Free Nightingale by Dawn Rae Miller Page A

flash with anger.
    “And you went along with it,” I snap, “after suggesting it.”
    “Because I thought it would cheer you up. You’ve been acting deso all day. Moping because you did so amazingly fabo on your assessment. Well boo freaking hoo.”
    My fingers twitch in anger. All three of my friends stare at me, waiting for me to say something. But instead, I turn and sprint into the crowd gathered at the far end of the block, back toward the location of the safe transportation zone. I have to get away from Kyra before I hurt her.
    “Stop!” Ryker yells. Ice cold daggers of magic stab at my back, but I keep running.
    My heart pounds in my chest as I squeeze and duck through the crowd. Tears run down my face. I should never have let Mother take off the restraint. I’m too unpredictable.
    An indecipherable shout rings out. For a moment, I think the crowd I’ve been swallowed by has noticed the burning building at the other end of the street. But the people around me face the opposite direction of the fire, toward an illuminated stage where screens hover on each side.
    I turn in a circle, trying to figure out which way to go next. Only few people separate me from the stage. Four men in their twenties stand shackled together with their left wrists clamped in heavy red wristlets.
    Just like the man in the club.
    What was I thinking leaving my friends? Maybe it’s the alcohol, but ever since Ryker whispered to me at the banquet tonight, I’ve felt reckless and I’ve been making stupid decisions.
    My alert mind searches for Eamon, or anyone I recognize from Summer Hill. But the truth is, I have no idea how to tell if I’m standing in a crowd of humans or witches. Or the Splinter group.
    And that scares me. I need to get back to Kyra. Running off may have kept me from lashing out at her, but she has to be terrified that she’s lost me. It’s not fair to her. 
    As I begin to move away from the stage, the crowd falls silent. Damn. There’s no way through the throng without drawing attention to myself.
    My finger hovers over my wristlet. I could ping Kyra and tell her where I am…but what if it gets picked up by one of Mother’s people?
    I groan. There’s no good solution except staying here for the moment and hoping my friends haven’t left.
    A fit woman in a skin-tight Enforcer uniform crosses the stage and the temperament of the crowd shifts from excitement to anticipation.
    When the woman stops in the middle the stage, the crowd roars to life chanting in manic unison: “Pun-ish them! Pun-ish them!”
    The shortest of the four condemned men hangs his head dejectedly while the rest of them show a mixture of fear and panic.
    With a satisfied smile, the woman holds up her hands and the chanting turns into a soft mew. The State’s anthem blares around me and everyone snaps to attention, eyes fixed forward until the song’s end.
    When it’s over, the people in front of me move so that I can’t see the stage. Whatever is happening, the crowd loves it. I can’t even see the hover screens. A drawback to being short. All around me, people yell, stomp their feet and cheer.
    Then the crowd quiets down.
    “Dear people of the State,” the Enforcer woman begins. Her words have an Eastern society trill, which I find odd. Why not use our own Enforcers?
    I stand on my tiptoes, for a better look. Newscaster cameras buzz over the Enforcer’s head. “These Sensitives before you stand convicted of heinous crimes against the State. Stealing. Vandalizing. Consorting with enemies. Even mind control. They must be punished.”
    Yells of “Punish them” rise up again along with a few whistles.
    “Li Bai Smythe,” the Enforcer says as another woman pushes the first man forward. “You are accused of using your abilities to steal produce from a public market and are hereby sentenced to a labor crew in the far north for a time no shorter than eight years.”
    My hand flies to my mouth. No one can survive that kind of work for