CHAPTER 5
I REMEMBER HOW FAST he flung the knife. How I would be dead if I hadn’t reacted quick enough. He wants to finish the job. He’s going to come in here and try to kill me, since he didn’t succeed before. Or if not, at least try to hurt me—the Watcher didn’t seem to have a problem with that.
If I scream, my guard will come out, but after the way things went before, I doubt he’ll do anything. He’ll probably think I baited the horseman and punish me for it. Strong as I am, I’m not ready for another choke out.
I should flee around the side of the office. The Driver won’t follow; he has to be afraid of the Watcher. Everyone is afraid of the Watchers. My pulse is pounding in my ears. A freezing line of sweat rolls down my spine.
Just as I’m about to take off to where my guard can see me, the boy stops, three paces away from his side of the barrier. He lifts his hands to show they’re empty, like this is supposed to mean he’s safe or something. He’s trying to tempt me to drop my guard. Well, I’m not going to do it. He must think I’m ten kinds of stupid if he thinks I’ll fall for that.
My toes claw at the dirt, but my feet stay planted. I don’t know why I’m not running. Some unseen hand is holding me in place. Fine. If my body won’t run, it can still fight.
I wrap the chain around my right hand and drop down and pick up a fist-sized rock with my other. I stand behind Brax, waiting for him to strike. We’ll take this boy together.
The Driver climbs down to the edge of the stream and lowers himself to the water. For a moment I think he’s about to drink it—this time I’m not objecting. His hands plant in the mud and he sniffs at it. There’s a subtle sour scent to the water, the only clue that it’s poisoned, and he must smell this because he jerks back and stands. His face is shadowed, and this makes me even more nervous. I can’t tell what he’s thinking.
Brax is lowering himself to the ground, a low growl rumbling in his chest, but the Driver seems oblivious to the wolf’s killer instincts. Maybe he’s insane. Or maybe the city people are right and Drivers really are thick.
But I remember that look on his face right before the Watcher knocked me out. He didn’t look thick. He knew exactly what he’d done.
The Driver wipes his hands on his thighs. Shifts from side to side. Then, very slowly, he reaches his foot forward over the water.
Without another thought I wheel back and hurl the rock right at his head. I’ve got a strong arm; I’ve killed squirrels and rabbits at this range before.
The Driver reaches up and snags the rock out of the air with one hand.
He bounces it to the other, as though it’s too hot to hold. He’s wincing; I’ve hurt him with my throw. This should please me, but it doesn’t. I don’t know how he caught it. He wasn’t paying enough attention to have seen my attack coming.
I bury my fingers in Brax’s coat, gripping the chain even harder in my other fist.
The Driver looks down at the rock, and then, to my complete surprise, tosses it back to me. I catch it. His brows raise as if he’s impressed, and I fight the urge to smirk. He thinks I’m like any other Pip-groomed, doe-eyed house slave in this place. Like I’ve never caught a ball before.
I’ve got news for him: I wasn’t always locked up.
He’s trying to distract me, play games so I won’t be ready for whatever he’s got coming, but I still can’t figure out what that might be. While I’m trying to, he again stretches his bare foot forward, just over the waterline, and dips his toes in. Nothing happens—what did he expect? His toes to burn off? In the reflection of the city lights off the cloud cover, I see him smile.
His white teeth gleam. Like the teeth of a bear, I tell myself, right before it eats you. Still, he’s not smiling at me. He’s not looking me at all. He’s smiling at himself, as though he’s outwitted a runoff stream. It’s the same dumb look I probably had on my face the first time I went through a sliding door.
A warning tears through me and without thinking, I throw the rock again.
He catches it again. And tosses it back to me.
This is infuriating. He doesn’t make a sound—probably because he can’t. His people are born mute, according to Daphne. Still, if he’s smart enough to be here, he’s got to be smart enough to know I’m trying to hurt him, to send him back to his barn and his horses. Doesn’t he get that I don’t want him here?
I feel like I can run now—the freeze is gone—and I will. Just as soon as I figure out what he’s doing.
He paces awhile on the bank, glancing back at the barn and then around the edge of the solitary office. Each time he passes in front of me he takes a deep breath. Brax has fallen back on his haunches and is panting. Great. He no longer sees the Driver as a threat.
