Read Online Wilder by Christina Dodd - Free Book Online

narrow, dark tunnels twisted and turned beneath the city. He was on the hunt; he needed to consult with one of his people, someone who roamed the streets and knew New York intimately. Taurean or Amber or Moises were the most reliable, but right now, he would talk to any one of his troops. All of them were more street-savvy than he was . . . he, who didn’t dare put his head up to look at the stars.
    He found Taurean first, huddled at the bottom of the same ladder where Dr. King had gone up, staring wide-eyed up the steps.
    Taurean was tall, over six feet, square-jawed, with a dark stubble on her upper lip and long, dark black hair that hung down her back in a profusion of curls. She shambled rather than walked, cowered rather than confronted, and when Guardian asked how old she was, she told him she was seventy. She was so swift and strong, he could hardly believe that, but at the same time . . . maybe it was true. On her good days, she was his best right hand. On her bad days . . . she feared the New York streets. She feared the people above, and when she grew terrified, she could throw a punch that would knock a man out.
    Guardian did everything he could to keep her out of trouble.
    “Taurean, can you help me?” he said.
    “Yes?” She seemed unsure, listening to something he could not hear. Then she nodded. “Yes. I’m good today.”
    “Do you remember Charisma? You helped me save her.”
    “That was a long time ago.”
    “Eleven days . . .”
No, don’t go there.
“Charisma said she needs Isabelle. Do you know where to find Isabelle?”
    “Isabelle . . . Mason. Yes. She’s at Irving’s house: Upper East Side, neo–French Classic style, nineteenth century, dozens of bedrooms. Entry: marble floors, gilded ceilings, matching Chippendale tables, Chagall hanging on wall. Library: tall, wide fireplace with leather chairs and sofa, two pool tables and a gaming table, mustard-colored walls, mahogany shelves filled with leather-bound books and antiques, Aubusson rugs, floor-to-ceiling shelves.” Taurean recited so matter-of-factly, Guardian never doubted a word. “Irving’s bedroom and private library: two joined rooms with books, relics, his bed with gargoyles carved in the wood, a library table, chairs and ottomans, shelves of books, skulls, teeth, artifacts, and scrolls—”
    “’Kay!” Guardian held up a restraining hand. “Okay. Isabelle is at Irving’s house. Can you fetch her?”
    Taurean thought for a moment. “I know where to go.” Head cocked, she listened again. “But it’s a mansion.”
    “Is that a problem?”
    “I don’t like mansions. Beautiful mansions. Glorious, old, revered, with cruel people who lie in wait . . .” A tear slipped down her face.
    “You can’t go by yourself. So come on, then.” He took the first steps up toward the street. “I’ll help you find Isabelle.”
    Taurean didn’t budge. “No, Warrior. Don’t do that. You know
they’ll
come.”
    “I don’t want you to be afraid.” He offered her his hand.
    “I’m not afraid as long as
they
don’t come. They’re bad people. They hurt you.” Taurean put her hand on Guardian’s arm, but that hand trembled.
    “You said Irving’s mansion is on the Upper East Side. It can’t be far.”
    “A few blocks.”
    Guardian wanted to help Charisma, to get her what she needed to heal. He was selfish, too; at the idea of seeing the night sky and the stars, feeling the wind on his face, a spark of excitement rose in him. “We’ll run.”
    “Promise me”—Taurean grabbed his ear as firmly as a mother disciplining her child—“promise me if
they
come, you’ll save yourself.”
    He stared at her. “No. I won’t leave you to them.”
    She pinched his ear hard. “Yes. I can make myself invisible, a pitiful street dweller. But the Belows can’t live without you. Promise me you’ll save yourself.”
    “Okay. Okay! I promise. But you’re afraid, and I haven’t been up for so long. Maybe they