While I couldn’t erase the gruesome image of the guard’s body that plagued my dreams, I now knew that my voice would not cause another death. My ability to stun our adversaries was enough to ensure our escape. I hoped.
Trill stopped dancing and rubbed her hands together. “Now we just need the right opportunity.”
We endured another long, chilly night. It was almost a relief when the giant threw open the door the following morning. Trill and I exchanged glances. She winked.
“So what's on the agenda this morning?” Trill faced him, her blanket still wrapped around her shoulders.
The giant growled. “Get dressed. You're going out.”
Before Trill could ask where he was taking us, the giant left the room and slammed the door.
“This is it. How's your voice this morning?”
“I'm ready. Just make sure you’re behind me when it all happens. I don't want any surprises or unexpected complications.”
“Let's take him down here, or in the hall outside. He’ll be alone.”
“No. We’re too far from the brothel entrance. People will hear me as soon as I start to sing. Guards could trap us before we reach safety. We’ll wait until we’re closer to the exit.”
“As soon as he's down we make a run for it.” Trill scrambled into her clothes. Her pink hair was almost vertical. “Once we’re in the slave market, I can lead us out of Utopia to safety.”
The giant returned ten minutes later. He used his whip to indicate we were to precede him along the hall. When we approached the doorway of the gold salon, Zora confronted us.
“Take them to the hideout near the old circus. Six men will accompany you. Stay there until you hear from me.” She turned on her heel, but looked back before entering the salon. “Make sure nothing happens to them.”
Her voice acted on the giant like an icy blade. He flinched as if struck. When his mistress disappeared, he headed toward the exit. “Come on you two.”
I pushed Trill behind me as we held back. Before he could open the door, I lifted my arms and sent out a piercing tone. I kept my intent to stun him firmly in my mind, hoping I wouldn't have another dead body on my conscience. Moments later, there was a shuffling thud. The giant collapsed to the floor.
I went silent and ran to the big man. I pressed his throat, relieved to feel the dull thud of his jugular vein. He wasn’t an innocent, but he was just as much Zora’s prisoner as we had been.
The doors to the salon crashed open behind us. I turned to see Zora, pale-faced and holding her ears. Her eyes hardened as she focused on me.
“Run, Brynna!” yelled Trill. “We have to get out of here now.”
A feral scream shocked me to a standstill. Zora ran toward me. Hands raised, fingers crooked, her sharpened nails glistened like daggers. “You won’t escape me!”
I took a quick breath, ready to sing, but Trill surged from behind me. Two bodies plunged to the floor as her small form butted Zora’s stomach. Sprawled legs tangled in the train of her gown kept Zora captive as Trill leapt to her feet. “Let’s go!”
We flew out the door and sped into Utopia's dim light.
From inside the brothel came Zora’s scream. “Guards!”
8
A Safe Patch
We ran until I thought my lungs would explode. Trill led us through a maze of twisty passageways, determined to evade Zora’s people. Curious onlookers watched as we raced by. The farther we sprinted, the emptier the tunnels became. We passed fewer doors. Some had rusty locks. Others were scarred, as if forgotten. Finally, Trill stopped. “We’re here.”
I hunched over, hands on knees, gasping for breath. I glance around the deserted alleyway. Apart from a large rat scurrying along a wall toward a discarded piece of clothing, there was nothing to see. “Where are we?”
“Not far from the main market,” puffed Trill. “I took a long way around just in case we were followed. Are you okay? You did great back there.”
“You too. Especially the way you took down Zora. That was amazing.”
Trill did a warrior pose then laughed. “We make a good team, but your vocal cords won the day.”
I shook my head. “You’re the hero. If you hadn’t risked your life and convinced me to test my voice, we might never have escaped.”
“Okay, let's call it a draw. We’re both superheroes.”
I laughed and looked around the alleyway. “Where to now?”
“We’re safe here, or we will be in a minute. I’ve got a friend.” She approached a faded purple door and rapped her fist against it in a three-one-three sequence.
