Free Soul Trade by Caitlin Kittredge Page A

a vacation?” The woman tsked. “Manchester is so much more, Miss Caldecott. You don’t need to shack up with Wendy Macintosh and try to hide from us. We want you here.”
    “Yeah,”Pete told her. “That’s sort of the problem, isn’t it?” She felt a complete lack of surprise that Wendy and the woman from the Prometheus Club had talked. Wendy was the type who’d look after her own arse. A survivor in all the ways that mattered.
    Pete figured she’d been planning to meet the Prometheans eventually. But not like this, not when everything was on their terms. If she ever saw Wendyagain, she was going to fetch the woman a smack that would shake those yellow teeth out of her head.
    “You can try to keep running,” said the woman, evidently seeing the flash in Pete’s eyes. “But I’ll have a leg locker hex on you before you can take two steps. I don’t want us to start off on this sort of ground, Miss Caldecott. I want us to get along.” She stepped forward and extended her hand,gesturing to a long black car that pulled up to the curb.
    Pete thought of Preston Mayflower, the expression of panic and despair etched on his face just before the bus hit.
    “Fine,” she said, pasting her best faux-civil smile on her face. “We can be friends, if that’s what you want.”
    The woman grinned back at her as she ushered Pete into the car. “I’d like nothing better.”

 
    8.
    The ride was, by Pete’s count, less than five minutes, but it felt like an eternity. The woman touched one hand across the back of Pete’s neck as soon as they sat down in the rear seat, and a veil of blackness dropped over Pete’s eyes. She gave a start. “What the fuck is this?”
    “Shh,” said the woman. “Just a little obfuscation hex. Procedure for all visitors not formally inducted intothe club.”
    “Well, I’ve already seen you ,” Pete snarled. “And what you did to Preston.” She waited, hoping that she’d provoke something out of her companion other than smooth platitudes.
    “Poor Preston,” the woman purred. “He was a wayward soul. The type you really wish you could help, but alas, even we can’t save everyone.”
    “And Wendy?” Pete asked. “You got a whole network of sad sacks keepingeyes on the city for you?”
    “Wendy doesn’t deserve any of your ire,” she said. “Aside from her inability to keep her mouth shut the moment she clapped eyes on Mr. Winter, she didn’t do a thing. We have our own ears on the … grittier side of things here in the city.”
    Pete felt a touch on her shoulder. “Hush, now,” the woman said. “You’ll get answers as soon as I’m allowed to give them.”
    Petewent quiet, not because the woman had ordered it but because she knew she wouldn’t get anything else useful. She was talking to the Prometheus Club’s PR—somebody who had a glib answer for everything, and who unpleasant truths slid off of like oil skated across water. If she wanted real answers, she was going to have to play.
    She just hoped Jack had gotten out of trouble’s way, although knowinghim, it was more likely he’d run into it head first. To pass the time, Pete counted—turns the car took, seconds that ticked by. They circled the same route twice, and Pete knew she wouldn’t be able to find the place by walking if she tried. So far, the Prometheans were beating her soundly at the game of being clever.
    She didn’t like it, not at all, but she swallowed her resentment as the carpurred to a stop.
    “Here we are,” said the woman. “We’ll get you and Mr. Winter settled in rooms, and then we can all have a chat.”
    “Jack?” Pete’s voice sounded strangled, and she silently kicked herself for betraying her nerves. “He’s here?”
    “Mr. Winter is not as sneaky as he might like to imagine.” The woman’s voice swelled with amusement. “He gave my partner quite a talking-to on the rideover, in language I would not repeat.”
    “Trust me,” Pete said. “I’ve heard it all. I want