"I know the guy you're looking for," he told me in English. "But his name's not Marcus. It's Dave."
Considering how difficult Marcus had been to find, I wasn't entirely surprised he'd been using another name. "You're sure?" I asked the boy. I showed him the picture. "This is the guy?"
He nodded eagerly. "That's the one. He's real quiet. My mom says he's probably doing bad things."
Great. Just what I needed. "Do you know where he lives?"
The boy pointed upward. "At the top. 407."
I thanked him and went back inside, heading up to the fourth floor on stairs that creaked the entire way. The apartment was near the end of the hall, next to one that was blasting obnoxious music. I knocked on 407 and didn't get a response. Not sure if the occupant had heard me, I knocked more loudly and received the same result.
I eyed the doorknob, considering melting it with my Alchemist chemicals. Immediately, I dismissed the thought. Even in a disreputable building like this, a neighbor might be concerned to see me breaking into an apartment. I didn't want to attract any attention. This situation was getting increasingly frustrating, and I couldn't spend all day here.
I ran through my choices. Everyone said I was so smart. Surely there was some solution here that would work? Waiting around in the hall wasn't an option. There was no telling how long it could take for Marcus or "Dave" to show up. And honestly, the less time spent in the dirty hall, the better. If only there was some way to get inside that didn't involve actually destroying -
That's when the solution came to me. I groaned. It wasn't one I liked, but it would get the job done.
I went back outside and waved hello to the boy as he practiced jumping off the steps. "Was Dave home?" he asked.
"No."
The boy nodded. "He usually isn't."
That, at least, would be helpful for this next crazy plan. I left the boy and walked around the side of the building, which was mercifully deserted. There, clinging to the outer wall, was the most rickety fire escape I'd ever seen. Considering how rigid California safety standards were, I was astonished that this hadn't been reported. Of course, if it had, it didn't seem likely this building's owner would've been quick to act, judging from the rest of the conditions I'd seen.
Double checking that no one was around, I stood in the fire escape's shadow, hoping it more or less concealed me. From the messenger bag, I produced one of my charms: a necklace made of agate and crow feathers. I slipped it over my head and recited a Greek incantation. I felt the warmth of magic run through me but saw no ostensible changes. Theoretically, I should be invisible for those who didn't know to look for me. Whether that had actually happened, I couldn't say. I supposed I'd find out if someone came by and demanded to know why I was climbing into an apartment via the fire escape.
Once I stepped onto it, I nearly terminated the plan. The entire fire escape squeaked and swayed. The scaffolding was so rusty, I wouldn't have been surprised if it disintegrated beneath my feet. I stood frozen where I was, trying to work up the courage to go on. I reminded myself that this could be my one chance to find Marcus. The boy in the parking lot had confirmed he lived here. I couldn't waste this opportunity.
I gulped and kept going, gingerly moving from floor to floor. When I reached the fourth, I stared down in amazement, unable to believe the fire escape was still intact. Now I had a new problem. I'd figured out where Marcus's studio was, and it was one window over from the fire escape's landing. The distance wasn't that great, but on the narrow ledge between them would feel like miles. Equally daunting was the fact that I'd have to get through the window. It was shut, which made sense if he was in hiding. I had a couple magical amulets capable of melting glass, but I didn't trust myself to be able to use them on the narrow ledge - which meant I had to see just how good my aim had become in PE.
Still conscious of the precarious fire escape, I took out a small pouch of powder from my messenger bag. Sizing up the distance, I threw the pouch hard toward the window, reciting a spell - and missed. The pouch hit the side of the building, throwing up a dusty cloud, and began eating away at the stucco. I winced as the wall dissolved. The spell eventually burned itself out but left a noticeable hole behind. It hadn't gone all the way through, and I supposed given the state of the building, no one would probably even notice.
I had one pouch left and had to make it count. The pane was fairly big, and there was no way I could miss this time. I threw hard - and made contact. The powder smashed against the window. Immediately, a reaction spread out and began melting the glass. It dripped down like ice out in the sun. Now, watching anxiously, I wanted the reaction to go on for as long as possible. I needed a big enough hole to get through. Fortunately, when it stopped, I felt confident I could make it inside - if I could get over there.
