Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Robin
Heart drumming, I looked up and down the street.
Behind me, a few evening travelers trickled out of the many doors beneath the tall, elaborate clock towers of Prague’s Main Station.
A bitterly cold wind cut through my jacket, flurries of snow danced past the streetlamps, and car headlights blazed along the six-lane thoroughfare paralleling the station hall.
Heavy fatigue made me want to duck back into the station, find a warm, quiet corner, and take a nap.
Beside me, Zylas stood still, waiting, his attention not on the traffic but on the doors and the handful of people passing through them. His plain black jacket almost matched mine, the hood drawn up, a hat pulled low over his forehead, and matte sunglasses hiding his crimson eyes.
Spotting a gap in the traffic, I grabbed his wrist and launched forward. We crossed to the center median at a quick jog, waited for another car to pass, then raced across three more lanes.
“They’re following,” Zylas growled.
My heart lurched, then resumed its rapid beat. I’d really been hoping that the men on the platform who’d watched us disembark the train had just been overly zealous human security.
On the other side of the street, we climbed the short fence surrounding the station’s parking lot and wove between cars. It was late—almost eleven—but I spotted over a dozen people searching for their vehicles. As we neared the far edge of the lot, I snuck a glance over my shoulder.
The two men we’d noticed in the station were speed-walking across the parking lot, not even trying to hide that they were following us.
They moved with a confidence I didn’t like, unconcerned by the prospect of chasing down a demon contractor—but that was to be expected of Special Investigations agents.
Clenching my jaw, I adjusted the straps of my backpack. I’d abandoned my suitcase and non-critical belongings several countries ago. My bag needed to be light enough that I could stay mobile while Zylas was in the infernus.
Did the SI agents following us know that my companion was my demon?
We’d been careful to ensure he did nothing obviously demonic in front of non-mythic witnesses, and equally careful to ensure he didn’t do anything a legally contracted demon couldn’t do around mythics.
That way, I could plausibly claim I just liked dressing my demon up like a human so he could protect me twenty-four seven.
“Plausibly” might be a stretch.
The parking lot ended with a safety rail broken by two spiral staircases that led to a pedestrian concourse two stories below. I caught Zylas’s hand again, not because I needed to guide him but because I needed the extra connection. The extra reassurance.
“They will not catch us,” he murmured.
We took the closest staircase down to the ground level, then crossed the concourse and dashed into a park full of trees on the other side.
The glow of the artificial lights faded behind us, but the bare winter branches of the small green space offered no additional cover.
The agents’ footsteps crunched across the cold grass in pursuit.
Zylas’s hand tightened on mine. He veered right, and I glimpsed movement in the darkness—two more agents streaking through the park to cut us off.
Zylas pulled me into a faster run. We reached the edge of the park, ran into another multi-lane road—earning an irate honk from a passing car—then sprinted down a perpendicular street scarcely wide enough for a single vehicle.
It was hemmed in on both sides by four-story buildings with rows upon rows of nearly identical windows stacked on top of each other.
There were no streetlamps, only small lights strung between the buildings at uneven intervals, casting lonely pools of light down onto the brick road.
Each structure abutted the next with no intersections, no alleys, no hiding places.
Running footfalls echoed behind us.
Zylas swept an arm around my waist and swerved sideways, not breaking stride as he pulled my feet off the ground. A crackling purple spell flashed past the spot where I’d been.
The agents were attacking us. There were no other passersby on the street. No witnesses to see them use magic. Everyone was inside, avoiding the wind and snow.
“Zylas,” I gasped.
“They will not catch us.”
Just ahead, finally, there was an intersection where the street split into two.
Zylas took the left path—and we spotted our chance at the same moment.
I reached for his shoulders as he slung me onto his back.
Clamping my legs around his waist, I hung on as he ran toward the building on the corner—a muted Art Nouveau structure with elaborate stone balconies on the corner suites of the second, third, and top floors.
