Chapters (40)
- Title
- Dedication
- Contents
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-Four
- Chapter Twenty-Five
- Chapter Twenty-Six
- Chapter Twenty-Seven
- Chapter Twenty-Eight
- Chapter Twenty-Nine
- Chapter Thirty
- Chapter Thirty-One
- Supplemental Material
- Reader’s Guide
- Questions forDiscussion
- About the Author
- About Algonquin
- Copyright
The crowd of uniforms hummed with building energy for a moment, like a pot about to boil, and then burst suddenly into frantic motion. Jackaby snapped out of his own surprise at last and hollered, “Wait! Stop!” It had all happened so quickly, I couldn’t tell if he was trying to keep the police from rushing into disaster, or if he was screaming after the creature . . . after Charlie Cane.
I tried to move toward Jackaby, fighting not to be carried away by the tide of uniforms. I had to plant my feet firmly on the brickwork just to keep from losing ground as they sped after Charlie. The books were nearly knocked from my hands, but I hugged them to my chest as I weathered the storm. I glanced around, lost in the human current. The commissioner and Marlowe had vanished into the thick of the surge, but Jackaby was suddenly off his pedestal and beside me.
“Quickly, Miss Rook!” he hollered, and pulled me into motion, the two of us sweeping along in the tail of the swarm.
“But . . . that was Officer Cane!” I stammered.
“Yes, and it is essential we catch up with him before this mob does. Everything’s gone all wrong. If we don’t move quickly, there will most certainly be more deaths tonight.”
I swallowed hard. If people were going to die, then reaching the beast before the police would simply increase the likelihood those deaths would be ours.
At the end of the street, the police force began to split. Someone up ahead was barking orders, urging the men to spread out the search and cover as much ground as possible. The pressing crowd of policemen thinned as I followed Jackaby, darting to the left and right down narrow New Fiddleham streets. A yell issued from an alleyway in the opposite direction, followed by the clattering of boxes and breaking wood. Two of the officers ahead of us turned and ran back toward the commotion, but Jackaby pressed forward. His hands moved about him while he ran, feeling the air as if tracing invisible lines of smoke.
“Do you see something?” I panted.
“He’s been this way. It’s fading too quickly—we need to hurry.”