Penumbra by Nazri Noor

Author:Nazri Noor [Noor, Nazri]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Nazri Noor
Published: 2019-12-19T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Prudence Leung and I got on immediately. We took a hired car to our destination – just one of the perks of working for the Lorica, it turned out – and I quickly learned the basics of our mission. She and Bastion were meant to be the diversion, and I was supposed to go in and locate a designated artifact. A sword, as it turned out. Interesting.

Prudence herself was – well, badass was the easiest way to put it. She had the cool air of someone who’d seen enough of Valero’s streets not to be frazzled by its potential dangers, and the same level-headedness that ensured she wouldn’t be easily dazzled by anything either. There was a precision to her, how her nails were so well-buffed and neatly manicured, how there was that one hidden section of her hair that was dyed electric blue and was only ever visible when she turned her head just so.

She was barely years older than me, but somehow radiated this seen-it-all vibe that told me she wouldn’t buckle under pressure. Hell, she seemed more likely the type to exert that pressure. It was something about how her hands rested in her lap, fingers splayed in a neutral position, as if constantly ready to gnarl into talons or curl into fists. She was a Hand, after all, and a pretty literal one, I was soon to find out. And, all right, she was pretty cute.

Maybe it was precisely the fact that we didn’t take the car together that initially caused the rift between me and Bastion. Maybe. But I distinctly recall disliking him as soon as he walked into Thea’s office, and I still disliked him when I saw him again at our destination.

Prudence busied herself with tying her hair back and, for some reason, putting on leather gloves as soon as we got out of the hired car, so she was either too occupied to notice Bastion pulling up on his motorcycle, or had seen it enough times not to care. I doubt she didn’t notice, though. He was throttling it loud enough, in that specific way where someone pretends he doesn’t want the attention, but clothes himself in the loudest, most attention-grabbing accessories anyway.

But that was too harsh. As histrionic as he was, it pained me to admit that Sebastion Brandt had some pretty good dress sense. I’d hack my tongue off before I’d let him know that, but his leather jacket looked like it’d been cut to fit, his jeans the seven-hundred dollar type that came pre-distressed, because the wear and tear were worth extra somehow, and the silver flames running up the sides of his motorcycle helmet were, okay, kind of cool. His blond, close-cropped hair stayed oddly neat and unmussed even after he’d removed his helmet, and his eyes seemed to savor the way others looked at him. He was, in short, a cocky bastard.

Bastion looked like the kind of guy who grew up with a nanny and servants

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