7 AURORA
The violent, bone-rattling rhythm of the truck bed finally grinds to a halt.
When Rex yanks the heavy canvas tarp back, the freezing Ashgrave air hits my face, carrying a sharp mix of marsh salt and stale woodsmoke. Tally sits up immediately. “Where the fuck are we, Rex?”
I raise my head to see a row of faded, dented aluminum trailers sinking into a patch of weedy gravel.
“My place,” Rex mutters, leaning over the side of the cab, his eyes darting down the narrow gravel lane.
“The truck’s running on fumes. I’ve got a gas can here.
Thought it was better than stopping somewhere we’d be spotted.
” He runs a hand through his graying hair, looking worried.
“And I guess I can get you some real clothes too.”
“And it’s safe?” I ask, as I push myself up from the hard steel floor. My joints ache from the cold and over-exertion.
“Yeah, just my old lady inside,” Rex sighs, dropping the tailgate. “Her mind’s mostly gone these days—dementia. She won’t know you from the postman. Come on, while no one's about.”
Francois slides out of the truck first, landing on the gravel with an elegant, silent grace, of course. London jumps down right behind him, and I realize he’s shifted back into his human form. Definitely a good idea. His horns and hooves are nothing if not eye-catching.
Tally helps me out, then hustles me up a set of rickety wooden steps and into the trailer.
The interior smells like stale food, mold, and cheap lavender soap.
Sitting in a worn, floral-print armchair by the window is a tiny, bird-like woman with a cloud of thin white hair.
She doesn't even look up when four escaped convicts enter her kitchen.
Her eyes are fixed on a small, boxy television screen in the corner, her fingers rhythmically pulling at a shapeless blue blanket.
“Hey, Ma,” Rex says gently, tossing his keys on the laminate counter. “Got some friends over. Just gonna grab some things from the back.”
The old woman doesn’t react, seemingly entirely unbothered by the two giant, brooding men leaning against her refrigerator or London sniffing a bowl of artificial fruit on her dining table.
“Look, guys,” I whisper, my eyes drawn to the television.
The screen is showing the garish graphics of Havengard Network Broadcast News. Rex reaches over and twists the plastic dial, turning up the static-heavy volume.
“…the hunt intensifies for the four fugitives who fled the Quo Reformare facility during last night’s catastrophic security breach,” the anchor’s polished voice rings through the small trailer.
The screen cuts away to a live feed. Taliesin sucks in a breath as a small, weather-beaten farmhouse is shown. Reporters are circling the lopsided stoop.
“I join you outside the residence of the Bevan family,” the reporter says, dodging a stray chicken.
“Local authorities claim that Taliesin Bevan, a known gang lieutenant from the Ashgrave district, spearheaded the violent riot that left three guards hospitalized. Neighborhood sweeps are currently underway…”
I look at Tally; his knuckles turn white as he grips the edge of the counter. “Fuck,” he growls.
“That’s your parents place?”
“Yeah.”
“Along with Bevan is another Ashgrave gang member, Imran Haddad, and the mentally unstable convict known as London Finch. But the focus of the hunt remains heavily fixed on the high-profile Elite escapee,” the anchor continues, and suddenly, my own face flashes on the screen.
It’s an old portrait from the Drakeward manor. My hair is long, smooth, and perfect. I’m wearing a sapphire silk dress that matches my eyes, looking every bit the pristine, obedient daughter my father always wanted.
“Aurora Drakeward, daughter of the prominent and recently deceased Conclave leader, Tyrus Drakeward, is thought to be an unwilling captive of Bevan and his crew. Thomas Crankshawe, Drakeward’s betrothed, has offered a $100,000 reward for information that leads to the rescue of his fiancée.”
“You’ve got a fiancee, Kitten?” London whispers, leaning his chin right over my shoulder. “That don’t seem right. You’re not meant for anyone else but us lot.”
“I’ll explain later, London, but let me listen to this.”
My eyes scan the list of names scrolling across the bottom of the screen.
WANTED: TALIESIN BEVAN. AURORA DRAKEWARD. LONDON FINCH. IMRAN HADDAD..
Four names.
I frown, squinting at the text as it loops back around. Four.
I turn my head slowly, looking past London to where Francois is leaning against the narrow hallway door frame. His arms are crossed over his chest, his face completely devoid of expression.
“You didn’t hit the headlines, Francois.”
“Thomas,” he replies, the name dropping like a boulder.
“He doesn’t want it known that his son and heir is a fugitive.
” His lips curl into a bitter sneer. “I’m sure the knowledge of my incarceration in Quo Reformare has been scraped from the internet.
” He presses a hand flat against his chest, wincing slightly as his gaze darts restlessly between the three of us.
“He doesn’t seem bothered about his ‘fiancees’ name being out there,” Tally growls, as he finally pulls his eyes away from the screen. “What’s with that?”
Francois sighs. “She wasn’t exactly low-profile when she stabbed Thomas in front of every important Elite in Havengard. Not something that can be swept away.”
Good.
I want everyone to remember that I’m not to be messed with.
“I’d forgotten my surname was ‘Finch’,” London says, trying to take a bite out of a plastic apple.
Tally snatches it out of his hand as Rex walks back into the kitchen, dumping a plastic laundry basket right onto the table. It wobbles dangerously.
“Alright,” Rex says, wiping a hand across his forehead which leaves a smudge of grease. “The truck now has a couple of gallons. Help yourself to clothes. I’ll figure out food.”
