Children Of The Sky (The Scripts Of Neptune, Book 2)

Chapter 36

The wraith met his knife with an easy parry. Ely snapped back into stance, keeping his feet planted, suddenly thankful for the way dancing had built his muscles. Even drawn tight as a bow there was a learned looseness to the way he held himself, a flow he hadn't had before. It saved him from a blow to the gut when the wraith shot out at him with a low fist and Ely twisted out of his way, keeping his balance on the sloped roof. The wraith stepped lightly onto the peak of the roof and walked towards him, quick and careful. Blocking a blow with a long screech of steel on steel, Ely caught the wraith's wrist and pushed, managing to get the man off-balance enough that he teetered off the peak and had to right himself on the other side.

Trying to keep his breathing even, Ely took a few quick strides in pursuit. With a hiss, the wraith threw himself off the building and took to the air on white wings. Abandoning caution, Ely ran straight off into nothingness, shifted, and followed.

Both landed with a roll on the flat warehouse roof when the wraith noticed Ely was in hot pursuit. Crouched low in the moist dark, he looked like something out of a fairytale, dagger gleaming wickedly, mask featureless and betraying no emotion, figure wiry and quick as a snake. Suppressing a shudder of irrational fear, Ely darted forward, knife ready.

They danced like a pair of ribbons in the dark, twisting this way and that. The wraith rapidly put Ely on the defensive, striking with such dangerous speed that Ely found himself staggering backwards to keep away. His hood had fallen back, and he was soaked with sweat, his knife's hilt almost slipping in his hand. His heavy breathing was met with silence from the wraith; if he hadn't made the few mistakes Ely had caught him in, he wouldn't have even seemed human.

A roundhouse kick to the jaw slammed Ely to his hands and knees, stars warping his vision. His knife had fallen somewhere to his right. As he tried to stumble to his feet, he was grabbed by the hair. Steel kissed his neck like a bitter lover, cold and smooth as ice. Held captive halfway to his feet, Ely stared into the blank, eyeless face of the man who unknowingly held the key to his freedom.

"Do it, then," Ely choked breathlessly, aching to kneel as his muscles screamed at him. He was surprised to find he was remarkably close to meaning what he said. "Slit my throat. Save yourself the trouble."

"I have not yet tainted my reputation with murder," the wraith said, so soft Ely barely heard him. His voice was rasping, almost breaking on itself. "I do not intend to make an exception for you." Ely was on the ground before he knew he'd been let go, and a moment later he received a kick to the chest that left him unable to breathe for a few brutally long seconds. "Go home, Palenin. You have enough scars already."

Coughing so hard he half-expected to throw up, Ely rolled onto his hands and knees and staggered to his feet. The rooftop was empty, and the sky showed no trace of the wraith's escape. Cursing under his breath, Ely put a hand to his chest and walked unsteadily towards the dark shape of his knife, sheathing it and looking about. The warehouse was still gravelike in its silence; the wraith's words seemed to hang in the thick air.

You have enough scars already.

Ely froze. Nobody knew about his scars, not for certain, except a handful of people. Corin, of course, and his father, but neither of them were likely to be out robbing warehouses, particularly without their magic to aid them. The only other person who'd seen them was...

Swearing softly, Ely ran a hand over his head. It couldn't be her, could it? The voice wasn't right, the build wasn't right--but voices could be changed, and the wraith wore garments loose enough to hide a feminine frame. Turning, Ely stared at the spot the wraith had held him, then turned his eyes to the cloudy sky. He could make it back in minutes if he flew. He could catch her in the act of returning, if it was her.