This Savage Song (20 page)

Kate launched herself forward, off the wall and across a six-foot gap between the construction project and the roof of a low building. She landed, stumbled a few steps, and took off, not even looking back. The message was clear: keep up or get lost. August took a breath, gripped the violin case, and leaped. He cleared the roof's edge and slid, scrambling upright as Kate disappeared behind a rooftop structure. August followed, and when he rounded the corner, she caught his shoulder, pressing him back against the wall beside her, out of the line of sight.

“You do this often?” he whispered. “Jumping between buildings, running over rooftops?”

Kate raised a blond brow. “You don't?” She almost smiled, though it could have been a grimace; when she leaned forward, he could see the jagged line the Malchai's teeth had cut into her shoulder.

August scanned the buildings. “Where are we?”

“Outer edge of the red.”

“I have an access point near the Seam. If we can get to South City—”

“We?”
She pushed open the rooftop door and started down the stairs. “You saved me. I saved you. The way I see it, we're even.”

August frowned. “I'm not leaving you.”

“And I'm not going to Flynn.”

“We could protect you.”

She let out a sound like a laugh but colder. “Oh, I'm sure.”

He followed her down the stairs. “Fine, don't believe me, but it isn't safe
here
.”

“It isn't safe
anywhere
,” she snapped, the truth welling up. “I can't go home. Harker Hall is in the center of the red, and whether or not my father's there, Sloan will be, and—”

August caught the scent of blood and pressed his hand over her mouth, tilting his head toward the street. Kate started to protest, but must have seen the answer in his eyes, because she went silent. He strained, trying to make out the voices.

“. . . not in the building . . .”

“. . . call it in . . .”

“. . . check the cameras . . .”

“. . . signal . . .”

August and Kate stood in the stairwell, perfectly still, until the voices trailed away, blending with the hum of engines and the other city sounds. When he lowered his hand, Kate wiped her face with the back of her sleeve. “What did they say?” she asked.

“Give me your phone.”

She dragged the cell from her pocket and handed it over. August set it on the stairs and crushed it underfoot. Kate scowled. “Necessary?” she whispered.

“Couldn't hurt,” he whispered back. “Is all of North City wired?”

Kate nodded. “Cameras on almost every block.”

“Almost?”

Kate considered him. “There are some exceptions.”

“I don't suppose you've memorized them all?”

Kate raised a brow. “I've only had a week.”

August's spirits sank. And then her lips twitched, the barest edge of a smile, tired but knife-sharp. “I got through the ones in the red.”

August straightened. “If you want to run, I won't stop you, but first, help me find another phone.”

The sun had dipped below the skyline, and the city was beginning to fold in on itself. Not like in South City, where everything was boarded up and everyone shrank
inside their armored shells, but even here the streets were emptying, as anyone without Harker's protection headed home and even those with medallions went inside. The restaurants and bars were filled with people brave enough to venture out but not linger on the sidewalks, which meant that, even avoiding cameras, every moment they were in the street, they were standing out.

August followed Kate through a network of streets and into a nearby café.

She beelined for the bathroom, and came out a few minutes later wearing someone else's clothes and holding someone else's cell phone. She handed him back the Colton jacket. “Hope you don't mind, I got a little blood on it.”

August wrinkled his nose. “Thanks,” he said, shrugging it on over his polo. She passed him the cell, and they hovered in the dark hall between the kitchen and the tables and out of the line of the restaurant's camera as he dialed.

After two rings, someone answered. “FTF.”

It caught him off guard. He was so used to calling from his own cell, which went directly to the family line. But they'd gone over this, along with every other fallback and safety net, before he started at Colton.

“Flynn,” said August.

“Code?”

“Seven eighteen three.”

“Status.”

“Red.”

“Hold.”

The line went silent, and August was starting to worry they'd dropped the call when he heard a click and then Henry's voice, sharp with worry.

“August? August, is that you?”

His chest tightened. “It's me, Dad.”

Something crossed Kate's face at the use of the word.

“Where are you? What's going on? Are you all right?”

“I'm okay, but something's happened and I need to—”

“August,” cut in another voice. Leo.

“Leo, I need to talk to Henry right now. Put him back on.”

“Are you alone?” His brother's voice was low and steady, his will as solid as a wall.

