Ruler [Blood Magic, Book 3]

Chapter 5: Straight to You

As I wound my way toward the pier through the thinning evening crowds, I replayed the events of last twelve hours in my head on repeat, unwilling to look forward into the gulping abyss of the unknown, afraid if I did, I'd turn and flee into the night. The stress and uncertainty of the past few days had me reverting to bad habits; I was back to thinking the worst, back to imagining every possible egregious outcome. And I couldn't do that, not right now, not if I wanted to stay sharp, so I focused on the stuff that was painful, but safe.

The day had started with a text message to Mikey. Stay awesome, kiddo, I'd written, the telltale sting of tears threatening my eyes, and give your mom and dad a big hug for me. I wanted to say more, but I was worried it would cause too much drama and end up stymieing my plans. I didn't need Fredrick or Estella getting suspicious and calling Ephraim. 

After that, I'd gone through my drawers, stuffing clothes and toiletries into my backpack in the place of the usual binders and textbooks. Those I hid under my bed, so they wouldn't be discovered until long after I was gone. I topped off the bag's contents with the red sequin dress I'd bought on Black Friday, carefully folded, so as not to damage the fabric. I hadn't yet had an opportunity to wear it, and while I doubted it would be appropriate for wherever I was going, it was still the most expensive item of clothing I owned. It was also one of the few things I'd purchased since escaping and, for that reason alone, I couldn't bear to leave it behind. Lastly, I plucked a snapshot of Lucia and me off the wall, and slipped it inside the cover of one of my journals, which I stuffed en masse into the backpack's front pocket. I didn't dare bring any of the photos of Mikey and my adoptive parents; if the people behind this didn't already know about them, I wasn't going to be the one to divulge that information. Their safety was more important than any nostalgia I might have for less monster-laden times. I didn't pack my laptop either: that would've struck Bruce as suspicious, since I never bothered to take it to class with me.

Before I left the apartment, I wandered from room to room, trying to memorize each one. I ran my fingers across the tops of the furniture and took in all the artwork one last time. Even if I came back, this place likely wouldn't be ours anymore. If I was gone for any extended amount of time, Bruce would have no reason to remain in the city. And even if he and Ephraim conducted a search for me, they'd stage it from Ephraim's safe house, where they could work with impunity, without having to worry about nosy neighbours discovering the more unusual aspects of their business.

I made my final stop in the kitchen, where I hastily scribbled a note, which I left stuck to the front of the fridge, right beside this week's grocery list. Hey Bruce, I'm going to be a bit late tonight. Don't want you to worry. - M. Guilt welled up in my throat like bile as a fresh set of tears attempted to escape. I hated lying to him, especially because I knew he would worry. I couldn't bear to think about how much shit he'd catch from Ephraim over this.

Things didn't go much better at school. Alan and Christian were back at their antics in full force, which left me trapped in girls' room for the better part of an hour with a stubborn nosebleed and wicked case of bond rage - guess it wasn't gone for good, after all. Meanwhile, Lucia spent every free minute of the school day attempting to talk me out of going to the pier. Sheer insanity, she'd called it at one point, threatening to not only phone Bruce but also the police. I literally had to beg her not to, convincing her that whatever was going to go down, I was most definitely best equipped to handle it. Not Bruce, whose involvement would return her to the line of fire, and certainly not the human authorities, who were no match for supes - even just one.

That didn't stop her from embracing me when the final bell of the day rang in a hug that felt more like the desperate clutching of a drowning woman.