He ran at the wall, leaped higher than any human could, and grabbed hold of the ornately carved lip above the first-floor windows. Heaving us up, he lunged for the balcony, swung over the heavy stone rail, and dropped to the floor.
We pressed ourselves down, hidden in the dark, the thick balustrades leaving only the slimmest gaps for us to peek down at the street.
The four—now six—SI agents reached the intersection and slowed to a halt. They spoke briefly in Czech, then split up, peering around and under parked cars, into recessed doorways, and behind the decorative pillars of a synagogue across the street. Would they think to look above ground level?
Beside me, Zylas was peering through the window into the suite adjoining our balcony. It is empty.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I jolted against Zylas.
He wedged his fingers into the window frame and pulled it open.
I squeezed myself through the gap, then dropped to the carpeted floor inside.
The room was small, with four tables at its center, each with a pair of sewing machines.
Around the perimeter, half-finished clothing items hung on long racks.
As Zylas followed me inside and shut the window, I slid my phone from my pocket. It was still ringing. A private number.
My thumb hovered above the red button to reject the call—but who was it? What if it was Amalia or Uncle Jack calling from a different phone?
“Quietly,” Zylas warned in a low voice.
I tapped the answer button and pressed the phone to my ear.
“Who is this?” I whispered.
“Robin? It’s Darius.”
“Darius!” I squeaked, my stomach flipping with nerves and hope. “Is everything okay? Did something happen to Amalia?”
“Not that I know of, but I’m not in Vancouver.”
That didn’t surprise me. According to Amalia, only the guild officers knew where Darius was.
Zylas moved to another window to get a better view of the street. Outside, something clanked, the sound reverberating off the buildings.
“Do you know about the MPD going after contractors?” I asked, the words tumbling out in a hushed whisper. “They tried to confiscate my infernus in an airport in Romania. We’ve been stuck in Europe ever since.”
“Where are you now? Are you safe?”
“We’re in Prague. There were SI agents at the train station. We’re hiding from them right now.” I lowered my voice even more. “Darius, how are we supposed to get home?”
A moment of silence hung over the phone line. Zylas shifted as he tracked something—or someone—on the street below.
“I can get you back to Vancouver,” Darius said, an odd note of gravity to his voice, “but first, I need your help.”
“In Prague?”
“In London.”
“London?” I glanced at Zylas. “I—I don’t know. We can’t travel quickly. Even when we’re careful, agents keep showing up and we have to hide or sneak past them …”
“Can you make it to Brussels?” Darius asked. “I’ll meet you there, and we can continue to London together.”
“What about the agents following me?”
“Deal with them.” Somehow, he sounded even more foreboding, with a dangerous edge to his voice. “We no longer have the luxury of caution.”
I looked at Zylas, the glow of his crimson eyes hidden by his sunglasses. I couldn’t make out his expression in the dark, but his thoughts flashed through my mind. The rush of my heartbeat steadied, my apprehension hardening into determination.
Zylas and I had been running this whole time. I was done being the SI’s prey.
My demon’s teeth flashed in the shadows—a brief, bloodthirsty grin.
“We’ll meet you in Brussels,” I told Darius. “And we won’t be followed.”
As I spoke, Zylas unzipped his jacket. He slid it off, every rustle of the fabric like a shout in the quiet. Passing it to me, he uncoiled his tail from around his waist, opened the window, and slipped back onto the balcony. I ended my call and carefully climbed out into the cool night air.
Zylas was crouched behind the railing—listening, calculating. Below, the agents had clustered together in the street while one of them gestured around them.
Goosebumps rippled over my skin as I watched my demon plan his hunt.
Hat still covering his hair and horns, sunglasses still concealing the telltale glow of his crimson eyes, he swung off the balcony and dropped soundlessly out of sight. He made no noise when he landed. The agents didn’t notice him, unaware of the predator in their midst.
Unaware they’d just become the prey.