“Shit, we can’t thank you enough, Rex,” I tell him. “Seriously.”
He flicks his eyes in my direction. “This is for Taliesin, not you.”
Right.
I’m the hated Elite. Forgot about that for a moment.
London dives into the pile of clothing, pulling out an overstretched cable-knit cardigan with flowers embroidered around the neckline and pockets. “Ooh, I like this! Whatcha think, Shane?”
Francois ignores him, and using two fingers, removes a blue sweatshirt with a faded logo. For a minute I’m sure he’s going to sneer and say something cutting, but he doesn’t. Instead he looks at Rex. “Thank you.”
The older man shrugs, pulling some cans from a cupboard.
Tally catches my eye and jerks his head toward the narrow, shadowed hallway near the bathroom.
I follow him three paces down the threadbare carpet until we’re standing almost out of sight. “Rory,” he murmurs, his voice low. “I don’t want to keep secrets from you.”
That’s good but also gets me worried. What is he about to tell me?
“Go on,” I say, gulping.
Tally’s amber eyes fix on mine. “Last night, those jackal creatures? Turned out to be Ashgrave kids. They were out in the forest trying to track a missing person.”
“OK?”
“That person is Layla's dad. Jim.”
My chest tightens, my mind instantly flashing to my hard-on-the-outside, soft-on-the-inside friend. Shit.
I slump against Taliesin and he brings his arms around me. “Why do things keep getting worse?” I moan. “We look for him at the same time as searching for Sky? Is that what you’re thinking?”
Tally’s embrace tightens and I allow myself a moment just to enjoy his warmth, his scent, him.
“No, he went missing months ago. Charlie thinks a feral took him.”
“A feral?”
“Some people went mad after the Great Awakening. Lost their humanity to the inner beast.”
“Well, that’s awful.”
“We’re going to concentrate on Sky. She’s our priority, but I wanted to let you know about Jim. I’ll never keep secrets from you, Rory. You can trust me.”
The fierce loyalty radiating off him makes my heart thud.
I wind my arms around his neck. “I do trust you, I really do.” Before I can second guess myself, I stand on my toes and press my lips to his.
The next second, he drags my body flush against his and I can’t stifle a moan as he takes control of my mouth.
The world around us dissolves into something exquisite.
But he draws back then rests his forehead against mine. Our breaths mingle and my fingers still clutch the back of his neck.
“I won’t lie to you, ever. I want nothing between us.”
The words are a balm on my over-stretched nervous system. I press myself harder into his body and he lets out an animalistic noise. “Fuck, babe.”
A crash in the kitchen has us pulling apart. Taliesin instantly goes on high alert.
I relax when I hear London’s slightly crazed giggle.
He rushes up to us. “Well?”
As he twirls, I take in the floral cardigan and well worn jeggings. “Nice fit.”
“Right, and slippers too!”
“You look like an escaped mental patient,” Francois snaps. He has the blue sweatshirt over his prison jumpsuit and isn’t looking at London, he’s looking at me.
In fact I would wager his eyes are fixed on my slightly kiss-swollen lips and the chafe of stubble on my cheek.
Rex tosses a pair of oversized, grease-stained denim jeans and a thick plaid flannel shirt at Tally. “Best I’ve got for your size, Bevan. And a baseball cap to cover the face.”
Tally catches them, pulling the flannel over his broad shoulders.
Finally, Rex turns to me, holding out a faded yellow rain slicker, a pale blue synthetic sweater and another pair of jeggings, the elastic of which is held together by a safety pin.
“Sorry,” Rex mutters, looking a little embarrassed. “Gran’s wardrobe is a bit limited. But it’ll keep the rain off, and nobody’ll look twice.”
“It’s perfect, Rex,” I say, genuinely meaning it. I take the clothes and duck into the small bathroom to change.
When I pull the baggy clothes on and cinch the safety pin tight, I look in the cracked mirror. Automatically, my heels click together, my posture straightening into alignment. The girl in the glass is still me, but all the fake Drakeward gloss has been stripped away.
I like it.
Francois looks up as I re-enter the kitchen. “Charming, chérie. Peasant-chic.”
“Shut it, de Vaux,” I retort, though there’s no real bite to it.
Rex tosses a plastic grocery bag onto the counter.
“I packed some bread, carrots, tins of beans.” London squeals at the word ‘beans’.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but it’d be great to get rid of you all.
Some of the folk in this park would sell their mother for a pack of cigs, let alone a hundred grand. ”
Tally pulls the brim of his cap down. “Yeah, let’s move. Francois can sit up front for this stretch, seeing as he wasn’t featured on TV.”
We turn to leave, but Rex is frowning. “What about the other one they mentioned? Im-something? Where’s he?”
All of us freeze, then Tally slowly turns to Rex. “He didn’t make it.”
Rex shakes his head. “Sorry for your loss.”
Me too, Rex. Me too.
I look from him back to the little old woman in the armchair. She’s still worrying at the blanket, completely oblivious to the fact that her wardrobe just helped disguise the most wanted fugitives in the country.
“Thank you,” I whisper softly to her.
She gives a vague smile to the empty air above my head.
We slip out of the trailer and back into the cold, rusted bed of the truck, the heavy canvas tarp falling over us once more as the engine roars to life.
Hold on, Sky.
We’re coming.