Everland(7)

Something stirs to my left, sending a renewed dose of hot adrenaline coursing through my veins.

“Hide,” I whisper to Mikey, shoving him aside. He runs and fades into the dark shadows on the other side of the room. Snatching my dagger, I whirl toward the noise. In the window, a person sits with his back against the metal frame. The small amount of moonlight still left in the early morning lights up his silhouette, casting his long shadow on the concrete floor. It stretches toward me and falls on my leather boots. I aim my blade at him.

“Who are you?” I demand.

The boy, not much older than me, seventeen at the most, steps close enough that I can make out his sharp facial features. His lips turn up in a cocky grin, and I immediately recognize him.

“It’s you,” I say with surprise. “You’re the boy the Marauders were chasing.”

He gives a dramatic bow. “In the flesh.”

Noticing that I have let my blade drop, I point it back at him.

“Well, that’s no way to treat a guest in your home,” the boy says, lifting his aviator goggles from his face and perching them atop his head. He surveys our cramped home, wrinkling his nose in disapproval. “If that’s what you call this landfill. Not much of a house at all, is it? And it stinks.”

“What do you want? Supplies? Food? We have barely enough for ourselves. You might as well leave or …” My threat sounds unconvincing even to me. Biting the inside of my cheek, I remind myself that I must protect Mikey. “I’ll kill you!”

He folds his arms, his face still shadowed in the dark room. “Kill me? I hardly think anyone could leave a scratch on me, much less a girl like you.”

“You underestimate me,” I say, jabbing my dagger toward him. He doesn’t flinch.

“Do I?” he asks, pacing in front of the window. “First, you leave me at the mercy of Captain Hook’s dirty dogs. Now you have a blade on me. A dull one, from what I can see. Is that how you normally thank someone who’s saved your hide?”

“Saved my hide? You did nothing of the sort. What do you want?”

He doesn’t have time to answer before footfalls clatter on the fire escape outside the window. I pull a second dagger from the sheath on my hip, aiming it at the window.

“Did you find anything, Pete?” asks a high-pitched voice from the gap in the wall. I glance around the boy’s frame and see a young blond girl hop through the opening. It’s the girl from the alley. Now that she’s in front of me, I notice her mirrored goggles perched on top of her head, her dirty white tunic, dusty trousers, and heavy leather boots. The outline of her mechanical wings peeks above her tiny shoulders, their metallic sheen glittering in the moonlight.

When she sees me, the girl sprints forward, positioning herself between me and the boy. She pulls a slingshot from her belt. Her brows furrow and bright blue eyes narrow as she studies me.

“You’d better not touch him or else you’re going to have to deal with me,” she says, pulling the elastic back on her slingshot. A steel ball sits in the pocket, aimed at my head. “I assure you, I’m the best shot in all of Everland. Perhaps all of England.”

The boy laughs, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right, Bella. She isn’t going to hurt us.” She doesn’t drop her aim. He steps around the little girl and holds his hand out, unfazed by my knives. “I’m Pete. This is Bella.”

I take another step back, nearly tripping over the umbrella lying on the floor. Steadying myself, I kick the umbrella and the rest of my scavenged supplies out of my way. “How did you find me?”

Pete drops his hand and frowns. “I followed you, of course.” He strides to the shelves and rifles through our supplies. “You really ought to cover your tracks better,” he says, picking up a tin of corn. He shakes the container next to his ear, grimaces, sets it back on the shelf, and starts to grab another.

I step in front of him, gripping my daggers tightly. “I’d advise you to step away from our supplies, boy,” I say through gritted teeth.

He brushes my weapons away with a swipe of his hand and reaches over my shoulder for another tin. Again he listens to the contents rattle inside. “My name is Pete, not ‘boy,’ and didn’t we already go over that part? You’re planning to slice and dice me with those butter knives of yours, yada yada.”

He’s called my bluff. I’ve done a number of things in order to survive, but I’ve never hurt anyone. I had hoped I’d never have to. Unable to bring myself to stab him, I kick him in the shin with the toe of my boot instead.

“Ow!” he yelps, dropping the tin and clutching his leg. “What was that for?”

Bella raises her slingshot again. “You really are asking for trouble, Immune.”

I stand a little straighter and ignore Bella’s threat. “What did you mean when you said I ought to cover my tracks? I’ve managed to outwit the Marauders for the past year,” I say, sheathing one of my daggers but keeping the other pointed at him, just in case.

“Is that so? It’s a bloody miracle you’ve lasted at all. Explain those to me,” he says, pointing at the concrete floor. Shoe prints dance across the cement in a clumsy display. Now my own muddy boot prints overlap them. Something sour blooms in my stomach as I silently berate myself. I practically led the Marauders to our hideout. It’s my fault Joanna is gone. How could I have been so careless?