by Moira Rogers
“Maybe.” Patrick watched him for a few moments, and Julio felt a prickle of magic as he rubbed at a dark line of ink on the back of his neck. “I hesitated,” he said finally, voice quiet.
“Your dad was running, and I had a clean shot. But your cousin was down, and I hesitated, because I didn’t want you to hate me for killing all your damn family. I should have done it, so you wouldn’t have to.”
It wasn’t a burden anyone else could take. “You did the right thing. This is something I have to do. It’s time.”
“As long as you let us help where we can. And tomorrow, I’m going to help by finding the bastard.”
“You know what? That’s probably best.” Find his dad, get the whole fucking thing over with.
And get on with his life.
Chapter Sixteen
Sera wasn’t sure she was going to be able to adjust to having a driver, even one that doubled as a bodyguard. “Does anyone ever sit up front with you?”
He met her gaze in the rearview mirror, but only for a moment before shifting his attention back to the road. “Not in recent memory.”
Of course not. Well, if he was going to be driving her around, he’d have to get used to being puzzled. “Thanks for taking me to the airport. It was nice to get to see my dad off.”
“Not a problem. Traffic is fairly light, so we should be back at the house within half an hour.”
“All right.” The man didn’t seem unfriendly, and no one would have picked him to escort her if he had a particular problem with coyotes. He was just stoic. But riding in the back seat while he navigated the roads felt snotty. “Am I annoying you? Asking all the questions, I mean.”
“No.” He glanced up at the mirror again. “It’s different, though. I’m not used to it.”
“Who did you drive around before?” She winced at the awkward phrasing. “Who did you drive for before. Or whom?” Stop talking, Sera. Stop talking. “Probably someone who could actually speak English, huh?”
“Mrs. Coleman, mostly.” He cleared his throat. “My name is Glenn.”
Her cheeks burned, but she still smiled. “Thanks for taking pity on me, Glenn. And—and I’m sorry about Mrs. Coleman. From everything I’ve heard, she was a very kind and generous woman.”
“She didn’t deserve the things that happened to her,” he said simply.
The mere thought of Teresa’s life made her shiver. She’d heard more than one person mutter darkly about Noah Coleman’s modern day Henry VIII drama. After giving birth to an unwanted daughter, Teresa had endured an endless string of miscarriages, each one breaking down her body and draining her spirit.
How horrible, to escape from the husband who’d abused you only to be betrayed by the family who should have been protecting you all along. Sera wanted Glenn to drive her back to the airport so she could chase down her father and hug him again.
Glenn pulled the car to a stop at a red light, and Sera glanced out the window. A Trader Joe’s stared back at her, looking like a hippie utopia tucked away in suburbia. Kat had fallen in love with the place while traveling with Andrew, and Sera’s phone was full of ecstatic text messages and lovingly snapped photos of organic frozen foods.
A culinary adventure might perk up the afternoon. “Do you think we could stop to pick up a few things? We don’t have a Trader Joe’s in New Orleans.”
Glenn looked around the nearly empty intersection and the crowded mini-mall. “I don’t think we should. Last I heard, they hadn’t found Diego Mendoza, and he knows this car.”
Just like that, her driver turned into a bodyguard. She bit back a sarcastic reply about the likelihood that Diego Mendoza was staking out grocery stores and accepted the quiet reminder gracefully. “You’re right.”
Glenn sighed and began to pull forward through the intersection as the light turned green. “If you’ll make a list, I can see that—” A blaring horn drowned out the words, and the world exploded.
Resource allocation. What an innocuous-sounding way to fight over money.
Julio rubbed his temples and squinted at his watch. “Can we—for the time being, I mean-agree not to undertake any huge projects until we see how things are going to shake out without the contributions to the Conclave?”
Levesque growled and leaned forward. “What do you call the mobile homes you purchased for Panama City Beach? If you can decide to spend a hundred grand on a whim, why are the rest of us on a leash?”
Snotty, nosy fucker. “For one thing, I’m reimbursing the council out of my own pocket. Is that your plan?”