The answer tumbled out before August could stop it. “No.”

“Who is with you?”

“Kate,” he answered, trying to focus. “Leo, listen, someone tried to kill her at Colton today. They killed others, too. It was two Malchai, but they tried to make it look like us. We both managed to get away, but they're still looking for her and I think—”

“Leave her.”

The rest of August's words snagged in his throat.
“What?”

“Leave her and come home.”

“No. I'm not doing that.”

He could hear Henry say something in the background, and he desperately wanted Leo to put his father back on the line, but the other Sunai kept talking. “You've acted beyond your orders and compromised your position. Your identity is now clearly forfeit, so our priority has to be protecting
you
.”

“And what about
her
?” he snapped. He could feel Kate's attention trained on him.

“You are more important,” said Leo smoothly. “Now, where are you?”

The question hit August like a punch. He had to hold the phone away from his face to keep from answering. He forced air into his lungs. He didn't want to tell him that, and he wasn't entirely sure why.

“Where. Are. You?”
repeated his brother, the patience evaporating from his voice.

August bowed his head, and clenched his teeth, but he could feel the answer clawing its way up his throat, so he hung up.

“What the hell was that about?” asked Kate as he stared down at the phone. “August?”

He shook his head. There had been something in
Leo's voice, something he didn't like. He thought of the way his brother spoke of Kate, as if she deserved to suffer for Harker's crimes just because she was his daughter. As if crimes were something that could be passed on like a genetic trait.

“I can't take you South,” he said grimly.

“Great,” said Kate, plucking the phone out of his hand. “Well, that's settled.”

But it wasn't. Nothing was settled. Everything was falling out of order, out of balance.

August closed his eyes to clear his mind and heard Kate typing something rapidly into the phone.

“What are you doing?”

“I have to get a message to my father, let him know it was a setup.”

“What if Sloan sees it?”

Kate showed him the screen. It was a jumble of letters with dashes scattered between. “When we first came back to the city, after the truce, he taught me a cipher.”

“That's . . . sweet?”

“Hey, kids,” said a waitress, “you're going to have to order something or go.”

“Sure thing,” said Kate. “We're just waiting on a friend.”

The woman didn't look like she believed it, but she let them be.

“What does it say?” asked August. “Your message.”

“Kidnapped by vicious Sunai. Please start a war in my name.” August frowned. The bells over the front door chimed. “Relax, it's just my name and this cell number.”

The smell and the sound hit him at the same time. He caught his breath. “Kitchen.”

“What?” asked Kate, disabling the phone's GPS. “Are you hungry?”

August shook his head. “Go toward the kitchen,” he whispered.

Gasps were moving through the restaurant. Kate twisted toward the noise, but August pulled her back into the corridor.

“Everyone,” said a voice like wet marbles in the main room. A Malchai. “Please stay in your seats.”

“You aren't supposed to come in here,” said the manager. “We have a deal, and—”

The clean snap of a breaking neck.

Chairs scraping and stifled cries as people began to rise.

“Stop,”
ordered the Malchai. “Sit. Down.”

August cheated another step toward the kitchen. His violin case knocked into a folding tray, nearly toppling it, but Kate lunged and caught the edge before it fell. The moment they were through the kitchen doors, August turned and shoved some kind of cooking tool through the handles.

“Hey!” shouted one of the chefs with a booming voice. “You can't be back here.”

The sound echoed against the stainless steel, and August grabbed Kate's hand and ran. They reached the back door just as the first Malchai slammed into the one on the restaurant side. The barricade held long enough for them to burst out into the alley.

“We can't stay here,” said Kate, scanning for cameras.

“Is there anywhere we
can
stay?” asked August, pushing a Dumpster in front of the doors.

Kate shook her head, but she was already pulling him out of the alley and around the corner, putting as much space between them and the restaurant as possible. As they reached the street, she looped her good arm through his, and pulled him close, nestling into his side. August startled but didn't pull away. He didn't understand at first, and then he did. The only people on the street were walking in pairs or groups, and suddenly the two of them looked less like frantic, fleeing teens and more like a young couple. Eyes that might have snagged slid off.

August bent his head casually, as if sheltering her from a breeze.

“We have to get out of the red until I hear from my father,” she said.

