"You led us on quite a chase this morning," Joris said, his voice lined with evil. "But it is easy to follow one when they go to a bookstore."
Bran clenched his free hand into a fist. How could he have been so stupid?
"If you
dare
hurt her…" he said through his teeth.
"I won’t do anything," Joris said. "Though my men are getting a little restless." His voice lowered to a deep, menacing whisper. "I wouldn’t take all night getting here, or else they might do something we would both regret."
Chapter 28
The Garage
The streets were Cold . Bran wore the necklace, but it was cold also, as if the life that had once been in it had left. He gripped the handlebars of his bicycle as he went, the road dimly lit by streetlamps. The world felt dead around him.
Joris’s directions were clear: he gave Bran a route across town, into a district of warehouses and garages. The sun was beginning to rise over the horizon—the early morning of Wednesday, April eighteenth. Few cars were about at that time. It was daunting to be in that part of the city, looking at the broken windows and graffiti. It left him cold.
He stopped his bike away from the street Joris had directed, and stole across the rest of the way on foot. Silence was his ally, and the shadows helped to hide him. He knew Joris would have the men watching and listening for him; he couldn’t afford to be caught before he got into the building. Every extra second he had was to his advantage.
He quietly came around a corner and saw a tall building with garage doors. They were closed, but there was an open door between them. The windows on most sides of it were busted, and the building was made of thick, undecorated concrete. He knew it was where Joris was waiting.
"What a cheery place," Bran muttered, studying it from across the street. Suddenly, he saw something: a side door. It wasn’t much more than an opening, but it gave him an idea.
"Just go through the front," Bran said, remembering Joris’s instructions. Did Joris really think he was that foolish? Just let himself be taken? Bran had come too far to give them the upper hand. He had nothing left in Dunce anyway. Astara had already been through enough for him. He was going to find some way to get her out, if it took everything he had to do it.
He came quietly around to the side door, watchful for anyone who might try to spot him. He couldn’t sense anyone watching, even as he pressed himself against the side. There was graffiti painted all around the opening, strange symbols and names. It was foreboding, but Bran wasn’t going to let his fear get the best of him. Everything beyond was pitch black.
But as he stood in the doorway, he could hear voices. They were in there, so he stepped into the dark. The rising sun was on the other side of the building and left no light to pierce the hall. Bran took a few steps, his hand out in front of him, the sounds getting louder the farther he went. After a few steps, he glanced back, and the outside seemed to be at the end of a long tunnel. He slid his fingers across the dusty wall, feeling his way down the dark passage. The walls were rough, though he couldn’t see them. When his foot hit something, he stopped.
Stairs,
he realized. The stairway went a few steps and then turned to the right, and he followed it again, winding upward. There was a soft glow that came upon his face the higher he got, and when he came to the last steps, he saw a lone light bulb, yellow and dusty, covered by a metal cage to protect it from thieves. Below it was a thick door, and beyond it, Bran could hear voices.
He pressed his ear against the edges of the frame. Everything around him was yellow from the light; the bulb was buzzing softly, but Bran could still perceive voices through the metal door. He couldn’t make out anything they were saying, but he knew who they were. Bran reached for the handle, turning it slowly and pulling the door open an inch.
He was at one end of a gigantic balcony that went around the perimeter of the warehouse. There was metal railing against the edge and stairs at both ends, with doors lining the sides. Dim light shone from windows and a gigantic skylight high above Bran. He stepped out slowly, careful not to make a sound. The balcony was high above the garage, and as Bran came within a few steps of the edge, he saw two black vans far below, and the men standing around.
Bran could hear them whispering below, their voices echoing up and down the chamber. For a moment he was frozen, but then he crept to the edge, leaning against the metal railing for balance. They were all there, talking to each other: Joris and two rough men, one with brown hair and the other with black, and both of the bald men standing close behind, stiff and unmoving in long, dark coats. The vans were parked away from each other, facing toward the garage doors. Bran crouched down so they couldn’t see, and underneath him, sitting in a chair, was Astara.
