Everland(49)

“Run!” Pete yells. The boys stumble to their feet and sprint away. Jack whirls around and starts to run. Smeeth raises his gun and fires. As Jack steps forward, his back arches and he falls to his knees, collapsing on the wet pavement. He clutches his side, curling in on himself in a fetal position as agony grows on his expression.

“Jack,” I say with quiet urgency, stifling back a scream with my hand.

“Let’s go!” Doc says, climbing over the countertop.

Mole follows, holding on to Doc’s waistcoat. I swing myself over the counter behind him. Something catches on the cash register, but I tug until I break free. There is a metallic clink behind me. It isn’t until I have climbed through the empty window frame and started to sprint down the street that I realize what the sound was. I clamp my hand on my chest, searching for my father’s military tags, but they are no longer there. I spin, rushing back to the café.

“Gwen!” Doc yells. He chases me down and grabs me by the back of my jacket as I throw a leg through the window.

“My dad’s tags,” I say, trying desperately to pull myself from Doc’s grasp.

The silver chain lies on the floor, the tags scattered among the menus. From the corner of my eye, I see Jack writhing in pain on the street. Soldiers whip their heads our way. My mind swims in a whirlwind of choices, but none of them seems right. My instinct is to run to him, but I know that I’ll be caught if I do.

“It’s the girl!” Smeeth yells, pointing straight at me. “Get her!”

Every soldier abandons his place and runs toward us.

“There’s no time,” Doc says, pulling my arm. “We have to go!”

Mole’s voice quivers as he shouts, “Gwen. Doc. Hurry!”

I struggle in Doc’s grip, trying once more to retrieve my father’s tags. As I scramble through the empty frame, I misjudge the size of the entrance and slam my head against the brick just above the window’s opening. Pain ricochets through my skull as stars bloom in my vision.

“It’s too late,” Doc pleads, pulling me from the window. “You have to let them go.”

My eyes blur with warm tears and my heartbeat pulses in my ears, its rapid cadence competing with the shouts of the soldiers and Doc’s voice begging me to come with him. I stumble, my hand in Doc’s, as my surroundings spin. Every beat of my heart aches, taking my breath away. A gentle breeze drifts in the air, carrying with it the sulfuric scent of gunfire and the metallic odor of blood, but all I can think about are my father’s precious tags, the only thing I have left of him. My legs go weak and my ears ring before I plunge into a midnight-black chasm.





What do you mean Bella’s gone?” I scream, fury seething so intensely that I can feel every capillary in my face burst red. This isn’t possible. “There was nowhere for her to go. She must be here!”

The officer fidgets with the grip of his gun in his holster. “We’ve spent over an hour checking everywhere she could possibly hide. She’s just disappeared.”

Strolling down the center aisle of the chamber of the House of Lords, I take in the ashen and splintered furniture. The glimmer of the lanterns held by the Marauders casts a golden radiance on the red upholstered wooden benches on either side. “Search the grounds outside. She can’t be far.”

“Yes, sir,” the soldier says. He shouts orders, sending a group of guards to the courtyard, but I know he won’t find her. Like always, she’ll have ducked away unnoticed.

“And you, Mr. Smeeth,” I say, glaring at my right-hand man. “You lost the girl again?”

“They split up,” Smeeth says with a quiver in his voice. “My men went after them, but they vanished. They turned a corner and when we pursued, they were gone.”

Poking a finger into Smeeth’s chest, I loom over the burly officer, peering into his glassy dark eyes. “You incompetent, insignificant, worthless excuse for a soldier. How many times have you let them get away? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re working with Pete. Or maybe you’re still in allegiance with the Crown of England?”

I grip Smeeth’s throat. My grasp tightens around the soldier’s flesh until the muscles in his neck grow taut beneath my fingertips and his face pales. “Mr. Smeeth, I showed you preference over your fellow Englishmen,” I say, glaring at him. “While the lords and ladies of Buckingham Palace were disposed of, I granted you favor, although right now the reason seems to escape me.”

Smeeth tries to speak, grasping at my hands, but only manages some small gasps.

“Ah, now I remember,” I say, lifting Smeeth by his neck. His boots kick wildly as they rise off the ground. He struggles against my clutched hand, his pink complexion paling to white. “You looked pathetic in your red coat and silly bearskin hat. Some Royal Guard you were, cowering beneath a table in the Queen’s formal dining room. When you begged me to spare you, I realized then how useful you could be. Any English brat would know the ins and outs of the city, but what better one than a soldier. Perhaps I was wrong about you?”

Smeeth’s face turns blue as the blood drains from his cheeks. His eyes turn up, disappearing behind his lids. As he quivers in my grip, I release him, sending him crashing to the floor like a rag doll, wheezing on the blue-and-green carpet. He coughs, sputters indecipherable words, and finally his gaze meets mine. I recognize that expression, and I reel back in horror as the man in front of me transforms into a younger version of myself, trembling at the feet of my mother. Burning embers flare within my gut and I can’t look at him. I can’t face that expression of terror on his face. I spin, ready to bolt for the door, when his voice stops me.