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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.
Though her display hadn’t been enough to persuade him, apparently it had done the trick for the ghouls, who must have glimpsed her in the veil before Reynolds had shocked her back into her body.
A flash of terror flared inside her with a new thought: Lilith must suspect now too.
In her desperation, had Isobel given herself away, tossing aside the one advantage Reynolds had told her she—he—they possessed?
Isobel pushed that worry aside for later—if there was ever going to be a later—and commanded herself to keep walking.
She dared not look behind her as she continued down the sidewalk, but forced herself to concentrate on her next move, coming up with some sort of plan to elude the creatures that might be—at that very moment—less than two steps away from snatching her up. Body and soul.
Isobel fixed her sights on the nearest building—a coffee shop that stood on the other side of a narrow parking lot, kitty-corner to the bus stop.
If she went in, she might be able to create a distraction, then slip through a rear exit. Or maybe as long as she surrounded herself with people, the Nocs would hold off on their attack.
Both hopes were long shots. She knew that as well as she knew that she’d run out of options.
As Isobel drew closer to the entrance, though, what she saw reflected in the shop’s glass front windows made her stop.
Dead trees filled the tinted panes, their trunks overlapping the blazing red letters of the neon NOW BREWING sign.
Beyond the glass, customers conversed at small tables. They sipped from mugs, scribbled on notepads, and typed away at laptops. At her back, Isobel heard the swish of cars, the chirping of birds, and the high drone of a passing airplane—noises that didn’t match the soundless landscape of prison-bar trees.
Black crows filled the inklike splatter of interwoven branches, watching her.
In addition to the legion of Nocs, Isobel saw herself reflected in the glass.
And standing a few yards behind, just within the boundaries of the trees—Varen.
Her heart began to slam in her chest.
Slowly she turned to face him.
But instead of the woodlands, she found pavement. Parked cars. White houses and grassy yards. A steady stream of traffic.
