by Anne Riley
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to keep my mind from flying in a million panicked directions. “Are you saying they want to turn Paul into one of them?”
“I’d bet a lot of money on it. The Mortiferi prey on insecure, troubled people because they’re so eager to belong somewhere. SPARK means your brother probably fits that description.”
“We’ve got to get him away from them.”
“I will, but I can’t take on two Mortiferi by myself. These two aren’t Bestia; they’re Fortes.”
“Fortes?” A nugget of knowledge from my show choir days tickles the back of my mind. “Does that mean ‘strong?’”
“Yes. Fortes are new converts. They’re incredibly angry and dangerous, but smart enough to act normal. On the other hand, Bestia are nearing the end of their existences as Mortiferi; they no longer have control over themselves, and they’re fairly easy to subdue.”
I think back to the Bestia that tried to break into Albert’s house. It took Albert, Dan, and Isaac to bring her down. What do these guys consider hard to subdue?
I raise my hand like I’m in a classroom. “I could help you fight them.”
He considers me for a moment. “Fair enough. If an opportunity presents itself, take it. But Rosie, I’m serious about this—they will kill you without hesitation. So let me and the others handle the majority of the offense work, yeah?”
“Okay, but why can’t we take them on our own? You beat them up by yourself on the heath.”
“They weren’t Mortiferi then. If they had been, I’d have seen it in their eyes—and there’s no way I would have fought them alone.”
I squint at Max and Luther, who are chucking rocks into the Thames. “You really think they were changed that recently?”
“Things would have turned out much differently if they’d been Mortiferi that night.”
We peer around the bumper again. Paul looks pale, but maybe it’s just the streetlamps. Max and Luther seem different than I remember, and not just because their eyes carry that soft orange glow. They’re bigger. Their faces are more angular, and their mouths droop at the corners.
I shiver. “Is my brother…”
He squints at Paul, who’s the farthest away. “Still human, as far as I can tell.”
Max starts shouting curse words at the Tower Bridge crowd and Luther doubles over in laughter. Paul observes the scene with a blank stare. Everything is about to go seriously downhill and it’s up to us to stop it.
“If I’d known what Max and Luther really were, Paul wouldn’t be in this mess right now,” I say. “I would have locked him in the house and guarded all the exits if I had to. But he wouldn’t listen to me, and I gave up.”
Albert looks at me. “It’s not your fault.”
But it is.
“The old couple should get here any minute now,” he says.
They arrive almost instantly, as if Albert had somehow summoned them. The old man shoots a disapproving look at Luther and says something to him, something I still can’t understand, but I have a better view of the rage on Luther’s face this time.
Albert takes a deep breath. “Here we go.” He stands without making a sound. “Stay here for the moment, okay? It’s possible we can avoid a fight altogether. Not likely, but possible. And Rosie?”
I give him a questioning look.
“Don’t forget to run if things get bad,” he says.
And then he walks away.
TWENTY-NINE
THE MOONLIGHT SHINES ON ALBERT’S BLACK HAIR AS he moves closer to the fountain. I’m cold in his absence and I rub my arms. I have no idea what his plan is, but I have a bad feeling it could go spectacularly wrong. And if it does…then what?
“Good evening,” he says to the elderly couple, keeping his face turned away from Max and Luther. “I’m afraid the docks are being closed off for the night. Repairs on the fountain.” He waves in the direction of the fountain, which is, in fact, spitting erratically from one of its spigots. “Would you mind moving onto the street?”
The old man is still glowering at Max, Luther, and Paul. His wife tugs on his sleeve until he turns around.
A few yards farther down the dock, Max grabs Luther’s elbow and points at Albert.
“Crap,” I mutter. Even though he’s doing his best to hide his face, they recognize him. Paul, oblivious to the brewing trouble, kicks a rock and stares out at the river.
“So sorry for the inconvenience,” Albert continues, stepping closer to the baffled couple. “Do you mind?” He gestures toward the road, a hint of desperation in his voice.