We exchanged concerned glances when no one answered. She knocked again.
“Maybe nobody’s home.” I wondered where we'd go if Trill's friend didn't appear. There was nothing around. By now, Zora’s guards would be swarming Nuvega.
Trill pounded the door a third time in the same manner, then yelled. “Come on Patch, open up.”
I glanced nervously up and down the tunnel. Just because there were no people around didn’t mean we weren’t being watched. Zora could have spies everywhere. “Not so loud, Trill. Someone might hear you.”
“I have to make some noise because he’s a little deaf. Too much loud music.”
“What do you mean?” My question was lost in the pounding of her determined fist.
Finally, we heard a muffled curse. A peephole opened and an eyeball appeared. Left to right, it looked first at me then swung to Trill. A second later, the door flew wide.
I gasped and stepped back at the fearsome sight filling the entrance. Purple hair radiated vertically from the man’s head. A triangular metal piece covered one eye. Studs ran up the cup of each ear, and pierced each nostril too.
Trill giggled. “This is Patch. He's not as dangerous as he looks.” She hugged the tall man before introducing me. “This is my friend, Brynna.”
“Pleased to meet you.” His slow nod was almost courtly, completely at odds with his appearance.
It took me a minute to realize he was wearing a sleeveless vest because his arms were black with tattoos. He wore fitted trousers and knee-high boots covered in plastic and metal disks. The biggest surprise occurred when he smiled. Two rows of teeth flashed, encrusted with sparkling stones.
I tried not to stare. Instead, I focused on the magnificent melodious tone of his voice as he chatted with Trill. I was enjoying their interchange when they suddenly ceased speaking. A noisy commotion had erupted at the far end of the alley.
“Inside,” said Patch, swiftly securing the door behind us.
I held my breath. Footsteps pounded by the door and continued along the alley. All went quiet again. I sighed with relief.
“That was close,” said Trill. “But we’re safe now. We can relax.”
I wasn’t so confident. Zora’s men had our descriptions. We could discard the red jubas, but there were things I couldn’t change. I tugged at the hair covering my amber eye. The fewer people who knew about my mismatched eyes, the better.
We followed Patch to a large room. Trill rushed in, but I stopped in the archway, surprised by the eclectic atmosphere. The floor space was crammed with furniture. Plastic and metal decorations hung in swags from the ceiling. Shelves of books climbed two walls. A variety of guitar-like instruments covered the others.
Patch flopped onto a well-worn sofa. “What brings you to my door? Who’s after you this time?”
What did he mean, ‘this time?’ I flicked a puzzled glance at Trill.
She grinned sheepishly. “He’s kidding. It was only once before.”
Brows raised, Patch let out a deep velvet chuckle. “Not the parrot owner this time?”
Trill ignored the question and collapsed into an overstuffed chair. “Much scarier. Mistress Zora and her crew. She owns a brothel in Utopia. Do you know her?”
He whistled low and long. “I know of her. She’s called the evil queen of Utopia. How on earth did you get on her bad side?”
Trill rolled her eyes. �
�It's a very, very long story.”
“Knowing you, you're probably hungry, so you can regale me over dinner.” Patch suddenly noticed that I was still standing in the doorway. “You better sit down, honey, it's going to be a long night.” He pointed to another overstuffed chair. “Are you still singing, Trill?”
She nodded. “Brynna is a singer as well.”
Patched narrowed his one eye. “Are you any good?”
“Of course she is. She's got a tremendous range.” Trill jumped up and started to sing, then waved at me. “Let's show him.”
I tensed and frowned at her for once again revealing my secret.
She stopped mid song and gave me a silly grin. “Sorry, Brynna, but you can trust Patch. He’s a good guy. Come on, join in.”
It was hard to stay mad at her. This time when she started to sing, I chimed in, keeping my tones low. As we harmonized, my tension eased and I felt exhilarated by the experience, so much so that I was disappointed when the song ended. I could have continued for hours.
Patch leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his palms together. “Your sing beautifully. Who taught you?”
