my body just lay there, as if paralyzed, my eyes fixed open, staring at nothing. I felt a dart hit my flank. Then another. Antone said, “That's enough!” and the world went dark.

I
DREAMED I WAS
sick with fever, my stomach cramping, sweat pouring off me. I was home in my own bed and Dad was sitting beside me, wiping my face with a cold cloth, saying nothing, just looking after me, as he'd done all of the rare times I was sick. Mom took care of me, too, but she did it by making soup and herbal tea and keeping my bedding fresh and dry and getting my medicine on time. She needed to keep busy. Dad was the one who'd just sit with me.

I wallowed in the dream even after I realized that's all it was. Slowly, though, I started waking and I felt the real burn of fever and the roil of nausea. Someone really was at my bedside, wiping my face. My first thought was “Daniel,” and I opened my eyes, smiling, then saw Calvin Antone beside me. I scrambled back, hissing before I realized I was in human form. My stomach lurched and I retched. Antone grabbed a bowl from the floor and pushed it at me, but I shoved it away and sat up, clutching the sheets and looking around.

I was in a bed, dressed in a T-shirt and pajama pants. A man I didn't recognize stood just inside the door. He was wearing a suit, but he didn't look like security. He was too old, for one thing—at least fifty. And he held himself with an air that said he didn't take orders from anyone. He was tall—over six feet—with blond hair and bright blue eyes.

“Finally,” he said. “Tell her I need her to answer some questions.”

Antone glowered at him. “She speaks English.”

“I'm sure she does. But she doesn't know me and I don't know her. I'm sure you can impress upon her the importance of answering.”

“Is that a threat?” I said.

The man's blue eyes cooled. “I would suggest you modulate your tone with me, young lady.”

“Because you're some important Cabal guy?”

“His name is Mattias Nast,” Antone said. “He's the CEO's nephew.”

Ash had told us that each Cabal was run by a family. The CEO and his sons were at the top, but a nephew would still have clout. Significant clout, judging by Antone's tone.

“I don't care who he is,” I muttered. “I've got a good idea what he wants to know and the answer is ‘go to hell.'”

The man's eyes chilled more. “Antone, you will tell your daughter—”

“I'm not his daughter. He's a sperm donor. My father is Rick Delaney.”

Antone leaned closer. “I know you're angry, Maya, but you aren't making this easy.”

“I don't want to make it easy. I know what you want to ask me—how to find Ash. I have no idea where he is or how to contact him. You don't believe me? Use magic or truth serum or whatever else you've got. The answer won't change.”

I could tell by their expression that I'd been right about the question, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Ash had escaped. Good.

So where was he? Long gone. I was sure of that. Once I was captured, he'd run and keep running. It hurt, knowing I'd found him only to lose him again, but at least he'd be safe.

“We'll discuss this again later, Maya,” Antone said. “For now—”

“Later?” Nast said. “I have three Cabal security teams waiting for her answer. Do you realize how much this operation is costing?”

“No more than it's worth,” Antone said. “Or you wouldn't still be here. If your teams are so valuable, they should be competent enough to find my son without Maya's help.”

“Your daughter isn't the only one who needs to modulate her tone. Don't forget who you're speaking to, Calvin.”

Antone turned to me. “We'll discuss this later. Right now, there's someone waiting to see you.” He smiled. “Someone I know you'll want to see.”

“Daniel,” I said, sitting up. “Is he okay? And Corey?”

Silence. I looked from Antone to Nast, and I realized Daniel wasn't here. I felt a flicker of disappointment, but it vanished when I realized what that meant.

“They're still out there,” I said. “You don't have them.”

“No, but we're looking for them,” Antone said. “Even harder than we're looking for your brother. For a very good reason. There was . . . an accident.”

Nast spoke up. “Your Daniel got himself hit by a car running from the park.”

“Wh-what?”

Antone glowered at Nast again. “Could I please speak to my daughter in private, sir?”

“No, because you'll sugarcoat it for her so she doesn't get sad and cry. We have got a very valuable asset out there—”

“Asset?” I said. “Daniel is not an asset.
We're
not assets. We're kids. Living, thinking, feeling—”

“That's enough, Maya,” Antone murmured. Then to Nast, “This isn't your area of expertise, sir. I'm sorry if I'm not being properly grateful that the Cabal sent you, but I requested Sean Nast. He—”

“Sean is a boy, whatever his grandfather thinks, and he knows nothing of this project. Even Thomas realizes there are things his so-called heir can't stomach. This operation would be one of them.”

I sat on the edge of the bed. “So this Sean guy would have a problem with hunting teens like animals? Huh. Can't imagine why.”

“Your concern for your friend seems to have faded very quickly, young lady,” Nast said.

“Because I believed you for about five seconds before I realized you were full of crap. Daniel's not careless enough to run in front of a car. You picked the person I'm closest to and told me he was hurt. Terribly hurt, I'm sure, which is why I need to help you find him.”

“Daniel
was
hit, Maya,” Antone said, his voice low. “It wasn't his fault. He was running across an intersection to escape security officers and a car full of teens ignored a stop sign.”

I shook my head. “Don't waste your breath. I know—”

Nast walked over and slapped a photo on the bed.

Antone grabbed for it. “She doesn't need to see—”

Nast stopped him. “I think she does. These are photos taken by a traffic camera, Maya.”

I stared at the photos and my gut twisted, until I had to close my eyes and force the nausea back. Then I opened them for another look.

The first photo was taken at the moment when Daniel saw the car coming. The moment when he realized they wouldn't get out of the way in time. He was lunging to knock Corey aside. Terror on both their faces.

The second photo. The car stopped. Teenage driver getting out. Corey running back from the curb. His expression. Oh God, his expression. Daniel. Lying on the road. Sprawled like a rag doll.

Nast slapped down a third. Daniel was on his feet now. Corey holding him up. Daniel's face was bloodied, his clothes ripped. One leg dragged. A bystander raced toward them, gesturing. The car full of kids was gone.

“Someone called an ambulance,” Antone said, his tone still hushed. “But they got a ride with that woman”—he pointed to the bystander—“instead. The security officers thought they were just resting in her car. Then it drove off. They got the license number and we've tracked down the woman. She drove them to the hospital, but they vanished while she was speaking to an emergency room nurse.”

Antone moved closer. “I know you don't want to believe us, but we are extremely concerned about Daniel. We have no idea how badly he was injured. There's a strong likelihood of internal injury. We need to find him.”

I shook my head. Dazed. Numb.

“What proof do you need, Maya? Tell me and I'll get it. I can take you to the woman who picked them up. To the hospital where a nurse spotted them before they ran away.”

“It-it's not that. I-I don't know where to find them. We got separated at the memorial and we didn't have any contingency plan for that. Ash and I were just waiting until it was late so we could go back to the memorial site, in case they returned.”

Not completely true. Yes, we had no plan. Yes, I couldn't contact them. But I did know where they'd go if they could—our spot in Stanley Park.

I would not tell Antone that. I didn't trust him; I did trust Daniel. And maybe even more important, I trusted Corey. If Daniel was too badly injured to make decisions on his own, Corey would get him to a hospital, whatever the risk. He wouldn't let Daniel—

I doubled over, stomach clenching again. When Antone passed me the bowl, I clutched the cool metal and leaned over it.