Prophecy's Child (Broken Throne Book 2) Page 5

  “I was going to leave you a note. I have work to do and didn’t want to wake you.”

  “Work for Artos, I assume.” She pointed to Winnie’s shoulder bag, stuffed with charmed items for uptown delivery.

  “Does it matter? Look, Mom, I know you don’t agree with what I’m doing, but we need the money.”

  “I know something happened to you on one of your little missions for Artos. You won’t tell me, but I know you well enough that it’s still bothering you. I don’t like the way this is changing you. I worry … that you’ll come home injured, or worse, not come home at all.”

  “That won’t happen. I promise.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Winnie. You could disappear like all those other chanters, snatched off the street and never been seen or heard from again.”

  And they won’t be. Because they’re all dead.

  “I’ll be back in time for breakfast. I’ll grab some nice pastries at the Bun Shoppe. We can eat together.” Winnie looked at her mother, hoping she’d take the hint.

  A long pause. Winnie fiddled with the buttons on her shoulder bag, pretending that her mother’s eyes weren’t burning her skin, until Elaine finally spoke.

  “Breakfast would be nice. A cinnamon roll for me, and please get cream for the tea. We’re out.”

  Winnie sighed, exhaling her tension. “Great. I’ll be back for sure by seven or eight in the morning.”

  “Me, too. Be safe, dear.” Elaine turned and started back down the hallway towards her bedroom.

  Winnie watched her mother go, then picked up her bag and slid the strap over her shoulders. A final glance around the room, then she stepped out of the apartment door and into her next illegal run.

  ———

  The dark was a blanket around her.

  Artos had told Winnie that she’d meet her final drop of the night at this corner. Winnie decided to stay in the shadows of a nearby alley, check out the scene before her contact was supposed to show. She was glad for her jacket. The night was cooler than expected.

  She stared at a nearby street lamp, weaving strands of magic to make the light shine brighter towards the intersection and sidewalk corner and less so in her direction. Shadows deepened around her. Winnie smiled.

  Magic was more thrilling than ever. It wasn’t like the deep kiss that came from using Sable on a living creature, but regular charms felt great all the same. Everything was different since the steel mill. Like the way she was now tuned to local weather patterns. She could sense the onset of storms well before they reached her and was thus always first to find shelter.

  She looked east, sensing the location of the destroyed Harvester. Something tugged at her senses, a tickle on one side of her body, depending on which way she was facing. Probably some sort of residual magic field left behind after all the captured magic was released. She laughed to herself, imagining what Tris would say. Her friend would try and find out what had happened to her, try and explain the science of the magic Winnie could feel like blood in her veins.

  She didn’t care why it was happening. It didn’t cause her to start crying, like thinking about her lost child, or Joey, or Danny did. And really, it was like having a compass. Winnie could sort of localize herself to the sensation wherever she was in the city, and always find her way.

  A figure stepped onto the sidewalk from a nearby building. Winnie peered through the darkness. The shadow started walking towards the corner and when it passed beneath an overhead light across the street, Winnie spied the flicker of a man in his forties or so, wearing a black or blue windbreaker and a baseball cap. She couldn’t make out the logo, but if it was from the Jaybirds, a rival team up north, then it was her guy.

  He reached the corner and stood beneath another streetlight, looking around with hands in his pockets. He’d stopped at the right place and was wearing a cap. This was probably the guy.

  Winnie’s gut clenched like it always did before an exchange. She wondered if deliveries made Cait feel the same way. The ex-soldier always seemed composed, on or off a run. Winnie lived in anxiety’s skin.

  She stepped out of her hiding place, releasing her streetlight spell so that light spilled in every direction. The man turned toward the movement and Winnie saw the bluebird on his cap. This was her guy. One more delivery, then breakfast with Mom.

  The cap cast a shadow across his face, so the man’s face was a mystery until she was standing in front of him. He watched her approach, waiting for her to speak.

  “A friend told me to pick Jays for the win.”

