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“Patience. If it’s her, she’ll get off at the next stop. At the park behind her house. Watch.”
Careful to keep still, to appear oblivious, Isobel checked the driver’s rearview mirror for the source of the static voices, aware that she wouldn’t see the creatures even if she did turn around.
But the bus mirror—her only window into the veil—was tilted in such a way that she could see just the top half of the operator’s lined face.
Leaning forward, the driver ducked out of view, triggering the doors. They closed with a clunk, sealing her in.
The bus rumbled louder.
The Nocs. They expected her to get off at the next stop. If she wanted to evade them—if she even had a chance at that—she’d have to act now.
Shooting to her feet, Isobel yanked the stop cable.
At the sound of the ding, everyone looked up.
“Sorry,” Isobel said, sliding into the aisle, legs trembling. “This . . . is my stop.”
As she made her way to the front, she could feel all eyes on her—the seen and unseen.
She bowed her head, allowing her hair to fall forward enough to hide her face. When the doors rattled open again, she took hold of the metal grip bar.
Then, in the split second before swinging herself down the short set of steps and out, she did something she shouldn’t have.
She risked a second glimpse into the mirror.
At the rear of the bus, a pair of blood-haired Nocs rose from their seats next to unsuspecting passengers.
Isobel dropped her head again, but as her feet met with the sidewalk outside, she knew the pair had seen—and recognized—her, too.
17
Back into the Tempest
Suppressing the urge to run, Isobel veered into an oncoming group of college kids dressed in jerseys and hoodies. They chattered loudly, sipping from paper coffee cups as she broke through their ranks.
“Excuse you,” one of the girls snapped.
“Sorry,” Isobel muttered without looking back.
She didn’t hear the Nocs’ hissing whispers anymore, but as the city bus rumbled past, she knew better than to think they were still onboard.
Keeping her steps even, casual, Isobel did her best to appear at ease, banking on the hope that, though the Nocs had spotted her in the mirror, they wouldn’t immediately assume she had seen them.
Even if the charade couldn’t last long, it was a better alternative to running outright. The only choice available that might buy her any time.
Time.
She’d forgotten to check the desk clock at Varen’s house.
There were none on any of the nearby stores or restaurants.
Wondering what had become of Reynolds, Isobel hoped he was there with her somewhere, waiting for the right moment to intervene as he’d always done.
After the disruption she’d caused in the dreamworld and what she’d seen in the gym, though, she knew it was not a good sign that he hadn’t shown up yet. Unpredictable as he was, Reynolds wasted time about as well as he wasted words. He should have emerged by now with the next phase of whatever self-serving plan he’d concocted.
But the Nocs had caught up to her before he had.
Caught up, and caught wise, she thought, cursing herself for arousing their suspicions through the show she’d put on to try to convince Varen she was real.
