Page 61 of Immortal Longings
But before Calla can take a step, her wristband is trembling, as are Anton’s and Eno’s.
“Ah, shit,” she mutters.
“I’m sure they’re only responding to each other,” Anton assures, switching his off. “Maybe the surveillance room thought—”
A heavy rumble of footsteps. Right above. One voice, bellowing over the rest, feminine and sharp, giving commands to scatter and search. Then: so much movement that the ceiling trembles. There’s definitely another player in the Hollow Temple, which can only mean trouble. If they’re a Crescent, they may be able to call on an entire entourage for the kill, and though Calla doesn’t recall seeing anything like that on the reels, if there’s anyone who knows how to avoid the surveillance feeds across the city, it’s a member of the Crescent Societies.
“Yilas, do you think you can walk on your own?”
“Absolutely not,” Yilas replies, her words slurring. At least she’s honest. Sometimes Calla really hates honesty.
Calla bites down on the insides of her cheeks. She’d give it thirty seconds before they’re found.
“Eno!”
The boy jumps to attention, his eyes wide and terrified as he presses his wristband to stop the ping. He’s so damnyoungthat Calla cannot comprehend why she keeps seeing him in the most dreadful places, but given the situation, Calla can only push the thought away. She shoves Yilas at him, and Eno scrambles to hold his arms out before Yilas sways right to the floor.
“What—”
“I’ll owe you another favor, okay?” Calla snaps. She points down the hallway, deeper into the basement. If Eno is hanging around here guarding the bodies, then he must know how to navigate the place and find another exit. “Help my friend out of here. Makusa and I will keep them distracted until you get away.”
Eno casts a desperate glance at the stairwell. “But my status as a novice—”
“What will being a novice offer you?” Anton cuts in. “Likely a place as one of these bodies.Ifwe don’t eliminate you from the games first.”
Eno grimaces. With a small grumble, he hauls Yilas by the arm and surges into the hall, disappearing into the shadows.
Calla silences her wristband and draws her sword. She loosens her grip, throwing the handle up an inch to adjust. When the weapon lands back into her palm securely, she is ready.
“Fifty-Seven.” Anton, however, does not pull his knives. His eyes are on the door. “As soon as they come in, we have to jump. Invade our way out.”
Calla’s glare is immediate. Her hair whips against her mask, curling against the edge of fabric as she scrunches her nose, trying to convey with her eyes how much she disapproves.
“No. We fight. Don’t be a coward.”
“It’s not being a coward,” Anton snaps back. “The games are only easy for us when the players are isolated, every man for themselves. Don’t you remember how we had to run from Seventy-Nine’s security team? Will you be growing extra arms? Extra legs? Summoning more weapons?”
Calla bites down, gritting the back of her teeth so hard she hears something crack.
“I’m not jumping.”
Anton whirls to face her. “Don’t think I won’t fucking leave you here, Calla Tuoleimi—”
The door blows open. Society members pour down the steps, spilling into the basement, surrounding them on all sides. Calla loses count after the first ten.They move with such cohesion that confusion slows her movements. Why are they gathering like this if it’s only one player among them who wants to make a kill? How could the games possibly be important enough to the Crescent Societies for this?
“Pampi,” someone calls down the stairs. “You can’t just move everyone away from—”
A woman at the back of the crowd throws her arm out. Though she is at the bottom of the steps and the other man is at the top, he staggers backward, like an invisible fist has hit his chest, slamming him into the wall.
Calla’s sword arm falters, the blade lowering. The man who attacked her during the flood sirens. The empty vessel, who somehow jumped without any light, without sighting a new body nearby. He had been able to fight without contact as well.
The woman—Pampi—steps near, into the red light. Her eyes must be red too, creating an illusion where her gaze is entirely swathed in color.
Suddenly, Anton stumbles, his hand going to his sternum. He inhales like he can barely catch his breath, then he turns to the Crescent nearest to him, fury burning in his eyes. “Did you just try to invade me? Pissoff.”
“Watch your tongue.”
Pampi’s voice is high-pitched and syrupy. She reaches a finger out, prodding Anton in the chest. Before he can make a move to counter her, she has tied a swath of ribbon around his eyes, some material that sticks tight even as Anton exclaims, hands flying up to move it away. He can’t get a good grip on the ribbon; the Crescents around him take ahold of his arms while he tries, holding him prisoner.
