Redemption by Veronique Launier Read Free Book Online Page A

think of terra cotta—hard, unyielding, and weathered. He walks straight for me, and I fear we’ll collide. I shift to the side trying to avoid him, and he shifts at the same time. Something about this freaks me out. Yet, it’s the same awkward, sidewalk dance people do all the time. In principle there’s nothing menacing about it, at least not until he actually walks into me. I try to regain my balance, his arm wraps around my neck and he drags me into the alley.
    My first instinct is to panic, but I know better. I call on what I’ve learned in the self-defense classes Mom always made me attend. With both hands, I grab his arm and drop to one knee. I lean forward with all of my body weight but just hang there like a limp puppet.
    “What do you want from me?” I ask.
    I don’t expect an answer, so I’m surprised when I get one, “You can force the prophecy.”
    “What?” What is he talking about?
    I concentrate on getting away and go through the steps in my head again. Lean forward, let yourself drop using all of your body weight. I’ve got this. I’ve practiced it too often in class to fail now. So, again, I lean forward and before I have time to even think through the next steps, I just let my weight fall. I gasp as his hold momentarily tightens, choking me, but this time, his weight works against him. He is thrown off balance and gets propelled over my shoulder. Right onto the ground.
    He’s big and should take some time to get up so I begin to run for the mouth of the alley. But somehow, he’s already mobile and he maneuvers to block me. His movements are slow, sluggish even. Like he’s exhausted and can hardly even drag himself. I should have no problem escaping. But he extends his hand and grabs my arm, squeezing so tightly, I’m sure I’ll bruise even through all the extra padding of my winter jacket. I struggle uselessly against him.
    Then, at the sound of footsteps in the alley, he drops me and drags himself away in the opposite direction. Away from the newcomer.
    I glance up to express my gratitude to my rescuer, but words get stuck in my throat. For a moment, I swear I’m staring at the guy from the metro, but then he offers me his hand and I notice the clean clothing and well-groomed appearance. This can’t be the same guy.
    “Is everything all right?” he asks.
    His accent is neither completely French nor English, but definitely posh. Of course, now his voice also makes me tingle with fear or excitement since I associate it with the attack from a couple nights ago. Was it that recent? It seems like a million years ago.
    “Everything is fine.” I can’t keep the suspicion out of my voice. I do feel bad about it. It’s not his fault I’m going crazy. But I’m not imagining the attacks. I rub my sore arm.
    “What happened exactly?”
    I shrug my shoulders. I appreciate his help, but I can’t just stand around and talk about it with a stranger. Anyways, I’ll be late for work.
    Before I discuss it with anyone, I need to figure it out on my own. It’s not like I can talk about the drums and the chanting. Or the fact I keep getting attacked by people with strange vacant expressions.
    “Listen,” I say, “I have to go.” I don’t wait for his reaction. I just turn my back to him and walk away.
    Work—one of those trendy downtown boutiques where things are ridiculously overpriced—is the last place I want to be right now. And I convinced myself a thousand times along the way here that I should take the day off. Yet, somehow, here I am. I have just taken my jacket off when an annoyed Rochelle greets me. I’m stuck working with her on busy days. It sucks and I’m so not in the mood to deal with her today.
    “Yes, I know I’m a whole five minutes late.”
    “Aude, you need to start being more responsible with this job.”
    I roll my eyes at her. This is only my second time being late. Rochelle often doesn’t even bother to show up. So who is the irresponsible one? I want to