by K. Gorman
“And if she knew how, she would have used it by now. It’s possible she is hiding, but more probable that she is lost.”
What the fuck? I thought he was supposed to be helping me.
It also disturbed her how accurate he was—what he’d said pretty much described her exact situation.
“Can’t you sense her? You have magic, right?”
She froze, listening hard—the transfer mark did link them together. That much, she knew. But just how much did it link them? Could he feel it?
Roger didn’t speak. In that silence, he said a lot of things.
She saw one man take a step back from him. It seemed an unconscious decision. She was tempted to do that, too.
“Magic does not work that way,” he said finally, gazing out over the space beyond the rail. “When you find her, don’t hurt her. I want to talk to her.”
Mieshka shivered.
The other men turned around to go. She relaxed. Roger did not go with them.
Had he lied? Could he feel her through the transfer link?
Just before the men’s light faded, his gaze passed right through where she stood.
She cowered against the support, her raw skin unhappy with its surface. He couldn’t have seen her. It was way too dark where she stood.
Was it a coincidence?
As the men’s footsteps departed, she listened for a third set.
It didn’t come. Either the man was inhumanly quiet, or he still stood there.
She pressed her forehead against the cool concrete of the pillar. The darkness closed in around her. Those men had caught up with her, but where had the others gone? Shortcuts? Roger had walked out of the dark. Were the others in the shadows with him? Her imagination produced a helpful image of them all crowding around in the mall, invisible to her eyes, leading with their guns.
She tensed her jaw as the panic set in, shaking quietly against the pillar. She counted, mouthing each number, focusing on calming her breath. After two minutes, she opened her eyes again. Not that it made a difference.
She was her mother’s daughter, she reminded herself. Her mother would not have been clinging to some post like a wuss. Her mother would have marched boldly into the dark, unafraid.
But Mieshka was only her daughter, so she ventured a little less boldly.
She was three steps out when a light popped on. She halted.
Roger was still there. As she watched, he took the penlight and swept it down to her level, illuminating the rubble she’d been tripping over. She froze as it found her.
Oh, shit.
The light blinded her for several seconds. Then, it moved on and up. Mieshka could just make out Roger’s face as he leaned over the rail.
“They’ve scattered for now. I can keep them away from here. Do you have a plan?”
A plan? Hah. She doubted it would work.
“Not really.”
He shifted on the railing, turning his head in the direction the two men had gone. Silence lay thick in the air as they listened.
“Stay hidden, then. I’ve contacted Jo. She knows you’re in trouble.” He started to turn away.
“Wait!” Mieshka stepped away from her pillar. A piece of concrete skittered away from her. “Don’t they listen to you? Can’t you stop them?”
He stopped. The flashlight’s backsplash underlit his face as he looked down to her. She thought she saw a slight upward curve in the corner of his mouth.
“Not at the moment. There’s too much alcohol involved, plus I have too few left to help me enforce. Most of us are attempting to trace Sophia’s abduction.” Roger paused, tilting his head. “Have you ever heard of a scapegoat?”
Mieshka frowned. “A what?”
“You should look it up sometime.” He turned away again, this time tipping his hat. “Good luck, Mieshka.”
And with that, he left. Mieshka watched his flashlight bob down the tunnel and out of sight.
She turned back to the darkness. Her cell phone could be used as a light, but she’d try without. As Roger had just demonstrated, having the only light in a dark place made oneself into a beacon.
So, she angled toward the wall, where she could follow the shops. She wanted to find another, more distant escalator before she tried her cell phone plan.
Chapter 18
Mieshka shivered. After stumbling around in the dark for twenty minutes, her sweat had gone cold—and she hadn’t heard or seen anything in that entire time.
She was starting to worry that she’d made a mistake.
No, that was a lie. She’d been worrying from the second Roger had shown up at the café. The only difference was that, now, the worry had turned into a multifaceted sense of hopeless anxiety as she continued to shuffle her way through the mall.
She was struggling to breathe, and only part of that was due to her fitness level.
Chris was gone. Robin was gone. God only knew what had happened to them. If everything had gone right, Chris would have gotten to safety after throwing the breakers. And Robin… well, hopefully, she’d either gotten away, or her lack of orange hair had kept her from getting beaten—Jesus Christ, when had they gone from skipping school to getting beaten?
There was no way either of them would be able to find her in the dark. That was the whole point of the charade. If they could find her, then others could, as well.
Then, there was the mall itself. It was endless.
She’d thought she’d known large malls—Uptown, after all, had a fairly good selection, with them all mixed in and conglomerating both within their own, freestanding buildings and underground, providing a retail avenue that connected with the subway systems.
But whoever had designed this place had been insane. Ambitious, but insane.
It also signaled back to Ryarne’s old heyday, of the industry before the invention of Chromatix B had so vastly changed its economy.
The mall was endless. Only about five or six levels high, as opposed to the twenty or thirty-level malls she’d seen in Uptown, but it sprawled like a winding river canyon, one section feeding into another feeding into another. She’d adopted a half-jog on the debris-littered, peeling linoleum that made its floor, shuffling down to a limping walk whenever her breaths got too fast or hard, but she’d already run into things twice.
