Page 147 of Fractured Fates
“Yes?” I bark.
“Bingo,” Stone says down the end.
“What the fuck does that–”
“I found the pig. The student who’s watching it said she went into the city with another student. The friend says they caught the campus bus. With any luck we can intercept it. Catch them while they’re still on it.”
“Good,” I say. “Then let’s go.”
My friend’s already there waiting for me on his bike when I reach mine.
“You know the route the bus takes?” I ask him, jumping up on my bike and revving the engine.
“Main one,” he answers and we fly out of the academy grounds and out onto the country roads.
I try not to think of the last time I drove this way – from the academy to the city – with the girl on the back of my bike, her arms curled around my waist, her thighs flush to mine. I try not to think about how different she is from every other person. Not shrinking away from me, not stepping away. No, if anything she’s drawn to me, just like I am to her.
It’s foolish. She should be as wary of me as everyone else is. She knows what I am. What I do. She’s seen me kill.
Is her reaction to me genuine? Or is it something beyond her control? Something she is unaware of? Something she couldn’t stop if she wanted to?
I focus on the road in front of me. The mist from the sea hasn’t rolled in this far and the night is a clear one, the stars scattered across the sky like rice for birds and the moon barely there, only a slither of silver. But the beams of my headlights are enough to bathe the road in a ghostly white.
We speed along the roads too quickly, skidding around corners and veering towards hedgerows; I grip the handle bar and stare straight ahead. Where is that bus? Where the hell is that bus?
The road becomes more sturdy. Widens. We meet other traffic. Another bike. Two cars. The first houses on the outskirts of the city appear. Then more. Denser and denser, lining up to create neat rows. I see the towers of the financial district, the cranes from the dock, the great dome of the Council building.
The traffic is dense now, despite the late hour. It’s a Saturday night. The road is jammed with taxis and trams. Not a bus in fucking sight.
We should have caught the thing by now. She should be perched behind me safe and sound. Her warm body pressed to mine. That strange scent of hers filling my senses.
I glance towards Stone and he points down the road with his gloved hand. In the distance, tucked between two trucks, its indicator flicking, is the campus bus, the name of the academy painted down its side like a fucking neon advertisement. It should be more discreet. It shouldn’t be announcing to every lowlife in the city that a bus load of innocents have just pulled up.
I nod to him and we speed past the traffic, cutting in and out, and coming to flank the bus on either side. I thump on the side of the bus, catching the driver’s attention.
He goes to lean on his horn, but when I turn and glare at him, he falls back against his seat. He knows who I am.
I signal to him to pull over and Stone and I follow, parking up in front of the bus.
Then together, we walk to the doors. They swing open for us.
“What’s wrong?” the driver starts anxiously.
I don’t bother answering, I climb up inside, my gaze swinging along the rows of seats and the students who perch there with mouths agape. There aren’t many. Four or five.
I stare at them. They stare back, shifting on their seats.
“She’s not here!” Stone mutters.
“Rhi,” I yell, hoping on the off chance he’s wrong. That I’m wrong. That there she is, sitting on the seat right in front of me. Safe. “Rhi Blackwaters.”
No one answers and the blood pounds against my eardrums. Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Do any of you know where Rhianna Blackwaters is?” Stone growls.
The students glance among each other like this is the most challenging question they’ve ever been asked.
“Well, do you or not?” I bark, making one girl leap in her seat.
