Free The Last City by Nina D'Aleo Page B

of sound dragged Ev’r out of Ismail’s grasp into reality, where she lay on a piss-dank floor convulsing and frothing at the mouth, staring up at a weasel-blood human-breed shouting her name.
    ‘Keets!’ the psychic analyst bellowed again, slamming his palm down on the panic button on the table.
    Four guardians burst into the room – one Twitchbak, one giant and two human-breeds.
    ‘She just collapsed. I didn’t do anything!’ the analyst told them.
    The guardians closed in on her, and Ev’r stared up at their faces. Horror shivered through her. Beneath the faces of the two human-breed soldiers, she recognised the same evil she had seen in the desert just before her capture – Skreaf demons. They were already here in the city. They had infiltrated the United Regiment, which meant something big must be about to happen – maybe even sooner than the Ravien change would take her. Death was one thing, but dark magics . . . some things were worse than death. She needed to get out – now – and as she saw it, the Ar Antarian soldier whom Kane had called Jude was the key. This man had another name. He had a terrible secret. The only thing left to find out was: how far would he go to save himself? Who would he betray?

7
    C opernicus pushed open the door of Winston Dunn’s diner on Upper Kettle Street, several blocks from Headquarters. The diner was, as always, overcrowded with military personnel, uniformed and plain-clothed, off and on duty. A discordant chorus of sounds assailed Copernicus’ senses, gabbling conversations, clink-clanking glasses, the sizzle and spit of grilling meat, and yells from the crowd watching a pedal-ball match on the holo-screen projected above the bar.
    He entered, triggering the buzzer above the door. Numerous people turned towards him then quickly away, their eyes shifting nervously, their body-heat flaring. The lower-ranking soldiers on duty saluted him. The crowd parted to make a path for him and a murmur followed his back. He headed to the booth where the trackers always sat. It was occupied by two young soldiers sharing fried thistle stalks, talking with their heads close together. Copernicus looked at them and they quickly picked up their plates and shifted to another spot. The commander sat down and used a napkin to brush their crumbs off the table surface. Silho slid into the seat opposite him.
    He could feel her watching him, studying what he was doing. He looked up – she looked down. He looked down – she looked up. To outsiders, it might have appeared to be a dinner date – she a little nervous, never quite meeting his eyes, he leaning forward, perhaps on the edge of conversation. It might have appeared like that, but anyone worth the air they breathed knew appearances were deceiving. This was, he thought, especially true for Brabel. She presented as meek and submissive, but her eyes spoke another story, and though she attempted to keep herself hidden, she obviously didn’t understand that what she didn’t do told him as much about her as what she did do. He had begun to piece her together like a puzzle that would eventually show the true picture of who she really was. Already he knew her tolerance for pain was far above and beyond the norm. He could see her body-heat throbbing, flaring like flames around her neck and head. She was in significant distress from her injury on the breakwall yet her face betrayed nothing – and that said something. Again he thought that her features were familiar.
    Eli’s laughter burst out repeatedly from somewhere in the midst of the bar crowd, which had consumed him on his way to get their drinks. He finally emerged, red-faced, ruffled and grinning, juggling an oversized plate of fried potatoes, a shot of mossink for Copernicus, water for Silho and a strawberry and ketchup milkshake with extra ice-cream for himself. He made it to the table and plonked down beside the commander. He slid in so close that their sides were touching.