Chapter 9 - The Alleyway Run
The cold night wind stung Clara’s face as they sprinted through the narrow, brick-lined passage behind Oak Street.
Behind them, the sirens of midtown fire engines began to wail in the distance, their high-pitched screams echoing off the high-rise buildings. Black smoke poured into the night sky from the burning roof of Le Jardin.
Clara pulled Lily into the shadows beneath an iron fire escape, her lungs burning, her hands covered in soot and minor glass cuts.
"Are you hurt?" Clara asked frantically, dropping to her knees and checking the child’s arms and legs.
Lily shook her head, her braided hair loose and messy, her white cable-knit sweater stained with charcoal and flower water. "I'm okay. But he won't die in that fire, Aunt Clara. He has the syndicate's security team watching the street."
Clara looked at the child, awe and terror battling in her chest. "You called me Aunt Clara."
Lily looked down at the silver key resting against her chest. "My mom told me that if I ever met you, I had to look at your hands. She said you have the same scar on your left thumb from when you were kids."
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Clara looked down at her left thumb—at the thin, faded white line carved into her skin forty years ago during a childhood summer at their grandmother's estate. Tears overflowed Clara's eyes, washing clean tracks through the soot on her cheeks.
"She remembered," Clara whispered.