We
, he noticed. “And how are we supposed to do that?”

“I don't know,” said Kate, leaning against him. “Every building in North City has cameras, and soon the streets are going to be swarming with Malchai, and God only knows how many are now working for Sloan.”

And then, all of a sudden, she stopped.

“What is it?”

She spun on him, eyes wide. “The Malchai are working for Sloan.”

“I thought we already knew that.”

“Right, but that means we just have to go somewhere the Malchai
won't
.” August opened his mouth to ask where in North City the Malchai could possibly refuse to go, but then he followed her gaze down, down to the ground beneath their feet, to the curl of steam rising from a grate in the pavement.

“Oh hell.”

“Just for the record,” said August as they climbed down the pipes and bars into the bowels of the subway tunnel, “I think this is a
terrible
idea.”

“The Malchai hate the Corsai,” said Kate, dropping the last few feet to the tunnel floor, “and from what I've seen, the feeling is mutual.”

“Yes, well,” August hit the ground beside her, “the Sunai aren't fond of either of them.”

“You wanted to come along,” said Kate, secretly relieved he had—the thought of doing this alone made her ill. Her shoulder ached with every breath, and August might be a monster, but at least he didn't want her dead. The tunnel was dangerously dark; thin streetlight streamed in through the metal grates overhead, and box lights hung at intervals down the tunnel walls. They weren't UVRs, weren't even fluorescents, just rectangles emanating a dull red glow.

Beneath their feet, the floor wasn't solid; gaps ran down the center and along the walls, the ground plunging away into darkness. August kicked a pebble over the side and it fell, fell, fell for three solid seconds before landing with a splash.

“What's down there?”

Kate dug an HUV from her backpack, and switched it on, angling the beam into the gap. Far below, a broad stretch of water slid past. “Looks like a river.” She tapped her foot on the concrete. “I think this used to be a bridge.”

August started to say something, but Kate swung around, the beam tearing a single solitary line of compressed light through the tunnel. Her right ear registered nothing but white noise, but with her left she could make out the distant murmur of shadows, the scratch of claws on concrete, and the constant whisper. Judging by August's face, he heard it, too.

beat break ruin flesh blood bone beat break

There were rumors that the Corsai told secrets, that their nonsensical murmurings took shape right before they killed you. Others claimed they merely parroted the sins that made them, whispering atrocities, mimicking the gruesome sounds of metal against skin, breaking bones, muffled screams.

Now wasn't the time to lose her nerve. Kate focused
on her breathing, reminding herself that Corsai fed on fear. She faced the tunnel, flashlight burrowing away into black, and tried to focus her eyes on the center, the darkest point, as it began to
move
.

“I am the daughter of Callum Harker,” she called into the dark.

Harker, Harker, Harker
, it echoed.

And then the word was taken up and carried, and when it came back, it was different.
Not our Harker, Harker, Harker
.

Kate shivered, fought the urge to take a step back, her eyes still trained on the place where her light ended, and the shadows took hold.

Beside her, August was kneeling, clicking open his case.

“Do you have another flashlight in there?” she asked softly.

“No,” he said, “but I have something better.” He held up the violin. “Besides, you said you wanted to hear me play.”

She remembered the eerie chords, the way the Malchai had screeched and recoiled and covered their ears, the strange calm that settled over her like snow.

Beyond them, the tunnel's red glow caught on teeth and claws, and the darkness began to churn. “Remember when I said this was a bad idea?” he muttered, fixing a
strap to the case and swinging it over his shoulder.

“The good news,” she said, gripping the light, “is that I don't think they're going to tell Sloan we're here.”

“And the bad news?” asked August, tucking the violin under his chin.

Kate swung the flashlight in an arc, and there was a flutter, like wings, as the Corsai parted and reformed. “The bad news,” she said, “is I don't think they're very happy to see us.”

She slashed again, and the beam must have finally connected with a creature's head, because a single shadow screamed and toppled forward from the mass, white eyes winking out, teeth raining down on the damp floor like loose stones.

“Any time now,” snapped Kate as the Corsai rattled and hissed.

“Can't rush art,” said August as he rested the bow on the strings. The darkness barreled toward them like a train, edges raking the air, but just as Kate faltered and took a step back, he finally began to play.