  “That’s a professional bet.”

  They both relaxed as each said the expected phrase arranged by Artos. Winnie looked both ways up and down the street, then back over her shoulder before she continued. “I’m ready, if your payment is.”

  The man reached into his windbreaker and took out a fat white envelope. He handed it to Winnie, then she slipped the bag over her head and made a trade. He opened the bag, glanced inside, then nodded.

  Winnie opened her envelope’s flap and looked inside.

  No cash. Just rectangular strips of newspaper.

  Someone stepped up behind her and grabbed Winnie by the arms.

  She stomped hard on her adversary’s foot, was rewarded by a grunt of pain, then twisted to free herself. She pulled one arm free, turned, and found herself looking at Dugan, one of Cleaver’s men, his face contorted in pain and anger. He raised a balled fist to strike at her. She pulled hard on her other arm, steeling herself to dodge his coming punch when someone shouted, “Stop.”

  Dugan’s fist hovered in the air. Winnie turned to see Cricket and Garraldi standing a few feet away. The little man was shaking his head and clucking.

  “I’m disappointed in you, Winnie. Based on the rumors, I expected some sort of magical attack or defense.”

  “I don’t do Sable magic, Cricket. Not even against goons like you.”

  Cricket planted a hand on his chest. “Goons? Really? I’m hurt.”

  The little mobster looked at the man in the cap, took a wad of cash from his pocket, peeled off a few hundred dollar bills, and handed them to the man. The man gave Cricket the shoulder bag, then shrugged at Winnie and hurried back the way he had come.

  “Artos will be furious. Baltimore is his territory, not Cleaver’s.”

  Winnie hoped her bravado was a bullet. Her gun was empty otherwise.

  “I told you before, Cleaver is moving in on Baltimore’s charm and Sable trade. And Mr. Yorke wasn’t happy with the way you turned him down. He never takes rejection well.” Cricket chuckled.

  “Fine, you’ve taken my bag. What else do you want? I won’t ever work for your boss, and this here is the worst way to convince me.”

  “This isn’t about you. It’s about the job. Cleaver wants something from this run.”

  “And what might that be?” Winnie had looked over the contents of her bag before the night’s runs and saw nothing remarkable. Certainly nothing Cleaver Yorke couldn’t find in New Amsterdam.

  “I’ve learned to keep hush, not ask too many questions of my boss. Remember that, for when you have the pleasure of meeting him.”

  Winnie looked up at Dugan, still gripping her by the arm with his fist half-raised. “So, is this the part where you give me a beating to teach me a lesson?”

  “Ordinarily, yes,” Cricket admitted. “It’s interesting that Cleaver told me to make sure you didn’t get hurt if we happened to run into you. We weren’t sure Artos would send you out. We’re glad he did. Like I said, the boss has an interest.”

  “So, now what? I’m not going anywhere with you. If that’s what you want, we may as well start fighting.” Winnie tried to sound defiant despite her terror.

  “Cleaver wants Baltimore for his own. You can join the winning side and support him, or stay with Artos and watch everything crumble around you. You need money to support your mom and pay for her care.” Cricket paused, looked around the empty streets, then continued. “You can figh
t if you want, but we both know you’ll come along in the end. No one is going to risk sticking their neck out in this neighborhood. Do yourself a favor and meet a man who wants to meet you, and won’t waste your time.”

  Despite a few tricks up her sleeve, Cricket was right. Unless everything she tried went perfectly, Winnie would end up going along with them in the end, and could get hurt beforehand.

  She looked at Cricket and nodded in defeat.

  “Smart girl.” He waved. A dark sedan pulled forward from the shadows. Cricket opened the door.

  Winnie climbed inside and settled into the center back, between Dugan and Garraldi. Cricket got into the front passenger seat and motioned to the driver.

  The car drifted up the street, then accelerated onto the interstate.

  Winnie tried to appear calm, but inside, she was a tangled mess of emotions. She was leaving Baltimore for the first time in her life and heading into unknown territory at the hands of Cleaver Yorke.

