Rook reappeared in the doorway, and the watching bird fluttered past him and from the room with hardly a sound.
“Family’s upstairs,” he said, glancing around the room. “We’ll stay down here. Two sofas. I’ll check the kitchen, see if any canned food’s still edible.”
Lucy-Anne only nodded, and as he left again she leaned across so that she could see the staircase outside. She felt no temptation to go up.
As she heard Rook rooting through the kitchen cupboards she sat back in the sofa and breathed in deeply. She’d had one night’s disturbed sleep since leaving her friends, and exhaustion was creeping in. Sleep lured her down, yet Andrew urged her on.
“I will find you,” she whispered, and the room seemed to be listening. But what would she find? In the north of London, where even people like Rook chose not to tread and there were bad people, hungry and cruel, would the Andrew she might find be one that she wanted?
A flutter, and three rooks entered the room. They perched in high corners and became as motionless as shadows.
She remembered him from when they were younger and tried to imagine what he might be capable of now.
Her eyes drooped. When she jerked in her sleep and looked again, one of the rooks had come closer, standing motionless on a low coffee table not six feet from her. She stared, it stared back. She lifted one foot quickly, as if to kick out, but the bird did not move. He’s watching me, she thought.
The sofa was deep and soft. From the kitchen, she heard the dull rasp of a tin being opened, and then something wet being spooned into a bowl.
Between blinks the bird vanished from sight and the room lit up, suddenly bright and airy and filled with life once more.
Rook is there before her, sitting in a chair and drinking from a steaming mug. He’s smiling, and there is no mockery in that expression now, no superiority. He starts to stand and—
Music is playing through the room’s stereo system. It’s something soft and gentle, lulling. Rook sits on the sofa beside her, and though they do not live here, she feels very much at home. She glances at the window, where net curtains are hung to conceal the view outside. She leans sideways, because between curtains and window there is a chink of bare glass, and she thinks perhaps she has seen an eye—
She is lying on the sofa and Rook is sitting by her side. She’s all but naked. Rook’s smile is both alluring and comforting, as if this has all happened before. She glances at the window, but the curtains have been drawn tightly closed.
The toy car is no longer beneath the table. The book has been closed and re-shelved. The coat over the back of the sofa is now Rook’s, and the wallet hanging from the inside pocket is spilling ink-black feathers.
She opens her mouth, but Rook kisses her—
Rook is lying on her, and when she looks past him the room is filled with rooks, perching on the picture rail, the bookshelves, the table and the backs of chairs. As she opens her mouth to cry out they beat her to it, caw-cawing as one, flapping their wings and suddenly filling the space with frantic movement.
Lucy-Anne shouted herself awake, sitting up on the sofa, waving her hands around her head to ward off the birds and push Rook away. But she was alone in the room once more, and any watching birds had gone.
Rook rushed into the room, looking around for any threat. “What?” he asked.
Lucy-Anne pressed one had to her chest. Her heart was beating hard. She shook her head.
“Dream?” he asked.
“Yeah.” She did not elaborate. How could she?
“Was this one about me, too?” he asked, smiling. Then he held up one finger and turned, leaving the room and calling back, “Food in one minute!”
Lucy-Anne stood and paced the room. She stood by the window and moved the closed curtains aside, revealing bare glass and no net curtains. Outside, the street was silent and motionless. There was no sense of being watched.
“What the bloody hell?” she muttered. Whether the dream was prophecy or desire, there was no way to know. But for a moment it had all felt so real.
Drawn like a searcher to a beacon in the dark, Nomad drifted through the streets of London.
I have felt this before, and touched him, and now Jack is just beginning to understand his potential. But this…
Nomad usually wandered, yet now she moved with unaccustomed purpose. She sensed other people seeing her and moving out of the way. Eyes followed her progress, and whispers sounded behind her, wrapping her in myth and legend.
As she approached her target, she probed with inhuman senses, constructing a picture of what she would see and why she was being impelled this way. She paused by a knot of crashed and burned vehicles.
I have felt this before, but this time is different.
Soon, she saw the girl. Purple-haired, strong, angry, confused, she was accompanied by a boy and his birds. They were heading north, searching for her brother, whom Nomad could have found if she so desired. But she did not yet wish that. She had come to learn that leaving matters to fate might sometimes steer the world.
She watched them from the shadow of a doorway, and when the girl saw her watching she froze, scared and confused.
And Nomad gasped.
She had seen this girl in dreadful dreams she did her best to forget.
The girl ran at her and Nomad quickly melted away, fleeing through buildings and across roads, down alleys and up staircases. Behind her, she sensed the girl’s confusion.
Nomad sat on a rooftop and looked out over London, the toxic city so filled with potential. For the first time ever in her new life, she was afraid.
CHAPTER SIX
FLEETER
As the Jeep slewed across the road and mounted the pavement, Jack grabbed Sparky’s and Jenna’s arms and pulled them backwards, just waiting for the next burst of gunfire.
Brakes squealed as the other two vehicles skidded to a halt. Someone shouted. Someone else screamed.
Jenna tripped and went down. Jack could have let her go, but he chose to hold on and fall with her. Sparky stood beside them, Jenna’s knife suddenly in his hand.
The Jeep struck a building at the corner of the crossroads, and Jack cringed as he saw someone thrown through the already-shattered windscreen, blood spattering behind them. They slid across the crumpled bonnet and came to rest against the wall, motionless.
“Too late to run,” Jack said. Something passed across his field of vision and he blinked rapidly.
The crashed Jeep’s rear doors opened and three Choppers jumped out, guns at the ready, eyes wide and alert.
Jack searched inside. He delved into that sparkling constellation of potential Nomad had seeded within him, looking desperately for something that might help them. He grasped one idea he had used already and made the weapons hot, but the Choppers wore heavy gloves. He threw an image at one of them that they were breathing insects. Perhaps it was the Choppers’ fear, or his own panic, but it was ineffective.
As Jack stood and helped Jenna to her feet, the three Choppers rushed forward and aimed their guns.
“Don’t move!” one of them said, his voice incredibly high. There was blood splashed on his face.
“Just shoot them!” a second soldier said. Her head flipped back and her throat opened from ear to ear, her only scream a bubbling cry.
“Stop it!” the first soldier said. His gun was shaking as he aimed at Sparky, his comrade bleeding out on the ground beside him.
Something moved again. A blur, a smudge on reality. Jack blinked.