Instantly, it felt like the walls were closing in around me. It was so dim inside compared to the brightness of outside. The air was cool—air conditioners working overtime to deal with the unseasonably warm temperature outside—but heavy with the scent of body spray and new clothing. And the crush of bodies, while exactly what I’d been hoping for, was more unnerving that I’d anticipated.
I blinked, forced to wait for my eyes to adjust even though I kept expecting to feel fingers locking onto my shoulder.
Gradually, the dark blobs in my vision turned into recognizable objects and features. The mall was a tall, narrow structure, open in the center with an escalator to access the stores on the upper floors.
“There.” I pointed to the escalator. “Behind it, not on it.”
Zane nodded, still too out of breath to argue or question me.
As we passed a storefront, I focused and pulled a deliberately tattered and torn hoodie in dark blue off a hanging rack near the front, praying it wouldn’t have a security tag attached.
The sweatshirt slipped off the hanger and moved through the air toward my hand, without a sound, like someone had thrown it to me. Which was, I expect, exactly what the middle-aged guy who got whapped in the face by a trailing sleeve thought was happening.
He glared at me, his mouth open as if he was going to protest. I stared at him until he dropped his gaze, disconcerted.
“Here. Put this on.” I pushed the sweatshirt into Zane’s arms.
He shrugged into it while I kept searching for the other things we needed.
“Hood down,” I said. “We don’t want to look like we’re hiding.”
“Then what exactly are we doing?” he whispered to me, shoving the hood back. He zipped the hoodie up, covering every inch of yellow except for a tiny vee in the front.
“Helping them see what they expect to see.” Concentrating again, I pulled a pale green knitted cap off one of the display mannequins in another store, possibly with less precision than I should have. The blank-faced dummy, her plastic mouth frozen in an exaggerated duck-face pucker, wobbled and then fell sideways, clattering to the floor loudly as I yanked the hat out of the air. Fortunately, everyone was too busy looking at the fallen mannequin to notice the levitating hat or me grabbing it.
I snapped the price tag off and wrestled the cap over my unruly hair. Then I took the lead, heading behind the escalator.
It was practically deserted back here, with most people diverting to the escalator instead. The sudden openness of the space was a shock that felt like exposure.
Zane moved closer to me, hiding me with his body. “Ariane, they’re going to see us.…”
“We won’t be here long enough,” I said, relieved when I spotted the last item on my mental checklist. If I’d been unable to find it, I would have come up with an alternative. Shattering store windows, making the lights overhead explode, something. But this—a fire alarm box on the rear wall—was much more convenient.
“Ariane.” Zane tipped his head toward the exit in the far corner, the glowing green sign beckoning.
“No, that won’t help. Can you check for them?” I asked Zane. He’d be able to see over the crowds much easier than I would.
He turned, leaning out. His whole body stiffened.
“They’re here. They haven’t spotted us yet, but—”
Without stepping out from my sheltered position behind the escalator housing, I raised my hand to direct my power and shoved at the protective glass over the alarm with my ability.
It gave easily, the broken bits raining down on the floor with a distinctive patter of clinking that signaled danger.
Before anyone could come investigate, I sent the pull bar on the alarm down with another flick of power, scarcely more effort than a thought. And the system responded with bright flashing lights and a piercing wail that rose and fell, grinding against my eardrums.
“Now. Move.” I grabbed Zane’s hand, unsure if he could hear me over the noise, and pulled him out with me on the opposite side of the escalator. The agents wouldn’t, I hoped, be expecting to see us facing them.
On the main part of the floor, everyone appeared frozen in place, some still in midstep and gesture, their faces turned up toward the ceiling, startled and confused. This was the freeze part of the fight-or-flight response. It wouldn’t last long.
Maybe once, people would have waited for someone to give them directions or indicate that it was a test. But now, everyone was trained. Or traumatized. An alarm in a crowded public place, in a large metropolitan area, meant trouble, possibly terrorism, and no one was waiting around to be a victim.
A couple of girls shrieked, the noise rising above the alarm, breaking the group paralysis. Like a single organism, the crowd throbbed and surged toward the doors at the front.
Those closest to the doors were pushing, to get space, to get out. The ones in the back, running to join the others. No one was getting left behind.