Boots raced toward our huddled group.
Suddenly the adrenaline had turned to panic as people barreled over one another to get out of sight.
“Someone snitched!” another voice shouted. “Run!”
I grabbed my dress in my fists and ran, not caring what I looked like. Vanya hurried beside me, her little legs pumping.
“Stupid shoes,” she said, flinging her pumps off one at a time, then tucking into a sprint. I considered doing the same, but I didn’t want to lose the shoes—to me, shoes were a privilege.
“Go ahead,” I shouted at her, kneeling to take my new shoes off. She hurried on ahead.
A torch shone from the street above as booted constables made their way onto the bridge, then the nearest stairs. Holding my shoes, I slipped into the shadows underneath the bridge. I leaned my back against the wall, breathing hard. It was so dark down here that my eyes stayed pinned on the amber glow of the streetlight. It occurred to me that I was alone in the dark without a weapon.
Clattering sounds announced the arrival of the constables, and their shouts indicated they’d spotted someone.
I ducked farther back into the shadows, feeling trapped, but a hand reached out and grabbed me, turning my body, and another hand pressed against my mouth as I screamed.
“It’s me.” Covington pressed my back against his chest, his voice hissing in my ears. He lifted his fingers from my mouth. “Sorry. I knew you’d scream. Let’s get out of here.”
I nodded as I cupped my hand over my mouth where his fingers had been. The terror flooding my veins dwindled as I rushed forward, following Covington into the dark.
“This way.” He touched my elbow as he darted to the right, down an alleyway between buildings.
I closed my mouth and followed. We took two more turns before he stopped jogging. I slowed to a stop beside him and finally dropped the hem of my dress, pausing to slip my feet back into my shoes. He watched with a sour expression but said nothing.
“What excuse did you give Scarlett?” I said, marching forward. “I’m sure she’ll be looking for you.”
Covington’s arm shot out, halting me.
“Wait,” he ordered, his voice low. His arm was rigid, the muscles under his jacket flexing as he stopped my movement.
He stared into the shadows, knees slightly bent, hand still stretched across my midsection. Lightning bolts of fear danced down to my fingertips.
“Saints,” he cursed, drawing a knife from his waist in a flash of movement.
From the deep shadows of an alleyway ahead, several faces appeared. First one, then two, slowly, seeping from the darkness until there were five of them. From their hands hung sawn pipes.
A horrible, pathetic sound escaped my lips. Covington ripped off his jacket and pushed me behind him. Little good he would do against five gang members. But I flattened one hand againsthis back nonetheless, cursing myself for wearing this stupid dress and not bringing a knife.
Covington’s left hand drew a second knife and passed it back to me. I clutched it with both hands.
“Look, a peacock, boys,” said one of the men. He had a scratchy beard and arms as thick as tree trunks.
We were dead. Or at least, Covington was. Me…I couldn’t stomach the thought of what they would do when he was dead.
“Not just any peacock, brothers,” said the tallest man. “Duke Covington’s boy.”
A low whistle from one of the men. “The future king, boys.”
Covington’s neck twitched, then he sprang forward, drawing a scream from my lips.
The first of the gang members lunged for him, a second cutting in from the left. Covington bent his knees, arcing his knife around in a circle. He sliced the first man, then the second, before any of us had realized what was happening. He moved faster than I’d seen anyone move. The glint of steel flashed in the slim light from a distant streetlamp. He had two knives now, but I no longer had time to watch him. A dark-haired wraith of a man, tall and skeletal, came at me, pipe brandished.
A knife wouldn’t do any good if that pipe hit me first.
I’d never been particularly adept at throwing blades. I preferred to keep the weapon in my hand. Adrenaline and a sheer desire to live helped me avoid his first blow. Cursing myself for not learning more from Bennett before he moved out, I let out a shrill yell and jabbed my knife at the man’s arm as it swung by, cutting across his bicep. The man howled at me.
I backed against the stone foundation of the nearest bridge, keeping the fight in front of me. Covington was fending off two men still, but one lay on the ground, rocking back and forth in a pool of his own blood.
