by Kate Baray
One car door opened and slammed shut, then the other. The sound of crunching gravel neared, stopped…and then moved further away.
Gradually the sound of footsteps disappeared.
Jack strained to hear any sign that someone was outside the car, but he couldn’t block out the pounding of his own pulse in his ears.
He turned back to his restraints. He needed to focus on one thing. One thing at a time, and he might stay conscious and have some chance.
He gnawed on duct tape till the ache in his jaw started to compete with his pounding head. Finally the last strands gave way.
At well over six feet, Jack took up most of the space in the trunk. Reaching his feet proved more difficult than he’d guessed. With some careful shifting and rolling, he tucked his knees up close enough to his chest that he could touch the tape on his ankles.
It took more than a dozen tries, but he finally found the edge of the tape with his cramped, numb fingers. Unwinding it in the tight confines of the trunk also proved a challenge, and by the time he’d finished, he’d exhausted himself. Without some serious painkillers or a healer, he wasn’t about to put up any kind of fight when that lid popped open.
Jack
Jack’s head jerked up when he heard Marin’s voice. He narrowly missed pounding his head for the second—or was it third?—time that night. “Shit, Marin. Where the hell are you?”
Above the church parking lot.
“No.” It might be the middle of the night and Marin might have the best camo-skin known to dragonkind, but the church was still in the middle of a populated town. And dragon Marin was the size of an elephant. “You have lost your mind.”
Probably. Long story short—I’m stuck as a dragon. A few seconds of silence followed. Hug the floor of the trunk.
“Why?” But Jack didn’t wait for an answer; he flattened himself as best he could.
The temperature in the trunk increased. As the air grew heavy with the heat, Jack kept as still as he could. He had no clue what the hell she was doing. And even with precise control and all of the advantages of magical fire, he couldn’t be sure touching the wrong part of the car wouldn’t fry him.
The screech of tearing metal made his head explode in pain. As his head thudded, he envisioned massive claws tearing into metal inches from his back.
You can open your eyes now.
He could hear the smirk in her voice.
“Don’t even. You try being the sardine in a tin can opened with sharp pliers.” Jack lurched over the jagged edges of metal where Marin had ripped the trunk from the car.
She stretched her long, silvery neck out, giving him something that wouldn’t rip his hands apart to lean on.
“You couldn’t break in and just pop the damn trunk?”
All dragon, all the time. Pay attention, Jack. And hurry. They’ll have heard the noise.
“You think?” Jack’s hands slid down the cool, flexing scales of her neck as she turned to watch the church door. “You have an exit plan?”
We need to retrieve the book—and a knife.
“Now?” Jack did a quick inventory: concussion, bruising, muscle strain, but no broken bones. If his brain wasn’t bleeding, he was probably good to go…slowly. And with no gun. “Wait—what knife?”
The church doors opened.
Marin’s neck arched and her jaws opened wide. A thin stream of flame scorched the opened door.
Whoever was making their way out retreated back into the building.
“You’re going to explain this terrible plan at some point, right?”
Tomorrow.
“Cute. Those guys could be escaping out the back. There’s an exit on the opposite side of the building.”
I melted the lock and sealed the windows.
Jack stood up taller and stretched his shoulders. “All right, seriously, what’s the plan?”
Burn a hole in the building, enter, incapacitate a few guards…find a gun for you.
Marin turned her attention from the church door to him, her neck snaking around for a glimpse back to the church.
I’m stuck in dragon form…for a while.
“When we’re not about to die, how about you explain that.” Jack rolled his head from one side to the other. The pounding in his head was scrambling his brains, but he didn’t really have time for an Aleve run.
Huge reptilian eyes stared down at him.
We need to get a move on. I have to get home before the sky lightens.
“Right.” Since he’d been telling his body to move for several seconds and it wasn’t complying, Jack figured he wasn’t actually up to a fight. But then his second wind must have kicked in, because his legs started to work again and he headed to the door.
Marin moved her massive bulk with an eerie ease, keeping pace with him.
No windows on this side of the building, and he hadn’t heard breaking glass. But there was no telling what the pastor and his congregation had gotten up to while he and Marin had been outside not communicating. “Any clue how many people are inside?”
Six.
Marin moved in front of Jack as they got close to the front door. She may have baby scales that were soft by dragon standards, but she was still less vulnerable to gunfire than he was. He kept his hand on the silvery scales of her back left haunch as they approached.
Don’t get close enough for hand to hand. That knife will kill you on contact.
And Jack had his answer to several questions. A knife that would kill him—and seriously mess up a dragon. Probably how he’d been nabbed to begin with—he’d been grabbed after Marin had been incapacitated by this mysterious knife. “What’s it look like?”
The scales under his hand vibrated and he walked through a small puff of steamy air. Was she laughing?
It looks like a knife.
Without warning, Marin rocked back on her muscular haunches and shot a wide burst of blue flame at the building.