“Enough,” Alec growled, slamming his fist down on the table. “Jesus Christ, did you take the bitchiness out just for me, or has this been going on the whole time?”
Reed lit a cigarette and offered the silver case holding the rest of them to Alec. “We save it for you.”
“Gee, thanks. And go fuck yourself.”
Andrew tapped a pen on the table. “At least now we know why the Conclave members were willing to go along with the dissolution. Alec’s a cranky bastard, and they all needed vacations.”
“Lucky us.” Levesque settled back in his seat. “Fine. How long do you think we need to wait before we start planning new projects?”
Julio refilled his water glass. “Might not hurt to lower collections a bit and wait a quarter.
Three months isn’t long, but we’ll have an idea by then.”
“We can’t possibly lower—” Levesque hesitated. Frowned. “Well, no. I suppose we don’t owe our share to the Conclave anymore. That’s the point, isn’t it?”
“Bingo.” Alec’s cell phone vibrated on the table, and he reached for it. “You’re getting it now.
No more overhead, no more ridiculous New York…” He trailed off with a frown and flipped open his phone. “What’s up?”
Julio could hear Carmen’s voice through the other end. “What time was Franklin’s flight supposed to leave?”
Alec checked his watch. “About half an hour ago, I think, but he would have wanted to be there at least an hour early. Sometimes he gets flagged by security.”
His sister’s next words chilled Julio. “Sera’s not back yet. I can’t reach her on her cell, and the drive shouldn’t have taken more than an hour at this time of day.”
Alec’s gaze snapped to Julio’s, and he covered the receiver on his phone. “Call Anna. Make sure that bastard hasn’t moved.”
Josh. Julio fumbled his phone out of his jacket pocket, but it hit the table with a clatter. By the time he picked it up, he had to struggle to breathe. Inhale, exhale. Slow down.
Anna answered with a yawn. “What’s shaking, Mendoza? You finally come up for air?”
“Any movement on Hill?” he asked, vaguely amazed that the words held no more than a tremor.
“No, the guy’s a slug. Hasn’t left his place in two days, and even that was a beer run.” Paper rustled, and Anna’s voice took on a hard edge. “Julio?”
The plastic of the phone case creaked in his grip. “Can you double check?”
“Yeah, sure.” A car door slammed. A few moments later, Anna pounded on a door. “Open up, Hill!”
Julio didn’t wait. “Break it down if you have to.”
Andrew murmured something, but Julio’s attention was focused on the splintering sound as Anna kicked in Josh’s door. She slammed around, obviously checking room by room, and finally swore. “Motherfucker. Mother fucker.”
Julio gripped the edge of the table. “Anna?”
“Tansy, celandine, black mustard seed—” A crash, like a table being overturned, and she snarled. “It’s an obfuscation spell. He must have used it to slip the tracking charm.”
Alec was already standing. “Carmen, you and Veronica get someplace secure with the bodyguards. Keep her calm. Andrew—” He pointed across the table. “Get Patrick on the horn.
We need to know our magical options. Julio, are you with me here?”
With him? How could he be, when it was happening all over again, on
ly a thousand times worse because this time it was Sera? “She has a gun,” he said stupidly. “It’s enchanted.
Concealed.”
Alec murmured something to Carmen, then disconnected the call and leaned over Julio.
“Good, she’s armed. Jackson told me she’s a decent shot. And she’s Franklin Sinclaire’s daughter—you better believe me, Mendoza, that means she’s a tough little bitch. So get on your damn feet.”
Tough. The only thing that gave him hope. Julio rose. “That gun has a fuck ton of magic folded into it. If I have another item enchanted by the same person, can we find someone to trace the signature?”
“Maybe. Is that one of those pieces from Patrick’s whackjob suppliers?”
“Yeah. Mitchell, maybe?”
“We’ll find out.” Alec glanced at the other two council members. Both men stared back, expressions tense. “Levesque, Reed—”
“Go,” Levesque said. He swallowed hard, then looked at Julio. “I hope you find her.”