“Who are you?” says the woman, eyeing Albert’s ratty jeans and T-shirt. “You don’t look like a policeman.”
Max and Luther watch the exchange from beneath furrowed brows. When I first met them, they seemed like a couple of punks with hooded eyes who liked to sneer at everyone. But now, there’s something more sinister in their expressions. Something feral and deadly.
“I’m not a policeman,” Albert says to the old man, “but I work for the city.”
Well, I suppose that’s true, in a way.
They give him dubious frowns. I can almost see Albert’s mind whirling as he searches for a way out of this.
“Oi!” Max shouts. “Shaw!”
The old couple seems to sense that something is off. The woman clutches her husband’s arm as they hobble to the road and out of sight. If nothing else, the old man is safe. Now we just have to get my brother away from these guys before they try to turn him into one of them.
This is about to be a full-on confrontation, and there’s no sign of Dan, which means Albert needs help.
I take a step closer to the patio. Albert seems to move in slow motion as he turns toward the fountain to face the two Fortes. Paul, finally tuning into the trouble brewing around him, looks from Albert, to Max, to Luther. His cloudy-eyed expression confirms that he’s either too drunk or too stoned to fully process what’s going on. I’ve seen him under the influence plenty of times, but I’ve never seen him quite so out of it before.
“What did you see, Servator?” Luther demands.
I’m confused by his question at first, but soon realize what he means. Albert is interfering with their troublemaking, so they know he must have rewound something. They just don’t know what.
“Don’t worry about it,” Albert says. He steps back, in the direction of my hiding place. “Not a big deal.”
“You Pulled,” Max says. “You wouldn’t be down here otherwise.” The s whistles through a gap in his upper teeth. He takes two steps toward Albert and Luther does the same.
Paul continues to stare at the scene from the other side of the fountain, mouth hanging slightly open. If I could just get to him without being seen…
Albert places one hand on his lower back with the palm facing me. His fingers flicker toward the street. Run, he’s telling me. Go. Now.
I don’t move.
When Luther pulls the switchblade out of his pocket and flicks it open, something twists in my chest. They might not have guns, but a knife in the hands of a psycho with a damaged soul is plenty dangerous.
“Easy, mate,” Albert says, backing away from them. “It’s not worth it, okay? Just let it go.”
But they come faster, faces contorted with anger. I look around for a weapon—a stick, a rock, anything— but come up empty. Dan is nowhere in sight; what if he can’t get here for some reason? What about Paul? He’s ambling around the fountain with a vacant expression. What’s wrong with him?
I have to do something.
Anything.
My feet move one, two, three steps into the soft light of the streetlamps. I don’t say anything, but it doesn’t matter. Their eyes are drawn to me like a magnet.
From the other side of the patio, Paul tilts his head and squints at me in an unfocused sort of way. “Rosie?”
THIRTY
ALBERT SHAKES HIS HEAD WHEN HE SEES ME. HIS EYES are sharp. You promised, they say to me. You promised you’d ru
n.
I never had any intention of leaving him here—not after the heath, and certainly not after the pub.
“Paul,” I say in a shaky voice. “Come here.”
Luther looks from my brother to me. His upper lip curls upward just enough to seem canine, like he’s a wolf preparing to attack. “He’s not going anywhere.”
I clench my fists at my sides. My temper is dangerously close to boiling over, but there’s just enough terror mixed with it to keep everything subdued—on the outside, at least. Inside, I am a monster about to unleash a whirlwind of fury on this would-be killer.
But my brother speaks, and the rage slips from my mind at the sound of his voice, far away and lost.
“Why can’t I go?” he slurs. “Maybe I want to talk to my sister. She’s nice. Isn’t she?” He sways on the spot and steadies himself on the railing by the river, closing his eyes.
His body is here, but where is my brother?
“Paul is going home with Albert,” I say, forcing the words over the lump in my throat. “You can have me instead.”
“What?” The question explodes from Albert’s mouth. Redness floods his neck and face and he’s staring at me like I’ve just transformed into a dinosaur.
