Fire and Bone (Otherborn #1)(37)

I push the fake friendship out of my mind and head for the “Exit” sign.

The door swings open, and I take in a lungful of fresh air.

Scratch that, I take in a lungful of alley air. The rot and smog hit me, and I cough and cover my nose, surprised at how strong the smell is. The pounding music is a low drone in the background now, and the temperature is less smothering without all the bodies. It’s a huge relief to be away from the otherweirdly.

I step over an oily puddle and pause once I get to a spot where I can see the opening of the alley. I search the street, watching the cars pass. People walk by, laughing and twisted up in each other, totally oblivious to what’s inside the building they’re passing. I wish I was oblivious.

Maybe I should just walk away from this. I could run from these freaks right now, if I wanted to.

But I . . . I can’t run from myself. No matter how far away I get from Aelia or Faelan or any of this, I’ll still have this thing inside me. This thing that starts fires, a thing that can burn with a touch. Or kill. If I left, who knows what it might do. I have no idea how to control it.

I linger in the shadows, my stomach churning as I move to the wall and lean on a drainpipe. I’m completely stuck.

Out of the corner of my eye I spot a dark shape at the other end of the alley, and an odd sound, like water moving, slinks through the air.

The back of my neck prickles, a chill sliding down my spine.

But when I turn, I can’t see anything.

I need to calm down. I’m just on edge. My sanity’s been through a paper shredder the last twenty-four hours. I try to let the traffic humming in the background calm me, like the sound of the tide, as I focus on the light from a billboard reflecting in marbled blue and pink on the surface of an oily puddle beside my foot.

My God, these heels I’m wearing are ridiculous. Sequined, Aelia? Really? They probably cost more than the average person makes in a week.

A rustle of feathers comes from above, and I look up, spotting a small shadow flying overhead from one building to the other. Then the strange water sounds come again, like a slurp, echoing down the alley.

My gaze shifts quickly back to the darker shadows, tingles sliding up my legs as I step out and search the shapes around me. It’s probably just a rat—

It comes again. An odd slush and sloop. Louder. Closer.

Movement catches my eye again. And I see it, a shadow on the wall across the alley, shifting, sliding upward like a snake slinking from its coil, while the sound of something fighting to emerge from a drain fills the air.

My pulse jumps as I watch the dark shape glide across the wall.

I stumble sideways, pressing into the bricks at my back as the ground under me tilts.

And then I realize. The shadow is from something coming out of the ground.

Beside me.

Ice fills my veins as I look down at the puddle.

But what I see doesn’t make sense: a long tentacle of oily water is sliding up, like gravity is reversing in just that spot. Swirls of light reflect off the surface as it stretches out. But, no—I can’t be seeing it right. Because it’s impossible.

Suddenly the tentacle shifts, bending sideways, the tip growing claws, and a second tentacle emerges beside it. Both become arms. The sucking grows louder. The talons dig into the asphalt with a crunch as a skeletal face surfaces, a writhing body pulling free of an unseen trap.

I quake, rooted to the spot only a few feet away, watching a dark creature take shape, dripping oily water from its body: a hooded figure, black as pitch, bone thin, with overlong limbs.

The slurping shifts into a moan, and I realize the puddle down the alley is moving too, more shapes climbing from the water.

“Child,” comes a low growl. “Fire child.”

I stumble back, tripping over a pipe sticking out of the wall. My butt hits the ground, and I scramble along the asphalt to get away, my palms scraping against it. The black ooze creature breaks free of the puddle and crawls toward me, its eyes vacant, two silver voids ready to swallow me.

A claw reaches out and grabs for my ankle. “Mine,” the creature moans.

I kick with a scream, losing one of my shoes. A smear of goop stains the thousand-dollar heel.

The thing hisses in rage, mouth agape, revealing dripping fangs.

Every nerve in my body lights, and I lurch to my feet, stumbling toward the mouth of the alley, focused on the streetlights ahead and the cars buzzing past. Safety.

Something bursts into my path, wings flapping wildly, screeching at me, forcing me back into the shadows again. A raven. It caws and beats at the air between me and the road. But as I turn to get away, it flies past and dives for the oily creature.

The dripping shadow shrinks from the bird with a cry of fear. A second dark shape that’s scuttling along the wall pauses. Both watch the bird for a second, then bow their heads.

I retreat, shaking, muscles tensed to run again. But I freeze when my vision of the bird shifts. I stare in confusion as smoke begins to seep from the raven’s back, spilling out in plumes. It billows from the black body, growing with each quick beat of its wings, taking shape. Until the raven is gone and there’s a man standing in front of me. His back is only three feet away.

A man who was a bird a second ago.

Smoke still trails from his shoulders and down his sides.

He speaks—I don’t recognize the words, but the tone is commanding, and the two dripping black creatures respond by cowering more. They mew, hunkering down to settle a few feet in front of him as if they were seeking his approval.