Heart Of Atlantis

a
mountain
big.
    Rio dropped the bike and backed up, step by slow, cautious step, wishing for the millionth time that if she had to have a superpower it could be something useful. Like flying. Or invisibility. What was the use, really, of reading other people’s thoughts at a time like this?
    “I don’t know, she has a long braid, the boss said she had a long braid,” another one said in an unexpectedly high, squeaky voice that nearly surprised a laugh out of Rio. Things that ugly and that big shouldn’t sound like Mickey Mouse.
    “Look, if you’re Rio Green, the boss just wants to talk to you,” the first one said, his hands out at his sides in what was clearly meant to be a nonthreatening position.
    Ha.
    “I don’t know anybody named Rio Green,” she said evenly, eyeing the distance between her and the fence. “You have the wrong person.”
    “See, that sounds like a lie,” Mountain Man said, taking a step forward.
    The other two moved to flank her, and she pushed her fear aside and dropped her mental barrier, listening frantically for whatever they might be thinking that might help her figure out how to escape.
    Mountain Man’s thoughts were so unsurprising she didn’t have to be a telepath to figure them out.
Too bad the boss said not to kill her. Wonder if he’d mind if I play with her a little first?
    Squeaky’s mind wasn’t quite on business.
Shouldn’t have had that spaghetti Bolognese. I need some antacids in the worst way.
    And the third guy’s thoughts were so oily and incoherent that Rio nearly gagged just from brushing up against them.
Rip, shred, tear, bloody, bloody, Tuesday, lovely pie, yummy candy, rip, shred, tear—
    She slammed her mental barrier back in place and tried something only an idiot would fall for. She whipped her head to the side, stared at the gate behind them, and screamed.
    “Rio! Run! These guys are here for you!”
    All three of them turned around, and she ran the other way for the fence like she’d never run before. She put her hands on the flat surface of the wrought iron between two spikes and vaulted over like some kind of track star, marveling even as she flew through the air at what adrenaline could do for somebody in fear for her life. Her ankle twisted under her as she landed; not enough for a sprain, but enough that she knew she’d need to ice it soon or pay the price the next day. If she lived to see the next day. She hit the ground running and raced through the streets faster than she’d ever moved before.
    Seventeen blocks. Hit Tenth, turn left at the charms and potions shop just past the High Line Park entrance at Fourteenth, and she’d be there. If only
he’d
be there. Luke practically lived at his office, and three in the morning wasn’t all that late for him. Her mind was racing, babbling at her, as she tried desperately to pretend she didn’t hear the footsteps pounding after her.
    They weren’t all that far behind, and she didn’t think she could outrun them. A quick glance back showed them, if not gaining, at least keeping pace. They were fast for such big guys, again with her sucky luck. Her heart sped up, her feet sped up, even though her ankle was killing her, and she headed straight for the nearest place she could think of that might help. The Roadhouse was only a block away. Three A.M. was still Happy Hour at the Roadhouse, but hopefully the nightly stabbings and bar fights would be over.
    It wasn’t like she had a choice. She wasn’t going to make it fourteen more blocks without getting caught. She put on a burst of speed that made her ankle burn like fire, and she nearly flew under the garish neon sign and through the door of the Roadhouse, slamming into a brick wall that stopped all forward motion. Arms like steel bands wrapped around her to steady her, and she looked up to discover that the brick wall wasn’t a wall at all.
    It was Miro, the ogre head bouncer.
    “It’s a little late for a delivery, isn’t it?” His bushy black brows drew together in a tangled frown as he released her. He was a solid wall of muscle, eight feet tall and a good five feet wide, and the coarsely woven shirt he wore with his jeans made him look like a farmer who’d gotten lost on his way from the barn in the land of giants. His ruddy skin only had the faintest tinge of green—those kids’ movies had gotten ogres all wrong.
    “No delivery, Miro, just picked up some unwanted traffic on my trail,” she said in between sucking in deep