36. AURORA
“London?” repeats Francois, looking unusually confused. “Your solitary friend?”
With a nod, my mind flashes back to the transport bus. “He has the tattoo on his chest. He’s how we’ll find Sky.” My eyes fix on de Vaux, refusing to blink. “Get him for me, or is all your big talk just bullshit? Are you really unable to do anything more than the rest of us?”
A sharp intake of breath causes his chest to inflate. It’s obvious that his failure to rescue Sky from Voss has bruised his ego, and an Elite’s pride is a weapon I know exactly how to wield.
“I can do anything I please,” he retorts, his voice dropping into a dangerous purr. “If it pleased me to have this man called London brought directly to my feet, then I would make that so.”
Bingo.
“Right. I’ll believe that when I see it.”
Shaking his head, his lip curls in disdain.
“I realize you are trying to goad me, little one. You are not nearly as sophisticated in the art of manipulation as you think. However, the architectural layout of this building is très imbécile. To extract your Englishman from the solitary wing this exact second would tip my hand to Voss before we are fully prepared to depart.”
The sinking feeling in my stomach starts to drop, but Francois holds up a mocking hand before I can protest.
“I cannot bring him to this cell now,” he continues, his eyes turning a flat, light-extinguishing black. “But when we make our exit, I shall liberate him en route. It is highly inefficient, but since I am apparently committed to this… rescue, I shall embrace the chaos.”
A massive sigh of relief leaves me. “Thank you. But we need to go as soon as possible. Sky might be sold to someone else at any moment.”
“Do not worry, ma petite. I have everything in hand.” His gaze turns coldly toward the cot where Taliesin is gently pressing a damp cloth to Imran’s lips.
“I am sure you will welcome your return to the tedious position of gang foreman, Wolf. Enjoy your small power while Aurora and I run free under the stars.”
Uh, no. “Tally is coming with us,” I say, stepping firmly between him and the doorway. “No arguments. I’m not leaving him.”
His jaw clenches, a muscle leaping in his cheek. “Your demands are becoming tiresome. He is not necessary. You wished for the rescue of your sparrow; I am giving you that. Be grateful.”
“Grateful? Sometimes you sound so much like your father it’s uncanny.
You don’t think we’ll need someone with local knowledge, Frank?
Someone who knows the terrain? What about boats?
Can you sail? Tally can. This is his homeland.
We need him.” Knowing absolutely nothing about Taliesin’s sailing ability doesn’t stop me; Francois doesn’t need to know the truth.
Tally’s voice cracks the silence, sounding battered but determined. “She’s right. Don’t want to bust your bubble, péter plus haut que son cul, but two Southern Elites and an erratic British dude aren’t going to go unnoticed in my city. You’ll get jumped within ten minutes. You need me.”
Francois looks at him with pure, unadulterated disdain. “That is highly unlikely.”
“Stop being such an ass. Yes, I’m sure you can zap people with your brain, but what about food? Money? A boat? Or does your magic give you wings? Are you just going to fly us to whatever island Sky is on?”
For the first time, Francois actually looks… disappointed. “I do not fly.”
Something stirs deep in my marrow at the mention of flight. If I get outside, beyond the reach of the Null-Wards, will my own magic finally ignite? Wings and fire sound like the perfect escape. If I turn out to be a dragon like Cosmo, I’ll burn Frank’s arrogance to a crisp.
“Taliesin comes with us, Francois. That is non-negotiable," I say, stepping directly into his space.
Eyes raised to the ceiling, de Vaux looks deeply pained before his gaze slides to Tally. He studies him with clinical detachment until a slow smirk spreads across his face.
“You are remarkably persistent, Aurora,” he murmurs. “But very well. If having your Wolf beside you is the only way you will walk through those gates without clawing my eyes out, then he may come.”
The sudden concession catches me off guard, making me blink. “You’re serious?”
“I am many things, ma petite, but I am rarely a liar when it comes to your heart’s desires.
” Moving closer, his voice drops to a silken whisper that brushes the shell of my ear.
