Irene dropped to the floor and started crawling sideways the moment the lights went down. It wasn’t one of those situations where everyone remained quietly in their seats, waiting for the lights to go back on. The room was full of screaming, as if caged animals were turning on each other in the darkness. Glass hit the floor and smashed. She made out Captain Venner’s voice through the hubbub, yelling for his men to restore order. Irene hoped he’d find someone else here to arrest, besides her. It would be a shame to have completely wasted his time.
She traced her fingertips along the wall as she crawled. Suddenly she felt a breath of cooler air through a crack in the moulding. Biting back a sigh of relief, she followed the crack up and round, rising to her feet as she worked out the rough dimensions of the door.
Standing to one side of it, she said softly in the Language, ‘Door, open.’
The door swung back into the wall, but unfortunately the corridor behind was illuminated. Light came spilling out into the dark room, falling across the struggling mob.
Irene flung herself through the door, hunching to make herself as small a target as possible. There was a crack as a bullet hit the wall next to her, and she heard Venner shout, ‘Get after her!’
With panicked haste she pelted along the corridor, turning a corner to find a flight of stairs blessedly leading upwards. The door at the top was locked, but the Language opened it, and another few words closed it behind her.
She’d emerged into a garage. It was large and well lit, with several expensive-looking cars, and several more hefty-looking mechanics. They were looking at her in surprise, and she raised her hands again to demonstrate that she wasn’t holding a gun.
‘Who’re you?’ one demanded.
If this was George’s private escape route, these would be his men. ‘I’m with George – we’ve just done a deal. But the club’s being raided. Would you mind if I left before they come through?’
‘They won’t be coming through,’ the speaker grunted. ‘Jim, Luigi, you know the drill. Lady, you’d better be telling the truth.’
‘George knows where I’m staying. That’s a major incentive not to tell him any lies.’ Irene watched two of the men drag heavy crates in front of the door she’d just come through. ‘And I need to catch a cab?’
‘That way.’ He pointed to an unobtrusive door.
‘Thanks,’ Irene said, and dipped into her handbag to pass him a few bills. He took them with a nod of acceptance, clearly reassured by this normal gesture of everyday sanity.
Irene hurried through the door, out into a side alley, and from there onto the main street. It was late afternoon by now, on the cusp of early evening: the skyscrapers above filled the street with shadows. Traffic was chugging past in both directions, clogging the road with a stream of cars and omnibuses. People just released from work hurried along, turning the pavement into a solid block of crowd – a mingled assortment of ages and races, accents and languages, well off and poor, all seething together in a loud and cheerful stream. Irene lost herself gratefully in the mob for a couple of blocks.
This would be the ideal moment to really lose her pursuers and shake them off for good – then locate Evariste and Kai. And perhaps she should acknowledge that she was out of her depth, running just to stay a step ahead of her enemies. Police, mobsters and dragons. Oh, and Fae too. Morbid humour made her wonder if she ought to collect anyone else, to have a complete set.
But standing around feeling guilty about her own recklessness wouldn’t get her anywhere. She forced her way through the crowd and hailed a cab.
‘Where to, lady?’ the driver asked as she clambered in.
‘New York Public Library,’ she answered automatically. ‘As fast as you can, please.’
The cab peeled away from the curb and into the traffic, with the driver honking on his horn as though sheer sonic power would help clear a path. Irene gripped the edge of her seat and pondered her next tactics. There would probably be someone watching the entrance to the New York Public Library. All she had to do to continue her diversion was let herself be seen . . .
‘Why are we slowing down?’ she asked.
‘Police checkpoint ahead,’ the driver replied. He pointed to where a couple of black vans were half-blocking the road at the next junction. Irene recognized the same model that had transported her and Kai to the police station. Was it only this morning? It felt like longer ago. ‘Seems like they’re looking for someone.’
Irene felt her stomach clench. They could be looking for any number of criminals, but she had a feeling her name was high on the list.
Of course there was a standard method of dealing with this – and it would be the perfect way to keep the hounds on her tail.
Two cars to go. Then one. Then it was her cab.
The cop checking the driver didn’t see her immediately, but the one peering into the car grinned as he caught sight of her, with the delight of a man who’s pulled the winning lottery ticket. ‘Hey, aren’t you—’
‘Policemen, you perceive that I’m not the person you’re looking for,’ Irene said very quickly. That turn of phrase had caught on extremely fast among Librarians, once it entered popular fiction. She decided to up the stakes. ‘In fact, you perceive I am a pregnant woman about to give birth and I need to get to the hospital.’
The driver frowned at her in the mirror in bewilderment, but both cops reacted as the Language adjusted their perceptions. ‘Right you are, lady,’ the one who’d been looking at her said. He stood back and blew on his whistle, waving other cars to a halt as the other cop gestured them forward.
Fortunately the driver didn’t hesitate. He stamped on the accelerator and the cab jolted forward to the sound of more aggrieved horns, before burning rubber down the street. It was a good couple of minutes before he said, ‘What the hell—’
‘Just keep on driving and I’ll double your fee,’ Irene said.
‘Right.’ A turning later, he spoke again. ‘You’re her, aren’t you? That English boss?’
‘If I was, would I tell you?’ Irene was listening for the sound of police sirens behind them.
‘Sure you would,’ the driver said cheerfully. ‘I mean, hey, this is New York – people like you are famous here! Look, if you are, can I have your autograph?’
He tossed her back a notepad and pencil-stub while managing the cab one-handed. Irene gritted her teeth and scribbled Jeanette Smith. ‘For anyone in particular?’ she asked.
‘It’s for my daughter. See, I’m always telling her that women can get ahead in this world—’
‘Hold it a moment,’ Irene directed. She could hear sirens in the distance. She fished out several bills from her now-depleted handbag and passed them over with the autograph. ‘I’ll jump out, then you keep on going – and keep the cops following you for as long as possible. Tell them whatever you want when they catch up. Okay?’
‘You got it. I’ll drop you at the next corner; the library’s two blocks straight from there.’
‘Good man.’ Irene braced herself to move.