Wings (A Black City Novel) by Elizabeth Richards Read Free Book Online

wall behind the counter, giving the impression that the shop is bigger than it is. We head toward the counter. Garrick and Sasha have to bow their heads so they don’t bump them on the low metal beams overhead.
    Standing behind the counter is a man in his midtwenties with unruly auburn hair and sleepy brown eyes. A brass watch dangles out of the breast pocket of his red waistcoat. I’m guessing this is “and Son’s” from Babbage and Son’s.
    “Hey, Scott,” Destiny says, taking off her mask.
    A wide grin spreads across his slim face. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” He steps down from the platform and gives Destiny a quick hug. “I heard you’d gone on a spiritual retreat or something.”
    Destiny gives a tight smile. “No. I was just living it up in Centrum.”
    “I’m sorry about your aunt,” he says. “Things have gone to hell around here since she died. At least she could keep those fragging guards under control. Now they keep coming into my store, demanding free this, free that, like they own the joint.” Scott turns in my direction and I lower my head slightly, even though I’m wearing a hood and mask, so there’s little chance he’ll recognize me. “So what are you guys here for?”
    “We just need a few supplies,” Destiny replies. “Can you put it on my tab?”
    He arches a brow. “It’s a tab only if you intend to pay the bill someday, Des.”
    She grins. “True, but isn’t it so much nicer for us to both pretend I’m going to do that?”
    He chuckles. I raise a quizzical brow at Destiny.
    “Scott’s father used to work for my aunt,” she explains. “During the last war, he let her enemies use the shop to host their cloak-and-dagger meetings so she could spy on them.”
    Scott walks over to the large mirror hanging behind the counter and hooks his hand around the frame. There’s a click as a secret latch unlocks and the mirror swings forward to reveal a hidden room, big enough to comfortably fit one person, two at a push.
    “It’s a spy room,” he explains. “The glass is half silvered, so you can watch what’s going on in the shop, but they can’t see you.”
    “Neat,” Elijah says, unhooking his mask so it hangs loose around his face. I shoot an angry look at him—we’re supposed to be in disguise—and he grimaces apologetically. “Couldn’t breathe.” Scott’s eyes widen sightly as he notices the cheetah-like markings down the side of Elijah’s cheeks, realizing he’s a Bastet. He casts a curious look at Destiny, but says nothing as he quietly sets about getting our supplies. Destiny trusts Scott, so I probably can too, but even so, I keep my mask on. He places a jar of flaxseeds on the counter and unscrews the lid. The second he opens it, Elijah starts violently sneezing. Garrick and Sasha bark with amusement.
    “Id’s nod funny,” Elijah says between sneezes. “I’m allergic do flaxseed.”
    Scott puts the lid back on before Elijah has a fit, and starts weighing up the other ingredients. There’s a portable digital screen on his countertop, streaming the latest news from SBN. The sound is off, but it’s obvious from the pictures that the report is about the bridge that Omicron Squad bombed this morning. Ash’s image suddenly appears on the monitor, and I quickly reach across the counter and turn up the volume.
    “. . . These latest attacks are being attributed to the terrorist organization Humans for Unity, led by wanted criminal Phoenix, whose whereabouts are unknown,” February Fields reports over the image of Ash. I stare at the picture. It’s been doctored to make Ash look more threatening—they’ve deepened the hollows in his cheeks, narrowed his black eyes into cruel slits and lengthened his fangs. That’s not who he is. That’s not my Ash. I reach out a hand to touch the screen, aching to be close to him, then snatch it back when I remember Scott is watching. But it’s too late.
    He looks from me to Elijah, then to