The City Outside

Chapter 4

Four

Grace waited until she was on the street to remove the mask. She didn’t want the cashier to think anything of her sudden transformation. They were a block up before she pulled everything off but the hat and stuffed it in the trash bin.

She turned to ask Heron if they were going the right way and started. “Heron!”

He didn’t look anything like himself. His perfect golden skin had been replaced with shallow, pockmarked cheeks. His full lips were now thin. And last but not least, those beautiful Tahitian blue eyes that she loved were dark brown, darker even than her own.

“Mr. Blue, actually.” A corner of his lips lifted. “I had to change my appearance too. Everyone knows I’m your assistant inspector. If they see me, they might take a second look at you. Can’t have that.”

He offered her an arm.

“Shall we, Rina? We’re just a couple of tourists enjoying a holiday, mind you.”

She took the arm and began the slow procession up the street despite her breath sticking in her throat. “Pet names now. What is Mr. Blue’s first name?”

“Jay.”

“More bird jokes?”

She shouldn’t have been surprised, given that he was raised by an ornithologist.

They stepped into the pedestrian lane and headed north toward Whitman Park, where Orrin Khan lived. “Where’s your auto?”

“One block up.”

“I masked your pulse but I can’t hide hyperventilation. Deep breaths.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m waiting for someone to recognize me.”

“No one will. Look.”

She did. She glanced at the people passing them on the street, at everyone hurrying off to their destinations. People met her eyes, smiled, acknowledged her in passing, but no one recognized her.

When she was Grace Buteo, she couldn’t go anywhere without faces alighting with recognition. Many would whisper about her as she passed. A daring few would say hello or express thanks.

But none of that was happening now. They all saw her, but no one knew her. She made a silent prayer of gratitude that she didn’t wear a uniform like the lower-ranking officers.

It was like Grace Buteo didn’t exist.

I am still Grace Buteo, she reminded herself. They just can’t see my face, my scars.

As they walked, Grace focused on slowing her breathing and calming her mind. No one recognizes me. No one will find me. Nothing will happen. We will figure this out. Ezra will help us. The charges will be dropped. Everything will be fine.

“How long did you work on all of this?” Grace asked. “The faces, voices.”

There was no way he’d manufactured disguises for them this morning in the time it took for them to escape the precinct and find the robotics shop. Heron was good, but that was superhuman.

“Do you remember when Davion asked me to sneak into the zone and help you any way I could, in the event he was killed?”

“Yes.”

“I suspected smuggling you out of the zone was a strong possibility. If whoever killed him also wanted to kill you.”

“You’ve been preparing for this since you got here? That was five months ago.”

“Even before that,” he said. “Almost as soon as I got his message.”

Months. Heron had been preparing for this for months. No wonder his mind wasn’t reeling from shock like hers was.

He’d had far more time to process this than she had.

A shadow fell across Grace’s face, and she looked up in time to see a jailer step in front of her.

Its hulky robotic form whirled and clicked as it brought itself up to its full height and stared down at her.

Grace froze, her arm tightening on Heron’s.

“Oy, watch it!” Heron said. “Big, bloody machine.”

His voice was aggravated, but not fearful.

Its illuminated eyes stared into Grace’s, shifting in their metallic sockets as it surveyed her. She tried to keep her breath steady, her face placid. But she couldn’t imagine it wouldn’t be able to detect the heartbeat rocketing beneath her skin.

“Move,” it said, and Heron pulled Grace to one side to let it pass.

The robot marched past her and continued up the street in the direction of the repair shop.

“There’re going to have visuals of us coming in,” Grace said. “They’ll know—”

“No, they won’t,” he said. “Your face was covered and I used a deflector on mine.”

“A deflector!”

“Keep your voice down.”

He held her pinned close to his side as if afraid she might run or otherwise give the game away. His long, measured steps forced her to keep a casual pace.

“And you forget that the shop is an anarchist zone. They don’t record data of any kind. There’s nothing to find in there.”

She had forgotten. Her mind seemed unable to hold on to anything except that she was on the run, hunted for terrorism by the very zone she’d given up so much to protect. Everything else was water slipping through her fingers.

“Here’s the auto. Come on.” The sleek dark blue ride waited on the side of the street for them, its undercarriage alighting and swan door lifting open as they approached.

Grace was shaking by the time Heron eased her inside. She slid across the seat, putting her face in her hands.

“It’s okay.” He slid in after her, wrapping his arms around her. “You did great. It’s gone. It didn’t recognize you.”

She let all of her weight fall against him as the auto pulled away from the curb.