"You can't go by yourself," she protested.
"Ava." Kincaid looked down at the small hand on his sleeve. "I'm human. You're not. And from the sounds of it, you're precisely what this mob wants to get its hands on." He could still hear them bellowing about "death to the cravers." "Stay here, and keep out of the way. I'll be back shortly. I need to see how big this is getting, and where it's spreading."
As she let him go, he strode through the crowd that was gathering. Some fled-the more sensible perhaps. But others seemed drawn to the vortex of violence ahead of him, as though hungry to see what was happening.
How many years of peace had there been since the last time London went up in flames? Once, a riot was the only thing the corrupt prince consort and his Council of Dukes feared. But ever since humans reclaimed their rights to live freely, there'd been only one riot, and that had ended when the queen made a plea for clemency.
Kincaid shoved his way through the growing spectators. He and Ava had a crime scene to investigate, but he certainly wasn't bringing her to the address until he knew what lay in wait for them. This wasn't his first riot. He'd grown up in streets like this, and had brought ruin to dozens of blue blood businesses and houses in his time-back when they were the monsters everyone feared, and there was no other recourse for people like him.
"Down with the cravers!" someone screamed, and a queer sort of shiver went through him.
Those words had been in his mouth many a time. The feeling of rage ignited along his skin, taking him back into the past, when he'd stood at the head of a mob like this. Emotion would be contagious, and he felt it stirring within him even though he worked on the other side now.
A thousand slights against him. Watching those he loved die at the hands of blue bloods. Working his fingers to the bone just to get a fucking scrap of something out of life.
"Serves them right!" another shout echoed. "All blue bloods should die!"
Once upon a time he might have shared the same sentiment. He'd spent years in the blistering heat of the mech enclaves, his freedom sold to the blue bloods who ran them in exchange for the mechanical hand they'd fitted him with. His mech debt-the years of service he owed for the hand-stretched to fifteen years, and until the revolution started brewing, he'd despaired of ever tasting freedom again.
And then he'd been asked to join the Company of Rogues, which was formed almost solely of blue bloods. The hatred hadn't died; it still smoldered in his gut, even though he considered some of the other Rogues to be allies, perhaps even friends.
But it was Ava who'd forced him to rethink his position all blue bloods should be guillotined, like the French had done to their blue blood aristocracy. Ava, with her big green eyes, her revulsion for blood, and the way her cheeks burned whenever he flirted with her, or made a crude joke. Ava was a kitten, not a predator, no matter what virus ran through her blood.
And if she could be innocent, despite her affliction, then how could he categorize the rest of them? He didn't entirely know what to think anymore. And it fucking bothered him sometimes.
"Burn them!"
Ahead of him he could see the crime scene address, and the Nighthawks standing in a sharp line in front of the building, nervously trying to hold the crowd at bay. Kincaid didn't even know why he'd come. He'd taken the measure of the crowd already-this was going to turn violent.
"Stand back!" one of the Nighthawks called to the mob. "There's already been one death today, and we don't want any-"
"You're cravers! Just like them as killed our sons and daughters!" A bottle launched from where the voice was coming from.
"Nobody's killing your families," said a sharp voice through a speaking trumpet. "The revolution was three years ago. We all have the same rights now-"
Another missile was launched at the fellow. "Burn the blue bloods out!"
The cry went up, and Kincaid's gut locked tight as he sensed the tide turning. Torches flared across the mob and Kincaid found himself buffeted from all sides. There was no point in pushing ahead to deal with the crime scene. The world was about to burn.
"Jaysus." Ava. He had to get back to her.
Before anyone realized what she was.
"Burn them!" The crowd chanted. "Burn them out!"
Greasy smoke stained the air. "Get out of my way!" Kincaid growled, fighting his way back the way he'd come.
"Burn them!" a man in front of him yelled, his eyes wild and a makeshift torch in his hands.
Kincaid punched him in the face, dropping him like a stone, and the crowd around him gasped, clearing a small space for him. He snatched up the torch as the fellow sputtered, and plunged it into a puddle of sludgy water in the nearest gutter.