“I will.” He’d find her, hunt her down with any and all resources at his disposal. And there was no question in his mind this time what to do with Josh Hill.
Julio threw open the hotel room door. “The police located the car. Alec and Andrew are talking to them now, but there’s no way to know—” He bit off the words with a growl. “Tell me something good, Patrick.”
Patrick stepped aside and prodded a leggy blonde into the room. She was dressed in leather from her pink hair to her shit-kicking boots, and her pierced eyebrows drew together as she stared at the iPad in her hands. “Need one of the bullets.”
“For Sera’s gun,” Patrick clarified, looking at Julio. “This is Kristen. She’s a techno-wizard who used to do jobs with Ben from time to time.”
Kristen didn’t look up from the iPad. “This one’s on the house. For Ben. But I still need an anchor.”
“I have some of the extra ammo in my bag.” Julio dug through his duffel and found the beat-up cardboard box. “Be careful. I think these explode.”
“Ooh, exciting.” She set the tablet on the table and swung her bag off her shoulder. “I need a knife, some drinking glasses and a lighter. And for one of you to be willing to bleed.”
“Pocketknife.” Julio tossed his on the table with a thud, then sat and stretched out his arm beside her iPad. “The glasses are on the ice tray.”
Patrick fetched them as Kristen began to unpack items. Four stubby pillar candles in various colors, a half-dozen plastic baggies with different herbs, and a metal bowl joined the glasses and lighter that Patrick provided.
She worked in silence, setting the candles out around Julio’s arm. Then she flipped the iPad face-down and sprinkled something that smelled like cinnamon across the back of it. “I need about an inch of your blood in the bottom of one of these glasses. The magic needs an anchor to the technology, and blood’s the strongest anchor there is.”
If she needed every drop he could squeeze from his veins, he’d have given it to her. The pocketknife was dull enough to hurt, and he winced as he drew it across the heel of his hand and watched blood drip into the glass. Halfway through, the wound began to knit closed, and he had to slice his palm again.
She mixed herbs into the other glass and watched him, finally nodding. “That’s enough.
Patrick? Light the candles.”
Patrick obeyed, and Kristen rolled up her sleeves. “This part’s pretty damn cool,” she murmured, setting the metal bowl down on the back of the iPad. “Pull your arm out of the circle formed by the candles. You do not want this spell trying to latch on to your brainwaves instead of the 3G signal.”
Julio jerked his arm away. “What will it do, map the signature from the gun?”
“Mm-hmm.” She dropped a bullet into the bowl, then swirled the blade of the knife in Julio’s blood before dipping it in the herbs. She held the tip over the first candle, filling the room with the pungent scent of scorched blood and burning herbs. By the time she’d burned the herbs off the blade on the fourth candle, the area in between them had begun to glow.
Kristen set the knife aside and picked up the two glasses, holding them a foot above the metal bowl. “You two might want to take a step back. There shouldn’t be a physical explosion, but the power might bitchslap you pretty hard.”
“I’m fine,” Julio growled. “Just—hurry.”
“If you say so…” She closed her eyes with a hum, and light arced between the candles, a silver square of power that spun out like yarn connecting each flame. She peeked at the bowl, adjusted her aim, and dumped the mixed herbs and Julio’s blood on top of the bullet.
Magic cracked through the room as Kristen jerked her hands back. A glowing column formed in the center of the bowl, thrusting skyward like a floodlight before collapsing in on itself. It rushed outward in a perfect circle, slicing through Julio with an uncomfortable jolt. Next to him, Patrick grunted in pain.
Kristen seemed unbothered. She watched, poised on her toes, her hands hovering outside the barrier formed by the candles. A moment later it collapsed, and she snatched up the metal bowl and stirred its contents with her finger as she counted under her breath. When she hit five, she removed her blood-covered finger and traced a rune on the back of the iPad. “Tape,” she muttered, dabbing her finger in the bowl again. “Get me the tape from my bag. And the towel.”
