Songbird (A Sinclair Story #1) (23 page)

Hobbling down the hall, I pushed my way
through the girls in the bathroom to find a spare sink to brush my teeth. No
way was I waiting in the shower line this morning; I had a man to find. I did
take a few minutes to re-braid my hair, needing it off my face.

Back in my room, I grabbed some clean clothes from
my drawers. The current world crisis doesn’t allow for a high-fashion life. Which
is fine by me. I like comfortable. Tattered slim-fit blue jeans, low cut enough
to sit below my bruises, and a simple white t-shirt.

Dragging on battered black boots and
grabbing my hooded dark-gray coat, I left the room. The weather was reasonably
mild this time of year, but with the cold season around the corner the wind
could cut right through.

Lucy would be at breakfast; she was an
early riser – unlike me. I have a personal vendetta against all hours before
10am. I didn’t bother with any cosmetics, not that many existed. Lucy’s contact
on the outside did procure a few things, such as mascara, which she was
addicted to. My lashes were already naturally thick and inky black – and with
my talent of getting more of the mascara in my eye than on my lashes – I never
bothered with it.

Starting down the stairs, I made it to
the first landing. As usual I rounded the corner far too quickly and found
myself in a collision. We teetered comically on the ledge before managing to
untangle ourselves. I recognized the mass of blond hair: it was Lucy. As she
pulled back from me, I noticed she was dressed to impress today.

“Cute shirt, Luce. Who did you bribe to
get that one?”

Her love of clothes is well known.
Today, she teamed a funky purple vintage t-shirt with short denim shorts, long
socks and sneakers. She’s the only person who manages to get clothes and
cosmetics smuggled in. Works out for me too – occasionally a new shirt would
magically appear on my bed.

“I’ve told you before, Abbs, if you knew
what I did for these things I’d have to kill you. Or myself,” she muttered.
Glancing down at her watch, she gasped. “I don’t want to alarm you but ... wait
for it ... it’s only 8.30 in the morning.”

Groaning, I massaged my temples. “That’s
why I feel like this. I hate mornings; remember that fight years ago? We
haven’t talked since.”

“How could I forget? It was the falling
out of the century.” Lucy has sarcasm nailed.

“So, I was coming to find you.” I would
work on the little white lies – at a later date. In my determination to find
the alley man, I’d completely forgotten about Lucy.

Watching me, eyes narrowed, she shook
her head. “Liar!”

I smiled. The girl knows me well.

“You were heading out to find your alley
man.”

I laughed. A little too well.

“Can’t get anything past you, but I’m
just a tad excited.” Bouncing on my feet, it was probably obvious. “Last night
in my dream the woman spoke and, holy mother of gold, her accent was the same
as the alley man. I kid you not.”

Her eyebrows hit her hair line. “That’s
a strange coincidence. You had any ‘I’m a crazy person’ thoughts, Abbs?”

“Every day, every damn day. But this
feels different. Or maybe I just wanted to hear the accent again so badly that
I made her speak with it. I don’t know.” I was afraid to get my hopes up.

“It does make sense. You obviously feel
a connection to this man and his wicked accent.” She shrugged. “But since I’ve
misplaced my army tanker, there’s no way you’re getting me out on those
streets.”

“Chicken,” I taunted; her instincts were
to rise to a challenge.

Her brows narrowed, blue eyes flashing
her annoyance. “You know my requirements, Abby. Do you possess the skills to
use a decaying dead animal as shelter? And would you recognize the right plants
to eat should we get lost?”

I snorted. “Did I miss the memo? Was the
compound shifted to Africa overnight?”

“You can never be too prepared. Just
saying.”

 
“If Bear Grylls bred with Chuck Norris, I
would be their love child. That’s how skilled I am.”

Lucy’s face remained carefully blank.
“Thank you for that disturbing imagery. But we both know Chuck Norris needs no
one. He creates children from thought alone.”

“Agree to disagree, Luce. I’m a Bear fan
all the way.”

Crossing her arms, she leaned back to
observe me. “Despite the fact it’s lame to still discuss shows from twenty
years ago, you will never defeat Chuck.”

I shrugged. “Twenty years? You’re being
a little generous to old Chuck. And some shows are just timeless.”

“And why are they timeless? Oh, that’s
right – the television industry imploded on itself and no more shows were
created.”

“Valid point.” I changed the subject.
“So are you ready to leave now?”

Running shaky hands through her blond
curls, she groaned. “You’re lucky you’re my best friend and those people are
hard to replace, Abby.”

“I knew you’d cave. Let’s go.”

She rolled her eyes, but followed me as
I skipped down the last few stairs.

I looked back. “Your life would be so
boring without me.”

“Imagine that, a boring life, one where
we both lived to, like, thirty. Definitely overrated.”

“I know, right. What would we possibly
do with all those extra years?”

Unlocking the door, we left without any
drama.