  CHAPTER 11

  The pain in Danny’s head reminded him of someone dropping a cantaloupe from a ten-story window, and he was the cantaloupe.

  His session with Kane had been longer this time. Danny never figured out what the man was doing. At first, he thought it was straightforward torture for information. He tried to resist saying anything, but after a few days under the Director’s procedures, he was spouting off anything and everything that could possibly be of use. Anything to finally make him stop. But still, he kept going.

  Danny opened his eyes then shut them against the harsh white light, stabbing at his eyes and sending slivers of pain into the heart of his brain.

  It was weird. Usually when he woke up after one of Kane’s visits, Danny woke in his dark cell. This was the first time he’d opened his eyes in the white room. It scared him at first. Maybe Kane wanted to double his session. He stayed still and listened, but heard no one else in the room.

  Danny peered out at the room from under his lashes, keeping his eyes mostly closed. The room was empty. No guards or Director Kane.

  Danny was still secured to the table with wide leather straps. He yanked at them and noticed that his left wrist was looser than usual. He pulled at the restraint and was rewarded when his hand slid a bit through the straps. He pulled harder, wincing as the metal buckle dug into his skin. Then it was wet, the buckle kissed with blood.

  Danny considered, then got an idea. He twisted his arm in the restraint and smeared the blood around his hand at the wrist. Maybe it would lubricate his hand and help him slip free of the strap.

  He pulled and twisted, harder and harder, until he was finally rewarded. A grunt of pain puffed from his lips, then his hand pulled free.

  He flexed his fingers, looking at his blood-smeared appendage. The cut was superficial and would heal if he could wrap it with something. But that could wait. Danny reached over with his free hand and pulled at the buckle and straps holding his other wrist. A few moments later, both hands were free. Danny sat up to undo the straps at his ankles.

  Danny started toward the only exit but stopped at the sight of a large, cardboard file box sitting on a corner table, the name Barber stenciled on the side.

  He looked in the box and saw his confiscated clothes. Great; he wouldn’t get far in his jump suit. Dressed like a civilian, he might be able to blend to escape this prison, or whatever it was.

  Danny unzipped his prison garb and stepped out of it, then pulled on his blue jeans and tee from the box. His wallet was still in the jeans. Unfortunately, his cell phone wasn’t — they were probably hacking into it for info on their operation.

  He slipped on his sneakers, crossed the room, and pressed his ear to the steel door. The other side was completely silent. He put his hand on the knob. This was going to be either an epic prison break or history’s shortest escape attempt.

  His nausea was almost crippling. Vomit burned the bottom of his throat. Something pulled at him, a tugging at the corner of his mind telling him to go through the door.

  He pulled it open. No one there.

  The long corridor was empty, though Danny spied lights at the far end, revealing the cell block doors and a steel door that was surely the exit.

  He hurried down the hallway, pausing at the cellblock door to peer over the lip of its window. A guard watched a series of monitors on the other side, not looking Danny’s way.

  He ducked past the window, continuing down the hallway until he was greeted by an antechamber with an elevator door set in the far wall, opposite the corridor entrance. There was also a desk and chair, both unoccupied.

  Danny rushed to the elevator doors, then pressed the button to summon it.

  Something chimed then the UP arrow turned red.

  Someone was coming. Danny looked around, but there was nowhere to hide.

  The doors started to open. Danny flattened himself against the wall.

  “ … You’ll take the shift change, then? That’s great. The wife wants a long weekend away from the city — that’ll give me a chance to get out past the barrens to the countryside for a few days.”

  A pair of armed Red Legs stepped off the elevator and approached the corridor’s entrance, never looking his way.

  “Yeah, I’ll take the shift. Lord knows we could all use a break. Just remember, you owe me one … ”

  Their voices receded. Danny stepped into the elevator and let the doors close. He looked at the control panel, numbers going from S4 - S1, then Lobby, then numbers from one 1-12. He was on Sub-level 4, according to the readout. He punched L and stepped back, watching the number count rise as the elevator ascended to the lobby.