“My mother. I've been singing since I was a child.”
He stood and walked over to a bank of equipment. He flipped levers. Within seconds, music poured from every corner of the room. It was unfamiliar at first, but as my ear attuned, I detected a sultry undertone in the female’s voice that resonated with me.
“Can you match that husky tone?” Patched directed his question at me.
“I can try.”
“I'll start the recording again. I want you to listen to the beginning and then repeat it back to me. Can you do that?”
Why did he want me to mimic the singer? In spite of my uncertainty, I nodded.
The woman’s raspy tone was aggressive and wild, unlike anything I’d attempted before. As the rhythm swelled, Trill jumped to her feet, flinging her arms as she danced to the thumping beat. I was swaying to the beat when Patch stopped the music and nodded at me.
I shut my eyes, anticipating the melody. My body hummed with energetic vibrations when I heard the first few bars. After a few moments, I plunged into the husky range. Soon lost in the ecstasy of the experience, I felt bereft when the music waned. I took a deep breath, attempting to retain the joy. When I finally opened my eyes, Patch look astonished. Trill stared at me open-mouthed.
Their silence made me uncomfortable. “Did I do something wrong?”
Trill shook her head. “I can't believe you remembered the whole song. You only heard it once.” She exchanged glances with Patch. “I told you. She's amazing isn’t she?”
“Talented.” He nodded then pursed his lips and rubbed a hand over his chin. “I have a proposition for you.” He raised his eyebrows. “That’s if you’re interested.”
We waited for him to continue.
“Don’t leave us hanging,” said Trill. “What’s up?”
“My band is about to go on tour, but our singer just ran off with her boyfriend. If you can sing like that, I've got a gig for you. For both of you, in fact. If you want to leave Nuvega.”
The offer was a balm to my ears. I desperately wanted to escape and rescue my mother. I didn’t ask where the band was going, anywhere was better than staying here. However, I owed it to Patch to reveal the seriousness of our present situation. “We have to leave Nuvega. Mistress Zora's men aren't the only ones hunting us. The Genetrix and her assassins are searching for us too.”
“The Genetrix?” He gave another long whistle. “You certainly pick your enemies.”
I crossed my fingers behind my back before I spoke. “If you want to change your mind, I understand.”
“Honey, I’ve never backed away from a fight.” He flexed one tattooed bicep. “We’re in this together from here on out. But, we’d better get started as soon as possible. I'll introduce you to the band later. First, we have to work on your image.”
“What do you mean?” I didn't want to look studded and embellished with tattoos like him.
“He’s going to give us a makeover so we can pass as singers in a rock band. Don’t look so horrified. A disguise will help us get out of Nuvega more easily.” Trill was excited and up for anything, but I had doubts. “Trust me, Brynna.”
Patch put the music back on and disappeared into an adjoining room. I could hear his voice but couldn't make out what he was saying.
“Now what?” I asked.
Trill shrugged her shoulders. “Whatever it is, it'll be fun. Patch always makes things interesting.”
A few minutes later, there was banging on the outer door. Tension returned as I nervously watched the doorway.
Trill lay sprawled in a chair, her feet over the arm, head back, enjoying the music, completely unconcerned.
Patch ambled to the hallway. The door swung open and silence gave way to laughter and a chorus of voices. Seconds later, four strangers stood before us.
“So are these our new singers?” The speaker was a duplicate of Patch, right down to the embellished teeth.
The others said little, taking time to scrutinize us from head to toe.
A tall, blue-skinned woman carrying a boxy case approached me. Her leopard print bodysuit seemed melded to her body. She approached and set the case on the floor. “You,” she stared at me then pointed to a nearby chair. “Sit.”
When I obeyed, she knelt beside me and opened the case before reaching up to push my hair from my face. She leaned forward, showing no surprise, only an intense interest. “Gorgeous,” she crooned. “I’ll play up those eyes.”
“No!” I hadn't meant to shout. “I want the amber one covered.”
