Page 48 of Mortal Things

“Excuse me, excuse me,” I mutter breathlessly, shoving my way through until at last the street clears again.

Then I stop in my tracks, staring wildly, turning in a circle. She was here, she had to be. It couldn’t have been anyone else.

But she’s gone.

I stand there, blinking, wiping rain and tears out of my eyes. My heart flutters like a caged bird. She was here, I know it; I’ve just lost her momentarily in the crowd. The world spins around me, as if I’m in a dream.

Please be here, I beg.

Suddenly, my ring turns so hot that I startle. I look down to see it turn its glare to the other side of the street.

When I follow its gaze, I see Étienne.

His hands shoved into his pockets, his eyes trained directly on me. He meets my gaze before looking down the street, where the light has just flipped green.

The fog in my head clears, and in its place comes a hot rush of anger. This was Étienne’s doing, all along. He had intentionally placed an illusion of Laine here to throw me off, and then even had the audacity to warn me about it.

Then, in the midst of my anger, it occurs to me that I’ve never told him about Laine.

I’d mentioned becoming a Harbinger to save my best friend, yes. But I’d never said her name, never told him a single detail about her. How did he know who she was? How did he know what Laine looked like?

Suddenly, I realize with horror that the reason Étienne is on the other side of the street—is because I am now on the wrong side. The traffic is going the other way, and there’s only one minute left before a potential car accident. Étienne will be the one closest to the intersection that Raven had pointed out, not me.

A trick, all along.

The light changes, and Étienne starts to cross.

I glance down the street. There’s a slight gap in the rushing cars, but the light is still red on my side.

I sprint into the street on a diagonal path.

Cabs honk at me as they rush past my blurred figure, but I don’t care. I have to get to the other side before Étienne. I skid to a halt as another car rushes past right in front of me, a long, furious honk accompanied by the shout of a furious driver.

I grit my teeth and keep sprinting.

Zero minutes.

Right as I reach the sidewalk Étienne is on, Étienne flags down a cab from the curb. The black car slows to a stop as he comes up to the driver’s side, as if to ask the driver a question. In the back seat, the passenger—a middle-aged man—looks on with a tense face.

I pause, confused for a second, and then understand in a flash. This cab is the car that’s going to crash. And Étienne is trying to make it happen.

I glance quickly down the intersection’s cross street as cars zoom around the stopped cab. Farther down that street, a yellow car comes around the corner and heads toward the intersection. It’s moving far too fast to stop for the red light that’s about to flick on, and immediately, I know. That is the car that’s meant to hit the black cab. It will run the red light and smash into the side of the other car at top speed. I picture the accident in my mind—the black cab flipping several times before coming to rest on the sidewalk, crushed beyond recognition, a twisted nightmare of metal and shattered glass.

Étienne is here because he wants the crash to happen. That’s why he’s making the cab stop. And if he’s the one working against me—then my job here isn’t to cause the crash at all.

I’m here to prevent it.

I rush at Étienne. “Get out of here,” I snarl at him.

He leans away from the driver’s window to face me. “Too late, love,” he says—and before I can clamp down on his arm, he seizes mine.

I shudder. The world around me shifts. The lanes change, the rain stops, the day morphs into night. Illusions, I remind myself as I squeeze my eyes shut.

I try to yank my arm out of his grip, but Étienne hangs grimly on.

“Let go of me!” I snap.

“This isn’t personal,” he shoots back.