Then he began to burn. He had no substance, but he was on fire regardless. His body screamed with pain, and he ran.
“No, wait!” the girl called.
He’d have answered, but he couldn’t bear the heat. Every nerve was quivering, sizzling. He passed through the layered curtains at the side of the stage and felt the dust from the corners rise to chase him. He felt the dirt and moisture of the air whip into a frenzied, pursuing swarm. Every stray mote and drop gathered to him.
He ran, though he had no feet to touch the floor.
He fled down a winding corridor, out the exit, and past a smoker’s propped doorway into the night of the city. On the sidewalk the cloud of earth and wetness descended upon him. The earthen tornado drove him down onto the ground to inundate and…reform him.
He could sense the atoms of his mass rearranging, recom-bining, the zap and snap of molecules configuring cells to create organs, flesh, and bone. The crack and pull of sinew stringing him together had him quivering in terror. He felt the moment the fluid thickened to blood, and then its first rush through his new veins, charged by the slam of a heartbeat. With his first breath, he screamed his agony, arching his back on the concrete. Then he wept, gulping and hoarse.
“Call the police,” somebody said.
Custo swiped at his running eyes and nose and scuttled back toward the building. The concrete scraped his butt, so he knew he was naked.
“Just stay calm,” the man said, arms extended, palms down. He was youngish, in sweats and running shoes. “Help is on the way.”
Help? He had to be out of his mind.
Another voice echoed off the building’s walls. More people coming.
Custo’s breath came in harsh pants, but he managed to stand. His knees buckled, but he caught himself on a rusty railing and held himself up. A wild shiver ran over him. Damn, it was cold. So damn cold.
“Stay back,” the man said, retreating a few paces himself.
Custo looked around. Where the hell was he? Tall buildings rose around him, most of them gray, but one had a shiny mirrored surface.
He turned and lurched into a jog, his hand skimming the building for support. When he found his balance, he picked up speed, ducking into a service alley when he heard the twerp of a police car. He waited there, shaking with shock and a strange sense of vertigo.
Custo held up his hand, stretching the dark lines of his palm, then flipped it over. It appeared to be his own, minus the ragged scar across his knuckles. He closed his fingers into a fist and squeezed until his hand burned. Strong again. He wasn’t a ghost, that was for sure. Angel? He had no idea. Maybe he should have asked more questions of Luca when he’d had the chance.
He tried his angel’s trick and opened his mind. Humanity crashed into his consciousness, soul after soul, their inner voices crowding out all coherent thought. Too much, too much. He tried to disengage, but couldn’t find himself in the chaotic press. A last gasp, and he sought her. He reached for her like a lifeline and felt a blissful tug. Sanity returned with the knowledge that the girl was safe, inside. And?—he touched her mind—she was getting ready to head home and she was arming herself for a fight.
His new heart clenched. What did she fear? Where?
The wolf. Had to be.
Custo recalled the wolf’s attack. The collision. The fall. Sickening guilt rushed through Custo’s veins. He was responsible for the beast’s cross into mortality. She’d somehow opened the way, but he brought the wolf through.
Well, the wolf couldn’t have her. Soon all of Segue would be searching for it, and the girl wouldn’t be bothered again. He’d just have to move fast.
Custo waited behind a Dumpster until some poor slob walked by alone. He grabbed him and dragged him into the alley with an arm around his neck and a hand over his mouth. The man bucked against him, but he was too short and light to do any damage.
“I only want your pants,” Custo growled in the man’s ear.
Three minutes later Custo staggered out of the alley fully clothed. He made for the nearest corner. The street signs read w FIFTY-SIXTH and AVE OF THE AMERICAS. New York City. Midtown.
Then he knew where to go. The Segue Institute had safe houses globally. New York City had four that Custo could think of. Four and one more, the last a secure location that only he and Adam knew about. Once there, he’d have access to supplies, cash, food, and weapons. Most importantly, he could find and warn Adam.
But not without the girl.
Chapter Three
ANNABELLA gripped her brand-new jumbo flashlight while she exited the heavy bronze door of City Center onto West Fifty-sixth. The flashlight was heavy, designed for camping, but there was no way she was going to be caught in the dark without her own source of light. Not with that freaky wolf on the loose—on the streets or in her head. She kept her finger on the power button, like a trigger. And when she got that silly-girl shaky feeling, she imagined turning on the light and smoking the monster.