Scarlet (The Lunar Chronicles #2) - Marissa Meyer Page 0,98
it?” said Thorne, holding out a gold-plated digital portscreen watch. Cinder recognized it as the one Alak had been wearing, the man who owned the spaceship hangar in New Beijing.
“Thorne!” she hissed.
“This isn’t a pawn shop,” said the boy, dropping the scanner gun on the counter. “Can you pay or not?”
Cinder glared at Thorne, but then spotted the strange man plodding out of the aisle near the back of the shop. Strolling toward them, he whistled a chirpy tune, then pulled a pair of thick work gloves out of one pocket and made a big show of pulling one onto his left hand.
Heart hammering, Cinder turned back to the kid. “You want the watch,” she said. “It’s a fine trade for this power cell and you’re not going to report us for taking it.”
The kid’s eyes glazed over. He’d just started to nod when Thorne deposited the watch into his palm and Cinder grabbed the power cell off the counter. They marched out the door, leaving the ringing of fake bells behind.
“No more stealing!” she said as Thorne fell into step beside her.
“Hey, that watch saved us in there.”
“No, I saved us in there and in case you already forgot, that is exactly the kind of mental trick that I don’t want to pull on people.”
“Even if it saves your skin?”
“Yes!”
A light flashed in Cinder’s eye, indicating an incoming comm. A moment later, words began tracking across her vision.
WE’VE BEEN DETECTED—POLICE. WILL KEEP THEM OUT AS LONG AS POSSIBLE.
She stumbled in the middle of the street.
“What?” said Thorne.
“It’s Iko. The police have found the ship.”
Thorne paled. “No time to shop for new clothes then.”
“Or an android body. Come on.”
She took off running, Thorne keeping step, until they spun around the corner and both skidded to a halt.
Two policemen stood between them and their podship—one comparing the ship’s model with something on his portscreen.
Something beeped on the other officer’s belt. As he reached for it, Cinder and Thorne backed away, ducking around the building.
Pulse racing, Cinder glanced up at Thorne, but he was scanning the nearest window. RIEUX TAVERN was painted off center on the glass.
“Here,” he said, dragging her around two wrought-iron tables and through the door.
The tavern stank of booze and fried fat, and was thrumming with sports on the netscreens and uproarious laughter.
Cinder took two steps inside, her breath caught, and she spun around to leave. Thorne blocked her path with an outstretched arm. “Where are you going?”
“There are too many people. We’ll have better luck with the police.” She pushed him away but froze when she spotted a green hover easing onto the cobblestones outside, the emblem of the Eastern Commonwealth military painted on its side. “Thorne.”
His arm stiffened and then the tavern seemed to quiet. Cinder slowly faced the crowd. Dozens of strangers, gaping at her.
A cyborg.
“Stars,” she whispered. “I need to find a new pair of gloves.”
“No, you need to calm down and start using your brainwave witchery thing.”
Cinder drew closer to Thorne and swallowed her growing panic. “We belong here,” she murmured. Sweat beaded on the back of her neck, dripping down her spine. “We’re not suspicious. You don’t recognize us. You have no interest or curiosity or…” She trailed off as the attention of people around the room began to drift back to their food and drinks and the netscreens behind the bar. Cinder continued the mindless chanting in her head, We belong here, we are not suspicious, until the statements blurred together into a sensation of invisibility.
They weren’t suspicious. They did belong there.
She forced herself to believe it.
Scanning the crowd, she saw that only one set of eyes was still on her—vibrant blue and filled with laughter. He was a muscular man sitting at a table near the back, a smile playing on his mouth. When Cinder’s gaze held his, he sat back and lifted his attention to the screens.
“Come on, then,” said Thorne, guiding her toward an open booth.
The sound of the door creaking behind them sent Cinder’s stomach heaving like a dying motor. They slid into the booth.
“This was a bad idea,” she whispered, tucking the power cell beside her on the bench. Thorne said nothing, both of them bending their necks over the table as three red uniforms brushed past. A scanner beeped, sending Cinder’s pulse thrumming against her temples, and the last officer paused.
With her cyborg hand beneath the table, Cinder deftly opened the barrel of her imbedded tranquilizer gun, the first time she’d engaged that finger since