Finally, the Driver moves upstream towards the sewer, where the stream is at its thinnest. Then he climbs back up the bank. My shoulders relax because I think he’s going home, but the next thing I know, I hear his sharp intake of breath and he’s running down the slope. He catapults over the stream, which is almost twice as wide as I am tall, in a single bound.
Now I’m in trouble.
I stumble back, slamming my shoulders against the wall with a yelp. The rock is still in my hand. I can run. I can still run. It’s only thirty steps around the side of the office. Or I can scream. And maybe the Watcher will come. Despite what he’s done, he knows I’m more valuable alive than I am dead.
But I don’t scream. And I don’t run. My body is betraying me.
The boy takes a few steps towards me, and I grip the rock in my hand so hard my fingers go numb. The chain weighs me down. I feel more trapped out here than I did in the net when the Magnate and his hired Tracker thugs captured me.
Brax jumps back up. The Driver’s gotten too close to us, and Brax is still my protector. He growls a low, menacing sound from his throat, and though I can’t see his face, I know his ice-blue eyes are slits and his teeth are bared.
My mind flashes to the Watcher, only an arm’s length away, but it could be miles thanks to the thick plaster wall that separates us.
The Driver stops short and frowns, eyes on Brax. He falls back a step, hands outstretched cautiously. I swing the slack of the chain in a circle, and hurriedly shove the sweat-dampened hair away from my brow so that I can see.
If he wants a fight, he’s got one.
Brax holds his position. He seems to relax the longer the boy remains still. But I don’t. It just makes me more nervous.
I stare at the Driver’s face and watch for any sudden moves. Very slowly, he reaches into his pocket. Something silver flashes in his hand—it’s another knife, I know it—and that’s all I need to fling the rock and take off running.
I get all of ten steps before I realize he’s not following. A quick glimpse over my shoulder reveals that he’s on his knees. For a moment, I think I’ve hit him, so I stop and turn, but he’s still conscious. In his hands is the broken knife handle. He places it on the ground before me, and shoves it my way. Then he stands, and turns out his pockets.
They’re empty.
My fist, still holding the chain, drops an inch. Brax repositions himself between us, the hair on the back of his neck still raised.
My mind runs through any other weapons he might have on him, and like he’s reading my mind, the boy lifts his pant legs one at a time, showing off his bare ankles. He opens his sleeves and shows his wrists. Then he lifts his shirt, and I see the pale skin of his stomach and the lines of his hips that cut down beneath his waistband.
“That’s enough,” I say. But either he doesn’t get the meaning of my words or he’s ignoring me. He turns around slowly and shows me his back too.
“You don’t have a weapon, I get it.” I try to swallow, but my mouth is completely dry.
The incinerator is grinding, a consistent hum that makes me jump as it switches to a higher gear. I chance a quick glance towards the end of the wall for the Watcher, but there is no movement. I’ll have to get all the way around the corner if he’s going to hear me yelling over the noise, and I don’t want to risk turning my back on this Driver boy again.
Keeping my eyes on him, I creep closer, sink down, and snatch the broken blade from the dirt. There’s still a jagged piece of metal sticking out of the handle. Enough to cut him if I wanted. I don’t know why he’s giving it to me. It’s either a trick or a peace offering.
His face is clean; I can see that up close. I’ve never seen a Driver with a clean face. Maybe they bathe at night. I think of the makeup we wear to auction and wonder if they wear dirt the same way. There are tons of ways I’ve tried to make myself appear horrible and disgusting to avoid being Promised.
In the gray shadows, the boy’s golden hair looks silver and it waves around his face. His mouth is closed, but his eyes are glimmering like Tam’s do when he’s lying about something. I don’t trust him.
“What do you want?” I hear myself whisper. My voice is trembling.
A look of pity slashes across his face, but quickly disappears. He continues to wait silently.
“Don’t get any closer,” I warn him. “I’ll scream for the Watcher. Or I’ll … I’ll hit you.” These are the only threats I can think of. I raise the chain looped in my hand, hoping he understands that at least.
Then he does something very odd. He sits down on the ground, long legs splayed out in front of him, and leans back on straight arms. Brax follows his cue, and lays out on the weedy grass at my feet.
“Brax!” I hiss. So much for being my hero.
The Driver and I stare at each other for a long time before I finally back into the plaster wall and sink down to a crouching position. I’ve made sure that he’s not blocking my exit; I can still dart around the corner, and I’m ready to spring should he rise.