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  Alyx tucked the killer’s ring into the hollow and replaced the cover before undressing from her blood-stained blacks. She spent time cleaning her weapons and placing them back in their places on her weapons wall.

  With nothing left to do, she flung herself onto her bed − a rust-colored mattress of down and feathers lying on a squat platform − causing it to creak madly. When she closed her eyes the memory of her latest vision flashed across the darks of her lids.

  …Rage ignited like fire…crying for revenge…he began to cut…

  The memory of his raw emotions coursed through her as if they were her own. Her body responded to this intimacy by flushing. This killer, this Rogue, was so wild and rough, without rules to temper his behavior. He was…free. This is what it feels like to live without rules. To be Rogue.

  There was the sing of blades at her window. Alyx snatched the dagger she kept under her pillow.

  It was just a swallow fluttering at her window, fussing against her wind chime made from broken blades and hung there because she loved the sound. Plus it made an effective alarm.

  She laughed at herself. Jesus, she was jumpy today.

  The swallow gave up trying to enter her pod and landed instead on her sill, its little head bobbing out of the way of the swaying metal. Alyx slid her blade back under her pillow and moved to the window. Holding the metal pieces of her chime aside, she let the swallow hop onto the two outstretched fingers of her other hand. There was a thin strip of material tied in a ribbon around the swallow’s leg. “What do you have for me, little one?” she said in a low voice.

  She untied it and let the swallow fly back out the window. It was a Thread. She ran two fingers along the Thread and the message echoed in her mind.

  Valle de la Luna. Devil’s Hour.

  Chapter 3

  The Valle de la Luna looked like the craters of the moon from above. Over centuries the wind and rain had dissolved the limestone of this Bolivian landscape, leaving behind deep valleys and sandstone fingers that reached for the sky.

  Alyx stood near the starting line of the night-race, a strip of purple material that fluttered in a slight breeze stretching out between the hands of two scantily-clad seraphelle. In the crowd there were a few faces, leering and eager, that she remembered seeing at the last race and the one before that. They were her followers and bet for her to win.

  A face in particular caught her attention. This seraph had a strong stubbled jaw and sun-streaked hair, loose and long like a gypsy. Even she could admit he was handsome, but that’s not why he was standing out to her. This seraph was staring at her and he didn’t look away when she glared back.

  Instead he moved towards her and the crowd moved around him like water around a rock. His body was muscled yet graceful, like that of a warrior, but he was no one she recognized.

  “Hey,” he said when he got within earshot.

  Alyx ignored him and turned her attention to her race competitor. The announcer called him Griffin but she knew it wasn’t his real name. Just as Bullet wasn’t her real name. She didn’t recognize Griffin but she could tell from his build that he was another lightwarrior. From the deep tan of his skin, Alyx guessed he was from the coastal city of Urielos. He was standing within a small group of Seraphim while she stood alone.

  “I said ‘hey’. I’m pretty sure the standard response would be at least a ‘hey’ back.”

  The seraph with the staring problem had stopped right next to her, looking down at her from his extra head of height. This close she could see those probing eyes of his were pale green, the color of mint tea. Apparently he didn’t understand the concept of personal space.

  “I don’t date fans.”

  He laughed and a wicked-looking smile pulled at his thick lips. “I’m not asking for a date.”

  “What do you want then?” Alyx turned her face from him again.

  “I heard you had a vision,” he leaned into her ear, “Alyx.”

  She whirled around to him, her blood thumping in her ears. Her hand went to the blade handle at her hip. His hand closed down on hers so that she couldn’t draw. Their hands trembled from exertion against each other. Their eyes locked.

  “How do you know that?” she hissed at him. “How do you know my name?”

  “I have sources.”

  “Really. Did your sources tell you I don’t take kindly to nosy strangers?”

  “I don’t want to fight you, Alyx. I want to help you.”

  “Bullet, Griffin,” a voice boomed around them, “take your places at the starting line.”

