“You wanna order pizza while we wait for the goons?”
“Secret safe house in allegedly abandoned building. I’m thinking no pizza.”
“Oh, right. This sucks.”
“You said it, sister. I’m going to lay some wards. Just for practice. You want to help?”
“Sweet.”
“I figured I’d start with the door. In the blue grimoire, there’s an exploding rune that’ll go off if anyone enters with ill intent.”
“Do we even have the components?”
“It’s energy work, actually. The more advanced stuff is.”
“Then I revise my objection—should you try that? I thought you wanted to start with the easy spells first.”
“These times do not lend themselves to simplicity. If someone comes to shoot us in the face, I’d rather not square off with Conchita’s Unstoppable Tickle.”
“You totally just made that up.”
I grinned. “Maybe. But I can try an easier spell first, if you want.”
“What did you have in mind?”
I explained my ongoing problem with law enforcement and how I thought a
trust me
charm might come in handy. Since it required far less energy and came from the simple grimoire, Shannon seemed more at ease with my attempting that one. She finished her tea while I set up.
After reading the spell six times, I said, “I need a token, something to invest.”
“Maybe a coin you could keep in your pocket,” she suggested.
“Great idea.” I dug in my purse and came up with a “lucky” penny.
Curling my fingers around it, I whispered the words and called the heat. It singed my fingers against the metal; this was
far
worse than using the touch. The magic poured out of me until the penny blazed like a live coal in my palm. Gradually, the pain became almost unbearable, but I didn’t stop until I’d finished, and then it cooled. When I opened my hand, the copper was misshapen, as if it had been run over by a train, and I wore a new mark. That was new; I didn’t gain scars from the touch, but certain spells would inflict them. Good to know.
“Did it work?”
“I don’t see how we can tell until we run across someone to influence. I mean, you trust me already. Right?”
She hesitated a little too long. “Right.”
Before I could address that pause, a thump from behind the sofa distracted me. With Shannon close behind, I went to investigate and found Butch. He’d toppled a Scrabble game off the shelf and was busily pawing at the letters.
I sighed. “Feeling ignored, little man?”
He barked twice and kept worrying the tiles. Brow raised, I knelt. He was
spelling
something. No shit. In a freaky world, things just kept getting weirder. Instead of picking up the mess, I watched the sentence take shape:
The bad man is coming.
Storm Warning
“It has to be a coincidence,” Shannon said.
“Like a hundred monkeys writing Shakespeare?”
Butch cocked his head, disappointed in us. He scrabbled at the tiles until the letters made no sense. Then he barked twice.
No.
Not a coincidence.
She studied him for a minute. “You know, we could ask him actual questions. And see if he answers.”
Feeling like an idiot, I sat down on the floor. Shannon dropped down beside me. “What bad man?”
Butch went to work on the tiles.
Wants to kill you.
“You mean Montoya?”
One yap offered the answer; he didn’t need to spell it out. But, Jesus, this couldn’t be happening. “How do you know?”
More tile work.
U didnt see, but ghost came back.
“The one Shannon sent out? When?”
He rearranged them again.
While U did spell.
I wondered how the hell the dog could see and hear ghosts, but it seemed like the most normal part of current events. “And he said Montoya’s closing in on us?”
Another affirmative bark.
Anybody else would think I was crazy, but I took Butch’s warnings serious as a heart attack.
I glanced at Shan. “We need to move. Get your stuff.”
Next I grabbed the dog, plus the Scrabble tiles. We might need them later. I had more questions, but this wasn’t the time. Within five minutes we’d packed and run for it. Laden with Butch, my purse, a plastic bag containing my grimoires, along with my suitcase, I didn’t move as fast as I needed to. Shannon fared no better. Her backpack, the antique radio, and laptop bag weighed her down. We made it halfway to the Forester before the weather hit.
Black storm clouds swelled overhead, and thunder boomed. The torrent came out of nowhere, pouring buckets so we could hardly see. Lightning split the sky, touching down perilously close to our location. I ran full-out, my stuff bouncing. This was a solid nature spell, and if we let the weather slow us down long enough for Montoya’s men to get here, we were so boned. Apparently, the sorcerer could do more than major sendings and summon demons. He was a damn jack-of-all-trades, this Vicente—and I wanted him dead almost as much as his brother.
