“Give me some time. I may know someone to send her to. Hopefully we can get her away from there and get her some help.”
“Thanks. That’ll be good for her.” Cora hesitated, glancing back as Elton stepped across the room to peer over Nathan’s shoulder and inspect the ingredients he poured into his bottle. She turned away from them before speaking again in a softer voice. “And...how are you?”
Thomas paused a beat before answering, and she could practically see the confused lift of his eyebrows. “Me?”
“Yeah, I mean...you’re in a new place, staying with someone you don’t know, and after everything that happened with losing your shop, and Lena and Michael, you’re still just trying to help everyone, and I just...I guess I wondered if anyone had bothered to ask how you were doing.”
“I’m...fine,” he answered, the slight pause still audible in his voice.
Cora’s brow softened into a frown. “Are you really?”
The beat of silence passed a little more slowly this time, and he cleared his throat once before replying. “I’ve adjusted,” he said in a more brusque tone. “I’m not made of glass. Worry about what’s in front of you, not what’s behind me.”
“I was just—”
“I’ll call you when I have an answer,” he cut her off. “Let me know if anything comes up with Joel and Hannah. I should have their paperwork done in the next day or so. Have a good night, Cora.”
He hung up before she could speak again, and she held her phone in both hands as she stared down at the black screen. Had she gone too far? They didn’t really know each other—maybe he thought she was prying. When she looked up, she caught Nathan’s dark eyes watching her steadily from across the room.
“What?” she said, suddenly defensive under his stare.
Nathan finished securing the cork back in his bottle and wiped his hands on a spare towel without taking his gaze off of her. He passed the sealed bottle into Nichole’s waiting hands and touched her hair as he stood. “How’s Mr. Proctor?” he asked, his voice more casual than his suspicious eyes.
She set her phone face down on the nightstand. “Fine. He said he might know someone who can help Nichole.”
“Wonderful. Then why do you have such a look on your face?”
“What look?”
“I suspect you know.”
Cora glanced over at Elton as though he might have an answer for her, but he was busying himself with comparing something on his phone with the notes he’d copied from Maduro’s computer.
“I really don’t,” she said.
“You’ve been very pleased to chat with Mr. Proctor these last few days. Eager, even.”
Realization sent Cora’s eyebrows up her forehead, then immediately downward again as she gave a small huff. “I’m worried about him,” she said. “He’s a good guy who’s had a lot happen to him, and he seems...really sad. Like, just in general. I wanted to cheer him up a little, but he seems grumpier than ever.”
“If he was rude to you, that means he is feeling better,” Elton pointed out. “Caustic is Thomas’s natural state.”
Cora laughed softly. “Oh. Well that’s good then, I guess. I just don’t want him to be sitting around at Nock’s doing nothing but moping.”
“Mhm,” Nathan hummed, clearly not convinced. “Well, regardless, I know the cure for the ache you’re feeling, my love. Let’s go out tonight.”
“What ache am I supposed to be feeling, here?”
Nathan gave her a knowing smirk, and he moved across the room to take her by the hand and lift her to her feet for inspection. “You’re old enough to know. Let’s go and pick you someone up.”
Cora laughed. “Pick someone up? You think I’m ‘aching’ because I haven’t had sex lately?”
“I think that if it’s been so long that Mr. Proctor is starting to look like a viable option for such a release, then it’s past time. We’ll go to a packed, sweaty bar, get a few drinks, and you can have your choice of young men. I’ll even promise to pick up a woman so that we aren’t competing. Would you like some new clothes?”
Now Elton looked up from his screen with a frown on his face. “That is a terrible idea.”
“Don’t be prudish, Elton,” Nathan scolded without looking at him.
“Whether or not Cora is sexually active is not my business,” the blond sighed. “But did you forget about the insane Chaser looking for you? The one who knows that you prefer expensive, flashy things and isn’t afraid to put mundanes in danger to get to you? You really think you should be going out to a club right now?”
“I am astonished—astonished, Elton—that you think for a moment I would put my personal safety over the well-being of my faithful and courageous ward.” Nathan put an arm around Cora’s shoulders and held her face against his chest with one hand on her cheek, and she slumped against him with a resigned smile.