A single, resonant note swept through the tunnel, and everything
stopped
.

Sound vibrated through the air as he drew a second sound, and then a third, the chords fusing together as they formed. The music was like a blade, knifing through the dark. The melody sang through her head,
and the Corsai arced back as one, as if repelled by a single, massive beam. They hissed like steam, and broke apart, and fell away beneath the music, and Kate could feel her thoughts begin to fall, too, her head swimming with the notes the way it had at Colton.

Now, in the darkness, she could
see
the music, too. It threaded through the air like wisps of sunlight, ribbons of color that twisted and swirled and held the shadows at bay. She reeled, suddenly dizzy, and her feet dragged to a stop. She couldn't move, couldn't look away. Her senses tangled in the chords as the song filled her head, swallowed her sight.

And then she looked down and saw that
she
was glowing, too, a strange pale light rising to the surface of her skin. She marveled at it, at the way it moved when she did, danced like steam, even though it was beneath the surface. It was like silver and smoke, pulsing faintly in time with her heart.

Was this her life?

Was this her soul?

In the distance, August's voice reached her, soft and fluid and woven through the music. “Come on, Kate.”

The music faltered, fell away, leaving only the echoes as he reached for her arm, and in that moment she found enough sense to be afraid.

“Don't,” she said, trying to pull away before he could
steal her soul. She was too slow, but when his fingers closed around her wrist, nothing happened.

“It's okay,” he said, his voice careful, taut. “I can't hurt you. . . .” She looked down at the place where his skin met hers, the way the silver light seemed to bend around his fingers like a stream around a stone.

“But you need to stay close.” He drew her hand to the edge of his coat and picked up the song before the last tendrils of music could fade from the air. “Follow me.”

And the truth was, Kate probably would have followed him right over a cliff, as long as he kept playing. The words left his mouth and tangled with the music and became real, became truth. The two of them moved through the tunnel, the shifting center in a sphere of melody and light. Kate's mind sank. She tried to swim to the surface but it kept stretching out of reach. It was like the cusp between waking and sleep, where you couldn't hold on to your thoughts. Couldn't hold on to anything.

But she held on to him.

The darkness thinned as they reached a station, the tunnel unfolding into an arched ceiling, a set of platforms. Tiles glittered like teeth as the light from August's song reflected off them.

C
ASTER
W
AY
, the sign flickered in the ghostly glow. They were heading northeast.

The subway tunnels thinned and opened and thinned
again as tracks merged and diverged and merged again. They passed a depot of darkened cars disabled until the morning shift.

Kate wasn't sure how long the song lasted. She couldn't hold on to the minutes, felt herself say something, felt her mouth forming words, felt them spill out over her lips, but she couldn't hear her own voice, only the music, and if August heard her, he didn't respond, didn't turn. He kept his head forward, violin up, and hands moving.

This wasn't the boy from the bleachers or the one folded in on himself in her car. This wasn't the one coughing black blood onto the pavement or tied to the half-constructed wall.

This was a different August Flynn.

Confident.

Mesmerizing.

And Kate felt her lips forming those words, too, but she was cut off by a sharp
twang
as one of the violin strings broke. August faltered, his face flashing with panic. He started up again, and the melody returned, still entrancing, but there was something . . . thinner about it. Fewer threads of light wove around them, and as the glow caught August's face she saw a line of worry.

And then, too soon, a second string broke. August caught his breath. Now the sound was
noticeably
weaker.
She felt its presence retreating from her mind and had a feeling that was a bad sign.

“August,” she said, an edge of warning in her voice.

“I never play this long,” he explained, eyes narrowed in focus. “My song needs all four strings.”

She could see the strain on the final two, the place where the bow met the string pricking with light, like heat. The threads in the air were starting to dim, and the darkness—and the things that writhed inside—began to press forward.

Up ahead, the tunnel opened onto another cavernous space. A shape glinted in the middle. Not eyes, or teeth, but the metal corners of a train car.

Something scratched the walls of the tunnel at Kate's back, the
skritch skritch
cutting through August's faltering song. She didn't turn. She wouldn't turn. Seeing wouldn't help. It would only make it real.

“Kate,” said August, right before the third string broke.

“Yeah?”

“Run.”