I wasn't afraid of heights, but as I crept along the ledge, I felt like I was on top of a skyscraper. My heart was in my throat, and I pondered the logistics of surviving a four-floor drop. My palms began to sweat, and I ordered them to stop. I wasn't going to come all this way just to have my hands slip at the last minute.
As it turned out, it was my foot that slipped. The world spun, and I frantically flung my arms out, just barely grabbing the inside of the window. I pulled myself toward it, and with a surge of adrenaline-fueled effort managed to hook my other leg inside. I took a deep breath and tried to quiet my pounding heart. I was secure. I was going to make it. A moment later, I was able to pull myself up and swing my other leg around the ledge, tumbling into the room.
I landed on the floor, my legs weak and shaky as I worked to steady my frantic breathing. That was close. If my reflexes had been a little slower, I would've found out exactly what four floors could do to the human body. While I loved science, I wasn't sure that was an experiment I needed to try. Maybe being around dhampirs so much had helped improve my physical skills.
Once I'd recovered, I was able to assess my surroundings. Here I was, in the exact same studio I'd seen in my vision. Glancing behind me, I sized up the mission, verifying I had the same vantage. Yup. Exactly the same. Inside, I recognized the mattress on the floor and the same meager belongings. Across the room, the door leading out had a number of very new, very state-of-the-art locks. Dissolving the outer doorknob wouldn't have done any good.
"Now what?" I muttered. I'd made it inside. I didn't have Marcus, but I theoretically had his apartment. I was unsure what I was looking for but might as well start somewhere.
First, I examined the mattress, not that I expected much. It couldn't hide belongings like mine could. It could, however, hide rats and God only knew what else underneath it. I gingerly lifted a corner, knowing I must be grimacing, but there was nothing underneath - alive or otherwise. My next target was a small, disorderly pile of clothes. Going through someone's dirty laundry (because I assumed it was dirty, if it was sitting on the floor) wasn't much better than looking at the mattress. A whiff of fabric softener told me that these clothes were, in fact, recently washed. They were ordinary guy clothes, probably a young guy's clothes, which fit with Marcus's profile. Jeans. T-shirts. Boxers. As I sifted through the pile, I nearly started folding them and had to remind myself that I didn't want to leave any sign of my passing. Of course, the melted window was kind of a dead giveaway.
A couple of personal items sat nearby, a toothbrush and deodorant with a scent inexplicably called as "Ocean Fiesta." Aside from a rickety wooden chair and the ancient TV, there was only one other form of comfort and entertainment in the barren room: a battered copy of The Catcher in the Rye. "Great," I muttered, wondering what it said about a person who owned no other personal possessions. "Marcus Finch is pretentious and self-entitled."
The studio's bathroom was claustrophobic and barely had enough space for a single shower stall, toilet, and dripping sink. Judging from the mildew on the floor, a good deal of water sprayed out when the shower was used. A large black spider scurried down the drain, and I hastily backed out.
Defeated, I went to investigate a narrow closet door. After all my work, I'd found Marcus Finch but hadn't actually found him. My search had revealed nothing. I had limited time to wait for him, and honestly, if I were him and returned home to a melted window, I would promptly walk out the door and never return. If he ran, I'd have no choice but to keep scrying and -
"Ahh!"
Something jumped out at me as I opened the closet door - and it wasn't a rat or a roach.
It was a man.
The closet was tiny, so it was a miracle he had even fit inside. I had no time to process the spatial logistics, however, because his fist shot out and clipped me on the side of the face.
In my life, I'd been slammed up against brick walls and bitten by a Strigoi. I'd never been punched, however, and it wasn't an experience I wanted to repeat. I stumbled backward, so surprised that I couldn't even react right away. The guy lunged after me, grabbing my upper arms and shaking me as he leaned close.
"How did you guys find me?" he exclaimed. "How many more are coming?"
