“Oh.” Right. Whoops. “The point is, if we don’t work with Alec, he could just run off and find the book himself, and then we’d have to track down Alec. Which the CIA doesn’t seem to have much luck with.”
Ryerson opened his mouth, and I held up a hand. “I know, I know. That’s assuming you don’t arrest him or kill him first. Just for fun, let’s come up with a plan that does not involve you murdering your best friend.”
“He’s not—”
“Sure.” I didn’t know a lot about Ryerson’s personal life, but he didn’t strike me as a guy who had lots of people in his life he could count on to help him move or show up for a barbecue. His work was his life, so how could he? Not for the first time, I wondered what Ryerson was like outside of the agency. I shook the thought away and dragged my attention back to the problem at hand: convincing Ryerson and Alec to work together. “The point is, you both want to find the book. If you work together, it might actually happen before more people get killed. When we find it, I’ll use it to get the counter-curse. I don’t want any spell more than that, so if it’s in there, the Grimoire should show it to me, right?”
Ryerson still looked doubtful, so I pointed out, “If Alec can’t shift anymore, he’ll be easier for you to catch. Then the agency can have the book.”
I felt Alec’s steady gaze, but I didn’t look at him. I knew what he was thinking. That he wouldn’t let Ryerson just take the book. That he still planned to destroy it. But if I told Ryerson that, there’s no way he’d agree to work with Alec, and then we were right back where we started. One problem at a time.
I didn’t like the idea of keeping something like that from Ryerson, but I also didn’t want them to kill each other in the car. So I swallowed back the niggling sense of doubt and looked at Ryerson. “You know this makes the most sense.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked.
“To be clear, the plan is contingent on you two not killing each other. So what do you say? Truce? At least until we find the book?”
Neither of them answered for a long moment. Then Alec shrugged and sat back. He stared out the side window so I couldn’t see what color his eyes were, but he wasn’t vibrating with menace anymore. Good enough.
I turned to Ryerson, whose expression said he’d rather swallow a nail than agree to work with Alec. I put a hand on his jean-clad knee and he jerked, surprised.
“Are you in?” I said.
He stared at my hand on his knee for a long time. Finally, he snapped his head in a tight nod and gritted out, “Where to?”
I sat back and rewarded them both with a bright smile.
“The airport,” Alec said.
“Fine,” Ryerson said. “But we’re going to need to make a stop first.”
Oh boy.
12
Our quick stop was the safe house where Ryerson and I had left most of our stuff before we went to meet Isadora. Ryerson wasn’t thrilled with the idea of bringing Alec there, but it was that or leave him on his own for an hour, and Ryerson didn’t trust Alec not to go after the book without us. Or, as Alec pointed out, follow us to the safe house anyway. Ryerson debated whether to leave our stuff behind and head straight to the airport, but Alec refused to say where we were flying to and in the end, Ryerson decided it was better to be prepared, even if it meant spending the whole drive there grumbling under his breath about burning another safe house location and wasting CIA resources, a notion that seemed to bother Alec not one bit.
At the safe house, Ryerson changed into what I was beginning to think of as his airport disguise: khakis, loafers, and a pair of sunglasses clinging to the V in his polo shirt. Just an everyday hot guy going about his everyday hot-guy business. No international espionage to see here.
I sat at the kitchen island, munching on a stale energy bar I’d scavenged from the cabinets and watching Ryerson pack equipment into a duffel bag. He packed like he fought, with complete focus and brisk efficiency. He probably didn’t even notice me watching him.
“Why are you watching me?” he said.
Busted. “Just wondering how you dress when you’re not at work.”
His movements slowed, and he glanced at me, surprised. “Why?”
Good question. There was probably a good answer. One that did not involve me imagining Ryerson outside of work, going about his life. Mowing the grass, sweat glistening on his skin, the muscles in his arms flexing as he worked the hills and valleys in his imaginary yard. Or lounging on his couch, long legs kicked up on the coffee table in front of him, watching the news while his shirt rode up the ridges of his abs …
I shook my head to clear it. Ryerson was watching me, so I wagged my energy bar at him and said, “I bet deep down you’re a J. Crew type of guy.”