Elton stared across at him, unmoved. “I think that you want to go drinking more than you care about bringing trouble to us.”
Nathan released Cora and slunk over to where Elton sat on the bed, moving so close that the other man subconsciously leaned backward an inch or two. “You could come with us,” he said, a predatory smile on his lips. “Once you’re satisfied it’s safe, you can relax a little, have a few drinks, maybe find a dark corner so that you can keep a closer eye on me—”
“Pass,” Elton said, brushing aside Nathan’s reaching hand before those long fingers could finish wrapping around the knot of his tie.
“Are you quite sure? You spent a fair bit of time all alone in your cell, didn’t you?”
“You ought to stop that train of thought before you say something I’ll make you regret.”
“Spoilsport,” Nathan muttered, but he was smiling.
“We’ll be fine as long as we don’t cause any actual trouble, right?” Cora said. “Nathan can promise not to set anything on fire, and that creep Chaser won’t have any reason to think we’re dumb enough to go clubbing when we’re on the run.”
Nathan smiled over his shoulder at her before looking back to Elton. “You see? We’ll out-think him by being bigger idiots than he expects.”
Elton gave a soft sigh through his nose, his lips pressed into a firm line. “I don’t believe for a second you can go out drinking without causing trouble. But promises,” he added, tapping Nathan on the chest with his index finger as through drawing the attention of a small child. “Nothing catches fire. Absolutely no unnecessary magic—nothing that will be picked up by seeking spells if Chasers are in the area. And you are not bringing anyone back here. Either of you.”
Nathan scoffed. “As if I’d subject anyone else to this rapidly deteriorating hovel. And I’d hate to make you jealous, besides.”
Elton ignored him, instead keeping his eyes on Cora. “You know this is stupid.”
“It’s been rough for everybody ever since you showed up at my school. We’re just waiting around until we hear back from Thomas anyway, right? It’s not so bad to have fun every now and then. You really want to just spend one more night listening to Nathan complain about the thread count of these sheets?”
“She’s right,” Nathan pointed out helpfully. “I do that.”
Elton watched her for a few beats before he answered. “I can’t stop you if you really want to go. But be smart.”
“Thanks, dad,” she laughed.
Elton sighed as he looked back down at the notes he’d taken from Maduro’s home. “Who even goes to a club on a Wednesday?”
10
Korshunov parked the rental car outside a factory by the docks and had dropped the driver’s side door shut behind him before Chris even had his seatbelt undone. The senior Chaser felt like a tagalong, and he didn’t like it. He had more reason than most people to want to catch Moore and Willis, but somehow he was spending his time following along behind a kid who meditated naked and cut words into his own gut.
“You’re sure this is where they’ll go?” he asked as they walked toward the broad metal entry
doors. Korshunov didn’t look back at him to answer.
“Willis took a list of protected individuals from the Magistrate office in Toronto. This is the only person on that list who’s in Miami. He’s not going to waste the trip.”
“And why is this guy protected?”
“I don’t care,” the boy answered in a flat voice. He lifted a fist to bang on the door, the sound barely audible above the roaring of the machinery inside. A guard slid the lock and cracked the door, his gruff face scowling through the gap.
Korshunov lifted his hand to let the man see the silver ring on his finger. “We’re here to see Rafael Maduro.”
The guard narrowed his eyes, his suspicious gaze dropping to the boy’s hand before returning to his face. “You can’t be here.”
“I don’t care what your boss does here. His life is in danger, and we’re here to catch the man who means to kill him.”
The man behind the door eyed them both with a skeptical scowl. “Who’s coming after Mr. Maduro?”
“I’ll discuss that with him. Let us in, or I’ll let myself in. It’ll be painful,” Korshunov promised.
The guard’s lip curled slightly at the threat, and he glanced over the boy’s shoulder at Chris as if to question his young partner’s sincerity. Chris gave a subtle nod, his mouth pressed into a grim line. The guard answered with a reluctant grunt.
