Page 44 of Destined Dawn
15
Spencer
I’m perchedon the smallest piece of wood known to man, clinging on for dear life as the thing vibrates and shakes beneath me. I swear any minute the thing is going to fling me off. It’s the most fucking uncomfortable method of transport I’ve ever experienced, certainly not designed for big people like me.
Rhi on the other hand, she’s loving it, whooping and squealing as she glides through the air, her long dark hair streaming out behind her, her eyes bright with excitement and her cheeks all flushed.
That crazy motherfucker Barone seems equally at home, turning somersaults and doing loop-de-loops even though he’s carrying the pig and it earns him a lecture from Rhi every time.
I take my right hand from the handle, the broomwobbling violently beneath me, and swipe the sweat quickly from my eyes, before clutching the wood in both hands again. Then I squint into the distance. Not that I can see a thing. We’re flying above the cloud layer so we can’t be seen from below. It worked a treat when we left the mansion. Kennedy’s men had only just spotted us before we plunged into the wet mist of the clouds and they’d lost us. Sure, they’d fired at us anyway. One bolt sailing mighty close below my feet, but we got away nonetheless and have been flying for four hours straight now.
“How about a break?” I yell at the man in black. My fucking backside is beginning to cramp and I swear my palms are blistering.
“No point,” he yells back, “we’ll be there in another twenty minutes.”
I shake my head in disbelief, regretting the action almost immediately as the broom teeters to one side.
“Fuck.” We must be traveling at some fucking speed. No wonder my face feels like it’s been stretched to twice its size. I work my jaw and soon Azlan is signaling for us to stop. We hover above the clouds, the moisture catching the rays of sunshine and painting fine rainbows beneath our feet.
“The convent is somewhere beneath us,” Azlan says. “I’m going to descend and see where exactly we are, check out what I can see.”
“No.” Rhi shakes her head, her broom somehow remaining perfectly still even with that motion. “You’re gigantic, Azlan. Someone will notice you swooping about in the sky – you look more like a flying gorilla than a bird.”
“Thanks,” he says, flatly.
“I’ll go,” she continues, “I’m less noticeable and besides, I have my cloaker.” She points to the locket hanging around her neck. “No one will see me.”
She doesn’t wait for any one of us to argue. Instead, she dives straight through the cloud, disappearing into its misty depths and then it’s the five of us, looking like the biggest bunch of dorks on earth.
“I fucking hate this thing,” I say as the broom begins to vibrate, rattling my bones and making the beast inside me growl.
“Really, man?” Barone says, sitting with his arms folded over his chest, not holding the broom at all. “I fucking love it.”
“I just want to get my feet on solid ground,” I hiss, wrestling with the handle again.
Rhi soars back through the cloud, her face covered in a fine layer of moisture. She licks her lips and dries her eyes with the sleeve of her coat.
“We’re right above the beach,” she says, “the convent’s some distance away across the sea and on the isle. I can’t see anyone obviously on the lookout. I think we’re safe to go down and land on the isle.”
“Land on the isle?” Stone shakes his head. “The only way into the convent is via the water, there’s a passageway that leads right into the heart of the building.”
“Okay, let’s head down to the beach then,” Rhi says.
Once again, she doesn’t wait for a response, dipping down into the cloud and forcing us all to follow.
As soon as my feet touch the soft sand, I fling the broom away and nearly drop to my knees, tempted to kiss the damp ground. If I can help it, I’m never ever flying on one of those damn ridiculous things again.
Behind us the sea crashes onto the shore, the roar loud in our ears, and a thick mist hovers above the water. In the distance we see the craggy isle, emerging from the shifting fog and the outline of the convent built into the gray rock.
Stone’s right. There’s no obvious place to land. And the convent windows, all long narrow slots carved into the stone, are too narrow to fly through.
“Any ideas?” Stone asks.
“A boat?” Barone suggests.
“Great idea, genius,” Stone scoffs, “but where do you intend to get one of those?”
“Over there?” the assassin says, pointing up the beach where the sand is dry and tall spindly weeds are determined to claim the land. Huddled among them is an old wooden rowing boat.