He looked bemused. “And what is that exactly?”
I shrugged and swallowed a bite of energy bar. “You know, casual but stylish. Plays golf on the weekends.” I cocked my head at him. “Have you ever considered growing a beard?”
“You’re being weird.”
Story of my life.
“He owns a dozen polo shirts exactly like that one,” Alec said as he walked into the room, rubbing a hand towel over his still-damp hair. “And at least one sweater with a duck on it.”
“It’s a goldfinch,” Ryerson muttered, like that made it better. “And I never should have let you see it.”
“That’s true.” To me, Alec said, “He’s got an aunt who likes to knit. She’s sweet as pie but a little nuts.”
Ryerson’s lips tightened, but he didn’t deny any of it. I just watched them and smiled to myself. I knew they were besties.
Alec raised an eyebrow at my energy bar, and I pointed to the cabinet where I’d found it. He helped himself. He was dressed in borrowed jeans and a plain blue T-shirt. Alec was shorter than Ryerson’s six foot two by a couple of inches, but the jeans fit snugly, and the T-shirt strained over his shoulders and biceps as he reached into the cabinet.
“Why did you change?” I asked, dragging my eyes away from his physique. “Aren’t you flying as the wolf?”
When Alec came to my apartment to ask for my help with this mission, he’d smuggled himself into the country by traveling in a dog crate.
“Not this time.” He shrugged and leaned one shoulder against the wall. “Probably not again. Ryerson knows about my wolf side now, which means the CIA knows. By now they would have alerted TSA to watch for me. That memo probably doesn’t reach internationally yet, but the Ninth Command are deeply entrenched in local politics. If they don’t know someone in airport security, they know someone who does. They would have alerted the airports, and probably any local police they have ties with, to watch out for a wolf. Speaking of that, we’ll need to be careful. They don’t know what names we’re traveling under, but they know what we look like, and they’ll expect us to try to leave the country.”
“Why do they even care about finding us?”
“We killed a lot of their men today.”
“They started it!”
Alec shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
I disagreed wholeheartedly, but arguing about it wouldn’t change anything. “So what do we do?”
“We split up,” Ryerson said, zipping the duffel bag he’d set on the couch.
Alec nodded. “They’ll be looking for two guys and a girl traveling together. Ainsley and I can be a couple, and you can follow us.”
Ryerson’s flat look told us exactly what he thought of that plan. “There is no way I’m leaving you alone with her. Again.”
“Come on, you know I’m the better actor. Always was.”
The tic in Ryerson’s jaw told me Alec was right. “This is not up for discussion.”
“You really think people will buy that you’re in love with her?” Alec asked.
The tic in Ryerson’s jaw shifted to a full-fledged scowl, but either Alec didn’t notice, or he didn’t care.
“You’ve barely said two words to her this trip, unless you’re yelling or
answering a direct question,” Alec said. “Even when she’s sitting right in front of you, you barely look at her.”
I frowned. Was Alec right? I hadn’t really noticed it until now—I’d been kind of busy trying not to die—but maybe he had a point. Ryerson talked about me a lot, but not to me. Not unless he was mad or I started it. He was even doing it now, in this conversation.
I glanced at Ryerson, who looked ready to throw Alec through the wall.
“That’s enough,” he snapped. “Against my better judgment, I’m letting you come along. I won’t leave you alone with my partner. This discussion is over.”
Alec’s expression said it was far from over, but I was done listening.
I stood and glared at each of them in turn. “When you two are done wasting time talking about me like I’m not here, I’ll be in the car.”
And with that, I grabbed the backpack that Golem was napping in and marched out the door. I slowed as I reached the SUV. Forcing Ryerson and Alec to sit next to each other seemed like a bad idea, but I was tired of them both. In the end, I claimed the back seat all to myself and left them the front.