“Follow me,” he said. “And don’t touch anything.” He opened the door wide enough to allow them inside and bolted it shut again behind them. The Chasers followed him down a narrow aisle winding between churning machines, each one manned by a worker with mechanical movements and an empty, glassy stare. Chris frowned at the men and women they passed, but not one lifted their eyes from their task or even seemed to notice the strangers moving among them. The whole place gave Chris the creeps.
He followed Korshunov up a metal set of steps into Maduro’s office, where a plump Hispanic man sat at a desk, focused on the screen of a computer.
“Mr. Maduro,” their guide said, “there are two Chasers here to see you.”
Maduro’s dark eyes glared over his shoulder as he turned in his chair to face his clearly unwelcome guests. “And you let them in?”
“Sorry, Mr. Maduro, but they said—”
Korshunov stepped forward to stand in front of the groveling man and face Maduro directly. “I’m not interested in your operation here, Mr. Maduro. My name is Nikita Korshunov, and I’m hunting a very dangerous man who I believe means to kill you.”
That got the older man’s attention. He dismissed the guard with a wave and rose to meet the young Chaser who stood before him. Chris could tell Maduro was sizing him up in the silence following the click of the office door as the guard excused himself. Korshunov wasn’t physically imposing by any means. He was only twenty, averagely tall and slight of build, with narrow shoulders accentuated by the cut of his black suit jacket. But Chris knew by the look on the factory owner’s face that he saw the same thing in Korshunov’s eyes that he did—nothing at all.
“I’m listening,” Maduro said after a long pause.
“You’re aware of Nathaniel Moore and his recent activity?” Maduro nodded uncertainly, and Korshunov clasped his hands behind his back as he continued. “Traveling with him is a man named Elton Willis. He killed the son of the Magister Officiorum in Ontario and stole a list of...persons of interest to the Magistrate. That includes you.”
“So you’re here to protect me?”
Korshunov let the faintest of snorts escape his nostrils. “No. I’m here to catch Willis. He’s in Miami already. He’s going to come for you,” the boy assured him. He reached into his breast pocket and retrieved a card with his name and cell phone number on it, offering it to the older man with two fingers. “Just call when you hear something.”
Maduro stared at him, making no move to take the card. “You’re joking. Aren’t you Chasers?”
“Yes,” Korshunov replied in the light tone of speaking to a child, “so we’re chasing our target. I work for the Magistrate,” he added firmly. “I’m not a bodyguard.” He tilted his hand to offer his card more directly.
Maduro’s jaw tightened, his cheeks beginning to redden with contained anger. “And what am I supposed to do if this person just shows up and tries to kill me?”
“Try to stay alive and interesting long enough for us to catch Willis on his way out,” Korshunov answered flatly.
Maduro snatched the card from the Chaser’s fingers and half crushed it as he dropped it to the desk behind him. “Do you even understand who you’re talking to?” His voice was a little louder now. “I am indispensable to the Magistrate!”
“I find that very difficult to believe.”
“You listen to me, you little shit—” Maduro stepped close to glare down into Korshunov’s passive face as he shouted. “All it would take is one phone call from me, and your careers would be over, do you hear me? So unless you want to end up as janitors, you’d better—”
Korshunov seemed to tense, and he held up a hand to interrupt the frothing man. Maduro almost slapped his hand away, but a sharp hiss and a harsh glare from the young Chaser startled him into quiet. Korshunov tilted his head as though listening for something, and he slowly lifted his gaze to the top of the wall behind him. He stared up at nothing for a few seconds, eyes narrowed with suspicion. Then, just as Chris was about to ask him what the fuck he was looking at, the boy dropped his hand and returned his attention to Maduro.
“Fine,” he agreed. “I’ll leave you a safety measure. Take me to the roof.”
“The roof? Why?”
Korshunov stared at him instead of answering, so Maduro huffed and stepped out his office door to call one of the passing guards.
Chris followed once again as a surly-looking man led them through the factory and up a narrow stairwell to the roof of the sprawling building.
