“I’m just glad I didn’t shoot you,” Megan said. “I was aiming through infrared.”
I groaned, climbing to my feet, hand to my side where Knoxx’s claws had caught me. I was alive, but I’d failed to capture him. Still, I should probably count myself lucky.
A flutter of wings sounded from the other side of the room.
I frowned, picking up Megan’s gun and inching forward. By the light of drooping fruit I saw spots of dark liquid on the desk nearby. I followed them to where the pigeon crouched on a windowsill, face glowing blue.
It’s wounded, I realized. It can’t fly.
The pigeon saw me and leaped out the window, fluttering awkwardly, losing feathers as it struggled to stay aloft. It barely made it to the next building over before being forced to land.
So it could fly, but not well. I looked down at my side. The clawing hurt, but didn’t seem life-threatening. I looked out the window again, then put away the gun and shoved my hands into the gloves clipped to my belt. I raised them, then checked the legjets as the spyril warmed up.
“I’m going after him,” I said.
“You’re—”
I lost the rest of Megan’s words as I jumped out the window. Twin jets of water lifted me from below before I hit the ocean, and I bobbed back up into the air, one hand down—streambeam pointed into the water. I spun for a moment, orienting myself.
Just ahead, the pigeon—still glowing blue across the face and neck—leaped off its perch and tried to flee. I grinned and sprayed the handjet behind me, tipping myself forward so my legs shot water downward and back at an angle.
I was off, wind blowing against my face as I tailed the weakened bird. It moved in a sudden, desperate burst of speed, keeping ahead of me despite its wound. I jetted after it, turning a corner by twisting and thrusting my legs to the side like a skier, then resetting and pointing the new direction.
Ahead, the bird landed on the windowsill of a building to rest. As soon as I got close, it lurched into the air again, fluttering and flapping, a glowing bob of blue.
I roared after it, and realized I was grinning. Ever since I’d started practicing with the spyril, I’d wanted to try something like this. A real test of my skills, fledgling though they were.
The bird, frantic, ducked into a building through a small gap in a broken window. I jetted up behind and used a spray of water from my handjet to shatter the window further, then I followed with my shoulder, breaking into the room. I managed to land without falling on my face—barely—and charged after the blue animal. It darted out another window, and I broke through, leaping into the air again.
“David?” I could barely hear Megan’s voice. “Were those windows? Sparks, what is going on?”
I smiled, too focused to give a report. My chase wound through the waterway streets of Babilar, passing people on rooftops who pointed and cried out. The bird tried to fly high at one point, but the strain was too much and it came back down to land on a rooftop. Yes, I thought. This is it. I jetted up onto the roof and landed near it.
As I got my balance, the bird’s form fuzzed and reshaped into a man. Knoxx’s face was pale where it wasn’t blue, and blood covered his shoulder. He stumbled back from me, clutching one hand to his shoulder, pulling out a knife with the other.
I stopped and stared at him for a moment, waiting. Then, finally, he toppled over, unconscious.
“I’ve got him,” I said, staying back in case he was faking. “At least, I think I do.”
“Where are you?” Megan asked.
I looked around, trying to orient myself after my frenzied chase. We’d curved through the streets and come back around to near where we’d begun.
“Two streets over from the building where I placed the camera. Look for a rooftop about four stories above the ocean, sparsely populated, a big mural of some people picking fruit spraypainted on the top.”
“Coming,” Megan said.
I unstrapped my gloves, then took Megan’s gun from my pocket. I didn’t want to get any closer to Knoxx without backup, but with that wound, would he bleed out on me if I didn’t do something? There was too much to lose, I decided. I needed this man alive. I inched forward and finally decided that either he was a really good faker, or he actually was unconscious. I bound his hands as best I could using his own shoelaces, then tried to bandage his wound with his jacket.
“Megan?” I asked over the line. “ETA?”
“Sorry,” she said. “No bridges. I’m having to weave all the way around to get to you. It’s going to be another fifteen minutes or so.”
“All right.”