“It’s me you want anyway,” I go on, my eyes locked on Luther’s. “I’m the one who can Pull. My brother can’t do anything.”
Ah, lying. Even now, I can’t get away from it. I’d like to Pull, and I’m trying to learn how to Pull, but can I actually do it? Nope. Here’s hoping they don’t realize that.
Max narrows his beady eyes. “What do you mean, you can Pull?”
They’re listening. It’s more than I hoped for, and now that my plan seems to be working, I don’t really know what to do. To be honest, I hadn’t counted on getting this far. I figured someone would have thrown a punch or attacked with a switchblade by now.
“I mean exactly what I said. I’m Edward Clayton’s granddaughter. But you already knew that, didn’t you? The night you came to my grandparents’ house, you knew who we were. My brother told you.” I pause, hoping I’m right. “Then you saw the picture of Edward in the sitting room, and you knew it was true.”
Luther’s eyes flicker to Paul’s face.
“So,” I say, keeping my expression as hard as possible. “You’ve been hunting us because we’re related to Edward Clayton, and you’re worried we inherited his ability to Pull. Right? You thought since he was dying, there was a chance he’d pass his ability on to us, and then you’d have two more Servatores on your hands.”
He glares at me. At any second, he could decide I’m not worth talking to—and not worth keeping alive.
“Here’s the thing,” I go on. “I’m the one who’s a threat to you. He’s not.” I flick my head in Paul’s direction. “So make the trade, me for him.”
Max and Luther exchange a look. “How about this?” Max says. “We’ll take both of you.”
What if Paul and I both get kidnapped by the Mortiferi tonight? Mom and Dad would never know where we went. Or, even worse, what if they found us— but we’d been damaged by black magic?
“Not a chance.” Albert grabs my elbow and pulls me behind him. “You’re not leaving here with either of them.”
Luther grimaces. “Sure we are. Because you’re not leaving here alive.”
“Wouldn’t bet on that,” calls a familiar voice from the access road. Dan strides across the patio, his red hair standing up in windblown curves.
“Dan Mason,” Max says with a sour face. “This ain’t your fight.”
Wow. Albert wasn’t kidding when he said the Mortiferi know exactly who the Servatores are.
“It is now,” Dan shoots back. He looks at Albert. “All right, Al?”
“Yeah.” Albert pulls his collar up to his mouth. “Casey, Isaac, we’re gonna need a ride out of here. St. Katharine Docks.”
Paul is staring into the sky with his arms at his sides. I wonder if he even hears us talking.
My eyes jump to Albert; every inch of his body radiates raw power. His fists clench and the corners of his mouth pull down. They’re about to fight, and now that Dan’s here, I can focus on rescuing my brother.
“Last chance,” Albert says, his voice dangerously low. “Either you walk away, or we eliminate you.”
“You have no idea what you’re dealing with,” Max says.
Albert narrows his eyes. “I know exactly what you are.”
Luther lunges for Albert, face twisted with fury, the blade he holds glinting silver in the moonlight. I dive toward the side of the patio. If they need me, I’ll help. Otherwise, I’m going for Paul.
I crouch next to the tree and look up just in time to see Luther taking a wild swipe at Albert’s ribs with the knife. Albert jumps to the side. The blade misses by an inch.
Paul has moved to the opposite side of the patio, closer to the water. He sinks to the ground and stares at the river with his arms propped on his knees. If I skirt the edge of the patio, I can stay in the shadows and nobody will see me.
A loud grunt snaps my attention back to the fight. Max lowers his head and dives into Dan, wrapping his arms around his waist. The two of them stumble in my direction before Dan regains his footing and pushes back.
Luther is a few yards away from me, knife slicing through the air. He brushes his oily black hair out of his face and jumps toward Albert, who sidesteps the attack. Luther lets out a primal growl and runs full speed toward Albert. The tip of the knife is aimed directly at Albert’s stomach. He leaps out of the way, but not quite fast enough. The blade catches his side.
