Once Bitten (Shadow Guild: The Rebel #1)(9)

The man in the seat in front of me shot me a wary look, and it broke my concentration.

The vision was gone.

Panting, I put my head between my knees.

That guy could talk to me through my visions. He’d said basically the same thing as last time, but not exactly the same thing. Which meant that he wasn’t just a shadowy repetition of something.

We were really interacting inside my mind, which had never happened before.

I shivered and sat up. Unfortunately, I couldn’t force objects to show me visions. They showed me what they wanted to, and while the visions often had a bearing on what I was interested in, they didn't always. And not all objects had information to share. I still had no idea why, but I no longer worried too much about it.

I flipped the matchbook over and read the back. The letters seemed to shimmer, a fancy ink that was almost holographic.



The Haunted Hound Pub

67 Winslow Lane

Covent Garden, London.





I grinned. My first clue. I looked up at the map plastered above the train windows, realizing I hadn’t even checked which line I’d got on.

Not the right one.

I stuffed the matchbook back into my jacket and stood, shuffling between the people to reach the door. It took two station changes and an excruciating delay on the tracks, but I made it to Winslow Lane about two hours later. I ended up having to jump the turnstile on the way out because I hadn’t had enough on my Oyster card to get all the way to this stop.

A guard spotted me and shouted. I sprinted toward the exit stairs, getting lost in the crowd, though it was relatively sparse at this hour. I’d been on the Tube long enough that the crowd had changed from the late-night partiers to the early-bird businesspeople. It was easier to blend amongst the sea of black suits, and I ducked my head low as my heartbeat thudded.

The sickly yellow lights of the Tube station gave way to the watery early-morning sunlight. While I’d been on the train, the freaking day had changed.

I could no longer hear the security guard shouting. Thank God he’d given up. My heartrate slowed.

I followed the flow of people onto the street, my senses on constant alert. Anxiously, I tugged the hood around my face. The group that I traveled with poured onto the pavement, and I let them sweep me away from the station entrance.

Covent Garden was beautiful at this time of day, the historic street wide and almost empty near the main market. The businesspeople had all faded off to different parts of the neighborhood, but the Victorian Market stood alone, green metal and glass looking like something from the past.

I turned away from it, slipping into a quiet side street. By now, the cops had got the word out about my escape along with a description.

And if they found me…





4





Carrow



I ducked my head to let the hood fall over my face and stuck close to the brick wall as I walked. Hiding while suspected of murder was hard. Especially in London. Whole place was lousy with cameras.

And for some reason, it was nearly impossible to find Winslow Street. I’d seen it on the maps app on my mobile, but whenever I turned down a street that should lead to it, I couldn’t seem to find the damned thing.

Frustration surged within me.

What the hell was happening?

I wasn’t bad with maps—the opposite, in fact. I had a damned good sense of direction. And I couldn’t find freaking Winslow Street. The sun had risen higher in the sky as I’d wandered around, and my stomach growled.

I didn’t have time to eat, but I was starting to get shaky. The Mars bar I’d eaten had been hours ago.

The scent of flaky pastry crust and coffee wafted down the street, and I turned toward it, moving with the determined stride of a bloodhound.

A yellow sign gleamed above a little shop set into the wall.

The Pasty Company of Cornwall.

It was a famous chain, and not the best around, but right now, I was hungry enough to eat a shoe. There was no one in line when I hurried up to the counter and ordered a steak pasty and coffee. It wasn’t exactly breakfast food, but it would hold me over the longest, and that’s what I needed.

Within minutes, I had my pasty and coffee. I winced at the price, then handed over the money and left. With my head bent low, I found a nook and ate, my mind racing.

As I stood there, a sense of something began to tug at me.

I shoved the last bite of pasty in my mouth and frowned around it.

What the hell was that feeling?

Winslow Street.

Somehow, I could sense it.

Instinct made me turn right, heading down the road. Another right, and I found myself staring at a street sign.

“It was here all along?” I blurted the words, not caring if it was weird.

No matter how hard I’d tried with my mobile’s map, I hadn’t been able to find it. But now…here it was.

Confusion flickered as I leaned against the brick wall and kept my face down. The warm coffee in my hand anchored me as I tried to figure things out. Why the hell had I been able to find this place by feeling instead of a map?

I came up empty.

Across the street, a broad bank of dingy windows revealed a store that seemed to sell nothing but toilet roll. It was easily the most boring store I’d ever seen. Worse, there was no Haunted Hound pub on the small street that I could see, but I couldn’t just leave.