Jack peered around her and watched as a hole appeared in the side of the building—and then the flames simply disappeared. Someday he’d stop expecting magical fire to behave like normal fire.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust after the quick flash. The scales under his hand moved, and Marin was several feet in front of him by the time he could see. All of her bulk, and yet she moved with unexpected speed. Jack jogged behind her. At least the adrenaline had finally kicked in, and his head didn’t explode with each step.
The hole they entered was easily twice Marin’s width. She’d approached at an angle to minimize their exposure, and a split second before stepping through, she shot a burst of steam through the entrance.
As a scream shattered the air, Jack realized he hadn’t even known that Marin could blast steam. He needed a dragon résumé. He would add that as a stipulation of their partnership agreement.
Heading right.
Shots rang out and Marin snaked around the corner to the right, a pale shape in the darkness.
Jack said a silent prayer that his memory of the interior was accurate, and then dove to the left.
His hip protested as he landed on the bruised area.
And there was the table he’d recalled—four feet away.
He huffed out a pained breath. Nothing but some folding chairs and open air between the angry assholes with guns and him. Add in a little moonlight, and here he was: a lovely target.
He scanned the area. Parboiled dead guy at three o’clock.
“A little cover?” He whispered the request, but he knew exactly how exceptional Marin’s hearing was.
Three, two, one…
On one, Jack dove for the corpse.
The room lit up with the brilliance of a small star, and he grabbed the corpse’s gun.
Half lunging, half crawling, he made it to the table. And after a few half-blind tries, he got the heavy, seventies-era piece on its side. Much sturdier than he’d remembered.
The bright flash had imprinted on his retina, and he closed his eyes, waiting f
or it to fade.
Too long, he hunkered down behind the thick wood table, blind. Finally, he checked the Glock 17 he’d retrieved to ensure it hadn’t been damaged by its high-heat steam bath.
Seventeen rounds. The guy hadn’t even fired his weapon.
Glancing to his right, he found Marin’s pale form curled up in the corner. Her eyes were watchful, so she was simply making herself a smaller target.
The silence had stretched too long.
The pastor’s flock had escaped through an unknown third exit, or they were hidden in a back room.
“Are we clear?”
Probably. Four left.
Steam-fried guy—and maybe a toasted second man when she’d let loose the mini-nova.
Jack searched for the second dead body but came up empty. “You good?”
Good enough.
He could hug the left wall of the building or head up the center between two blocks of folding chairs to the altar. He could only see one set of doors in the back right corner of the building.
“One door?”
Yes.
“When I hit the altar, move forward.”
Jack flipped that imaginary coin that lived inside his head and headed to the wall. As he passed two windows, he checked for activity outside. Nothing.
It had easily been three, maybe four, minutes since Marin tore off a chunk of metal from the sedan. At some point the police had to show—or the neighbors. Someone. They were making a hell of a lot of noise.
He followed the wall past the corner, but there were no windows on this side of the building. Probably because the room on the other side ran the length of the building.
As he hit the altar, Marin started along the far wall. Chairs crashed as she moved. Bull in a china shop, dragon in a church—what did he expect? She could be slippery as an eel, but that didn’t change her size.
He held up a hand for her to stop. He didn’t want to announce their entrance. Another chair fell, and he looked closer.
In the dim light, he could barely make out the darker smudges that streaked her side. Shit. In a whisper, he asked, “Were you shot?”
Silence.
Shit. Definitely more than once. Maybe he wouldn’t have to worry about that partnership deal, since they’d both be dead momentarily. “Can you just burn the whole damn building down?”
Not if we want the book.
Jack considered the fee, the bonus, the favor—
We want the book.
Her response at least confirmed she wasn’t in imminent danger of death.
“Right. Cover me.” Jack lowered his borrowed gun and ran. What should have been a sprint turned into more of a jog. His legs simply wouldn’t pump as fast as he needed. And yet, no gunfire.
As he moved the chairs silently out of the way, he asked, “What the hell are they doing in there?”
Nothing good.
“Screw this. Blow that shit up. Wait—” Jack considered the door. “Maybe to the left.”
And for the second time, Marin’s fire punched a hole through a wall without noticeably damaging anything else. Like she’d crisped the outer layer of an onion, leaving the interior raw.
The hole was a little bigger, and it took longer for the flames to vanish into nothing; then again, she had been shot.
“You’re a complete freak of nature.”
Your envy is unbecoming.
When the last flame died, he checked right then left—and found not a single pious shooter in the room.
Chapter Nine
“What the hell?” Jack felt Marin’s hot breath blow down the neck of his shirt. He moved further into the room, giving Marin space to enter. “Clear. You wanna have a look? Check for wards?”
Stinks like death.
Marin tucked her wings in tight against her body to fit through the hole she’d made. And as she scanned the room for signs of magic, Jack checked her wounds. Three neat holes, and none of them had stopped bleeding. A thin trickle of red seeped from each wound when she moved. Her scales hadn’t done jack to protect her.
“Recent death magic—as in, the book’s here now?”
Yes.