Her hands were held behind her back with thick strips of masking tape, wound tightly around her wrists. She couldn’t move, and Joris was bent toward her, anger on his face.
"I won’t tell you any more," Astara was saying to Joris, her face set and her voice echoing.
"Why was Bran at the bookstore, then?" Joris snapped.
"Haven’t you gotten yourself in enough trouble as it is, kidnapping me," Astara said.
"You’re the one who’s about to be in trouble," Joris said. "You are beginning to try my patience, and that is something one does not trifle with."
"Are you going to kill me?" Astara returned defiantly.
Joris didn’t let it perturb him. "I’ve killed people for less," he said. "Some of them, never found again. Others, found—though those who found them wish they had not."
Both of the bald men shuffled their feet, shuffling to look about. Bran pushed from the edge, holding his breath—
had they seen him?
"What’s the matter?" Joris asked. Neither of the men spoke.
"I don’t hear anything," Joris said. "Marcus: check on Shambles."
The man with black hair moved for the van. Bran stiffened, pushing down with his hands against the balcony railing. He couldn’t see through the van windows because he was so high, but Marcus nodded back that Shambles was still there.
Then Bran heard a sound—a low noise coming from below his hand. He looked down and saw a large bolt, holding the balcony railing down. It was old and had come loose, bending out from him pushing against the rail. He quickly pushed away, but by then, it was too late.
There was a loud pop that filled the room, the balcony railing cracking forward suddenly, bolts breaking and hitting the walls. The metal gave a wrenching break and snapped, a loud squeal of metal erupting in the garage as the supports jerked and gave away, tumbling down toward the garage below. Bran gasped, but then he saw something that seemed to make time stop: Astara was trapped right below where the railing was going to fall.
"Astara!" Bran shouted, and he heard her scream. Bran leapt to the edge. He saw the metal falling, as if in slow motion, going straight down toward her.
His breath nearly stopped. But instantly, he felt it leap within him—magic, jumping to his fingertips. He didn’t even have a chance to think about it, not a moment to make sure he was doing it right. He saw the metal falling, and he seized the power, and in a split second, he threw it in front of the railing like a cushion between it and Astara. He felt a sudden rush, pushing him, jerking him, as something came from all corners of the room, flying at his command. He felt it moving, and then it was over.
In a second, all sound was silenced.
He looked down, over the edge. Astara was there, gasping for breath, her eyes wide with fright, but far below, hovering above her head, was the metal, barely an inch before it would have hit her. Bran’s hand was out, pointed toward her, holding the railing there with magic, and with clenched teeth, he drew his hand aside, and the metal clattered to the floor away from her.
Bran’s eyes were wide, his breath quick. As he looked down, his eyes met with those of the men, all of them looking back up at him with shock. They were all frozen in place.
"It’s Bran," he heard Joris mutter.
Astara looked back up at Bran, neither of them able to say a word. Suddenly, Joris’s eyes narrowed on him.
"So the infamous Bran Hambric finally arrives," he shouted up, stepping back to see better. "I knew you would come. You’re too heroic to resist trying to save her." He shook his head. "If I’d have known you’d be stupid enough to try and sneak in, I’d have greeted you at the door."
"Well, I’m here now," Bran hissed. "You can let her go."
"Do you take me for a fool, Bran?" Joris said. "This girl is obviously of some importance to you. After all, you’ve risked your life coming here with plans to save her, no doubt." Joris shook his head. "A pity."
He waved his hand, ushering the bald men forward.
"Just take him," he said, gesturing, and the bald men stepped from behind him, their coats sweeping the floor. Bran tensed up, but Joris raised a hand.
"I wouldn’t move if I were you," he said. He pointed to Astara. Bran heard a click, and his gaze darted to the two men with pistols, aiming their guns at her.
"We might need you alive, but she is another matter," Joris finished. The bald men stepped past, drawing out thin wands: deep, dark black and reflective, each with a fiery red gem on the back. Bran stiffened, and the moment he did, it was as if something broke free inside him again.