Dan looks up just in time to see Albert get cut. He throws Max to the ground so that he hits the pavement flat on his back and curls up, breathless. Dan leaves him there and runs toward Albert, launching himself into Luther a fraction of a second before his blade takes another swing at Albert’s stomach. The two of them tumble across the concrete, Dan keeping a frantic hold on Luther’s knife hand. Albert dives toward Max and tackles him as soon as he gets to his knees. They crash to the pavement in a tangle of limbs.
Max is lying face-first on the concrete. Albert has one hand on Max’s head and is digging a knee into his lower back. With his free arm, he grabs Max’s wrist and wrenches it so that the Mortifer screams in agony.
I ease into a crouching position and creep around the edge of the patio, closer to Paul.
“Dan!” Albert yells as his face strains with effort. Sweat slips down his face and drips from his chin.
Dan and Luther are fighting on Paul’s side of the patio. They dance around each other, Dan continually leaping out of the way of Luther’s blade and looking for a chance to attack.
“Can’t help ya, mate,” Dan shouts back as Luther’s blade swings twice. “Got my hands full!”
My brother is lying on his back under a tree, staring at the branches above him. I’m only about fifty feet away from him now.
Albert throws a look in Dan’s direction. Then he lands a full-throttled punch into the back of Max’s skull. His face smacks the pavement and a river of blood spills from his nose. His eyes roll back in his head as he falls unconscious.
Albert straightens his back, keeping his knee pressed into Max’s spine. From the pocket of his jeans, he produces a bundle of zip ties and holds one in his teeth while pulling Max’s wrists together behind his back. He binds them once and then uses another zip tie to bind them again.
With one Mortifer down, Albert leaps to his feet and hurries to the other side of the patio. Dan’s back is pressed against the railing. He leans backward over the water, clutching Luther’s forearm in his hands and struggling against it to keep the knife away.
Albert jumps onto Luther’s back and brings his elbow down onto the base of his neck. Luther lets out a sharp cry of pain. The knife falls from his fingers and his head swivels as he tries to pry Albert from his back. Dan snatches the switchblade from the ground and turns it on Luther.
“Urrgggh.”
My attention sn
aps back to Max, lying on his face in front of me. His head lifts a degree and he spits blood onto the pavement. A tooth falls out of his mouth.
I look away, suppressing a gag.
Max wriggles his shoulders, confused as to why he can’t move. When he figures out that his wrists are tied, he starts trying to roll onto his side. At first I don’t know what he’s doing, but when I see him pulling his hands underneath his butt, I get it. He’s trying to move his hands in front of him.
“No way,” I shout, but he’s already got his legs halfway through his arms.
I rush toward him, but he’s too fast—his hands are in front of him now. He gets to a sitting position and has just enough time to give me a triumphant smirk before I drive my knee into the underside of his jaw.
He doesn’t even make a sound. His eyes roll back in his head—again—and his body goes limp. Briefly, I wonder if I’ve killed him, but then Luther tumbles across my path. He rolls onto his side, clutching his arm against his stomach. Albert and Dan appear on either side of him. Dan looks at Albert, who nods.
As soon as Dan’s foot connects with the side of Luther’s head, I know it’s over. Luther slumps to the ground without so much as a twitch. His body is contorted at an unnatural angle, the whites of his eyes gleaming through half-open eyelids.
Dan pulls zip ties out of his pocket and bends over Luther, securing his wrists in the same way Albert secured
Max’s. “Think we can get them home before the cops come?”
Albert rubs his shoulder with a grimace. “Dunno. Sure hope Casey’s close.”
They both look at me. I’m standing next to Max, who is neither in the same place nor the same position as Albert left him.
“What the— Rosie?” Albert calls in a panicked voice. He runs a few steps in my direction and then slows as he reaches me. “What happened? What did you do?”
“What needed doing,” I say.
“Right,” he says, examining Max’s unconscious form. “Good work, Clayton. Dan can tend to him. Let’s go get your brother.”