  A hush descended upon the crowd, punctuated by a couple of catcalls and the complaints of a few who were being jostled. Alyx barely noticed as she and this seraph were still locked in this strange battle of will and strength.

  “Looks like they need you, Bullet,” he said. “I’ll catch you another time when you’re not so…busy.” He moved his hand off hers and the pressure released.

  “There won’t be a next time.”

  “Oh yes, there will,” he said as he backed away.

  “Weirdo.”

  The seraph laughed. “The name’s Jordan, by the way. Jordan Bonaven.”

  “Whatever.” Alyx moved forward to the line to join Griffin. She shook her limbs trying to calm her nerves. The seraph had rattled her. Help her? Why would she need help?

  A seraphelle dressed in gold and wearing a sash reading “Miss Night Seraphelle” floated to the center of the starting line. She raised her hand, holding a purple handkerchief, into the air with a dramatic flourish. “On your mark...”

  When Alyx glanced back the seraph was gone.

  “Get set…”

  Alyx leaned forward in the air.

  “Go!”

  And took off, one eye on Griffin.

  As they squeezed together through the first narrow pass, she let him take the lead. An early head start was not often advantageous.

  Griffin swerved in and out of the sandstone pillars, Alyx close behind. The first markers were up ahead, one on each side of the course. As they flew past, Griffin grabbed one and tucked it into his belt. She snatched the other and did the same.

  The movement from one of the ridges above caught her eye. A seraph was rolling a large boulder over the edge of the ridge with EarthSifter, the grainy green magic extending from his palm and scuttling under the rock like tiny rollers. Griffin hadn’t seen it. He was going to fly straight under it.

  “Above you!” Alyx yelled at Griffin.

  Griffin looked up as the boulder fell towards him. He rolled to his left in the air, the boulder missing him by inches. Alyx sped forward, taking the lead.

  She grabbed a second marker.

  The valley up ahead closed to a thin pass − a perfect spot for a second trap. This time a waiting seraphelle used AirWhisperer to blow a thick net across the pass, the ends of the net curling around the rocks on the other side and creating a tight spider’s web across Alyx’s path. She snatched a dagger from her boot and slashed the blade out in front of her, tearing a hole through the net. She slipped through it, the coarse netting scraping along her body. Griffin followed close behind.

  The third marker signaled the end of the valley and the beginning of a sprint across desert towards downtown La Paz. The desert breeze was cool, contrasting with the heat radiating from the sand below. Very little grew here, just a few tufts of dry grasses blurring as Alyx flew over them.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Alyx saw Griffin surging forward. She swerved left and right, trying to block him from passing. He remained close on her heels when they entered the outskirts of La Paz. Downtown La Paz was a rat’s nest of a place. Derelict and crumbling, the buildings were either abandoned or patched up with banged-in panels of cheap wood or plastic tarp. The streets had become open toilets for the homeless and the air smelled as such. This was probably why it had been chosen as part of the course; there were no mortals here who mattered to see them.

  Alyx was expecting a last trap somewhere here.
Her senses were all on alert. What she didn’t expect was what was coming.

  She should have known something was wrong when she saw only one final marker hanging from the abandoned building beyond.

  As she neared, four Seraphim appeared from their hiding places behind the building. Her lips pressed into a line when she recognized them. Griffin’s friends. It was an ambush.

  “Cheater,” Alyx yelled back at Griffin.

  “I need to win,” he said. There was a whine to his voice, a hollow desperation that Alyx had heard before. Griffin was a blood junkie. He needed the prize money for his next fix. Pathetic.

  The four Seraphim blocked her path and grabbed at her as she tried to pass. Their eyes were wide and pupils dilated. They were all junkies. Alyx darted aside and spun away from wriggling hands but couldn’t find a way past.

  Griffin flew past her and grabbed the fourth marker.

  His friends came at Alyx again with outstretched hands. No weapons, she realized. They had no weapons. They weren’t here to hurt her. They just wanted to slow her down. And it was working. If she didn’t get past them soon, Griffin would win. If Griffin beat her because he was better, she wouldn’t like it but she would accept it. But she would not stand for it if he beat her by cheating. Her blood ran hot. This gave her an idea.

