I look away and, fighting my rising shame, I continue down the street. My heart seems to shrivel in my chest, shame wrapping itself all around it and squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. I take a deep breath and stuff my hands in my pockets, shoulders to my ears, eyes on my boots.
She’s better off without you, Marci. You’ll just get her killed or captured, and how are you gonna feel then?
A hell of a lot worse; that’s how.
I’m almost to the parking lot where I’ve kept the van ever since that first night I hot-wired it when I notice two moving black blotches against the blue sky.
I stop, all my senses on alert.
Scouts!
With measured steps, I continue down the road, more aware of my Kevlar vest and my .40 caliber gun. I don’t like that they’re flying in my direction and that I have nowhere to go but toward them. I’m in the middle of the block. Turning back or hurrying ahead would simply bring them here much faster.
And what about the girl? God, what about the girl?!
As their monstrous, dark shapes move closer, losing altitude, I keep wishing they’d spot something more interesting on another street and leave me alone.
No such luck.
Their enormous aquamarine and yellow wings flap in unison, making a rhythmic thwack, thwack sound. The sun shines on their colorful membranes and the sight is almost beautiful. Flying Eklyptors aren’t common. It takes them years to morph their hosts into air-conquering beings. Even from a distance, it’s obvious these scouts are older than old. They move too gracefully, almost as if they were born this way.
Within seconds, they cover an entire block and descend onto the middle of the street, about twenty-five yards away from me. I stop and hold their gaze. They size me up, then walk forward and get within buzzing distance. My head drones as I know theirs do. The one I judge to be the leader walks a few steps ahead of the other one.
He or she is tall—well over six feet—and, on the ground, moves clumsily on leathery talons tipped with ebony curved claws several inches long. Its legs are tall and spindly from ankle to knee but widen into muscular, smooth thighs covered in dappled yellow and aquamarine skin. The wings spring from its sides and are now folded neatly behind its back, extending well above its head. Its torso and arms are still human in shape and proportion, but covered in the same bizarre skin and voided of any markings that may identify it as male or female. Neither one wears any clothes, just a belt around their waist with a weapon, extra bullets and a standard issue scanner attached to it.
They stop about ten feet away, looking wearily at my gun. They both tip their bald heads to one side as if to listen better. Their eyes have no whites. They’re round, orange marbles with small black pricks in the middle, like hawks’. They watch me for a moment. Their long, beak-like noses twitch and make snuffling sounds as they scent the air.
“Faction?” the leader asks in a slithery voice that is almost feminine. I decide this one was once a woman.
“Whitehouse. Yep, yep, Whitehouse it is.” I treat them to Azrael’s crazy talk. Ever since my agent took over me and revealed its deeply disturbed behavior, I’ve kept up the pretense that the creature is still in control. It is a useful tactic that helps me keep a low profile—no one wants to deal with a nutcase.
They frown their huge brows. I’ve never met these two before, but I need to stay in character in case I see them at headquarters or anywhere else with Eklyptors who know me.
Slowly, I pull out a pair of dog tags from behind my shirt. After Zara Hailstone’s death at what was supposed to be a friendly meeting with Elliot, hostilities between Eklyptor factions have intensified, creating the need for a way to easily tell friend from foe.
“Toss them,” She-Bird says, putting out a long-fingered hand.
I throw them. She catches them in one hooked claw, examines them for a moment, then passes them to her companion.
“Check this, Griffin.”
Griffin pulls the scanner from the belt at its waist and plugs one of the dog tags into a thin slot. An instant later, there is a short double beep.
“Clear,” the second scout says, tossing back the dog tags.
I catch them and put them back on. “Seen much action today? Huh? Huh?” My tone is casual enough. I should have nothing to fear from any Whitehouse Eklyptors, but I think I’ll never stop being unnerved and wary of them, no matter how deeply infiltrated I am.
“There’s some fighting going on in the west side. Around White Center,” the leader says with a squawk. “Igniters, I think. That’s all we’ve heard. You?”
I shake my head. “I just left headquarters. Haven’t seen a thing. Nope, not a thing.” An image of the scared girl in her blue jacket pops into my head.
The scouts nod. She-Bird looks down the street. “Where are you headed?”
“Just … uh … repurposing. Looking for a new ride. Something fun.” This is common enough. There are so many abandoned vehicles I could drive a new one every day. “A motorcycle, maybe. Yeah, that would be fun.” I make engine noises with my mouth, sputtering saliva like a toddler.
The leader scoffs, looking disgusted. “Not graceful,” she says, giving its wings a quick shake to demonstrate how much she thinks of motorized means of transportation.
“Best I can do right now.” I shrug and point a finger down the street. “Need to go. Gotta be on my way.”
They look about as ready to get away from me as I am to get away from them. A great benefit of my crazy Azrael act.
I give them a military salute, then march forward, sensing their eyes on the back of my neck. It takes all I’ve got to ignore the feeling and keep moving without looking over my shoulder. With every step, I wait for the flap of wings, instead I hear the retreating click, click, click of claws against asphalt.
Finally, I give into my curiosity and look back. They’re walking away from me, their unusual shapes swaying from side to side, their noses pointed upward as they sniff the air.
“Shit!” I murmur under my breath and slip into the recessed entrance of The Paramount Hotel.
Suddenly, the leader turns its head sharply toward the deli and gestures Griffin. They take their guns out and clamber toward the small restaurant on their leathery talons.
The girl’s luck has just run out.
Chapter 2 (#u7b009af6-bd19-5a8d-847b-8a5a429c2be8)
I pull away and press my back against the wall. “Shit, shit, shit.” I slap my hands to the sides of my head and squeeze.
What do I do? What do I do?
I have to help her.
Yeah? And get yourself killed?
No. Can’t risk that! Getting rid of Elliot is my priority.
I’m still deliberating when I hear a loud shattering sound, followed by a shrill scream. In an instant, I make my decision.
This fight is for every human being, not only against every Eklyptor.
If I lose sight of that, I may as well let my crazy agent take over again.
Before doubt creeps in, I jump out of my hiding place and run the way I came. What I see sends a jolt of adrenaline into my veins, electrifying me.
She-Bird is holding the girl by the neck as if she’s nothing more than a doll. Her legs kick in mid-air while she scratches her attacker’s forearms like an enraged feral cat.
My boots slap the pavement and catch the scouts’ attention. Their heads snap my way.
I stop, chest pumping, mind reeling with possible things I could say to prevent this disaster. With no other option and little hope, I go for the crazy, stamping a maniacal grin on my face and clapping with happiness.
“Ooh, you got one. You got one!”