“What exactly are we doing?” he asked while Korshunov stalked the perimeter of the roof. The boy didn’t answer—a habit that was really starting to piss Chris off. Rather than argue, Chris watched with his arms crossed over his chest, giving a soft, impatient sigh that he hoped the other Chaser heard.
When Korshunov had finished his inspection, he paused near their waiting escort and pointed to the two-story building adjoining the factory.
“That’s part of the facility?”
The guard nodded, both he and Chris watching the young man in confusion as he approached the edge of the roof overlooking the entrance. Korshunov took one more long look around, scanning the factory grounds, then he stepped up onto the ledge. He lifted his hands out at his sides, his head falling back as his eyes closed. Chris spotted the questioning look on the guard’s face out of the corner of his eye, but all he had to offer him was a shrug.
A string fs whispers fell from Korshunov’s lips, ending in a sigh that drew a pale, smoky slip of light out of his mouth. When he raised his head, the little sprite circled him once before settling in his waiting palm. He tossed it over the edge of the roof as if releasing a dove and watched its fluttering journey down to the ground. Chris inched closer to the ledge to get a better look. The tiny sprite began to draw a jagged line in the asphalt below, scorching the ground everywhere it touched. It worked its way quickly around the building until it disappeared from view, returning a few moments later to connect with the start of its burned track. When it finished, it seemed to jerk in place, shivering and hissing, and then it burst into a bright blue flame that spread along the charred line as fiercely as if it had been made of gunpowder.
The entire perimeter of the grounds burned white hot for just a few seconds before it was snuffed by a single word from Korshunov, leaving no trace of the barrier it had created.
“That’s the security measure?” Chris asked as Korshunov stepped down from the ledge and headed back toward the door to the stairwell. “What the hell did you do?”
“That’s to keep the safety measure in.”
Korshunov didn’t need
to be shown the way back to Maduro’s office. The boy ignored Chris’s questions as they walked and let himself into the office, where Maduro waited with folded arms.
“Well?” the man asked with a frown. “Am I protected?”
Korshunov reached a hand into his pants pocket and retrieved a long, thin chain carrying a glinting silver whistle. He offered it to Maduro.
The man eyed the gift warily. “What it this?”
“Your safety measure. Blow it.”
Maduro seemed skeptical, but he took the whistle in his hand and raised it to his lips. Chris couldn’t hear anything when Maduro blew. A couple of beats passed in silence, and then a heaving, raspy breath made Chris spin on the spot. His heart seized up at the sight of the monster in front of him, but before he could do more than breathe, “What the fuck,” Korshunov was breezing by the creature and urging his partner along with a gesture.
“Remember to call,” he reminded the staring, trembling Maduro as the pair of Chasers started back down the stairs to the factory floor.
Korshunov glanced sidelong up at Chris once they were outside the factory. “We need to find the girl that’s with Moore. Now,” he added with grim finality. Chris didn’t know what the hell that had to do with anything that had just happened—especially with the horrifying monster the boy had apparently passed along the ability to summon—but he was almost to the point of giving up on asking questions. The kid never answered him, anyway.
“Get in the car,” Korshunov snapped, and Chris realized he’d stopped walking. He looked over his shoulder with a furrowed brow, half expecting the beast to appear behind him. With a grunt of resignation, he tugged open the passenger door of their rental and settled into the seat. It was this or a desk job back in Vancouver, he supposed.
11
Nathan made sure that Elton knew how much of the Four Thieves mixture to give to Nichole once a few hours had passed, and then he took Cora into the city proper to buy her a new outfit. He waited patiently, testing the softness of the various fabrics hanging on the rack beside him while she changed and offering complimentary opinions on her choices. Eventually she settled on a simple black wrap mini dress, some fine fishnet stockings, and her worn, reliable black ankle boots. Nathan didn’t seem concerned with changing, but he did add an open dark grey button-down over his t-shirt. They had a fair bit of time to kill before it got late enough to go to a bar and not seem pathetic, so Nathan insisted upon taking her to a salon to have her chipped blue nail polish replaced. He sat beside her while the woman across from him massaged his hands and trimmed his nails, chatting and laughing as though he didn’t have a care in the world.
The Left-Hand Path: Prodigy Page 12