“And what matters to you?” she said, leaning across the table. “What d’you fear?”
Eliot’s jaw clenched. “Hurting the people I love.”
“And who—”
She cut off as Eliot’s gaze snapped suddenly towards the chemist’s.
“Here comes someone,” he said.
“Told you.” Ilsa turned in time to see a skinny, sluggish Oracle man approaching Brecker & Sons. His hair was a ghastly shade of orange and his pale face was spattered with freckles. His upturned button nose was familiar too. The family resemblance was uncanny.
“That’s got to be Lila’s brother!” Ilsa hissed.
Hardwick’s gaze swung towards the café like he had heard them. His eyes widened as he tapped into the power he tried so hard to smother with a pipe. He had Seen them, and he ran.
“Oh no you don’t.” Ilsa’s chair tottered on its hind legs as she leapt up.
“Ilsa—” Eliot reached for her elbow as she passed but he was too slow. “Damn it.” There was a rattle of change as he tossed some coins down and chased after her, but by the time they were out on Marin Street, Hardwick had disappeared among the market stalls and their patrons.
“He went that way,” said Ilsa, and they dodged through the shoppers after the Oracle. But the lane beyond the market was barely any quieter, and Hardwick was at the next corner, vanishing again. Eliot made to chase after him, but Ilsa stopped him.
“We ain’t going to catch him like this. We got to shift.”
Eliot laughed, eyes wide. “No thank you. Do you have any idea what they’ll do to us if we’re caught?”
“Will it be any worse than what the Zoo’ll do to you if you arrive back alone?” Ilsa took from his hesitation that he knew he couldn’t stop her. “I’ll herd him into an alley. You fly above and block him off.”
Before Eliot could speak further to the recklessness of the plan, Ilsa shifted. Her leopard wouldn’t do; she needed a canine’s nose. She dropped onto all fours, relishing the sting in her muscles as they moved to support four long, sinewy legs. She shivered as a bloodhound’s long ears sprouted from her skull. The colour definition leached from her vision, and her world exploded in a chorus of shrieking and a maelstrom of scent. A second round of screams told her Eliot had taken flight, but she was already bounding to the door of Brecker & Sons to catch Hardwick’s trail. Some of the Psi grabbed their children; others shouted abuse at her. It was already a scene, and it was about to get much worse.
She tore after Hardwick, following the ripple he’d created and throwing everyone she passed into even more chaos. She had him back in her sights in no time. Hardwick was casting his eyes upwards. He knew Eliot was there – a swallow haunting his movements – and he would do his best to lose him. As Eliot swooped lower, Hardwick made a hard right, diving down a passage covered by a bridge; a bridge Eliot nearly collided with trying to keep Hardwick close. The Oracle had known; he’d baited Eliot to come lower so he could slip him.
Ilsa couldn’t see him either, but she still had the scent, and she barked to direct Eliot as she dodged a horseless cart and plunged after him. Eliot picked up speed as he chased and then overtook her. With her eyes on the swallow and her nose to the street, Ilsa caught up with Hardwick as he tried to cut an evasive path through the maze of streets. She was practically on top of him, her hound legs an impossible match for his human ones. Looking ahead to the next turning, she came up on her prey’s left flank, steering him right, and that was when Eliot saw his moment.
It made no difference what the Oracle did and didn’t See. He was in an alleyway: Ilsa at one end, steps ascending to a footbridge at the other. He made a break for the steps, but Eliot was faster. He became human again as he landed; big enough to block Hardwick in. Hardwick skidded to a halt, instinctively doubling back, but Ilsa – a girl again – was behind him and had closed the distance. Before he could rush her, Eliot threw an arm around the Oracle’s chest and put a knife to his throat.
“Let’s make this quick and painless,” Eliot snarled, but there was as much urgency behind the words as threat. Ilsa resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder for advancing Psi cloaks. “We know you’ve been trading information for vemanta. Tell us what he wanted from you and we’ll let you live.”
“Long as there’s no riddles,” amended Ilsa. Eliot flashed her an approving smile.
Hardwick stared venomously at her, spittle spraying from his lips as he regurgitated the mantra: “Yours not to—”
He was cut off as the back of Ilsa’s hand met his cheekbone sharply. She didn’t revel in making a man fear for his life, but she had a real lead on her brother and nothing was going to stop her. “Would you keep to your oath if you were choking it out through your own blood?”
Hardwick just continued to stare.
“I s’pose you don’t value your life then” – unable to resist a little showmanship, she wiggled her fingers and showed him up both sleeves before she magicked back the vemanta tin she had lifted from his pocket when she hit him – “how ’bout this?”
Eliot’s eyebrows shot up, and he pressed the knife harder to the man’s throat. “We know how to cut off your supply. Die or don’t die, it’ll be a long, painful wait for your next pipe.”
He continued to struggle,
