“We’d never be able to do it,” he said. “Besides, they’d probably get backup, and we’d find a few more of those coming after us.”
Sydney exited as directed, pointing us toward the city center. Ahead of us, I could see some of the most crowded corridors of downtown, narrow streets packed with cars while pedestrians and outdoor tables filled the sidewalks.
“I’m guessing you’re playing on the fact that the Alchemists don’t like to make a scene,” Sydney remarked. “But remember, they did chase us—quite openly—down the Strip in Las Vegas.” She’d been in a wedding dress at the time, making us stand out that much more. “They’ll do what they’ve got to do.”
Marcus nodded. “I know. But they’ll still avoid too much of a show if they can. Really, my main goal is getting to my escape car.”
“Your escape car?” I stared, dumbfounded. “You have an escape car?”
He flashed me a smile. “I’m Marcus Finch. Of course I have an escape car. It’s accessed by an underground tunnel that comes out of Miguel’s Taqueria.”
“Underground—” Sydney shook her head. “Never mind. That’s six blocks from here, and we’re about to get stuck because of lights and slow cars.” The cars in front of us came to a stop as the traffic signal turned red.
“Correction,” said Marcus, suddenly unbuckling his seat belt. “They’re about to get stuck because of lights and a stopped car. Everyone get out.” Immediately, I realized what was about to happen, and he confirmed it when he put his hand on the door’s handle. “You guys know how to be evasive. Meet me at Miguel’s—but don’t let them follow you there.”
He was out of the car in a flash, and a couple of seconds later, so were we, once Sydney had shifted the car into park. He tore off down one side of the street, losing himself in the crowds of tourists and lunchgoers without looking back. Some might have considered it abandonment, but Marcus knew us well enough by now to trust we knew what to do in situations like this. Be unpredictable. Hide among crowds and businesses. Meet back up when we’d lost them.
That was assuming, of course, that they even followed us. There’d been two cars between them and us on the road, so there was a chance they might not have seen us ditch our car. When the light turned green and traffic didn’t move, they would figure out that something had gone wrong. The question was how far Sydney and I could get before then and whether they’d follow Marcus or us.
They followed us, of course.
“Faster,” I said, clutching her hand as we tore off down the sidewalk.
A series of honks let me know when the light turned green, as angry drivers found themselves unable to get around our abandoned car. Shouts behind us were a tip-off that something else was awry, and when I glanced back, I saw a man and woman in beige suits barreling down the sidewalk toward us, oblivious to the pedestrians in their way. So much for not making a scene.
Ahead of us, the sidewalk looked even more packed than usual as people clustered around something. Great. Not the slowdown we needed. Another quick look behind me showed the Alchemist man—who was nearly as tall as me—gaining ground. I approached the crowd and saw they had stopped to admire displays of clothing that a shop had set out on the sidewalk as part of some sort of promotion. Dresses, gauzy scarves, and more created a brightly colored display that made even the most indifferent passerby stop and admire it. Sydney and I squeezed our way into a group of women admiring a purple silk dress and saw the Alchemists mere feet behind me.
Sydney glanced around, and a smile unexpectedly crossed her lips. She spoke a magical incantation that was lost in the noise of the street, but the power it invoked had an immediate effect. All of that beautiful clothing around us exploded into rainbow-colored wisps of fabric. It rained down around us, making it nearly impossible to see. Chaos ensued as people cried out in wonder, unsure if it was an attack or some sort of publicity stunt.
“Come on,” she said, picking up the pace again.
As we ran away, I also heard an especially loud cry of dismay from someone I recognized—Lia DiStefano. This was her shop, which explained Sydney’s sly smile. I felt a little bad . . . but also kind of not. Lia had made a gorgeous dress for Sydney once, a red gown inspired by ancient Greek styles. Sydney had been so beautiful in it, I’d thought I was dreaming. I had to give Lia credit for that. On the other hand, Lia had been so desperate to have Jill model for her that she’d covertly published an ad with Jill—the one that Alicia had included in the box Jackie had brought to Sydney. I didn’t entirely know the relationship between Alicia, the Warriors, and how that ad had connected them to Jill, but there was no question that the ad had put Jill at risk.
“Sorry, Lia,” I muttered as I raced past her shop. “Next time, don’t recruit models you aren’t supposed to use.”
A block away was a florist’s shop I’d been in once before. Without checking to see if we’d been followed, we quickly darted in through its door, which was propped open to enjoy the afternoon heat. Immediately, the overwhelming fragrance of roses and lilies surrounded us. Bouquets of every color filled the shop, but I looked past all of that for what I’d remembered seeing the last time I was here: a back door. The shop had two entrances, one that faced the main thoroughfare out front and this second one that led to parking in the alley behind the businesses. I nodded and smiled at the surprised florist, then hurried Sydney through to the back door as though what we were doing was perfectly normal.
In the alley, I paused and dared a peek through the door’s window, waiting to see if an Alchemist came bursting into the shop. No one did, so I crossed my fingers that destroying Lia’s display had caused enough confusion to cover the rest of our journey. Sydney and I ran down the back alley, past the doors of more businesses, some of which were public and some weren’t. When we reached the back door for Miguel’s Taqueria, it read DELIVERIES ONLY. I knocked anyway, wondering how we would explain my presence to whoever answered.
The guy who opened the door, however, didn’t seem surprised at all to see us. He waved us inside. “You must be Marcus’s friends.”
We entered and found ourselves in the entryway to the kitchen, which smelled delicious. A cook flipping a quesadilla glanced up, nodded like our presence was totally normal, and returned to his work. Meanwhile, our guide led us to a nearby storage room lined with shelves of food. There was a bona fide trapdoor in the floor. He opened it up, and down below, holding a flashlight, was Marcus. He waved up at us.