She couldn’t be sure they were calling off their search so they could get to shelter before night fell, or if they were lying in wait, knowing she was defenseless against them, that even to save her life, she couldn’t inflict harm, not without it turning her gift into something evil.
Rebekka shivered, sweat cold against her skin, the amulet warm, as if reminding her that with the appearance of the urchin, her gift was already changed, perhaps tainted.
The distinctive rumble of a bus’s engine cut across the waiting silence, bringing the hope of escape—if she dared risk it.
In her mind she traveled the distance to the nearest stop. Imagined herself climbing into the bus and going to a place few in the red zone went to willingly—the building housing the police and guard.
Her pulse accelerated and her breathing grew shallow thinking about it. She wavered, considered returning to the Wainwright house and seeking shelter with the witches. Discarded the idea. Even if she could reach them, their protection would come at a price she didn’t want to pay.
Before the fear could build, Rebekka broke from cover, running toward the bus stop.
A cry went up from one of the boys.
She didn’t look back. Didn’t slow as she pulled the dollar bills tucked away for emergencies from a pocket as she rounded a corner and saw the bus.
It slowed to a stop, disgorged its passengers.
She sped up, racing, knowing this was the last bus of the day and if it began moving, the driver wouldn’t stop for her.
If not for an old woman who had to be helped down the stairs, Rebekka never would have made it in time. She clambered on before the driver could close the door and lock her out in his desire to finish work and get home before dark.
She paid and took a seat on the empty bus. Looked out the window.
All three of the boys were visible. One looked angry. He said something to the other two, then turned and ran.
Terror gripped Rebekka. Only days past, she and Levi had taken this same bus on their way to the Mission and found enemies waiting for them. If they hadn’t gotten off at an earlier stop, they would have ended up in the maze or dead.
In escaping that fate she’d found herself a prisoner of the Iberás—though they’d labeled her a guest. And now, because of those events, she sought refuge with them.
Rebekka reached up and touched the amulet through her shirt. Was it wrong to put those at the Iberá estate at risk?
I have no choice, she told herself as the bus picked up speed.
She remained tensed, half expecting the silver car with the assailant from the night before to intercept the bus. If it happened the bus driver would hand her over without question, without reporting the incident if told not to by someone with authority or who offered money for his silence on behalf of a vice lord.
Outside the window the bus skirted the area where the wealthy and powerful lived. Downtown came into view along with her last memory of it, when her attention had been caught by a flag fluttering on the antenna of a black sedan—a red lion rampant centered on an elaborate shield design and set against a gold background—the heraldic crest of the Iberás, though she didn’t know it at the time.
Fear returned in a rush. What if Enzo Iberá wasn’t at the guard headquarters? Or if he was, what if he turned her away, refused to take her to his family’s estate? Where would she find shelter for the night?
The stop closest to the building housing the guard drew near. Rebekka reached up and pulled the cable, signaling she wanted to get off.
When her feet touched the sidewalk she hurried forward. The hope for safety grew with each step, swelling and nearly edging out the fear of being turned out at dusk.
She entered the building, and after a brief phone call, the man on duty summoned another to take her to General Iberá’s office.
Their footsteps echoed in a hallway lined with framed photographs of men in guardsmen uniforms. The pictures continued up the stairway and onto the next floor.
Rebekka forced steel in her spine and courage into each step forward. Both deserted her when her escort stopped in an open doorway and she saw the black-robed Father Ursu waiting there alongside Enzo Iberá.
Eight
REBEKKA turned, thinking only to escape. Her escort blocked her, fingers imprisoning her upper arms, forcing her forward and then turning her to face the priest and the general.
“There is no reason to fear,” Enzo said.
Rebekka only barely smothered a hysterical laugh. In running from the man in the silver car, she’d fled right into the grasp of the person the witches claimed was responsible for her being hunted.
Terror beat at her, threatening to turn her into true prey, to replace the ability to think with only the need to fight if she couldn’t flee.
Her breathing was ragged, her heart a wild pounding in her chest and ears.
The hands on her arms dropped away but the solid mass of the guardsman continued to block her escape.
Her fingers curled around the witches’ token in her pocket. It was an unconscious gesture and yet the feel of it against her palm reminded her that she’d dared to use it, triggering a spell placed on it by the Wainwrights and summoning Aziel—a being from the ghostlands—in order to escape the Iberá estate.
Enzo had witnessed it. He’d heard Aziel’s order to free her and his warning to cease searching for Tir or every man, woman, and child bearing the Iberá name would be killed. He’d heard Aziel tell the patriarch, “Your fate is now bound to the healer’s.”
Rebekka stiffened her spine and fought to make her voice sound confident as her gaze met Enzo’s. “There is every reason to fear. The Church is still hunting me.”
Standing next to Enzo, Father Ursu smoothed a hand over the material of his robes. “You are mistaken.”
“I am not mistaken. Twice I’ve only barely managed to escape. Once last night. The other just a short while ago.”
“What happened?” Enzo asked, his expression and sharp question making Rebekka believe he had no knowledge of her pursuers.
Rebekka told him about seeing the street boys and how both times it was followed almost immediately by the appearance of the man with the birthmark staining his face. She didn’t mention Levi and the others, claimed instead that she’d managed to get away by finding a hiding place and waiting until it was safe to leave it.
By the end of her recitation, Enzo was frowning deeply. He turned to the priest.
Father Ursu opened his arms at waist height in a graceful sweeping motion. “I was drawn into this matter on behalf of the Iberás and by their request. The patriarch’s dictate that the Church no longer concern itself with it has been honored.”
The priest’s gaze went to where the amulet lay hidden against Rebekka’s skin. “There is more of the witches’ evil on her than when I first encountered her. She is mistaken about the source of her troubles.”
Doubt crept into Rebekka, allowed an opening by her desire to deny the matriarch’s claim that her father was a demon. She hadn’t told them about the memory and dream of the urchin, but the gift of the amulet hinted they knew of them.
They were the ones to tell her the Church was involved and to offer an intercession in exchange for a promised favor. But what if they were behind the attacks?
She released the token, her palms damp, her heart beating erratically. She didn’t know who to trust. Not with her secrets. Not with her doubts and fears for her soul and her gift. But her purpose for coming here hadn’t changed, despite the priest’s presence. She couldn’t go back to the brothel and risk calling disease-borne plague to her. She didn’t dare go to either her homesteaded house or to the Wainwrights.
She needed shelter for the night. And if the patriarch, The Iberá, was willing to provide it, transportation to where the Barrens bordered the forests so she could go to the Fellowship of the Sign and speak to her mother.