Men.
The thought fit so seamlessly into what I’d been thinking that it took me a moment to realize it wasn’t mine. Which meant my hallucinations were back. Which was just bloody perfect.
At least Alec and Ryerson didn’t make me wait long. Less than a minute later, they wordlessly set their bags in the trunk and climbed into the car. Ryerson kept his eyes on the road and his grip on the wheel firm as we drove to the airport. This seemed to suit Alec just fine. While we crawled along in heavy traffic, Alec passed the time by firing questions at me. Mostly about his sister, Beth, my brother and his best friend, Josh, and their three little boys. It was hard to stay mad while talking about my nephews, but I managed it. I told him silly stories about them, everyday things that he’d missed in the three years he’d been away, but my thoughts—and my gaze—kept drifting to Ryerson.
Alec was right; he was acting different. By the end of our last mission together, he had softened toward me. I could have sworn he’d even started to like me. But ever since he’d shown up at my apartment two days ago, he was so hot and cold that I didn’t know what to think. Sometimes he seemed even colder now than he had when we’d first met. Back then his soul had been love-cursed, but the curse had been lifted.
So what the hex was up with him?
I had just finished a story about the twins informing their preschool teacher that mommy was growing weed in the backyard—leaving Beth to explain to an alarmed preschool administrator that they had weeds with an s, and the boys hadn’t quite learned their plurals yet—when Ryerson swore under his breath. Alec’s attention snapped out the window, and he swore, too, only louder and more inventively. I followed their gazes to a police barricade up ahead. The police were stopping cars and checking them. Looking for something. No, someone. I remembered what Alec had said, about the Ninth Command having ties with local government, including the police.
“Um, are they looking for us?” Panic churned in my stomach, and I gripped the edge of the seat.
Ryerson flicked me a glance in the rearview mirror. “Maybe not,” he said.
It would have been more believable if the tic in his jaw hadn’t returned with a vengeance.
He eased out of traffic, onto the only side street between us and the barricade. It was a quiet street, with an auto body shop, a payday loan company, and a strip of boarded-up shops, long since abandoned. We made it two blocks before the heavy thrum of motorcycle engines erupted behind us. I twisted in my seat in time to watch half a dozen motorcycles drive into the street from the lot that curved behind the body shop. They circled behind us, blocking the road.
Heart racing, I opened my mouth to point this out when Ryerson stomped on the brakes. I lurched against the seat and then looked out the windshield and sucked in a breath through my teeth. Four trucks were parked across the road, blocking us in.
I might not be a superspy, but this smelled like a trap.
“Well, shit,” Alec said. “The Ninth Command has gotten smarter since the last time we were here.” He sounded a little impressed.
“We do not have time for this,” Ryerson muttered.
“Try an end run?” Alec suggested. “There’s a little room left on the sidewalk over there. We might be able to squeeze by them.”
He didn’t sound very confident, and it didn’t matter anyway because two gunshots rang out, and the back left of our SUV sagged, then the right. The tires.
Alec’s lips thinned. “Or not.”
They exchanged a look and then pushed open their doors. I didn’t like the look in their eyes.
“Stay in the car,” Ryerson said.
“We won’t be long, dove,” Alec added.
Then they were gone.
I peeked inside the backpack at my feet. Golem was still sleeping. Good. I nudged the backpack under the seat, where he was more protected, and then watched anxiously as Alec rounded the car and eased one hip against the hood, looking bored. Ryerson held his gun loose at his side, letting everyone know he was armed as he walked a few paces in front of the car and then stopped and waited for the bad guys to come to him.
And come they did. All of them. Spilling from the trucks in a menacing wave of shredded jeans, face tattoos, and attitude, they formed a semi-circle around Ryerson. At least a dozen of them, all armed with rifles and anger.
Alec’s shoulders stiffened. He turned and met my eyes through the windshield and winked. The wink was for show as he mouthed “get down.”