Which, she supposed, wasn’t a terrible number, considering how far she’d gone and how long she’d been running—the mall was remarkably clear if she kept to the side, following the storefronts along—and the first two times had only been old desks or displays, overturned and full of cigarette butts and empty bottles. Easy enough to work around once she’d pulled out her cell phone for light.
The third time, she ran into a mannequin, making it clatter to the floor with a few hollow thumps that sounded like paper tubes clacking together. When she pulled her phone out to look, several more mannequins stood in front of her in varying poses, the light gleaming off their bone-china skin. Some were missing arms. Others were missing heads.
Fear trickled back into her blood with a cold shock.
Shaken, she picked her way around them, returned to the storefronts on the left, and continued on, using her left hand to trail the walls and window displays of the storefronts in an attempt to guide herself.
Maybe it was time move up. She’d have to go to the top of the mall, anyway, if her half-assed plan had any chance of working.
She turned her head toward the middle of the mall—nothing but darkness. As she paused, her fingertip bumped against a crack in the window. Before she could think, a sharp pain made her snatch it away from the glass.
She choked her initial yelp into a hiss, curling her hand into her chest as the pain laced through her nerves.
Right. Not all windows down here were intact.
She turned her wrist so her palm faced her chest. Then, one-handed, she slid her phone from her pocket, unlocked its screen, and held it above her hand.
A ragged strip of blood ran down from the jagged wound at
the end of the digit, smearing into a mess on her hand. As she examined it, more blood poured from the wound, making a second and third rivulet down the back of her finger. Watching it, a lightheaded sensation filtered into the front of her mind.
Okay, that was a lot of blood—much more than the paper cuts she was used to—but she’d seen her mom cut herself once when sharpening a pair of scissors, and it had turned into an even bloodier mess, despite not being a severe injury.
There weren’t any major arteries in fingers, were there?
She squinted at it. Then, carefully moving her arm around the strap, she let her backpack slide down, balanced her phone between her knee and her forearm, and extracted a few tissues from the outside pocket. The blood soaked through the first one in an instant, but she wrapped another three around the finger and doubled them back on themselves. After thirty seconds, the display on her cell phone timed out, and she had to swipe it again—but she found an elastic band to go with the tissues and managed to wrap the whole mess up into something resembling a scruffy, DIY tampon.
Underneath, the pain in her finger had changed to a tolerable throb.
She shivered again, this time not because of the cold, and glanced out into the darkness surrounding her.
Fuck it, she’d use the phone light. It wasn’t a replacement for the flashlight she’d lost—she probably should have tried to find it and see if it still worked after its fall—but it was better than slicing any other body parts open. A quick look at the glass, which broke off completely and arced upward at a sharp angle, told her that she’d gotten off easy. And, not ten feet ahead, two discarded hypodermic needles lay on the floor close to the wall, their plastic bodies shining in the wan light.
She cringed, then re-shouldered her pack and stood, heading away from the wall. The escalators were usually in the middle, right?
A support beam ghosted out of the dark, decorated by a thin red ribbon. Past it, the head of a mannequin lay on its side, a mustache drawn onto its upper lip with the scratchy strokes of a ballpoint pen. She followed a line of benches, sales stands, and children’s rides, swiping a finger across the screen of her phone whenever the light dimmed.
After a few minutes, the brushed metal underside of an escalator sloped down out of the gloom. She stepped around to the front of it, took a quick peek up its steps, then let her phone time out as she ascended, keeping her steps as quiet as she could make them. As she emerged at the top, she glanced around for signs of light in the mall.
None. Excellent.
Well, slightly less excellent since she had no idea where she was or where they were. Far away, and not hurting Robin or Chris, she hoped.
She reactivated her phone and held it out, illuminating as much of the next elevator and the structures above her as she could. Just how far did this place go up, anyway? She’d estimated five levels before, but now, she was beginning to have her doubts.
She swung into it, her cut stinging as she bumped her bad hand against the rail. Her sneakers tapped their way up, and, after she reached the middle, she had to fight to keep her shaking thighs working. A sense of height grew as she ascended, the darkness deepening the space on either side of her. She clutched her phone tight in her good hand. She did not want to lose that over the side.
Another escalator sat, unmoving, at the top. She climbed that one, too.
Two stories later, she ran out of escalators. Although the mall went up at least another floor or two, she guessed she’d have to go hunting to find the next connection—a way to get people to pass by more stores, she guessed—but she could just make out the sharp curve of the mall’s ceiling overhead. Strong enough to keep standing, even with a city on top of it, wooden boards covered what might have been skylight windows that would have once shone Ryarne’s open-air light down onto the floors below.
Even now, as panicked as she was, she couldn’t help but wonder at the quiet abandonment of the architecture below her.
Now, though, it was time to check her phone. She glanced at it, then fumbled around, looking for a table to stand on in the thought that maybe another meter would help with her reception. But, just as she’d found one—an old information booth tucked into the back of a railing—her phone gave a distinct bloop.