As she traced a second rune, Patrick dug through her bag and surfaced with a towel and a roll of clear packing tape. Kristen carefully wiped her finger clean before picking up the tape.
“This’ll be good for twenty-four hours, give or take.” She tore a long strip of the tape off and carefully set it over the first of the bloodied runes, smoothing down the edges with a look of fierce concentration. “More take than give, if you stray out of 3G range. There’s a little magic in there that can boost a signal, but if you’re burning through that, it’ll mean less to spare for the spell.”
As she fitted a second piece of tape over the back, she looked up at Julio. “If it comes down to it, pull up the tape and bleed on the thing. There’s power in blood. And yours has a hell of a kick. But until then…” She flipped the device over and activated the screen. A map appeared, zoomed out to show the entire country. A silver dot pulsed in Georgia. “There’s the gun.”
His eyes fixed on that point. It didn’t matter that finding the gun didn’t necessarily mean finding Sera. It was hope, a concrete direction in which to travel, and Julio snatched the tablet.
“Whatever you want,” he promised hoarsely. “I’m good for the money.”
“For Ben,” she said again, already packing up her supplies. “But if you want to send me a grand to cover the supplies, I won’t spit on you. Patrick knows how to find me. You’ve got more important shit to get done.”
He looked up, met Patrick’s gaze. “This time, it is my call to make. I’m going to kill that fucker.”
Chapter Seventeen
She heard his voice in her dreams.
Slow. Familiar. Coaxing and wheedling, whispering for her to open her eyes, whining for her to wake up. Her head throbbed and her body felt bruised from nose to toes, but it was his voice that dragged her into consciousness, and the sick dread that came with it.
Paper touched her lips. “Wake up and drink it. You got a little banged up in the crash.”
Josh.
She pressed her lips together as tightly as she could and turned her face, not caring that something wet splashed against her cheek.
He sighed, exasperated and impatient. His fingers curled tight in her hair, and he forcibly pulled her face back to the cup. “Drink.”
It smelled like water. Shuddering, she parted her lips, and she was so parched she let the liquid wash over her tongue and only considered spitting it back at him for a few moments. It might be satisfying, but it wouldn’t be smart.
Right now, she needed to be smart.
“Touching.” Another voice, this one low and irritated. “When you’re finished, can we ta
lk about how you fucked everything up?”
Sera tried to turn her head, but Josh’s grip in her hair hadn’t eased. She only caught a glimpse of the room’s other occupant out of the corner of her eye, but it was enough. He looked like an older, angrier version of Miguel, which meant he had to be Diego Mendoza.
Okay, she had to be really smart.
Wesley Dade’s dire prediction about dominoes and the end of the world echoed in her head as Josh turned to glare at Diego. “I wasn’t going to miss this chance. The bastard’s been on top of her day and night.”
“Which is the point, genius. You take him out, you get her, and we both have what we need.
As it stands, I provided you with some powerful, expensive magic, and for what? To watch you make kissy faces at a woman who obviously despises you? This isn’t even entertaining.”
Josh’s coyote surged to the surface, its rage a hot wind of power. He released her and rose, placing his body between her and Diego with a twisted sort of protectiveness. “She belongs with me. Your son’s confused her, because he doesn’t know how to take care of her. He doesn’t deserve to touch her.”
Sera’s stomach roiled at the fervent tone of the words. Not the same as the angry man who’d confronted her in New Orleans. The sick pulse of his coyote was proof enough.
Whatever grip on sanity Josh had possessed was gone.
Diego snorted. “I don’t give a shit what you and your little princess get up to, but you owe me. You didn’t hold up your end of this deal.”
“Deal’s not done yet.” Josh lowered his voice. “Give me time to talk to her. She’ll come around and then we can take care of the rest.”
Diego snatched a bottle of whiskey up from the table and tossed it into the small kitchen sink with a crash. “Too much of that, not enough thinking. You’re not the only shapeshifter stupid over the girl. Do you think my son’s going to wait for her to turn up? He’s coming after you, idiot.”