It also meant someone had sold me out, either Chuch or one of Escobar’s men. I didn’t want to believe that of my friend, but if they’d taken him during his attempt to find a messenger for me, I wouldn’t blame him for giving me up to save his wife and unborn child. In fact, I’d be mad if he didn’t.
The wind made it hard to move; it pushed us toward the building like giant invisible hands. Head down, I shoved back, but each step felt like a mile. Blinded by wind and rain, I reached for Shannon’s arm. Then the hail began, the rain turning to ice. Big as golf balls, it pelted our skin and left giant welts.
Together, we fought to the SUV and managed to slide inside, but visibility was nil. Worse than that, the fence meant to protect us would have to be unlocked manually. I knew the combination, but that meant more time wasted. Still, it wasn’t like I had a choice. At least since it was magickal in origin, this storm couldn’t follow us. My amulet, tucked away beneath my shirt, should still be functioning fine, so we just needed to get out of here.
I jammed the keys in the ignition and whipped us toward the fence. In the dark and wind and rain, I couldn’t see it until I got right up on it, and then our outlook worsened. An SUV barreled toward us, head-on, from the street. We didn’t have any weapons, and my spell casting wasn’t good enough to help in a fight. Not yet. I kind of doubted they had any objects they wanted me to read. No, they had been sent with heavy weapons and orders to kill.
“Tell me you’re buckled in,” I growled at Shannon.
“Yep.”
“Good. Keep your head down.”
In answer, she pulled the shoulder belt behind her and tucked her body beneath the dash. Sucking in a deep breath, I slammed my foot on the gas and went for it. The vehicles hit hard, the gate broken between us. Jesse’s car crumpled, but we had better position, coming down the slight incline. Momentum gave us oomph, and the black SUV slid down. I didn’t need much, just enough clearance—
There.
I whipped the wheel hard to the right, spun over the ice onto the sidewalk. We slammed into the other truck side to side. They opened fire, and I nearly pissed myself. This SUV wasn’t bulletproof or armor plated. Bullets sprayed the windows, but since we’d hunched low, they went clear through.
Fishtailing wildly, the Forester smashed a free-communitynews box, and narrowly missed a light pole. They tried to trap us against the building but their tires spun in the ice and rain, and I bounced us around the corner, then laid on the gas pedal, peeling away onto dry pavement. Those seconds counted.
“Where’s the highway?” I demanded.
Shannon sat up and went to work on the GPS. “Left here. Two blocks, another left.” She risked a glance in the side mirror. “They’re gaining.”
“Okay, new plan.” I wasn’t up to a long high-speed chase that would end only in incarceration or death. Probably death. “Got your cell phone?”
“Yep.” She whipped it out of her bag as only a teenager could.
“Call nine-one-one.”
Shannon was already hitting the buttons. “And say what?”
“Attempted carjacking in progress, automatic weapons fired. We’re fleeing the felons and in fear for our lives.”
I stepped on the gas and made the turns she recommended. On the highway, I could get greater speed and hopefully attract a patrolman’s attention. If I stopped, we were dead: two bullets, back of the head,
bang-bang
. That was if they didn’t decapitate us as proof of a job well-done. Beheadings seemed to be high cartel style these days.
The police wouldn’t understand, of course; they’d ask why we didn’t just surrender the vehicle. Hopefully I could convince them my flight response was on steroids. At any rate, I’d much rather try to bamboozle a cop than eat lead. We’d find out if my
trust me
charm had any juice.
Come on, lucky penny.
The Forester zoomed onto the on-ramp for I-35. I swung over to the far left lane with an expertise I’d learned in Mexico City. Though I didn’t own a car there, Tia had an old one, but she couldn’t see well enough to drive it anymore. So I often took her to the mall. That hellacious traffic in DF had prepared me fairly well for getting away from murderous gunmen.
I listened with half an ear as Shannon dealt with the 911 operator. “Yes, we’re on I-35.” She named the mile marker. “I’m afraid if we stop, they’ll shoot us. Please tell me there’s a policeman nearby. I’m
so
scared.” Oh, she did the youngand-tearful thing very well. The quaver was a masterful touch. Or maybe she
was
tearful; she was certainly young. “We’re in a green Forester. They’re driving some kind of black SUV, and they’re coming right up behind us.”
