Page 39 of Tracking Snow

"Listen to me. That guy next to me? He's out here every night. Same as me. We're not the ones taking people, we're trying to stop it. Whatever you've heard, whatever you think this is, you've got it wrong."

The courier's eyes stay fixed on The Seven.

"He was following me."

"Because those HAM assholes are roaming the streets and he wanted to make sure you were safe." The words come out steady. "He's like me. He's one of the good ones."

I wonder if more places than Poison Apple got hit tonight. After the HAM attack, Fireopal said this was just the beginning. She wasn't only talking about the bar.

I keep my eyes on the courier. "What's your name? I’m Snow."

"Don't." His voice cracks on the single syllable. "Don't try to⁠—"

The static charge on his arms is climbing. The amber light catches the current running over his skin in brief, hot flickers.

"Snow." Seven's voice is very quiet and very close behind me. "You need to leave."

The sound the courier makes isn't a scream. Lower than that. Both hands come up, and the charge releases all at once.

The blast hits the air between us like a wall.

The tiles behind me explode in a spray of ceramic. The vaulted ceiling groans, one long complaint that travels the full length of the arch, and then a section lets go.

A mass of old brick and plaster drops fast, and it falls straight through One like he isn't there at all. His eyes are purple. He’d switched to Two just before it all came down on him.

More debris falls through his chest and shoulders without resistance, his form flickering at the edges where the material intersects him.

The same debris hits me at full weight.

It must have been the echo of the underground or instant head injury, but I hear what sounds like a bunch of men shouting my name at once.

The platform comes up, and my head follows it down. The amber light goes sideways and then bright, too bright, and then nothing at all.

Chapter 14

Buttering Up My Favorite Drag Queen

SNOW

Iwake up to the sound of people arguing.

No. Not people. The Seven.

"We need to take her to the hospital." It sounds like One, sharp and trying to maintain control.

"We aren't going to the hospital. We can't be seen there." This personality is worried, almost timid.

"We'll just drop her off then." With that sardonic tone, I think it's Two, but my head is fuzzy and a tiny rude gremlin is beating the inside of my skull with a hammer.

"And dump her?" Another voice snaps in, hotter than the rest. "You always were the biggest asshole."

"I'm being practical."

"You're being a dick."

"She's bleeding," someone else says. Tense. Precise. "Head wounds bleed heavily, but she lost consciousness."

"Stop talking and move," a darker voice growls.