Well, that couldn’t be good.
Ryerson said something I was too far away to overhear, and a guy wearing a black hoodie whose face was tattooed to resemble a skull lifted his gun to Ryerson’s head. I tensed and sucked in a breath. Skull Face must have been in charge, because the other guns all followed suit.
Alec pushed off the car, arms loose and ready at his sides. He wasn’t shifting, though, which I supposed made sense. The Ninth Command knew what his wolf was capable of—they’d seen it firsthand—and Alec was vulnerable the first few moments of his shift. They wouldn’t let him get that far before the shooting started.
A bad feeling crept over me.
Skull Face snapped something in Portuguese and pressed the barrel of his gun into Ryerson’s temple. Alec stepped forward, and half the guns moved to track him. Another guy stepped behind Ryerson and kicked the backs of his legs, forcing him to his knees. Someone took his gun while the others rounded Alec up. Soon they were both on their knees, hands behind their heads.
Skull Face asked them another question I couldn’t understand. Ryerson stayed silent, which earned him a rifle butt to the side of the head. His knuckled hand hit the road, but he didn’t go down.
Anger bubbled inside me, hot and fierce.
That’s it, coaxed that same disembodied voice. My hallucination.
This day just got better and better.
But there was no time to worry about that now as Skull Face repeated his question. Ryerson spit blood but otherwise didn’t answer. Skull Face stepped back and re-aimed his gun.
Anger crashed through me, black waves of rage pulling me under. I don’t remember moving, but suddenly I was outside the car. Walking toward them. Wind whipped through my hair, but the street was still, unaffected by the currents that thrashed around me. Magic crackled at my fingertips. The air was alive with it, electric, like the quiet moments before a thunderstorm.
I felt strong. Powerful. Better than I had in half a century.
The wrongness of that last thought struck me but only for a moment. With so much power flowing through me, there was no room left for thought. Or reason. Only magic and the knowledge that I could do anything. The girl—Ainsley, was it?—had so much untapped power. It was eager, begging me to use it. To kill them all.
I raised my arms, magic snapping in the air around me. The men—boys, most of them—weren’t ignoring me any longer. Good.
Let them see the face of death, coming for them.
The dark-haired man on his knees took advantage of their inattention. He swept the gun barrel away from his head and launched himself at a man with the face of a skull imprinted over his own. He wanted to look like a dead man, did he? I smiled at the irony and decided to oblige him.
While the dark-haired man and the blond one fought, I stopped in the road, barely noticing them. The rest of them circled me. Closing in. That’s right, gentlemen. Come closer.
From the corner of my eye, the dark-haired one killed a man and stood, breathing heavily, blood streaked down his face. He was a handsome one. He was looking at me, eyes wide.
“What the hell … Ains, no!”
For an instant, I lost control. The girl was stronger than I anticipated, and she fought her way to the surface. I felt myself stepping toward the dark-haired one.
“It’s not me,” I heard myself say. “She’s here—”
No! With everything I had, I shoved her back down, into the deepest recesses of this mind. Magic roared through me, the power too much. The dark-haired one started toward me, but if he said anything else, I didn’t hear it. He wouldn’t reach me in time. None of them would.
I smiled at the men surrounding me. They looked into my eyes, and what they found there made them step back. Afraid. Good.
Then I raised my arms and unleashed the magic.
13
My head hurt.
I blinked against a too-bright sun and two faces slowly came into focus, peering down at me. They looked worried. And a little wary.
“What happened?” I struggled to sit up, but my arms felt rubbery, and a wave of nausea threatened to knock me back down to the street. Which begged the question, why was I lying in the street?
Oh, crap in a cauldron. “Was I shot?”
I didn’t feel shot. I felt like I’d been run over by a bulldozer. And maybe a horde of elephants. Then again, maybe that’s what getting shot feels like.
“No.” Ryerson helped me to a sitting position.
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