Read Five's Legacy for Free Online Page B

at a time.
    I grab a seat on steps leading up to yet another little park—it’s as if they can’t get enough of them in this city—and start to stake out my options. I could use my powers to float a taco over to myself, but the stands are small and the food is being watched. Besides, Rey was always our cook, so I don’t even know what half the things I’m seeing are.
    I realize how terribly unprepared I am to be back in the real world. I should have planned better. I thought I’d show up in Martinique with a boat—something to trade. I don’t have any money. Not even a penny. Just my Chest.
    And my Legacies.
    My stomach twists again with hunger and I realize what I’m going to have to do: steal. Use my telekinesis to lift some cash off someone down here. Somewhere in the back of my head an alarm is going off—this is an abuse of your Legacy!—but I ignore it. I’m starving . I’ll worry about paying the people back later.
    My eyes scan the crowd. There’s a group of people standing nearby. They’re well dressed in suits and dresses and polished shoes. They definitely look like they could afford to lose a few bucks. It takes me several tries—the first few times I tug at someone’s wallet, they reach to their back pocket to make sure it’s still there—but eventually a leather billfold slips out, and I quickly shoot it into the bushes.
    I don’t move yet, but count backwards from one hundred, watching to see if the guy notices his wallet’s missing or not.
    As if on cue, my stomach makes a terrible gurgling noise when I get to “one.”
    I stroll casually over to the bushes and retrieve the man’s wallet. It’s packed with cash. I grin, shove the bills into my pocket, and then head for the food stalls.
    I stop at the first one I see. It’s some kind of Cuban food, and I end up with a greasy sandwich of pork and cheese that drips all over my hands when I bite into it. It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. When it’s gone, I move on to tacos, then ice cream. My stomach is filled up quickly, but I push through and keep eating.
    I’m halfway through my ice cream when I realize someone’s watching me.
    A policeman.
    I casually walk away, and he less-than-casually follows me from a distance. I glance over my shoulder just long enough to see him tap something into his cell phone, his eyes never leaving me. It’s possible he just thinks I’m trouble based on how destitute I look, but it’s equally possible that after I ran away from the beach this morning, whoever it was that snapped a picture of me reported me to the police.
    I can’t take that chance.
    I make a beeline for a side street. Once I’m around the corner, I start running. The last thing I need is for an officer to start questioning me, or report me, or worse, try to take me into custody. Then I’d have to make a scene and use my powers and probably alert half the Mogadorian army to my presence. No, I just have to get away.
    I immediately regret eating so much food.
    It sits inside my stomach like a pile of bricks, and I feel like I’m going to vomit after just a few blocks of jogging. Over my shoulder, I see that the officer is keeping up with me. When I duck into an alleyway, I hear his footsteps turn into a run somewhere behind me.
    Go, go, go, I shout at myself in my head. And I’m running as best I can through the alleys and across a side street and behind a huge building and past some fences, and then . . .
    The alleyway dead-ends, and I’m screwed.
    Or at least, I will be screwed if I don’t figure out this new flying thing. It’s not like I know how to make it happen. I stare up at the roof ten stories above me. I have to get up there. And so I clench all my muscles and envision myself floating up, and suddenly I’m not just floating, but shooting up into the air. I go way past the top of the building as my heart pounds, and for a moment I can see out over the ocean for what looks like forever. Then I try to calm down and