Say it.
“If you still care about your friends, you’ll do exactly as I tell you.” I spring to my feet and deliver my first line, just as the vision bid me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The Hue’s head immediately snaps up, the self-pity in his voice hardening. “I’m here alone.” He’s either a terrible liar, or too drunk to sell the part.
“So, if I were to tell the trackers that there’s also a Bronze and a Gold in Sarotuza, that wouldn’t bother you?” I ask, continuing down the script. “If I were to point them to Isitar, you wouldn’t want to warn Novi or Lyria?”
Whoever those girls are, they’re clearly important, because all at once, there’s fear in the Hue’s eyes, real and potent.
“There is nothem, understand?” He rises to meet me glare for glare. “You want me, you can have me. Butjustme.”
The future sure did call this one right; he doesn’t care about his life half as much as he does theirs.
“I’m not interested in your friends,” I say, stealing a glance at the door. “But if you don’t follow me right now, the trackers will get you, and then they’ll get them. So, are you coming or not?”
“Lead the way.” His surrender is clear and quiet. And though he only resisted me for a few seconds, the converging threat of trackers must have used that time well.
Crap, that’s them. A chorus of angry jeers ripples through the crowd, yells of “get out” and “your kind isn’t welcome here” filling the
tavern.
“Hood up and get behind me,” I bark, quickly lifting my own. Then when the Hue plants himself a whole universe too far away, I grab hold of his arm and add, “Closer. We’re going to have to move as one.” The sudden sense of him is an unnerving weight at my back, the warmth of his skin a searing branding iron. It feels wrong to be standing so close to a Hue—to be touching him, helping him. To be the reason he’ll get to keep breathing.
Take five steps into the main room. The future’s next instruction is as detailed as the last. Fernay’s book did say that being fate-touched would allow for a wider range of visions, but I never dreamed that the fates would suddenly provide me with such specific, real-time aid, especially with my magic behaving so erratically. And while every fiber of my being is begging me to move in the opposite direction—awayfrom the trackers instead oftowardsthem—the certainty of the vision isn’t up for debate. For the first time in my life, I don’t doubt that I’m interpreting it correctly.
“This way,” I whisper, heeding the command.
“Are you insane?” The Hue, on the other hand, is lacking that faith in fate. “They’ll see us!”
“Not if you do as you’re told—now, duck.” I pull him down beneath the nearest table a split second before a group of trackers sweeps past, their cloaks rippling with an invisible wind.
“Search every corner of the building. No one leaves until we find it.” The leader—a Red, as announced by the ruby sickle pinned to his lapel—sends his team fanning out in all directions, despite the mounting levels of hate, the cacophony of wishful threats that only stop a lick short of actual violence. Trackers aren’t allowed to unleash their magic on the typics unprovoked, nor are they allowed to damage their property or hurt their livelihoods. In return, the typics have to let them complete their work, which they do because it benefits both sides. But that doesn’t mean they have to like it, and there’s no law against them voicing their disgust.
Hold your position.
As two Blues and a Yellow stride towards us, I put a hand to the Hue’s shoulder, urgently mouthing the words:stay still.
“But they’re coming this way!” he argues, wild with the need to run. Seems his sense of self-preservation has finally kicked in.
“I don’t care—we don’t move until I say so.”
Until thefuturesays so.
And that’ll be any minute now . . .Sweat beads at my temples, my own faith in this escape plan beginning to crack. This brand of divination is as new to me as it is untested, so who’s to say how long I can actually sustain it, or how much help the future is willing to provide?
Don’t you dare abandon us now,damn it.Show me the next step.Those trackers are still headed straight in our direction and in a matter of seconds, there will no longer be a way out. Not for him or for me.
“I really think you should reconsider that deci—” A frenzied yell swallows the rest of the Hue’s protest, belonging to one of the more intoxicated typics, who barrels into the trackers and tackles them to the grimy floor.
Under the table to the right.The future seizes the opportunity and so do I, bidding the Hue to stay low as we scramble out of their path.
“They’re going to tear them apart.” It’s hard to know if he means the typics or the Shades, but right at this moment, I can’t spare the time to look, not while the next set of instructions is flashing behind my eyes.
“Up—now.” I jerk us forward, taking three long strides towards the bar then a sideward lunge to hug the wall, where we stay for a nerve-wracking beat—long enough for the remaining trackers to storm past in their rush to assist their friends—before bending low to avoid the business end of an Orange spell. Between the yelling, and the fighting, and the magic now shooting through the air, there’s no way to predict where the trackers will turn their attention next—it’s only the future’s ability to see what we can’t that guides us through the cracks in their periphery, choreographing an elusive dance that beggars belief. After it helps us narrowly avoid capturefor the seventh time, even the Hue quits muttering curses under his breath. He’s now following me through the tavern without question.
Truth be told, when push comes to shove, it’s my hesitation that sinks us, my unwillingness to blindly obey the whims of fate. We’re almost to the door when they show me one final maneuver, of the Hue and I pressed together, glued in a sickening, lip-locked embrace.
They want me to kiss him.
