He sensed the commotion too late to do anything about it. He couldn’t move as quickly as the unleashed Powers, so he knew he’d never make it back to the hideout in time. The City of Light’s transit system was overcrowded and prone to delay, and it was at such times that he regretted his disinterest in automobiles. They were expensive and wasteful and they’d done irreparable damage to the planet, but they would come in handy during moments of crisis. Especially when it concerned Dawn’s safety.
He growled impatiently and swore at passing taxis, and then paced at each subway station, running between transfer points-only to see the time saved consumed by dawdling travelers and delays at stops. Most of his cavalry charge was set to the music of silent cursing.
Mr. Jay ran the last few blocks to the hideout. He charged into the building, heedless of the danger signs he smelled everywhere. If something happened to Dawn he’d burn the City!
A shudder ran through him at the top of the stairs. Bullets and violence pockmarked the wall opposite the hideout door. Dull light shone through holes around the doorframe. Holding his walking stick like a club, he vaulted up the last steps and leapt over the ruins in the doorway.
One quick look showed him that the gunfire had come from inside the room-still not good but better. He studied the scattered debris. Bullet casings clinked underfoot. He took a deep breath and knelt at Dawn’s cubbyhole. The door was open. He thrust his head into it. A light perfume of candy and children’s soaps momentarily raised his hopes and brought tears to his eyes.
Dawn was gone.
His fingers closed in the soft material of her quilt. He dragged it out and clutched it to his chest as he surveyed the damage. The shattered remains of a pink plastic teapot wrung his heart.
The Powers had entered. He looked around the collected dust and detritus on the floor. And more little ones! He stooped to study small footprints that displayed in bits and pieces from beneath the clutter of wreckage. That should be good. Should be because forever children were unique creatures in his experience. He had no idea what a group of them would do. But they weren’t known for violence against each other. If there were murderous elements among them, their anger was usually directed at the adult population.
But Dawn wasn’t like them-forever children in a city like this. They were toughened by a life on the run. He studied the shell casings: all of them from small caliber weapons fire. So the kids had the guns. Good. He couldn’t resist a small grin. That’s a topsy-turvy statement for a topsy-turvy world. Their small bodies couldn’t counterbalance big weapons.
He turned his attention to the violence at the door. Under powdered plaster and splintered wood, he saw faint outlines, stains of spilled fluids. And then his spirits fell. He recognized the pattern: Ardor, the blood of Demonkind or Fallen. A sudden wave of panic shook him, threatened to sweep him away. Dawn!
The chances of forever children repelling an attack by Demons were small, and now that he had identified the Ardor, he sniffed the air for its potency. There was always residue-always a hint to the amount that had been spilled. The kids must have been well armed to spill so much. He kept the quilt clutched to his chest and picked up his chair from the pile of wreckage. He sat on it.
Neither Demons nor Fallen liked to have their blood spilled, especially by mortal means. If that was the case, the attackers either had a powerful personal motivation or they were being compelled by great force. It had to be the Prime. He remembered his vision of the pentangle.
He sniffed the air, but caught no hint of human blood. He opened himself- no some there and there, only drops. Flesh wounds perhaps, nothing more. That was good.
He shook off a wave of despair and got to his feet. There was no telling where to start looking if Dawn was in the hands of Demons-and Fallen were no better. Anxiety lashed him until he pushed the thoughts of Dawn’s capture aside.
The small amount of human blood suggested the forever children had survived the battle. If they were lucky, they might have had some Powers of their own, and managed to spirit Dawn away. And if they had failed to defend her they were either on her trail or would have information that he could use to get her back. He had to get her back.
Mr. Jay surveyed the room and then set about collecting unopened cans of food and other undamaged supplies he’d need on the hunt. These he put into his pack onto the neatly folded shape of Dawn’s quilt.