Bound by Prophecy (Descendants Series) by Melissa Wright Page A

outside the valet stand. Several taxis waited for guests checking out, but we walked past them, opting instead for a random cab passing by several blocks from the hotel.
    “Where to?” the driver asked, barely glancing at us as Emily slid into the back seat.
    “Harper’s Park, please.”
    His eyes met mine in the rear view mirror and I could see the corners wrinkle up with a knowing smile. Harper’s had a reputation, it was a famed makeout spot for the city kids with no place to meet up. I wagged my eyebrows at him and draped an arm over the seat behind Emily.
    It was only then that I noticed her staring incredulously at the exchange. I grinned and shrugged my free shoulder as if to say, Cloak-and-dagger, baby . She rolled her eyes.
    We drove through the city in silence, Emily studying every car at every street, tensing each time we were passed. I couldn’t tell if she was anxious to finally be this close to Brianna, or if it was the Division.
    I touched the gold satin of her jacket to get her attention. “Will it help if I tell you she’s fine?”
    “No,” she said. “I just have to see for myself.”
    “A few hours,” I promised, and she took a deep breath.
    When the cab pulled up to the curb at Harper’s, I drew Emily out behind me and slid my hand through the side window as if I were passing a folded bill to the driver. “Keep the change,” I said offhandedly, using my sway to convince him the bill was actually there.
    Emily was inspecting the park during the exchange, and when I straightened to let the cab pull away, I slipped a hand on her lower back and ushered her through one of the gates. It was far from a casual stroll, but we kept pace with the other park inhabitants so as not draw any undue attention. Birds chirped, picnickers lounged, and a few cyclists spun past as we silently made our way across the park. Sunlight dappled the walkway, broken only by the shadow of cottonwood leaves. The path turned over a low bridge and two geese drifted slowly beneath us. It was all wrong.
    Emily walked beside me, hands shoved in her jacket pockets, eyes pinched at the corners. Clearly, she wasn’t feeling the peaceful atmosphere, either.
    We came out of the park on the south side of Grant Street. The sidewalk was lined with vendors setting up for the afternoon rush. It was here that I rented the scooter.
    “No,” Emily said as I passed her the half helmet and goggles.
    “They’ll help disguise you.”
    “Not that.” She shoved the proffered helmet aside and pointed at the scooter. “That.”
    I shook my head and threw a leg over the tiny red machine. “Women.”
    “What—” she stammered. “Did you just—”
    I smiled.
    She narrowed her eyes and yanked the helmet out of my hands. I had to look away when she shoved it down over all that hair and her vicious glare disappeared behind dark goggles. She muttered something nasty when she wrapped her arms around my chest and realized I was laughing, but I couldn’t hear it over the tinny rev of the engine as we sped away.
    Normally, a moped was not an ideal getaway car. But as we slipped quickly between traffic and down alleys, I was sure even Emily had forgiven the unusual selection. There was a festival on Sixth and Market Street, and the area was crowded with pedestrians. I felt Emily’s grip tighten on my chest, and took us two blocks south before heading back toward our destination. We walked the final three blocks to the Carlson hotel after leaving the scooter leaned against a café railing.
    At the Carlson, we entered through the parking garage to walk out the front doors of the hotel as guests. We didn’t look the part, but no one argued as we slid into one of the waiting town cars.
    “Fordham Heights,” I instructed the driver, not missing the sidelong glance Emily gave me. She must know the place, and there was no question she was surprised at the direction our journey was headed. I figured it best to get it all out of the way