“I want you to come with me willingly. I have no interest in dragging a screaming girl through the woods. If his presence provides you comfort, then I shall endure it.”
He glances back at Tally, his eyes flashing black. “Besides, a successful escape may require someone to stay behind and draw the fire. If the guards catch up, I’m sure he will be happy to play the martyr for you one last time.”
A low, rough growl leaves Tally’s throat, and Francois turns back to him, entirely unfazed. “Two hours to settle your affairs, Wolf. I suggest you use them wisely.”
A surge of triumph hits me, but I keep my face like ice.
Grimmer than before, Tally’s expression doesn’t match my mood. “If I’m leaving, I need to speak to Clay and Layla first. I can’t leave the block vulnerable without a plan, and then, fuck, what about Imran?” He winces as he moves, clutching his throat.
Fuck, Francois really fucked him up again.
“You have to heal Tally,” I demand, looking at Francois.
A deep, martyred sigh is my only response. “Endless demands. I will be glad when this evening is done.” Francois beckons to the cot. “Step forward, Wolf.”
Tally staggers over.
“The dog has the stamina of an octogenarian,” Francois tuts. Reaching out a hand, his eyes focus on Tally with clinical intensity. “This may be… unpleasant.”
A strangled cry leaves Tally as a faint, sickly green light flickers between his skin and Francois’s fingers.
Smelling of ozone and rot, the air in the cell turns instantly frigid.
Tally’s back arches and his eyes blow wide as he gasps, drawing in a massive, desperate lungful of air.
The deep purple bruising on his torso fades to a dull yellow right before my eyes.
Straightening up moments later, Tally stands with a fluid, terrifying strength that looks almost entirely pain-free.
“What the hell are you?” he hisses, staring down at his own hands.
“I am the one getting you out of here,” Francois replies coldly, rolling his shoulders. Sweat dots his brow, making him look slightly drained. Rubbing the back of his neck, his irritation returns. “Now, which of the Digger peons did you wish to see?”
“Clay and Layla,” Tally replies firmly.
A sharp, piercing whistle leaves Francois’s lips. A minute later, Danny’s greasy face appears in the doorway. He stops short, eyes darting nervously to his former leader standing tall and un-bruised.
“Fetch me Clay and Layla, immediately,” Francois commands.
“Er, yes, boss.” Danny flicks one last terrified glance at Tally and scuttles away.
A thick, awkward silence settles over us as we stand in the dim light, waiting for our friends to appear.
“Is it Imran?” gasps Clay as he enters, his eyes scanning his friend’s face.
“Sky?” Layla stands right behind him, her arms crossed tightly.
“There is too much to explain, but you have to trust me,” Tally replies, his tone low and urgent. “I’m leaving. So are the French prick and Aurora. We’re going after Sky. We think the Grieves have her.”
“Those fuckers,” Clay growls.
“Exactly. Clay, you’re the Boss now. You have to keep the Diggers united. Voss is going to be looking for a head to put on a spike the moment he realizes we’re over the wall.”
“Leaving? That’s impossible, or suicide,” huffs Layla, her hands flying to her hips. “Are you high?”
“Tally, you can’t,” Clay agrees, his face etched with genuine concern. “Trying to cross the Null-wards will fry your brain.”
Nodding toward Francois, Tally grunts, “Remember what I told you about him. He wouldn’t risk his own skin if he didn’t know it was possible.”
“Fuck, man. But me? Boss? Layla should do it,” Clay argues.
Thinking Clay might be right, I cut in. “I second that. What do you think, Lay?”
“I’d say yes, but Danny, Rice, and their little gang of shits won’t like it,” she counters, her eyes darting to the hallway. “They’ll shiv me in the tits the first chance they get.”
Looking up from his chair, Francois offers a terrifying, slow-blooming smile. “Fetch the dissenters. Bring them here. Now.”
“Why?” asks Clay, wary.
“Because,” mutters Francois, “I find I am in the mood to delegate my authority.”
Returning a few minutes later, Clay leads a sneering Danny and Rice into the cell. Rice’s hand hovers near the sharpened toothbrush at his waistband, his posture radiating a challenge.