  Alyx pulled out her dagger and turned to hide her hands. She cut a line into one wrist before sheathing her blade. The blood filled her cupped hand before the wound sealed up. The junkies closed in on her.

  She flicked her hands out at them and the warm red liquid sprayed, splattering the four Seraphim. They twitched and jerked in the air. One of them began to rub her blood into her skin while giggling. Another had begun to lick his own arms. Her stomach churned with disgust.

  It was enough of a distraction. Alyx flew around them before they discovered that she wasn’t gifted and that her blood was worthless.

  She spotted Griffin up ahead as she flew over the outskirts of La Paz, the buildings dropping to squat hovels before becoming open desert again. The finish line was another purple sash at the end of this last desert sprint. She had no time to lose. She put on a burst of speed and was soon just behind Griffin’s booted feet.

  He kicked out at her as she attempted to pass, knocking her off course. She tried passing his other side but again he kicked out, clipping her forehead, causing her to fall behind.

  Alyx approached again. This time she threw herself at him from above, her outstretched arms wrapping around his thighs. He grunted and wriggled in the air as they continued to hurtle forward. She began to pull herself up along Griffin’s body as if he were a climbing rope. His eyes widened as he realized what she was doing.

  Griffin rolled upside down in the air so that she was now below him. He veered down towards the ground, the sand flying underneath them in a blur. He was trying to scrape her off against the ground. She began to tussle with him in the air. They twisted over and over again, both trying to be the one on top.

  The line was close enough now that Alyx could see the faces of the crowd cheering at them. She elbowed him and pulled herself forward on his shoulders, her head in front of his. Griffin grabbed a dagger from his waist and lashed out over his shoulder at her. She grit her teeth as the blade cut along her ribs but she didn’t let go. Griffin lashed out again and elbowed up at her face. She took the blow in the jaw and was dislodged from him.

  Alyx hit the sand below, skidding and tumbling. She rolled to a stop, looking up just in time to see Griffin crossing the finish line. A roar erupted from the crowd. She spat out sand and blood before pushing herself up off the ground.

  “I object,” Alyx announced over the din after she crossed the finish line. “Griffin cheated.”

  The crowd’s cheers turned to cries of shock and discontented rumbles. Griffin’s eyes fell on her, smug. She had no proof of the ambush, no witness that would speak for her.

  “This is a serious accusation, Bullet,” said Miss Night Seraphelle, manicured hands on hips as she looked down at Alyx.

  “Present your markers, Griffin,” Alyx yelled above the noise. A hush settled over the crowd.

  Griffin’s eyes narrowed, then widened. He pulled the markers off his belt, one, two, three...

  “No,” it left his lips in a groan. He had crossed the line without all four markers. He was disqualified.

  Alyx pulled the purple markers from her own belt and held them up. There were four. In the tussle, Griffin didn’t feel her hands on his belt. She winked at him.

  “You little−” but Griffin was cut off, held back by the crowd, furious that he had cost them their winnings.

  * * *

  That night, the RaceKeeper’s tent hung off several rock pillars of the Valle de la Luna like a monstrous termite nest. The inside of the tent was gaudy and bright with mandarin and fuchsia colored cloths draping down from the ceiling. Harsh rose incense clogged Alyx’s nose as she entered. The RaceKeeper sat, thick legs crossed on a pile of floor cushions, chubby fingers holding a shisha pipe, and his face, like always, was shrouded in darkness.

  “You were such a good girl for me, weren’t you, Bullet,” his gritty voice rolled towards her in curls of smoke.

  Alyx shrugged to hide her contempt. “The competition was pathetic. Next time make it worth my while.”

  The RaceKeeper laughed, then choked on his own spittle, the smoke becoming fragmented from his coughing. A servant raced forward from the back folds of the tent with a clear tulip-bottle of water. He was new, much younger than the RaceKeeper’s last servant. Much younger.

