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“We’ll keep going,” Valtu says. “And if there’s nothing here, then you can have a Turkish Delight, as a treat.”
“Thanks,” I say with a laugh, but it sounds weak to my ears. Truth is, even though I can’t figure out if this is the place I saw through Bellamy’s eyes or not, there is something here. I can’t seem to focus on it or put my finger on it, but I sense something supernatural, some sort of magic percolating.
Plus a sense of doom. Though I’m not sure if that’s my frayed nerves talking or what.
Solon leads the way down the long length of the hall and I do my best to try and hone in on Bellamy. Even though I don’t have the book’s magic to locate him, I still feel like I’d know his presence if I came across it.
And then I do.
We’re near the end of the hall when I come to a sudden stop in front of a stall called Hazer Baba. Right above it, where the arched ceiling curves down to meet the roof of the stall, is a large window in a half-circle, with what looks to be an office or storeroom behind it.
And standing in front of the window is the dark figure of a man in a long black coat.
Atlas Poe.
Staring down at us.
I gasp and point. “There he is!”
Solon and Valtu look but Atlas literally vanishes into thin air. One second he’s there, the next he’s just dissolved into nothing.
“Fuck,” I swear. “He was there. Now he could be anywhere.”
“Actually, I’m right behind you,” Atlas says.
The three of us whirl around, Valtu stepping slightly in front of me like a shield, while Solon seems ready to pounce.
Atlas is standing a few feet away, patrons walking around him, some glaring at him for not getting out of the way. His hands are flexing at his sides, his head cocked, a stupidly smug smile on his face.
“I’m going to wipe that fucking smile right off your face, you emo piece of shit,” Valtu sneers, the veins throbbing at his temple. He’s seconds from losing his temper and I reach out to calm him.
“You’re going to attack me here?” Atlas says with a haughty laugh. “In front of all these people, in front of all thesehumans?”
A woman walking past him hears that and gives Atlas a wary look, clutching her purse tighter to her and quickening her pace. This is what I’ve been afraid of. To fight here would only bring a load of unwanted attention to ourselves. Glamours and compelling people can help to an extent, but not where so many live streams are just a click away.
“I don’t really give a fuck,” Valtu says and before I can stop him he’s leaping through the air and blasting right into Atlas. The force knocks Atlas back ten feet, causing him to go flying through the market stands and right through the piles of tea and spices, colorful dust rising up in the air like remnants of an explosion.
I’m stunned, as is everyone else until Valtu starts throwing punches hard enough to deliver a fatal blow and people start screaming and running all over the place.
People also start bringing out their phones and recording.
Oh shit.
Suddenly I’m hit from behind, a blow landing between my shoulder blades that knocks the air from my lungs, and I whirl around to see a dark-haired woman about to deck me in the face. I guess we’re fighting old school here.
I duck just in time and throw my hands at her, feeling power flow through my chest and out my fingertips and the force knocks her to the ground. I don’t know who this bitch is, she might just be a human defending the market, I don’t know, but to not react could be fatal and I’m grateful that Dahlia’s power is coming through like this.
While the woman gets up, I look to Solon for support, only to see two men approaching him from different sides. “Solon!” I yell to alert him.
He whips around just as they pounce and from their movement I can tell they’re using magic. They land on Solon and he manages to shake one of them off with an elbow to the face, the crunch of bone audible even amongst all the chaos and screaming, but the other one brings out a blade ofmordernes, Solon’s face glowing blue in the light of the knife.
“Solon!” I yell again and I run over to him to help but the woman from behind yells in Latin and then I’m going flying through the air, blasting through rows of neatly stacked Turkish delights and dried fruits and let me tell you, taking dates and walnuts to the face hurts like hell.
I land on my back, winded, looking up at the shopkeeper filming me with his phone.
“Are you okay?” he asks in broken English.
I nod and he leans down to help me up and I give him a grateful smile just as the woman approaches, her hands held out as if she’s about to blast me and the shopkeeper to smithereens.