“What’s the word, Boss?” Rice looks at Francois. “I see Bevan’s back on his feet. Want us to—”
Moving with an unnatural, predatory speed, Francois stops inches from Rice’s face. His pupils expand until the whites vanish, leaving only two abysses reflecting the flickering fluorescent strips.
“Look at me,” whispers Francois.
The air in the cell turns frigid, the scent of ozone and rot suddenly heavy. Staring into the void, the two men’s eyes glaze over. Their pupils blow wide as they fall into the trap of his gaze.
“Layla is your Boss now,” Francois murmurs, his voice vibrating in the very marrow of my bones. “Her word is the only law you hear. You will protect her. You will serve her. Her every whim is a divine command that you crave to fulfill. Do you understand?”
“We understand,” they drone in unison, their voices flat and hollow.
Stepping back, Francois watches the darkness recede from his eyes. He gestures grandly toward the new Digger Queen. “They are all yours, Lady-boss. I suggest a trial run.”
Looking from Francois to Tally and then to me, Layla shrugs. “What the fuck? Okay, I guess.” After a beat, she nods at Danny. “Get on your knees.”
He instantly drops to the concrete. Her face shifts—a mix of awe and burgeoning mischief coloring her features. “Fucking hell, this is golden. I appreciate the parting gift, Frank.”
“Please go away,” scowls Francois, already opening his book. “My cellmates and I have packing to do.”
Turning to me, Layla’s eyes grow slightly glossy. “Don’t get killed, Barbie. You still owe me a week’s worth of dinner rolls.”
“I’d never renege on a bet,” I say, realizing that if we make it out, I have no idea if I’ll ever see her again. Pulling her into a tight hug, I ignore her stiff, uncomfortable posture. “Stay safe.”
“You too. And look after Tally. Don’t let Frank fuck him up again.”
Glaring at each other across the cell, the Digger and the Elite stay silent. “I’ll do my best, Lay,” I promise.
Clay steps forward. He looks at Tally, his eyes wide and frantic. "Imran. Take him with you."
Setting his jaw, Tally shakes his head. "Clay, real talk—the kid can’t run. He can’t get out of bed.”
"So carry him!" Clay snaps in a tone I’ve never heard from him before. “All he talks about is wishing he could see his brother one last time, or breathe in fresh air. If you’re really getting out… if this prick is as magic as he says… you take him.”
"Fuck," Tally groans, running a hand over his buzzed scalp before glancing at Francois.
"It’s a mercy, Tally," Clay counters, stepping closer. "Whether you get him home or not, at least he could die free, under the stars.”
Feeling a massive lump form in my throat, I look at Francois. He is leaning back, watching the “peasants” plead for a dying boy with the bored expression of someone watching a stage play.
“We’ll take him,” I say, my voice firm.
Letting out a long, theatrical sigh, Francois closes his eyes. "Mon Dieu, the sentimentality of the gutter is truly a leaden weight. I am already burdened with a British eccentric and a dog. Now I am to add a terminal patient to my inventory?"
"What does it matter to you?" I hiss, stepping right up to him. “Tally will carry him. I want this, Francois. It’s the right thing to do.”
Standing slowly, Francois treats his uniform jumpsuit as if it were fine silk.
"Fine," he murmurs, his voice dripping with icy condescension. "Take the boy. But understand this—if he puts you in jeopardy, I will drop him where he stands. I am a liberator, not a hospice nurse. D’accord?"
Clay gives a sharp, frantic nod. "Good."
"We leave in two hours," Francois declares. “I will wait in my cell; the air in here is saturated with more emotions than I can tolerate.”
Sinking next to the cot, my knees feel like water. Tally sits down beside me, his shoulder a heavy, grounding heat against mine. He just stares at the dying boy, his thumb tracing slow circles on the back of my hand.
We both know the truth. Imran cannot be truly saved.
But Sky can.
We’ll find Sky and give her the future she deserves. And Imran? A moment of peace before his passing.
The boy should die looking up at the stars, not a gray, stained ceiling.
Please, Gods, let him have that.