I cracked my window. “Did we really need to stop at McDonald’s? Now I smell like you.”
Steering the car with his knee, he rolled up the sack and tossed it in the back seat. “They should bottle this stuff and make it into perfume. Food is the only way to attract men. Do you have your alias memorized?”
“Yep.”
Wyatt gave me a dubious look. “Run it by me.”
“I’m Robin White. It sounds like a talk show host.”
“It’ll be easy to remember since it’s the opposite color. Where are you from, Robin?”
“Right here in Cognito. What if they try to look me up?”
When he turned a sharp corner, I gripped the door. “The number one rule about pulling off a false identity is making it as close to the truth as possible. Let’s pretend you lied about being from New York. Then the guy says, ‘Hey, me too. I grew up on Arthur Avenue. Whereabouts are you from? What school did you go to?’ That’s a rookie mistake. Always keep it close to the truth. The only thing you’re changing up is the story about your maker and background.”
“So that’s why Christian made me a runaway?”
“Nobody will ask what high school you went to, buttercup, and without your given name, they can’t find anything. Just stick to the story, because it’s not that far from the truth. You’re a runaway who’s been living on the streets. Your Creator made you and dumped you, so you’ve been fending for yourself. You don’t know who he is, and you don’t care. Don’t go into details.”
I looked out the window. “Believe me, I won’t.”
“Good. Liars give unnecessary details. Christian knows what he’s doing, so just answer questions the way you normally would. When we first met, if I had asked about your Creator or what your gifts were, what would you have said?”
“Fuck off.”
“Exactly. Stick with your gut reaction. A runaway living on the streets is a good background, one nobody can trace. But just in case someone decides to do a little poking around, Viktor submitted a fake file to the Mageri. What they don’t know won’t hurt ’em.”
I rolled my window back up as streetlights sliced through the dark car. “Why the Mageri? Criminals can’t access their records, can they?”
“We don’t know who we’re dealing with or what kind of connections they have. Better safe than sorry.”
The car shook when we hit a pothole.
“Son of a ghost! Aren’t city taxes supposed to fix these blasted roads? I’ve already had two flats this year. One of these days, the whole damn axle’s going to fall off. Might as well go back to horse-drawn wagons.”
He weaved to the curb and hit the brakes with enough force that I threw my hands out to keep from hitting the dash. It was a wonder he hadn’t killed anyone with his safety hazard of a car.
I glanced around but saw no sign of the club.
“Can’t drop you off at the front door,” he said, noticing my wandering gaze. “You’re on your own from here. The club’s a block up to the right.” Wyatt glanced down at my legs. “You should have brought a purse. When you go to the hotel later, the guy at the desk will give you a card key.”
“These better be comfortable shoes,” I grumbled as I climbed out of the car and crossed in front until I reached the sidewalk.
Wyatt leaned out the window. “See ya later, Robin.” After a wink, he hit the gas. His tires squealed as he did a U-turn in the middle of the street and sped off.
As I ventured up the sidewalk, I fell back into familiar habits and concealed my light. People with downcast eyes were easy targets, so I held my head high and made direct eye contact with everyone. Nothing went unnoticed. Fire escape ladders, buildings with easy access points, discarded items in alleyways I could improvise as weapons—funny how you never let go of things like that. Viktor had warned me this assignment could go on for weeks or months, so I needed to learn my surroundings.
At least I didn’t have to work two jobs like Claude.
When I reached the White Owl, I cased the outside of the club. There wasn’t a sign with the club name anywhere in sight, only a neon owl in a red circle. The painted logo on the door had a Breed mark below it, but those were the only two indicators that