Shit.
That was my cue. I floored it and whipped around a white hoopty that shouldn’t be in the fast lane. More staccato gunshots, but they sprayed the other ride, not us; it sounded as if they’d hit a tire. I couldn’t spare an eye to look, but from the squealing of brakes, there must be wreckage behind us.
“Yes, we’re northbound. Okay, thank you.” Shannon flipped the phone closed. “Keep us alive for five more minutes, if you can. There’s a state highwayman on his way.”
I exhaled in a low shudder. This baby had no more to give; the needle was already buried. When I glanced in the rearview, I saw the black SUV had steered through the crash—only the white car and a red one had collided—and the black thugmobile had more power than our ride.
“Hope he calls for backup,” I muttered, because one state trooper wasn’t going to take out a truck full of paid killers.
I zoomed past an off-ramp. I almost took it, hoping the black SUV would flip if I made them hit the exit too fast, but if they didn’t, then the trooper wouldn’t be able to find us. I watched them in the mirror, and a guy stuck his head out the left window to take aim.
I swerved right, yelling at Shannon, “Get
down
!”
Time for some evasive action.
As long as I kept changing lanes, their bullets didn’t hit their intended targets. My hands shook on the wheel, and my stomach cramped until I thought I might barf, both from motion sickness and terror. The Forester couldn’t take much more damage before the shooters got lucky.
Finally, I saw blue and red lights flying in the rearview mirror, four of them. They went to work boxing the SUV in, aiming at tires, and doing shit you expect to see only in action movies.
I knew they’d want to talk with us about the incident, but I couldn’t stop here. If Montoya’s men saw a shot at me, they’d take it. This way, maybe they wouldn’t resist arrest. Montoya would get them out on bond before it became more than an inconvenience. I didn’t want the cops who had saved my ass—and man, I never thought I’d say
that
—to die for me. Clearly, the paperwork could wait.
I slowed way down and settled my driving as best I could with reaction shaking me like a 5.2 on the Richter scale. At the next exit, I pulled off and parked in the first lot I saw. It was a Circle K and the neighborhood wasn’t the best, but given how our ride had already been shot to shit, I didn’t see what bangers could do to us. I rested my forehead on the steering wheel for several long moments before I got myself together.
“You want a Slush Puppie? My treat.”
I sat up with a desperate little laugh. “Clearly I do.”
Butch crawled from beneath the seat and hopped onto my lap. “Thanks for the warning, bud. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
In answer he licked my cheek. Yeah, I didn’t want to find out either.
I tucked him under my arm as I got out to see the extent of the damage to Jesse’s SUV.
Oh, Christ on a cracker.
I winced: front end smashed, long dent on my side, bullet holes all over the place, and that didn’t speak to all the broken windows.
Once, I’d accused Jesse of having a white-knight complex. Only half joking, I’d said:
You go for the bad girl, the one with problems that blow up your car, trash your house, and steal your wallet. It’s not her fault, of course. If she only had someone to love and understand her, that shit wouldn’t happen
. I only needed to lift his wallet, and then I’d be three for three. Apparently, I
was
that girl.
Shannon came out a few minutes later, holding two drinks. She set them in the cup holders between us and I pulled myself back into the vehicle. Since the keys were still in the ignition, I started it up.
“Where do we go now?” she asked.
It was an excellent question. I presumed our safety had been compromised with Escobar’s men. Weighing the odds, I figured one of them had taken a bribe from Montoya, and I had no way to be sure which. That meant I couldn’t contact them again. Chuch’s house was burned out, and assuming he was okay and hadn’t given me up, I couldn’t seek asylum with him either.
I had to hand it to Montoya. He might be crazy, but step by step, he’d closed off all my avenues of help or rescue. If he didn’t crack first, he was going to kill me. For the first time, I believed it. Not even Kel could prevent it, if he was here. It was simply a matter of time and resources. And only the fact that the guardian claimed the risk of my demise went down after I cemented the alliance with Escobar gave me any hope at all. The situation seemed pretty fucking grim.