Kat by Kelley Armstrong

Author:Kelley Armstrong [Armstrong, Kelley]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fantasy, Young Adult, Paranormal, Vampires
Publisher: Running Press Kids
Published: 2009-07-28T04:00:00+00:00

“It detected the girl,” a woman said. “It only works on the living. And only intermittently with her.”

The man said something I didn’t catch.

“I suppose so,” his companion replied. “Let me cast again.”

She murmured words in a foreign language. A spell. I shivered. Marguerite rubbed my arm, but it wasn’t the cold that made me tremble now. I might be a supernatural, and I might live with one, but their world was still foreign to me, mysterious. I don’t like mysteries. I like what I can see, feel, touch and understand. I like what I can fight. Spells? I had no idea how to defend myself against those.

We pressed deeper into the shadows as the voices approached.

“Nothing,” the woman said.

“We—”

“Shhh,” she said. “I heard something.”

We’d barely breathed, so it wasn’t us. A door creaked open. Footsteps again, but it was another pair, coming from the opposite direction, like someone had stepped out of a shop down the road. The footsteps headed our way.

Marguerite’s slender hands flew in familiar code, outlining a plan. I barely needed to watch—I knew what she’d be thinking. With a bystander approaching, our pursuers would be focused on getting past him, any weapons hidden. So when they reached the alcove—

Marguerite sprang first, grabbing the man as he stepped into view, then yanking him into the darkened alcove. I leapt out behind her. The woman backpedaled, hands sailing up, lips parting. An invisible blow hit me in the chest. I tottered backward. That was it—just thrown off balance. I smiled. Now that I could handle.

I charged. Her hands flew up again. I chopped them down, disrupting her spell. She started to cast again, this time not using her hands. A witch spell. A roundhouse kick knocked her off her feet and cut that one short.

Marguerite leapt between us. She grabbed the woman and dragged her into the alcove. Inside, the man lay on his back, out cold from her bite.

As Marguerite took the woman into the shadows for the same treatment, I looked down the street. A chubby guy in a business suit stood twenty feet away. Just stood there, travel mug raised halfway to his lips, like he’d been frozen there the whole time, watching the fight.

“Morning,” I said.

He skittered across the road and took off the other way.

“Looks like he didn’t want to play Good Samaritan today,” I said as Marguerite joined me on the sidewalk. “But he probably has a cell, so he might call …” I stopped, seeing her holding what looked like a phone. “Did they manage to call someone?”

“A radio with a GPS.” She lifted the box. “They sent our coordinates.”

She dropped it over the side of a trash bin and we took off. As we turned the corner, we saw the woman from the bus station rounding the next one down the block. I wheeled. Two unfamiliar men were approaching from the rear. I hesitated, telling myself they were just humans, bystanders, heading off to work. Then one reached into his coat and pulled out a gun.

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