Suddenly, he could see it all, as if he had a million eyes, watching the room from all angles. He could see the tiny pieces of glass, shattered in from a window; a sliver of wood lying behind the van from a broken crate; the glass skylights on the ceiling high above them…even the bullets inside the pistols, loaded and ready to kill Astara. He could see it all, feel it all, as if magic had taken over his senses, and he was in every place at once. In a split second, he had it all together again, and it was so sudden of a realization that a thin smile appeared on his face before he could hide it.
"Look at the wand," commanded Joris, and Bran’s gaze shifted to the bald man instantly. His wand was leveled at him.
"No magic tricks, boy," Joris said in a low, evil voice.
Bran narrowed his eyes at him. "What sort of tricks do you have in mind?" he said.
"Do as I say," Joris ordered. Bran looked at the wand, though inside his mind was working in overdrive, seeing everything around him. "You will move for the stairs to your left." Joris glanced at the metal stairs going down to the garage floor from the balcony. "You will come to the first step, and stop."
Bran didn’t move. The bald man stretched his wand out farther.
"The stairs," Joris ordered, and Bran slowly obeyed. As he came to the first step, his mind grabbed at things, reaching across the room, feeling the walls and the floor.
"Start down the steps, one at a time," Joris said. Bran looked at him.
"Don’t try my patience," Joris warned, and Bran did as he said, taking them one by one. The wand stayed trained on his heart, never lowering for a second. The second bald man stood next to the first, unmoving, watching Bran coldly like a machine. Bran kept moving, the floor getting closer, until he accidentally stepped on the edge of a step and stumbled forward. Joris stiffened, and the bald man pushed his wand out farther.
"Stop there!" Joris ordered, and Bran regained his balance against the wall and was still.
"Take the next step and stop," Joris said, and Bran moved slowly.
"Next step," he said, and Bran took it, closer to the floor, keeping his gaze on the wand. He glanced to Astara, with Craig and Joris standing a few paces from her with their guns pointed in her direction, and Joris watching him on the stairs very closely. The bald man raised his wand.
"Do not move your eyes from the tip of the wand, or he will burn them into your skull," Joris warned strongly. Bran glanced at Marcus and Craig. He could feel they knew the extent of his powers all too well, and though they tried to disguise it, he could see fear glimmering in their eyes…fear of
him.
"Next step," Joris commanded, and Bran moved down another. Three more to go before he touched the ground. His mind began a silent countdown, the magic at his grasp like an all-too-familiar sword, his mind connected to things in a thousand places in the room like invisible ropes coming from him, waiting to be sprung.
"Next step," Joris said, and Bran took it, his eyes not leaving the wand.
"Next," he said, and Bran stepped downward. He could hear Astara’s breathing echoing in the garage, as if she could feel something about to happen. There was one step left.
"Now step to the floor," Joris said. "And do not let your eyes—"
But it was too late. The instant Bran’s foot touched the floor, he was ready, and it happened.
He glanced at the roof.
In a second, he pulled it with his mind, wrenching at every crack in the skylights above them. There was a sudden sound, a deafening smash that filled the garage like an earthquake breaking out. Everyone jumped, turning their heads up for a split second, and Bran didn’t waste it.
He leapt against the wall, under the shadow of the balcony, as he heard a shattering noise above his head, and the giant windows high above them crumbled. Every piece started to fall, a million jagged shards plunging down like knives toward the men below.
"Look out!" Joris roared, the men diving for cover as the shattering sound drowned out his voice. And then, Bran noticed with horror that Astara was still in the middle of the room.
It was as if time had stopped. She was juggling against the tape that held her. He saw it split across, broken with her magic the instant the men were distracted. But Bran could see the glass, coming down above her, inches away from her flesh, falling faster than she could move.
He almost shouted, but he couldn’t. He heard her scream, but in that moment, he moved, throwing his hands out in front of him, and with it every ounce of magic he could muster, shoving a wall of anything he could place between her and the wall of glass raining down.