  It chimed again, then the doors slid open to a broad, marble paved lobby that Danny recognized, both from memory and ample news reports cast, as the Assembly and Department of Magical Containment Building.

  Everyone seemed to be minding their own business, with no one paying attention to the young man stepping off the elevator. Danny looked for an exit and was rewarded with a bank of double glass doors lining one wall.

  He walked toward them, trying to look as though he knew where he was going. That was the trick: You could go almost anywhere if you looked like you belonged and you knew where you were headed. Danny was going outside. He’d figure something out once there. He had to. Winnie needed him and he needed her. That was a beacon in his mind amid the constant, throbbing ache.

  No one stopped him or looked his way as Danny strolled past the guards and citizens coming and going from the building. The guards were intent watching for trouble on its way inside, and the workers were working, with no time for him. Danny soon found himself walking through the parking lot, towards a nearby commuter train.

  He took out his wallet and checked inside. Some cash, his credit cards, and his student rail pass — it had been purchased with cash and Danny didn’t think using it would identify him as an escapee to the systems running the trains.

  A train pulled into the station as Danny approached the terminal. The guards waved him through at a flash of his student pass. He slid the card into the magnetic reader and the light turned green. He pushed his way through the turnstile, placed the card back in his pocket, and boarded the train to Baltimore.

  He was certain that that’s where she was.

  Danny could feel her like the beat of his heart.

  ———

  Nils Kane stood in the operations center of the Red Legs security wing, watching Danny Barber make his way out of the prison, amused by his precautions and careful attempts to avoid guards that had been instructed to allow his escape. The boy was resourceful and made the escape look easy, if it had been an actual escape. The security commander standing beside Nils spoke up as they watched their subject board the train.

  “I don’t see how letting this criminal escape will help you shut down the terrorist cells, sir.”

  “I know you don’t. That is why I’m the Director and you’re a security officer. We are done here. This boy will lead me to my quarry and end our
problem once and for all.”

  Kane turned to the officer. The man was tedious, but the son of a prominent senator, so Nils had had to put him somewhere. This was a reasonably prominent position, with little real authority to serve Kane’s objectives; reaping a favor from a senator and keeping this idiot far away from important field operations. Still, the man was useful for simple tasks like this.

  “Tell your men to stand down. They may return to their usual duties and security protocols.”

  “Should we prepare a cell for Mr. Barber’s return?”

  “No, he’ll not be returning here. You may clean it and prepare for the next subject.”

  The commander nodded, stood at attention, and saluted the Director.

  Nils nodded, then the commander turned and left the room.

  The Director shook his head. Perhaps, after they rid the country of those chanters not allied with him and the Assembly, he could look into basic intelligence testing for children and cull the idiots from the rest.

  He waved off the other salutes from the operations center staff, then left for his offices. Danny would serve his purpose and help him bring Winnie Durham — a girl he now knew to be a child of prophecy — to justice.

  CHAPTER 12

  Winnie rode in silence while the four men around her engaged in lively conversation about everything from the women they’d bedded to speculation about the dust storms. She was frightened, even with Cricket’s assurance that she wouldn’t be harmed. Getting kidnapped then coerced into conversation with a man named Cleaver sent the opposite message.

  She was tired of getting pushed around and tricked into doing things she didn’t want to do by people who wanted something from her. Cleaver was just another boss, same as Artos. She already had one of those, and didn’t need to meet with him to see that.

  The ride to New Amsterdam took about five hours up a broad stretch of barrens between the cities. Many activists blamed these arid and desolate areas surrounding the cities on the continued and high-level use of magic. Others said it was nature’s reaction to the pollution created by large clusters of people living in close proximity. Winnie had never left Baltimore, nor seen the barrens, so she couldn’t help staring at the great swaths of brown and blackened ground passing outside her window.