Chapter 50 Runaway

Chapter 50 Runaway
The words hung in the stale air of the Rover.

Triple homicide.

For a moment, my brain refused to process it. It was too big, too horrific. It was the kind of thing that happened in movies, not to nursing students who just wanted to get through finals.

"Martha," I whispered, the name scraping my throat.

The image of her warm kitchen, the smell of yeast rolls and cinnamon, flashed in my mind. She had been innocent. She had taken in a mafia orphan and loved her without condition. And because of me—because of the monster who birthed—she was dead.

A strangled sob ripped out of my chest. I doubled over as much as the sling allowed, burying my face in my good hand. The guilt was a physical weight, crushing the air from my lungs.

"Sylvania." Vesper’s voice was rough, urgent. He ignored his own broken ribs, shifting to pull me against his chest. His hand, hot and calloused, cupped the back of my neck, his thumb pressing hard against my pulse point, grounding me. "Don't. Do not do this right now. If you fall apart, we all fall apart."

"They killed her, Vesper," I choked into his filthy t-shirt. "And they’re blaming us."

"It’s Seratti," Vesper said, cold fury frosting his tone. "He's controlling the narrative. He cleaned up the mess at the stadium by pinning it on the two people he can't control."

"It's smart," Estava muttered from the front seat, her eyes scanning the rearview mirror frantically. "Evil, but smart. He turns the entire human world into his personal hunting dogs. Now we have magic and the state police looking for us."

"We need to ditch this car," Julian said, his voice tight with panic. He was gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white. "This thing sticks out like a sore thumb. It's probably already on the police scanners."

"Not yet," Estava said. "The old diner owner was watching the TV, not looking out the window. But he will soon. We need a crowded place. Somewhere anonymous to swap vehicles."

"There’s a mega-mart two exits down," Julian said. "Massive parking lot. Always busy."

"Do it," Vesper commanded. "Aleera, give me your phone."

Aleera, tear-streaked and trembling in the front seat, fumbled in her pocket and handed over her smartphone.

Vesper took it, wincing as he moved his arm. He immediately popped the SIM card out with his thumbnail and crushed it, then cracked the phone screen against the door handle before rolling down the window and tossing the pieces onto the highway shoulder.

"No tracking," he said grimly. "From now on, we are ghosts."

The ten-minute drive to the mega-mart felt like ten hours. Every car that passed us felt like an undercover cop. Every siren in the distance made my heart stop.

Julian pulled off the highway and navigated into the sprawling asphalt sea of the superstore parking lot. It was mid-morning bustling with shoppers loading carts into minivans. The normality of it was jarring.

"Park deep in the lot," Vesper instructed. "Near the employee section. Less turnover."

Julian found a spot between a rusted pickup truck and a towering SUV. He killed the engine. The sudden silence was loud.

"Alright," Estava took charge. "Julian, you're the least conspicuous. You need to procure us transportation. Something common. Something boring. Gray or tan."

Julian swallowed hard. "You mean steal a car? I've never—"

"Figure it out, boy!" Estava snapped. "This isn't debate club. It's survival. Find an older model, easier to pop the ignition. Here." She dug into her voluminous shawls and pulled out a small, velvet pouch. She sprinkled some coarse, black salt into his palm. "If you have to break a window, throw this on the glass first. It muffles sound."

Julian stared at the salt, then nodded fiercely. He opened the door and slipped out, trying to look casual in his rumpled clothes.

The wait was agonizing. Vesper, Aleera, Estava, and I sat low in the Rover, sweating in the developing heat. I could feel the eyes of every passerby, convincing myself they recognized the faces from the morning news.

Vesper’s hand never left mine. His grip was bone-crushing. He was scanning the parking lot like a predator waiting for an ambush, his green eyes restless and hard. The pain meds were wearing off for both of us; I could see the fine tremor in his jaw from holding back groans every time he shifted.

"The barrier," Vesper murmured, eyes fixed on a woman loading groceries three cars down. "It’s frayed thin here."

"How can you tell?" I whispered.

"The shadows," he said. "They're too long. And the air... it tastes metallic." He looked at me.

Twenty minutes later, a gray, dented Honda Civic, at least fifteen years old, rolled slowly down the aisle and pulled into the empty spot next to us.

Julian was behind the wheel. He looked pale and sick, but he nodded once.

"Move," Vesper ordered.

The transfer was a nightmare of pain and paranoia. We scrambled out of the Rover, hunched low. Moving my arm sent white-hot bolts of agony through my shoulder, bringing fresh tears to my eyes. Vesper grunted loudly as he forced his battered body into the cramped backseat of the Honda beside me.

Estava threw her sack in the front and climbed in next to Julian. Aleera squeezed in on my other side. It was claustrophobic, smelling of stale cigarette smoke and old fast food.

"Go," Estava said. "Take back roads until we hit the city limits. Stay off the highway cameras."

As we pulled away, leaving the Rover behind like a shed skin, I looked back one last time.

"We can never go back," Aleera whispered, voicing the thought that was terrifying me. "To school. To our apartment. It’s all gone."

"Good riddance," Vesper said darkly, his arm brushing mine. "That life was a lie anyway. This..." He looked around the cramped, stolen car, at us the fugitives and the ancient seer. "This is what's real now."

We drove for hours through winding suburban backroads, avoiding main arteries. The radio was broken, so we sat in silence, listening to the hum of the tires and our own shallow breathing.

As the sprawling suburbs began to condense into the denser, grittier outskirts of Keystone City, the tension in the car ratcheted up.

"Where are we going?" Julian asked, his voice raspy with exhaustion. "We can't just drive around downtown."

Estava leaned forward, peering through the grimy windshield at the decaying industrial park we were passing.

"The Ironworks District," she said. "Old magic settles in old places. The barrier is practically nonexistent there, hidden by the smog and the noise of the factories. It’s where the forgotten things live."

"Do you know someone there?" I asked.

"I know many things," Estava evaded. "Turn left here, boy. Down the alley behind that warehouse."

Julian turned the Honda down a narrow, trash-strewn alley between two towering brick buildings. It was dark, even in the afternoon, the sun blocked by the sheer walls.

"Stop here," Estava commanded.

We stopped in front of a steel service door that looked like it hadn't been opened in a decade. It was covered in graffiti, rusted shut.

"This doesn't look like a safe house," Vesper noted skeptically.

"It’s not a house," Elara said, opening her door. "It’s a threshold."

She got out, leaning heavily on her staff. She approached the rusty door and placed her palm flat against the metal. She began to mutter, low and rhythmic.

The air in the alley suddenly grew freezing cold. The graffiti on the door seemed to writhe, the paint shifting like oil on water.

Then, with a groan of tortured metal that sounded like a dying animal, the rust dissolved. The heavy steel door swung inward, revealing not the inside of a warehouse, but staircase plunging down into absolute darkness.

A smell wafted up from below—scented wax, old paper, and something else. Something ancient and coppery that made the hair on my arms stand straight up.

Estava turned back to us, her eyes gleaming in the shadows of the alley.

"Welcome to the underground," she croaked. "Try not to stare at the customers."