Legacy of the Claw by C. R. Grey Page B

wasn’t Phi at all, but a taller boy, another Sneak, he recognized from the lineup. He was sure he’d seen Phi earlier—where was she now?
    There was no time to worry about it. Bailey careened down the hill to catch up with the new player and cut him off before he could double back to the other end of the creek, where the flag was hidden. The boy spotted him coming, and grinned as he started to run faster. Bailey sped up with all his might, dodging trees and bushes to keep up with the boy.
    Suddenly, the boy veered sharply to the left, away from the flag again, and Bailey saw a flash in the tree branches above—Phi! He aimed his Flick at the branch where Phi had perched, but she dashed away and he missed her by a bare inch.
    Bailey gritted his teeth.
    She was scampering down the tree, still within range of his Flick. As Bailey rounded a trunk obstructing his sight line, she cut through a row of trees and ran beyond the clearing. Bailey followed, twisted his body to clear the tree, and shot the Flick. He hit Phi in her side, watching with satisfaction as, for just a second, gold exploded all over her back and shoulders, like newly sprouted wings—and then he crashed to the ground. His ankle gave out and, before he could stop himself, he was rolling down a short, steep incline toward the creek. He landed, sprawling, on a group of slick wet rocks. Lifting his head, he tasted blood. He’d bitten his lip.
    Dazed, Bailey sat up, wincing.
    It seemed quieter here, as though the game was something that was happening far away. Low-hanging branches surrounded the small curve in the creek where he’d landed. Though the short hills on either side of the creek bank made this spot cool and shady, the sun shone through the patches of leaves that hadn’t yet fallen.
    Bailey limped toward the creek and splashed some water—clear and cold—over his face and on his lip. As he straightened, the end of a branch brushed his shoulder. He turned.
    These trees weren’t like any he’d ever seen before. They didn’t have leaves—instead they had strange pod-like appendages, hanging down like fingers, full of tiny yellow seeds.
    Just then, the whistle blew from the stands, and he heard the Coach’s gruff voice echo through a bullhorn.
    â€œTHANK YOU, ATHLETES! WE WILL BE POSTING OUR SELECTIONS IN THE DINING HALL AT THE END OF THE WEEK. YOU MAY LEAVE THE FIELD!”
    Bailey looked back again at the strange tree before jogging back toward the stands.
    â€œYou think you impressed anyone?” a deep voice called out behind him. Bailey spun around to see Taylor stalking toward him. “Just wait. We’ll see what you can do
off
the field.”
    Bailey looked around slowly; they were on an isolated part of the Scavage pitch and he had to admit he was scared. He straightened up to his full height and braced himself as Taylor approached—but Taylor only brushed past him roughly, throwing his shoulder into Bailey’s side so he stumbled as Taylor continued to walk away, and Bailey remained in the clearing, shaking.
    â€œHey!”
    Bailey turned. Phi had appeared to his right, smiling despite the paint drenching her. “You did a great job,” she said.
    â€œThanks,” Bailey said, trying to compose himself from the run-in with Taylor. “You too. You were hard to keep up with.”
    â€œI played some sports at home in the Plains,” she said, shrugging. “Well, not sports, really. More just like  …  running.” She bit her lip, then smiled again at Bailey.
    Bailey wanted to thank her for what her falcon had done earlier to distract Taylor—and to ask her whether it had been deliberate. But he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Instead, they walked together in comfortable silence.

Seven
    THAT EVENING, AS RAIN beat on the copper roofs of the grand Parliament building, the Elder at last returned to the Gray City after five days