Pain radiated through the side of my face, but somehow, I managed to gather my senses. Last month, I'd taken a self-defense class with a slightly unstable Chihuahua breeder who looked like a pirate. Despite Malachi Wolfe's unorthodox behavior, he'd actually taught us some legitimate skills, and they came back to me now. I kneed my attacker in the stomach. His blue eyes went wide with shock as he released me and fell to the ground. It didn't keep him down for long, though. He scrambled back to his feet and came after me, but by then, I'd grabbed the chair and was using it to keep him at bay the way a lion tamer would.
"Back off," I said. "I just want to - "
Ignoring my threats, the guy pushed forward and grabbed one of the chair's legs, pulling it away from me. He had me backed into a corner, and despite some tricks Eddie had taught me, I wasn't confident in my own ability to throw a punch. Nonetheless, I put up a good fight when my attacker tried to grab me again. We struggled and fell to the floor. I kicked and clawed like crazy, making things as difficult as possible. It was only when he managed to pin me with his entire body that my flailing got stifled. I had enough freedom to reach a hand into my pocket, however.
"Who sent you?" he demanded. "Where are the others?"
I didn't answer. Instead, I pulled out a small vial and flipped the cap off with one hand. Immediately, noxious yellow vapor with the consistency of dry ice spilled out of it. I thrust it toward the guy's face. He recoiled in disgust, and tears sprang into his eyes. The substance itself was relatively harmless, but its fumes acted as a kind of pepper spray. He let go of me, and with strength I didn't even know I had, I managed to roll him over and hold him down. I drove my elbow into his wrist, and he made a small grunt of pain. With my other arm, I waved the vial with as much menace as I would a machete. This wouldn't fool him for long, but hopefully it'd buy me some time to reassess my situation. Now that he was still, I was finally able to get a good look at him and was relieved to see I'd at least achieved my goal. He had a young, handsome face with an indigo tattoo on his cheek. It was an abstract design that looked like a latticework of crescent moons. A faint silver gleam edged some of the blue lines.
"Nice to meet you, Marcus."
Then, the most astonishing thing happened. Through his watering eyes, he'd been trying to get a good look at me too. Recognition appeared on his face as he blinked me into focus.
"Sydney Sage," he gasped. "I've been looking for you."
I didn't have any time to be surprised because I suddenly heard the click of a gun, and a barrel touched the back of my head.
"Get off him," a voice demanded. "And drop the smoke bomb."
Chapter Seven
I MIGHT HAVE BEEN DETERMINED to find Marcus, but I certainly wasn't going to argue against a gun.
I raised my hands in the air and slowly stood up, keeping my back to the newcomer. Just as carefully, I stepped away from Marcus and set the vial on the floor. Fumes still wafted out of it, but the reaction would burn itself out soon. Then I dared a peek behind me. When I saw the girl who stood there, I could barely believe my eyes.
"Are you okay?" she asked Marcus. He was unsteadily getting to his feet. "I left as soon as you called."
"You!" I couldn't quite manage anything more articulate.
The girl standing before me was close to my age, with long, tangled blond hair. She still had the gun on me, but a small smile appeared on her face.
"Nice to see you again."
The feeling wasn't mutual. I'd last seen this girl when I faced down the Warriors in their arena. She'd been toting a gun there as well and had had a perpetual snarl on her face. She'd pushed me around and threatened me, making no secret of how heretical she thought my defense of Sonya was. Although she seemed much calmer now than she had with those fanatics, I still couldn't dismiss what she was - or what the implications were. I turned to Marcus in disbelief. He was cradling the wrist I'd nailed with my elbow.
"You . . . you're one of them! One of the Warriors of Light!"
I don't think I'd ever been so let down in my life. I'd had so many hopes pinned on Marcus. He'd become larger than life in my mind, some rebel savior who was going to tell me all the secrets of the world and free me from being another cog in the machine of the Alchemists. But it was all a lie. Clarence had mentioned Marcus had convinced the Warriors to leave him alone. I'd assumed it was because Marcus had some incredible leverage he could use against the Warriors, but apparently, the key to his influence was that he was one of them.