  Alyx’s heart clenched when she saw his limbs, nothing more than bones covered in olive skin, flopping from his rags. He was barely eleven winters. When had he last been fed? Who cared for him? This could have been my fate if not for Symon.

  The RaceKeeper snatched the bottle from his servant’s tiny fingers. It disappeared for a moment into the darkness, gulping and more coughing, then reappeared empty. The servant took the empty bottle and started to withdraw.

  “I’m not finished with you yet,” the RaceKeeper bellowed at the youngling, who flinched as if he had been whipped. The RaceKeeper addressed Alyx, “Sparrow will retrieve your portion of the profits.”

  Sparrow’s almond eyes darted towards Alyx before he retreated behind a curtain.

  “Sparrow is such an odd name,” said Alyx, trying not to let the pity creep into her voice.

  “What? Oh. It’s just what I call him.”

  The boy was not even called by his real name.

  “How much for him?” Alyx said without thinking.

  “What?” Alyx could imagine the RaceKeeper’s eyes bulging out within the darkness.

  “You heard me.”

  “Why do you want him?” His voice was curious now. Alyx knew he smelled an opportunity. She had to play it cool.

  “I need a servant.”

  There was a silence. “You are a liar.”

  Alyx sniffed. “How dare−”

  “Don’t think me a fool, Alyxandria of Michaelea. I know who you really are and don’t expect for a second that I believe you require a servant. What’s the real reason?”

  She couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “I see. You reek of pity. You want to take care of him. Hah! You are as pathetic as he is.”

  At that moment Sparrow returned with a small pouch, which he laid on the low round table next to the RaceKeeper before retreating again.

  The RaceKeeper tossed the pouch at Alyx. “Take your winnings and go.”

  Alyx caught the pouch, but she held it back out to him. “Keep the winnings. I want the boy.”

  The RaceKeeper began to laugh, slowly first, then harder. Alyx felt her cheeks warm and lowered her hand.

  “You think that this is all it takes to buy a life?” Another fit of laughter. “Even if you won a thousand races you wouldn’t get close to paying this boy off. He is too valuable to me. Now get out. You’re starting to bore me.”

  She wanted to
hit him. She could hit him. It would hurt him. Really hurt him. She could probably get three or four punches in before his guards at the entrance pulled her off. Then what would the RaceKeeper do to her as punishment?

  I can take it, whatever it is.

  But what would the RaceKeeper do to Sparrow? This thought caused her to rethink her violent desire. Alyx narrowed her eyes at the RaceKeeper. “Fine. I’m going. But if I return and there isn’t some meat on his bones or better clothes on his back, I’ll stop racing for you.”

  The RaceKeeper choked on his shisha pipe.

  Chapter 4

  The next day on her way to training, Alyx heard someone call out, “Alyxandria.”

  If it were anyone but Jovanna, she would have had their head for using her full name so casually. Jovanna was another flock leader, a lightwarrior of about forty winters who had trained with Alyx’s mother under Symon when they were younglings. Jovanna insisted on calling Alyx by her full name. Always. “It’s the name your parents gave you,” Jovanna had explained to Alyx once.

  Alyx smiled at the sight of Jovanna flying towards her on this path that meandered through the trees down to the training fields. Jovanna had the aura of a lioness, proud, regal and with a quiet fierceness and not just because of her wavy sandy-colored hair barely contained in a tie at the base of her neck. But Alyx always thought there was something sad, almost haunting about her pale gray eyes.

  “I have been meaning to congratulate you on your DreamWeaver mark,” Jovanna said. “A second level magic. It’s an honor for someone so young. Your parents would have been proud.”

  Alyx’s heart warmed. Coming from Jovanna these words held extra weight.

  Jovanna gripped Alyx’s arm and drew closer. “I heard about your…vision,” she said in a lowered voice.

  “Oh. Did Symon tell you?”

  “Not exactly.” She paused. “People are talking about it.”