City of Light (Outcast 1)

I wasn’t the only one who could wrap myself in sunlight in this city. Whoever followed me was also capable of it.

Tension wound through my body. I flexed my fingers and fought to keep my pace even. Running would be the worst thing I could do right now; it would only further raise the suspicions of whoever was behind me.

“Head to Old Stan’s,” Jonas said behind me. “It’s close to the market on Twelfth, between the main gate and the first walkway. I’ll meet you there.”

I didn’t acknowledge him, just immediately headed across the road and into the next walkway. The crawling sense of awareness never went away, but it never drew any nearer, either. I wondered if the person following me was one of the two people Sal had merged with, or if it was someone else entirely. Sun shielding was an extremely rare talent, and while I had no idea if it could be found in anyone outside those created in the déchet labs, it wasn’t hard to imagine that if someone did possess the ability, they’d be shuffled into either the public or private army.

I continued moving through the various walkways until I reached Twelfth, then paused, looking left and right to get my bearings. I knew the market section well enough—it was where I pilfered my supplies of fresh fruit and veg—but I’d always come at it from outside the city rather than inside. After a moment, I caught the sound of stallholders promoting their prices and goods, and headed left again. The market soon came into sight. It was a riot of color, sounds, and mouthwatering aromas. A sea of tents and temporary stalls stretched across the entire street, blocking the road and forcing all those needing to get farther down Twelfth through the many higgledy-piggledy rows. I resisted the instinctive urge to snag some fruit and knobs of crusty bread as I wove my way through the market, and walked on.

The curtain wall stretched high above me now, a rusting silver monolith that under normal conditions would have cast this whole area into deep shadows. Old Stan’s was a four-story timber building that was barely more than two windows wide. The myriad of antennas and satellite dishes that lined its roof gleamed warmly in the bright light of the nearby UV tower, and the small lane between it and the next building was filled with overflowing bins and old men in even older chairs. I gave them a nod as they glanced my way. I had no idea who they were or why they’d sit in a refuse-filled lane, but for as long as I’d been coming to Central to steal food, there’d been old men sitting in that lane, smoking and drinking and talking.

I opened the inn’s somewhat battered blue metal door and stepped into slightly shadowed coolness. A wrinkled, gray-haired old man looked over the edge of the tablet he was reading and gave me a grin that was missing a few teeth.

“You’d be Ti Zindela, then,” he said, voice gravelly and warm.

“And you’d be Old Stan, I’m guessing,” I said, with a smile.

“I am, lass, I am.” He waved a hand toward a somewhat rickety-looking set of stairs at the back of the small entrance hall. “Your room is ready—it’s on the top floor, number 4C.”

“Thanks.”

He tossed me a key, then got back to his reading. I took the stairs two at a time; room 4C was at the rear of the building and one of two on the top floor. I opened the door and stepped inside. The room was small, consisting of little more than a bed, a washbasin and tap, and probably the smallest autocook that ever existed. I couldn’t imagine there’d be too much in the way of food options within it, but I guessed it was better than nothing. And it wasn’t like I was going to stay here very long, anyway.

Jonas leaned a shoulder against the window that looked down into the small alley, but turned as I closed the door. “Did she follow you here?”

I raised my eyebrows. “She?”

He nodded. “There was a slight feminine overtone, though her scent was extremely tenuous. You never saw her?”

I shook my head. “I did sense a presence behind me, but I never actually spotted her. Whoever it is, she’s damn good.”

Mentioning the fact my follower was probably using a sun shield certainly wasn’t an option, given very few people alive today would even know what it was.

“She was so damn good she wasn’t even visible.” His voice was flat. Suspicious, though whether it was aimed at me or not I couldn’t say. “I’d suspect magic, except for the fact I couldn’t smell it.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You can smell magic?”

“Some.” His nostrils flared slightly and a slight trace of distaste briefly crossed his otherwise enigmatic expression. “Just as I can smell your friend. He has a very odd scent.”

“Sorry, but there’s not a lot I can do about that right now.” I walked across to the autocook and studied the menu. As I suspected, there wasn’t much. I opted for a cheese-and-vegetable omelet, hoping that at least with the market being so close it would be fresh, then turned to face Jonas. “Odd in what way?”

He hesitated. “He’s no vampire, and yet there are undertones of night and death in his aroma that speak of those creatures. But there’s also something else, something I can’t really place—it reminds me a little of the scent of the Others, but it’s wrapped in humanity. Which makes no sense at all.”

No, it didn’t, although it did make me wonder if perhaps the fourth figure I’d seen in Sal’s memories had been one of the Others. But if it had been, surely he and his two companions would not now be alive, not when there’d been reports of just one of the creatures taking out entire units after the war.

I thrust the question away and said, “How long were you following me last night?”

Jonas’s expression gave little away. “From the moment you and he walked out of Hedone to the moment you returned. Why?”

“Were you in the restaurant at all?”

“Yes.”

And I hadn’t even seen him, let alone sensed him. He was living up to everything I’d ever heard about the rangers—which made me even more thankful my job during the war had generally kept me away from them. “And did you sense another in that room who smelled the same as Sal?”

He frowned. “No two people can have the same scent. There are always differences, even in close-knit family units.”

Well, while that was true enough, those of us created to be lures certainly could both change our scents and match them to others’. But it was never an ability given to the grays, and I really hoped it was one of those facts Sal didn’t remember.