Everybody else, stay behind me-if she sees a bunch of motorcycles, she'll probably freak. But be ready to gun it when I pull out and grab her. The noise should help cover up any screams. Raven, you pick up Thistle as soon as I get the kid, and we all go straight back to Morgead's."
Everyone was nodding, looking pleased with the plan-except Morgead.
"I think we should knock her out when we grab her. That way there won't be any screams. Not to mention any blue fire when she figures out she's being kidnapped-"
"I already said how we're going to do it," Jez cut in flatly. "I don't want her knocked out, and I don't think she'll be able to hurt us. Now, everybody get ready. Off you go, Thistle."
As Thistle skipped across the street, Morgead let out a sharp breath. His jaw was tight.
"You never could take advice, Jez."
"And you never could take orders." She could see him starting to sizzle, but only out of the corner of her eye. Most of her attention was focused on the housing building.
It was such a desolate place. No graffiti-but no grass, either. A couple of dispirited trees in front. And that playground with a blue metal slide and a few motorcycles-on-springs to ride ... all looking new and untouched.
"Imagine growing up in a place like this," she said.
Pierce laughed oddly. "You sound as if you feel sorry for her."
Jez glanced back. There was no sympathy in his deep-set dark eyes-and none in Raven's midnight blue or Val's hazel ones, either. Funny, she didn't remember them being that heartless-but of course she hadn't been sensitive to the issue back in the old days. She would never have stopped to wonder about what they felt for human children.
"It's because it's a kid," Morgead said brusquely. "It's hard on any kid growing up in a place like this."
Jez glanced at him, surprised. She saw in his emerald green eyes what she'd missed in the others; a kind of bleak pity. Then he shrugged, and the expression was gone.
Partly to change the subject, and partly because she was curious, she said, "Morgead? Do you know the prophecy with the line about the blind Maiden's vision?"
"What, this one?" He quoted:
"Four to stand between the light and the shadow.
Four of blue fire, power in their blood. Born in the year of the blind Maiden's vision; Four less one and darkness triumphs."
"Yeah. What do you think "born in the year of the blind Maiden's vision' means?"
He looked impatient. "Well, the Maiden has to be Aradia, right?"
"Who's that?" Val interrupted, his linebacker body quivering with interest.
Morgead gave Jez one of his humoring-Val looks. "The Maiden of the Witches," he said. "You know, the blind girl? The Maiden part of the Maiden, Mother, and Crone group that rules all the witches? She's only one of the most important people in the Night World-"
"Oh, yeah. I remember." Val settled back.
"I agree," Jez said. "The blind Maiden has to be Aradia. But what does the 'year of her vision' mean?
How old is this kid we're snatching?"
"About eight, I think."
"Did Aradia have some special vision eight years ago?"
Morgead was staring across the street, now, his eyebrows together. "How should I know? She's been having visions since she went blind, right? Which means, like, seventeen years' worth of 'em. Who's supposed to tell which one the poem means?"
"What you mean is that you haven't even tried to figure it out," Jez said acidly.
He threw her an evil glance. "You're so smart; you do it."
Jez said nothing, but she made up her mind to do just that. For some reason, the poem bothered her.
Aradia was eighteen now, and had been having visions since she lost her sight at the age of one. Some particular vision must have been special. Otherwise, why would it be included in the prophecy?
It had to be important. And part of Jez's mind was worried about it.
Just then she saw movement across the street. A brown metal door was opening and two small figures were coming out.
One with feathery blond hair, the other with tiny dark braids. They were hand in hand.
Something twisted inside Jez.
Just stay calm, stay calm, she told herself. It's no good to think about grabbing her and making a run for the East Bay. They'll just follow you; track you down. Stay cool and you'll be able to get the kid free later.
Yeah, after Morgead does his little "test."
But she stayed cool and didn't move, breathing slowly and evenly as Thistle led the other girl down the stairs. When they reached the sidewalk, Jez pressed the starter button.
She didn't say "Now!" She didn't need to. She just peeled out, knowing the others would follow like a flock of well-trained ducklings. She heard their engines roar to life, sensed them behind her in tight formation, and she headed straight for the sidewalk.
The Wild Power kid wasn't dumb. When she saw Jez's motorcycle coming at her, she tried to run. Her mistake was that she tried to save Thistle, too. She tried to pull the little blond girl with her, but Thistle was suddenly strong, grabbing the chain-link fence with a small hand like steel, holding them both in place.
Jez swooped in and caught her target neatly around the waist. She swooped the child onto the saddle facing her, felt the small body thud against her, felt hands clutch at her automatically for balance.
Then she whipped past a parked car, twisted the throttle to get a surge of speed, and flew out of there.
Behind her, she knew Raven was snagging Thistle and the others were all following. There wasn't a scream or even a sound from the housing project.
They were roaring down Taylor Street. They were passing the high school. They were making it away clean.
"Hang on to me or you'll fall off and get hurt!" Jez yelled to the child in front of her, making a turn so fast that her knee almost scraped the ground. She wanted to stay far enough ahead of the others that she could talk.
"Take me back home!" The kid yelled it, but not hysterically. She hadn't shrieked even once. Jez looked down at her.
And found herself staring into deep, velvety brown eyes. Solemn eyes. They looked reproachful and unhappy-but not afraid.
Jez was startled.
She'd expected crying, terror, anger. But she had the feeling that this kid wouldn't even be yelling if it hadn't been the only way to be heard.