She made a chuffing noise that warmed the air.
“Yeah? Laugh all you want, but you look like shit and you’re not healing like you should.”
Her long neck snaked around, and her reptilian eyes burned with a subtle green glow.
“Your eyes are glowing. You might fix that—or I can just paint an iridescent X on your forehead.”
Her lids lowered, and when she opened her eyes the glow was gone.
There’s a basement.
“In Texas? Maybe it’s another exit.”
Jack felt more than heard a low rumble.
“Okay, there’s a basement.”
He followed her gaze to a point a few feet away along the interior wall. He wouldn’t have spotted it in the darkness, but knowing where to look made all the difference. “You have enough juice to blow through that?”
This time, the low, vibrating rumble made his stomach churn. Head injuries and dragon growls did not mix well. Someone was a cranky dragon.
Jack’s stomach cramped and his head pulsed anew with pain. A darkness choked at the back of his throat, stealing his breath.
Death magic.
“No shit,” he coughed out.
Holding his side, he pointed at the trapdoor in the floor—but Marin’s jaws were already wide. Orange flame burned through the door.
Jack blinked through the haze. Stinging smoke hung in the air, and tears rolled down his face.
The cramping in his stomach had stopped—so maybe they’d interrupted whatever the hell was happening down in that basement.
He wiped his face with the hem of his T-shirt. Only then did he see that she’d blasted several feet beyond the door.
And he’d been inhaling bits of dead-guy ash.
That left three death-magic zealots doing who the hell knew what in that basement.
He looked at the narrow opening and then at Marin. “Be back shortly. If that shit starts up again, torch the entire building.”
Marin huffed out a bit of steam. Then she sank down carefully on her haunches in front of the basement.
Be careful, you ass.
Jack lifted his gun in a salute and started down the stairs.
The steps under his feet were charred, but they felt solid and held his weight.
He trod softly—but what was the point? They knew he was coming. Then he felt it again: that terrible sense of dread.
He swallowed and sped up his descent.
The bottom of the steps opened up to the right, so he hugged the left wall, hoping he’d be able to quickly sweep the entire room.
Three more steps…
One man with a gun—shooting.
Jack fell to the ground and fired. Again. And again. The gunman fell noiselessly to the ground.
The world around him played out in silence. Two men standing over an open book.
One with a bloodied knife. Drops of dirty red dripped onto the page.
One with a moving mouth. Jack heard nothing.
Jack shook his head; the ringing persisted. He tried to lift his gun—but couldn’t.
The room was small. His body hurt. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t move.
The man with the knife lunged.
The knife. Don’t touch the knife. Don’t let the knife bite.
Too late.
The knife grazed his arm.
Metal teeth ripped into him, chewed him. His left arm hung, useless.
Jack fired wildly, accurately? He fired again and then again.
His ears rang and then his attacker fell. The knife slipped from the man’s hand.
Jack propped himself against the wall.
His eyes searched—found—the last man. The minister.
Who had the book.
Who wanted the knife.
“I don’t think so, asshole.” Jack couldn’t lift his arm, couldn’t
aim the gun—so he waited.
Pastor Rick needed that knife. He scrambled across the small room.
And Jack waited.
Rick swooped down in a fevered frenzy, reached for the knife.
And Jack shot him. Right between his crazy, cult-leader eyes.
And then he passed out.
Chapter Ten
Jack. Jack. Jack.
Five more minutes. Just five.
Jack. Wake up.
Five. Minutes.
JACK
“What the holy hell?” Jack jerked and clutched his head. The instant his hands touched his head, he puked.
Each retching motion acted as a sledgehammer on his skull.
He was concussed. And Marin was yelling in his head.
Very quietly, very carefully, he said, “Have you lost your mind?”
Do you even know where you are?
Sure he did. He stopped and looked around.
Shit. “In the basement. Of course.”
Status?
“Four dead guys—three shot, and you toasted one.”
The book?
“Check. And the knife. Oh, hell. That guy slashed my arm. How bad is that?”
Silence followed.
While Marin tried to sort out how to tell him the bad news, he used the wall as leverage and inched himself into a standing position.
He moved his neck. His shoulders. His right shoulder burned.
One gunshot wound to the shoulder. Not bleeding, unless he rolled his shoulders.
His left shoulder had moved, but his arm hung limp. His T-shirt revealed a scratch—nothing more—on his forearm.
One magical injury to his left arm.
Bruised hip.
And a sore-all-over feeling running through his entire body.
Can you walk?
“Time to find out.” He leaned away from the wall and his legs wobbled but supported his weight. “Quite possibly. We in a hurry?”
No flashing lights. Yet.
And that alone was disturbing. Good thing he wasn’t actually looking to move out of Austin and to the supposed sleepy town of Lorietta. He suspected he’d just offed much, if not all, of their police force.
He headed for the knife. “Retrieving the knife.”
NO
Jack stumbled and fell back against the wall. “Stop that shit. Don’t freaking yell in my head.”
