The Hunt - Megan Shepherd Page 0,97

the plank.

She braced for impact as memories assaulted her.

The cherry blossoms.

Lucky.

Home.

The impact never came.

After a few surreal seconds, she dared to look up. Bonebreak was standing perfectly still, the plank frozen in midswing; even the expression on his face was as frozen as a wax statue’s. One by one, the other Mosca turned to statues as well, as though a witch had cast an enchantment over them. The one hurling a fist toward Leon slowed in time until the fist stopped an inch from his face. Leon scrambled out from under it, shaking himself like a dog. The ones holding Nok and Rolf to the floor looked like immovable bookends. Mali took the opportunity to kick one to the ground, where it clunked heavily.

“What the . . . ?” Cora whispered. She clung to Lucky. He was mumbling aloud, though his breathing had a sort of hitch to it—he’d definitely broken a rib when that Mosca had landed on him. “Hey, stay with me. We’re going to patch you up.”

The door lock suddenly jerked.

She turned with a gasp. Whatever had frozen the Mosca hadn’t worked on the Kindred guards beyond the door. The lock groaned until it was nearly open. Cora lunged for it, but her feet slipped on a slick of blood—was that Lucky’s blood? Was it worse than just a broken rib?

“No!” She scrambled toward the door on all fours, but it was too late. The door lock groaned one more time, and then—click. Horror filled her as it began to open. An inch. Then two. Kindred faces appeared. Black eyes and copper skin. Hands reaching toward her.

She balled up in terror, her hands over her head.

Suddenly Bonebreak dropped the plank. It cluttered to the floor harmlessly. His hand curled into a fist and in two jerky steps he shoved the door closed with explosive power. The Kindred guards pounded on the other side with renewed force, but Bonebreak braced the lock with impossible strength. His jaw still had the wax-sculpture slackness. His movements were strange and twitchy, as though he wasn’t in control of his own body.

Cora reached out a shaky hand to grab Lucky’s shirt, worried by his halting breath. He winced and pressed a groggy hand to his ribs; she cupped his cheek, trying to see into his eyes.

“Lucky. Stay with me. Say something.”

“Ouch,” he mumbled.

She let out a cry of relief just to hear him speak. But then, without warning, one of the other frozen Mosca—the one with its fist an inch from Leon’s face—lowered its hand and stood at attention like a toy soldier.

“Uh . . .” Leon poked the Mosca, which didn’t move. “What the hell is going on?”

“It’s Anya,” Cora breathed, clutching Lucky tighter. “She’s doing this, isn’t she? She’s taken them over.”

Mali gently pressed a hand on Anya’s shoulder. Lucky still hadn’t opened his eyes, and Cora didn’t dare leave his side.

“How’s that possible?” Nok asked.

“She’s psycho,” Leon said.

“I think you mean psychic,” Rolf said. “And highly telekinetic, apparently. This ability exceeds anything we’ve seen the Kindred do.”

“Call off the Kindred guards,” Mali said to Anya. “Use the other Mosca to lead them away.”

Anya’s head turned robotically. The wax-sculpture Mosca underlings started to move. It was as unnatural as the way Bonebreak had moved. Foot over foot. Bodies swaying. Arms hanging uselessly. Like a puppet master, Anya conducted them over the uneven floor as they moved in jerky steps toward the exit. A sound came from one of their mouths—something like a garbled scream that sounded really, really pissed off.

“That’s it!” Nok said, clapping. “She’s doing it!”

“Make them scatter throughout the nearby hallways,” Mali instructed. “They must distract the Kindred guards away from the door.”

Anya’s face flickered with strain. Her small fingers shook with a bad tremor, but she managed to move them like she was working controls, as she choreographed the Mosca underlings to sashay toward the exit, where they stumbled through the door with clomping footsteps. The Kindred must have either heard them or sensed them, because the pounding at the door stopped.

Nok pressed her ear against the door. “It worked,” she said, and then made a face as she got a whiff of Bonebreak, the only Mosca remaining in the warehouse. “Now we seriously need to get out of here.”

Lucky was groaning a little. Waking, which was good. Cora started to reach for his jacket to get a better look at his wound, but footsteps sounded behind her.

Anya was pointing her trembling hands at Bonebreak, making him