BooksBarbecue
Back World After Save as PDF
Chapters (81)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Dedication Page
  4. CONTENTS
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. 74
  79. 75
  80. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  81. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

I take him aside and whisper, “If the prison break doesn’t go down the way it’s supposed to, will you see that my mother is safe?”

“Your mother, the lady running around triggering the alarms?”

I nod.

“I don’t think I can promise that.”

Surprisingly, I feel better about his answer than if he had promised to take care of her because it’s more honest.

“Will you try?”

He doesn’t look happy about it.

“Paige will listen to her, too.” Not entirely true considering some of the things my mother tells us to do, but no need to get into details with him.

He thinks about it, then nods. “I’ll try.”

That’s as good as I can expect.

“And there’s a woman named Clara—”

He shakes his head. “I’m not a magician. I can’t make the hell that is Alcatraz go away. One is all I can promise to try to keep safe.”

He steps back from me and takes Madeline aside. They whisper in the corner, giving me a chance to absorb the situation.

The dark-haired teenager steps closer to me. She’s my height. We have the same figure and the same shade of dark hair and eyes.

Matching pairs of girls.

Archangel.

An image of Uriel the politician walking through the aerie’s club with his matching terrified women comes to mind.

I instinctively reach to stroke my bear-sword, trying to get some comfort from the soft fur, but there’s nothing there but empty air.

46

Image

THE FERRY RIDE to San Francisco is as quiet and gloomy as the one that took me to Alcatraz. The big difference is that humans are guarding us instead of scorpions.

Madeline and her crew go around asking the two dozen of us if we can sew or design costumes, or if we know how to make jewelry. If we answer yes, they write stuff down on their clipboards. I don’t know how to do any of these things but they don’t seem to care.

I’ve lost track of how long it’s been since my last ride on this ferry. It’s dawn now. The sky is tinged with what I always thought of as rosy pink, but this morning it looks more like the color of a fresh bruise.

I try to see if I can talk to the captain, but the guards firmly redirect me to the bathrooms. On my way back, I find a pen and paper on a clipboard hanging on the wall in the stairwell. So I spend the rest of the ride writing down what I want to say to the boat driver, just in case I have to slip him a note instead of being able to talk to him.