She looked into Emma’s face, as if hoping to see her words sink in. For a moment, Emma was caught by her urgency. By the mystery in her words.The Night City.There were worlds of meaning in the way the Sister had said it. Fear, but awe too.
But nothing could pull Emma from the call of home and her mother, and a real life that made sense. The longer she stayed here, the more tangled she was getting. The more she believed things that could not be true. Emma pasted on a smile. “Well. This has been so—interesting. All those things you wanted me to know, I understand now. I’ll think them over, I really will. I’ll just head home now.” She backed toward the door, panic clawing her throat, counting the paces to freedom.
“Nonsense,” snapped the Sister. “You cannot go home. There is too much danger for you to try something so idiotic.” Her good eye flicked toward the door, glittering with unease. “Not here. Not now. Things have been… unstable, of late. A dangerous time for any of us. Folk are on edge enough already, looking for something to blame—”
The Librarian gave a wheeze, and the Sister broke off. Emma looked between them, curious. She had thought before that the Librarian was not as vague as he seemed, and now she was sure. He had cut his sister off before she said too much. About some danger.
The Sister turned back to Emma. “For now, you’ll stay with us. Nobody visits, so you’ll be safe enough. Perhaps we can find a way to unpick whatever bargain you made, before they—”
Her face contracted. It was dead white under her eye patch. Someone was pounding on the front door.
“Open, by the Night City’s command.”
The blows redoubled. Loud as hunters’ boots slamming the ground. Loud as her heart crashing in her ears. Reflex took over. Emma found herself in a crouch, lips bared in a snarl.
The wood around the latch was splintering. Mouth set, the Sister marched to the door. It opened on a figure in a green tunic embroidered with a great tree, chafing his hands to shake off the cold.
The Sister lifted her chin. “Strange times, when messengers of the City force entry to a private home.”
The messenger rubbed a hand over his hair in some embarrassment. “I know, mistress. It’s not as we would wish. But these are indeed strange times. Least said on that, the better. Let’s have the business done with. The City has summoned the mortal debtor. I’m to take her to the Court to pledge her service. The Oath is due.”
Emma backed away, fighting a whine in her throat. Predators. She had the scent in her nostrils. It sang of hurt and tearing teeth waiting just out of sight.
The Sister frowned. “Allow me at least to lend her some boots. A cloak too. She cannot walk the streets barefoot.”
The boots the Sister brought out were hobnailed and laced above her ankle. They made her feel like a Victorian schoolchild. They were too big, but Emma still found her toes curling inside them, as though anxious not to touch the edges. She had to fight the strangest conviction that it was all wrong for limbs to be trapped in prisons of cloth and leather. That she ought to feel the ground under her, to dig bare toes into earth as she ran. She wrestled her thoughts into obedience. Human feet were meant to be in shoes. She wouldn’t make it far barefoot, if she had to run.
Then the messenger grabbed her arm, muscling her through the open door. She felt herself go limp, prey in a predator’s jaws. An instinct, far deeper than thought, told her to be still. It was not yet time to run.
They emerged onto the cobblestones. Opposite the cottages was a row of shopfronts, their signs turned to “Closed.” The old-timey Fenchurch Fudge shop, beloved of tourists. A newsagent’s. A chime of hope rippled through Emma. She remembered this street now. The spire of Sussex College towered over a nearby roof. Gabriel College had to be in running distance, even if she couldn’t yet remember exactly where.
“You’ll have to bind her,” the messenger said. “If she escapes, there’ll be the Night’s own breath to pay.”
The Sister pulled a silver chain from the belt-purse at her waist. She held it up for his inspection.
“That’ll do,” the messenger said.
The sight of the chain sent an electric charge through Emma. Her muscles coiled. And just as the wind veered to the perfect place, she felt a prick at her limbs. A fox-shaped shriek at the recesses of her mind.
Run.
She sprang, cobbles pounding beneath her feet, hearing the shouts at her back.
“Catch her,” the messenger howled. “Night’s sake, I’ll have to tell the City—”
Emma swung around a corner, and the rest was lost. Her heartbeat was pounding in her mouth. She was sure, any moment, a hand would land on her shoulder. The chain would circle her wrists. She would be dragged back to whatever her kidnappers had planned for her.
She ran.
CHAPTER 17
Emma’s feet found their way before her memory did. She would double back down a side passage as if at random and only afterward realize that she had once known that bookshop, or sat in that churchyard with a coffee. At last, when her lungs were at bursting point, she stumbled into an open space filled with the hum of ordinary life. Sunlight bounced from colored awnings. She was in Market Square, and the chill in the air told her it was a crisp winter’s day.
The market was bustling with the last trade of the day. A student whirred past Emma on a bike, close enough to clip her as he went by. She debated shouting after him but found herself grinning instead. She was back where she belonged. Lightness flooded through her at the beautiful normality of it all.
As she wandered the stalls, the events since she awoke began to seem like a dream. In her last clear memory, she had been lost after—was it a dinner of some kind? But there had been something else. She had been running. A picture surfaced. Red coats inthe dark, faces twisted with hunger. One face more beautiful than the others, but she wasn’t going to think about that, about him—
The name sprang from her memory, fully formed.
