Strange Aeons [Book 1]

2.Sylvan Manor [part III]

«Aaaand this is where I turn the earpiece off.» Banshee said, with a disgusted expression on her face. «Damn Chico and his hormones! We know jackshit and he starts playing "hide the stick" with Milady's bush!»

«You vulgar woman.» Vopros commented, in a reprimanding tone. «I like.»

«Uh? Thanks?» she raised an eyebrow. «Still, we need intel! That box isn't going to find itself. And if it's not in Eva's house, where the fuck could it be?»

«Man knows.»

«You mean the Uncle? Fat chance at that, I hadn't seen him even coming out of the doors.»

«He going to valet parking.» Vopros informed her, with his drunken Russian aplomb.

«What? Ye scried him?» she asked, baffled.

«No, lift just left upper floor with just one man inside. Probably him. A car just arrived in front of door.» he summarized, void of any enthusiasm, while beside him Banshee was completely on fire. Still metaphorically, luckily.

«Fuck, he has a car!» grunted Banshee, standing up from her half-spread out position and starting to stretch, while down on the street the Frenchman was withdrawing from the valet a blue Jaguar XE.

«What you do?» asked Vopros, with no intention of moving whatsoever.

«I'm following him. Ye stay here and cover fer Chico if needed. Not that I think it would be necessary, still. Please bring me rifle home.»

Down on the street, the roar of the Jaguar's engine was unmistakable. Banshee looked down to see the blue car jerking towards with a sporty sprint. She took three or four fast breaths and started running towards the end of the roof. The next building over was four stories shorter than theirs. She ran, reaching her top speed, and then with a deep breath charged her legs and jumped over the rail.

She walked in the air for infinite seconds, then she squinted her eyes and concentrated on her feet. She could visualize the fluxes floating furiously around them. Her crazy leap lasted not more than ten seconds, but they were plenty. She never landed on the second roof. She just kept running in the air, her speed incredibly busted by the wind blowing over the buildings, making her reach the exact same speed as the car she was now chasing, only above.

Of course, it wasn't ideal, running from roof to roof, playing with air pillows. Everyone could just peek out of their windows and see a woman running on the roofs, or even in the air. But at that time, Banshee couldn't care less. They couldn't afford to lose sight of him. Beside her, the grey, chubby figure of a fattish pigeon with crossed eyes, perfectly in his element, was helping her to keep the car under surveillance, and checking the surroundings too.

The Frenchman was speeding like a madman. It was incredible that the police still hadn't pulled him over. He drifted in any possible curve, passed at least for red lights, almost killed two pedestrians on zebra crossings and nearly provoked an incident at an intersection.

She couldn't understand what was he running from. He couldn't have possibly seen her, she was way above him. And the fact that he was proceeding in such a circuitous manner was what let her keep up with him. She darted from roof to roof, getting her grip on the wind itself. It was a majestic sensation. The thrill of the chase was something deeply embedded in her own blood, whether she was the prey or the predator.

And the chase went on for half of Boston. They went all west, just to turn and come back east. She was starting to tire down when she noticed her pigeon was gone. She shrugged, thinking he could have maybe found some pigeon friends, and resumed her race.

But something had changed. Suddenly the Frenchman was driving in a more cautious manner, much slower, and respecting the road signals. She barely had to run. They took some turns backward, changed road again in an illogical manner another couple times, and then he stopped in front of an apartment building in a very rich zone of the city.