Shit.
She cringed. That had been too loud. She even thought she’d heard it echo.
A few seconds later, she was scrambling to shut it up when a series of chirps and other message alerts sounded all at once. She smothered it against her shirt, fumbling with the volume button on the side to shut it off.
Which was silly. She was planning to talk on it next.
After several tense moments of silence—she couldn’t quite tell whether she had shut it off or not—she un-smothered it and searched her contacts, considering who to call. Mo’s card was in her pocket, but could he get there the fastest?
No, the mob had probably swarmed past his place now. It wasn’t incredibly hard to guess that she’d go to him. He was on the way to Aiden’s, after all.
Besides, she remembered the video she’d seen the other night. Mages could teleport.
She found Aiden’s number and pressed connect. He answered on the third ring.
“You are not in school. Is this a habit I should get accustomed to?”
“I—what?” She opened her mouth, confusion sliding into her brain as she stuttered into the phone. “No, I don’t usually skip. I…” Caller ID, she guessed. That would explain how he knew it was her calling. But, for the rest… “Wait, were you looking for me?”
“Yes. Something’s come up. Where are you? Buck and Jo will pick you up.”
They’re not with him, then, or else, he’d have known about my situation already. Doesn’t he pick up his phone? Maybe he was in the engine room.
There was a pause. She thought she heard something in the background. She pictured him in his office, the television on for company, and a wave of hysteria bubbled up her spine.
Her breath caught. It just seemed so normal.
“Mieshka?”
She swallowed, then cleared her throat. “I’m Underground, hiding in a dark shopping mall with a mob of angry people—” She remembered what Roger had said about alcohol and amended herself. “—angry, drunk people after me.”
Silence answered her from his end of the phone. She imagined that his expression had changed quite a bit, but she didn’t care. Listening hard, she snapped her head toward the railing when she heard a sound. Was someone coming?
She backed away, keeping as quiet as possible.
“Your people skills are astounding,” Aiden commented, his voice coming through with a tinny quality as she held the phone a little away from her ear. “Where did you say you were?”
“Shopping mall. I’m close to the top floor. Fourth, I think? Maybe fifth.” She’d lost track of how many escalators there’d been—plus there was no way of telling whether the ground floor had actually been the bottommost. Most malls had a basement level.
Aiden snorted. “Good thing I put a tracking spell on you. I’ll be right there. Are you safe?”
She strained to hear—then grimaced when she did. Yes, those were definitely footsteps.
“Someone’s coming,” she said.
Aiden paused. “What kind of someone? Have they seen you?”
“I’m the only one talking in this place. They’ll find me. No idea who they are.”
“All right, well, don’t panic. And hide. I’ll be there soon.”
He hung up before she could get another word in. She stared at her phone, the black ‘Call Disconnected’ screen fading back into the contacts menu a few seconds later.
She was alone again. In the dark.
Well, not quite alone.
Over the lip of the railing, a light flashed her way.
Chapter 19
The flashlight illuminated the dirty, streaked Plexiglas briefly, making the barrier glow with a pale, bleary light. By the glow’s steep angle, the person wielding it must
have been fairly far down—the second floor, perhaps. That’s where the people had been before.
She was on the fifth.
The light left, replaced by a set of footsteps as it shone on a part of the mall farther below. They sounded far off, which confirmed her theory that they were on the second floor, but, after a few moments and a small pause on their owner’s part, the quick, hard tap of linoleum changed to one with a softer, metallic ring.
They were coming up the escalator.
Oh, fuck.
Mieshka sucked in a breath of dusty air and backed away from the sound, eyes widening as panic jolted through her system. Forcing herself to turn around, she used the screen of her phone and skulked closer to the storefronts, attempting to see inside. Shadows bent away from its thin light, and other things—shelves, advertisements, displays—caught her gaze through the grime and dust as she moved.
At least, the windows were dirty enough to help hide her.
After a few seconds, the footsteps on the escalator driving a tiny nail of fear into her spine with each sound, she paused at the third store down and considered the large banner that had fallen from its sign and now draped across most of the front window.
That would be too obvious, wouldn’t it?
A woman’s fashion store provided the next opportunity, but only from desperation and the fact that the door was already open and she’d only have to prise it another inch or so more to get through. Old sales signs and discounts flyers lay flattened to the ground in an unmanaged pile, with all the store’s vacant free-standing racks lying on their sides and crowded toward the front. Behind them, a group of naked mannequins filled the rest of the space, every single one of them facing in her direction.
She stared at them for a second, an eyebrow lifting.
Well, if this doesn’t get them to leave quick, then I don’t know what will.
She turned left and sidestepped around the edge of the sales counter—it was sturdy and long, running about half the depth of the store with the ending part half-converted into another display—and came face to face with a floor full of discarded beer bottles. She wrinkled her nose as the smell of alcohol and cigarettes came to her. Food wrappers and a few loose plastic bags lay scattered around the space, but by the mummified piece of bread that sat near the far corner, she doubted anyone had used the place recently.