“Through here, maybe?” Theo opens a door that leads into a darkened room, one empty of chairs or tables.
I follow him inside; as the door swings shut behind us, darkness seals us in, except for the faint glow of the tech we wear—our holoclips, or my security bracelet. We can hear Conley’s speech again, but muffled. “The next challenges humanity will face are going to be fundamentally different from any we’ve faced before. New threats, yes—but new opportunities, too.”
Then we hear something else. Footsteps.
Theo’s arm catches me across the belly as he pulls us both backward, until we’re standing against the wall, hiding in the most absolute darkness. Adrenaline rushes through me; my hair prickles on my scalp, and I can hardly catch my breath.
The steps come closer. Theo and I look over at each other, side by side in the dark, his hand firm against my stomach. It’s too dark for me to understand the expression in his eyes.
Then he whispers, “The far corner. Go.”
We break apart. I rush into the corner, like he said, while Theo walks straight toward the steps . . . which turn out to belong to a tall man in a uniform who doesn’t have a sense of humor.
I knew somebody like Wyatt Conley would have security.
“I only wanted to get an autograph afterward,” Theo says as he keeps going, leading the guard farther from me. “Do you think he’d sign my arm? I could tattoo the autograph on there forever!”
Probably Theo meant for me to get out of here while he distracts the guard. Instead I creep around closer to the stage, and to Paul.
From onstage, Conley says, “The dangers we have to fear aren’t the ones we’re used to. They’re coming from directions we never imagined.”
Theo protests as the guard backs him out of the room, “Oh, come on, no need to overreact—” The door swings shut again, and I can’t hear his voice any longer. I glance over my shoulder, as though looking for Theo would bring him back again—
—which is when Paul Markov’s hand clamps down over my mouth.
My father’s killer whispers, “Don’t scream.”
9
PAUL PULLS ME BACKWARD. HE HAS ONE HAND AROUND MY waist, the other over my mouth. My legs go watery, and I actually have to tell myself not to pass out.
What do I do? I always envisioned attacking him, not being attacked. How could I let him get the jump on me? How could I have been so stupid?
“What are you doing here?” he whispers. We’re just behind the curtain. “How can you even be here?”
I grab at his arm, though I know I’m not strong enough to pull his hand away—and that’s when I glimpse the bracelet on my wrist.
Defender.
Quickly I click the bracelet like the woman on the video. Instantly, a blue-white shock jolts into Paul’s hand.
Paul yells in pain, and I push myself free of him—and stumble through the curtain onto the stage. For a moment I stand there in the spotlight, in a state of shock, only a few feet away from Wyatt Conley. We stare at each other while the startled audience murmurs and I try to figure out what I can possibly say.
Then Paul’s hand closes on my elbow, and I scream.
“Security!” Conley yells as Paul pulls me offstage and people in the audience start shouting. But security isn’t around, because they’re busy throwing out Theo. That means it’s up to me.
I wrench myself away from Paul as violently as I can; he must still be weakened from the electric shock, because I’m able to get free. Then I run like hell.
How could I have been such a fool? How could I have questioned for one second that Paul was dangerous? He killed my father and I still wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I’m never going to let a guy make me this stupid ever again.
I dash from the building into the rain toward the Tube.
From the footsteps on the pavement, and the shouts of people being pushed out of the way, I know Paul’s right behind me.
“Marguerite!” he shouts. “Stop!”
Like that would ever happen.
Raindrops spatter against my face; the sidewalks darken in front of me with every drop. The glowing 3D sign for the Underground spurs me on, giving me the strength to run faster.
I plunge inside, wet hair dripping, and don’t even hesitate before vaulting over the turnstile. If it gets the transit cops’ attention, great.
But even as I run I hear Paul jumping the turnstile behind me.
My ring begins to blink; only one person could be calling me. I manage to slap the ring on, and Theo’s face appears in front of me, shaking and blurry. “I heard—wait—what’s going on?”
“Paul! He’s right behind me! We’re at the Tube!”
Instantly the screen vanishes. Theo’s coming as fast as he can, I know, but I’m not sure he’ll be able to reach me in time.
The Tube corridor splits here into different tunnels, different destinations. I run into the nearest one, not caring or thinking which would be better, then curse under my breath as I hear a train pulling in ahead. While the crowds might protect me from Paul, they’ll also protect Paul from me.
But I keep running. I’m past the point of turning back.
The passengers swarm toward me, their holographic games and calls swirling around them like electronic fog. How can there be so many this long after rush hour? I angle my shoulders, turning that way and this to avoid crashing into someone—but then Paul’s hand grabs my shoulder.
Instantly I turn and slam my fist into Paul’s face.
Ow. Oh, damn. Nobody tells you that punching someone hurts as badly as getting punched. Paul stumbles back, and a few of the other passengers startle, realizing for the first time what they’re seeing.
Paul looks at me, his hand to his reddened jaw, and it’s as if . . . as if he doesn’t understand. How can he not understand?
Behind me the train slides out of the station with a rush of air and a roar that nearly drowns out his words. “Who brought you here?”
I don’t get a chance to answer as Theo shoves through the crowd, launching himself toward Paul and yelling, “Son of a bitch!”
Paul’s head whips from me to Theo in the split second before they collide. The remainder of the commuting crowd shatters in an instant; people scream and scatter, going in a hundred directions at once. A big guy slams into me hard enough that I bang into one of the metal-grid dividers.