The woman looked annoyed, then shrugged. “It’s a pity, but I’ll do what I can.” She left me and moved over to Trill. A second man took her place at my side. Every inch of his skin was inked.
He pushed up the sleeves of my juba. “No tattoos?”
I shook my head. “Do I have to have tattoos?” As an afterthought, I added, “I'd rather not have things on my teeth either.”
Patch was nearby and laughed aloud, displaying his glittering mouth. He put his hand on my shoulder. “Tattoos will help with the disguise. You'll look more like a rocker. But if you're squeamish about them, there's an alternative. We can use fake tats. And don't worry about your teeth. You're the singer. We won't touch them.”
The second man sighed, shook his head and moved on to Trill. Patch beckoned the last person. The man was short and slender. His tunic glistened when he moved. His hands fluttered when he spoke. “I hope you're going to let me do something with your hair.” He tilted his head to one side, his mouth in a soft pout.
I grinned. “I'm not as concerned about my hair. You can do what you want as long as there’s some left to drape over my eye.”
Half an hour later, three more individuals arrived carrying clothing, boots, jewelry and a variety of devices that looked like they'd come from a torture chamber. Two hours passed in a blur as one person after another tended to me, measuring me from head to foot, painting my face, shaping my hair and dressing me like a doll. Finally, they were done and stood back to inspect their accomplishments.
“That’s the best we can do,” fluttered the hair cutter as the others packed the leftover items.
Trill and I exchanged glances and burst out laughing.
I spoke first. “You look like a pixie from hell.”
Trill was unrecognizable. Her pink hair was now purple. Heavy makeup darkened her eyes and lips. A spray of tattooed stars burst up the side of her face and over one eye. A dozen glistening chains dangled quarter moons from points on each ear. Silver studs crisscrossed her iridescent blue tunic. Red, pink, blue and purple plastic bangles ringed her arms from shoulder to wrist. Yellow thigh-high boots encased purple tights. Bells jangled when she walked.
“Don't you love it?” She twirled and kicked up one foot. “Notice the rhinestones in my heels?”
“There's a mirror over here if you want to
see what you look like,” said Patch.
Trill was there first, angling and turning until she'd examined herself from every perspective. Then she moved and beckoned me to join her.
The reflection in the mirror was a shock. “That's not me. It can't be.”
My hair was also purple. A shoulder-length swatch fell from my crown, down one side of my face and covered my amber eye. The other side of my head was shaved. I rubbed my hand over the intricate pattern cut into the fine stubble.
Instead of chains, the exposed curve of my ear was ringed with flat silver hoops embedded with red, white and blue stones. Clusters of stars dangled from my earlobe. Makeup shaped my face into colorful three-dimensional angles. A fake tattoo of musical notes ringed my neck.
My black tights and blue boots were fashioned after Trill's. My fluorescent yellow tunic had silver banding. One of the dressers had slung a metal belt around my hips. A ten-inch dagger in a sheath hung from the belt and down one leg. It was tied to my thigh at the tip.
“You look like a warrior princess in a fairy tale,” chuckled Trill. “Between the two of us, we’re ready to save the world.”
It was as if I'd stepped into an avatar on an alien planet. The image in the mirror made me feel stronger and more confident. The worry about my family and the depression I'd experienced over the last few days started to lift. Free from Mistress Zora, I now felt there was hope. One way or another, I would get to Prima Feminary and rescue my mother.
Trill snapped her fingers near my nose. “Hey. Where have you gone? You look so fierce.”
She squealed as I hugged her, lifting her off the floor. “Just happy to be free again.”
“Are you pleased with your new looks?” asked Patch.
I nodded. “I doubt even my mother would recognize me.” Which was a good thing. Our altered appearances would help us evade our enemies, but I hoped mine wasn’t permanent.
As if reading my mind, Patch reassured me. “The hair dye will last for quite a while. The makeup will have to be refreshed every few days. The fake tattoos will last for a few weeks. We'll have people with us to make sure your disguises last as long as we’re on tour.”
The Lost Prophecy: The Falcon Chronicles Book 2 Page 6