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“What do you think?” I deadpan. “Yes, of course it is. Gotta get the hell out of here before they start looking to juice up people like me. You know they’ll do it whether I want it or not.”
“I get it, man,” Diego says. “There’s a reason I’m down here and not up there. But why don’t you just stick around in the black market, where it’s safe?”
“Because I can’t just live in a bunker for the rest of my life,” I say. I take a bite of the food, chewing on it thoughtfully. “I think I’m gonna head to Austin and join the Rebellion.”
“Never took you for a man with a death wish,” Diego says. “It’s only a matter of time before the Angels take out their encampment in the old Georgetown caverns. The Resistance has made themselves way too dangerous, and it’s not like any of us humans have the resources to take on the Angels long-term. Plus, I hear the ‘borgs out there have fractured with the wolves…it ain’t good, dude.”
“It’s not about any high-minded ideals,” I say. “I’m just…I’m itching to fight. And I’m bored here in Dallas. It’s like something’s calling my name.”
“You sound like an old-timey cowboy,” Diego snorts.
“You know what they say,” I grin. “Got too much tumbleweed in my blood to settle down.”
“In that case, I guess I can’t stop you,” Diego says. “Here—I’ve got a name for ya.”
He pulls a crumpled receipt from behind the bar and then flips it over to scribble out a name and booth number on the back. “Roy Houston can get you set up. He’s not a nice guy, but he’s the best damn coyote I know.”
“Roy Houston,” I repeat. “That a real name?”
“I wouldn’t recommend asking him,” Diego warns. “But you’d better get going. He’s leaving with another group tonight, and he charges a pretty high price.”
“I’ve been saving up the cash for it wherever I can,” I say. “As long as he doesn’t need justfive dollars morethan I can afford…”
“Hey, if you’re short by five bucks, come on back and you’ll get your meal for free,” Diego says. “Otherwise—well, I guess this is goodbye.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I guess it is.”
I stand up and we shake hands across the counter, Diego’s sweaty hand firm in mine. I feel just a bit of remorse as he says goodbye, especially when I realize this guy is the only friend I still have in Dallas.
But it only lasts a second—then I’m off to Roy Houston’s booth, ready to get the fuck out.
CHAPTER TWO
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CHARLOTTE
I haven’t met a lot of people—in fact, I’ve only met two—but I’m already pretty certain that Roy Houston isnotmy kind of people.
We’ve been haggling over how much passage across the wall will cost, and just how much my violin is worth, for well over a half hour. I found my way here despite the challenges of being around other humans for the first time, and I didn’t expect this to be the hardest part.
My grandparents have always been convinced that the violin was worth enough to earn me safe passage. Houston is very quickly showing me that isn’t the case.
“So you want me to take you across the wall, endangering my life, all in exchange for a fiddle?” The coyote shakes his head, chuckling as he strokes his greying beard. He has the same kind of southern drawl as my Gran, and it makes my heart clench.
“I’m asking for your help, and offering this in exchange,” I say matter-of-factly. “I know it’s dangerous, but your name was the one that my grandparents wrote down for me.”
“I don’t just work on references, darlin’,” he says. “And I don’t tend to accept barter. It’s either cash or…” His eyes drag down my body and I cross my arms over my stomach, his expression making me recoil. “…well, you know.”
I set my mouth in a grim line, hunching my shoulders and wishing I was wearing more clothes. I would need aboutten layersto keep Roy Houston’s sliminess off me. Gran warned me about people like this, but I hoped I would have been able to fend them off a little longer.
“This violin is worth more than you could possibly get from me in cash,” I say. “If you just take it and sell it when you get back—”
“This isn’t a world where anyone gives a single shit about violins, darlin’,” he says. I wish he would stop calling me that. “We’ve all got a sad song to play, and we don’t need a fiddle to do it. Now why don’t you play yourself a pretty little tune and get out of my place of business?”
“I’ll pay her way.”
I look over my shoulder to find a man standing there, giving Houston a discerning glare. The newcomer wears a black leather jacket and torn up jeans, his blond hair brushed back from his forehead. He looks like exactly the kind of man my grandmother had always warned me about, complete with the silver bar pierced through the shell of his left ear. He flashes me a sharp-toothed smile that makes me equally uncomfortable, and I cringe away from both the men who seem far too interested in me.
