by Kate Baray
Sylvia passed him the large bag she’d held clutched against her chest.
“If there’s nothing, it might be geo-locater.” Marin wrinkled her nose and scrunched up her eyes. “That would suck.”
Jack looked up from rummaging in Sylvia’s purse. “That would suck.”
“Here.” Marin took the purse and dumped its contents in between her and Jack. She examined the empty bag and then plopped it down in Sylvia’s lap.
Marin rummaged through the items, replacing them in the purse when she was done with them. A small toiletry bag, a nightgown, a sandwich, a veggie-juice drink, a wallet with no personal photos inside, an envelope with a wad of cash, and a small notebook with a fancy pen tucked into a holder on the side.
When all the items were once again in Sylvia’s bag, Marin said, “Nothing looks suspicious.”
Sylvia hugged her arms close. “Of course not. I checked. My bag and the ice chest, too. There’s nothing that has the taint of another witch’s magic.”
“Hey. We’re almost there. Any place in particular you want to be dropped?” The cab driver didn’t even bother to look back when he spoke.
Apparently the little trio had lost their driver’s interest during the uneventful trip. That was one piece of good news: their driver must not have gotten an earful.
“No,” Marin said. “Anywhere’s fine.”
He didn’t acknowledge Marin’s response but he did pull over about two minutes later. Jack was curbside, so he hopped out and went to the front passenger window to pay while Marin grabbed their bags.
Jack handed the cabbie a fifty.
The driver hesitated, and then said, “One piece of advice. You wanna avoid the Coven, you ditch the witch and leave Boston as soon as you can.”
Jack looked at the driver closely for the first time. Deep wrinkles etched grooves in his tanned face, dark brown eyes peered out from beneath shaggy white eyebrows—then the cab was gone.
Jack turned around to see Marin and Sylvia looking equally perplexed.
Marin shook her head. “Don’t ask. He felt human to me.”
Jack finally turned his attention to the park and got his first look at Boston Common. “Holy shit. How big is this place?”
“Big. Let’s get rolling; I don’t want to stand around on the street with a huge sign that says: Coven of Light, come take me now.” Marin turned toward the Common, but she turned back when they didn’t immediately follow her. “We just need a spot to sit down and figure out next steps. Preferably where we can see them coming.”
“Sorry,” Jack mumbled. He couldn’t move past the taxi driver knowing about the Coven, and Marin was already tackling the next problem. He wasn’t exactly on his game.
They entered the Common on a well-lit path, the ever-present ice chest rolling along behind.
CHAPTER FOUR
Jack, Marin, and Sylvia traveled down the Common path at a moderate speed. Much more and Jack couldn’t miss the strained breathing sounds Sylvia made. Since he didn’t particularly want to carry her, they kept to a speed that Jack found teeth-gratingly slow. He couldn’t help but imagine the hot breath of Coven pursuit on his neck.
“Um, hello.” Sylvia caught up the few feet she’d lagged behind. “I think—”
“Yeah, they’re here. I can feel them.” Marin’s terse statement jerked Jack up short.
“How the hell did they find us?” But if Marin or Sylvia knew the answer to Jack’s question, they’d obviously have said something long before now. A plan—he needed to move forward. “How far?”
Marin turned to look behind them, walking backward down the path for several steps. She scanned the surrounding area. “Nothing I can see.”
“You really want to avoid line of sight with most witches.” Sylvia supplied this information in a helpful tone.
“Yeah—I’m getting that.” Jack stopped. A plan. He laughed and shook his head as the cab driver’s words came back to him.
Marin gave him a nasty look. Her frustration was palpable. “On a timetable here, Jack.”
“Our cabbie was brilliant. ‘Ditch the witch and leave Boston.’” Jack surveyed Sylvia and her gear: no jewelry, the clothes on her back, the purse he’d already gone through, her bag—which they hadn’t yet made time to search. “Ditch the bag and strip off your clothes.”
Marin hesitated just a hair and then lifted the bag she’d been carrying for Sylvia ever since they’d left the cab.
“Wait!” Sylvia grabbed the bag. “My letters,” she explained as she rummaged through the bag. She pulled them out and shoved the bundled stack into her purse.
Marin yanked some jersey shorts and a t-shirt out of her bag. “My PJs will have to do.” She scanned the area for passers-by then said, “Quick, before someone comes along.”
Jack turned his back and alternated between studying the map he’d pulled up on his phone and keeping an eye out for anyone walking up the path. There were just enough trees that you couldn’t see into the distance—so no line of sight. But it was hardly heavily wooded. He could just imagine explaining to Boston PD why they’d been hanging out with a naked woman on a public path.
“All right,” Marin said.
When Jack turned around, Sylvia was dressed in navy knit shorts that reached to just above the knee and a bright green shirt. Over-sized flip-flops covered her feet. She leaned down and picked through the contents of her purse, now dumped on the ground. She huffed out a harsh breath and then shoved the cash and the letters into a reusable cloth shopping bag that Marin must have provided and left the rest.
“Whatever you’re going to do with this stuff, do it now.” Marin caught Jack’s gaze. “They’re close.”
Sylvia rummaged in her ice chest.
“I’m developing a love-hate relationship with that thing.” Marin eyed the chest suspiciously.
Sylvia pulled out a glass flask that had been bubble wrapped. “Oh, maybe we should move them to the path. I don’t want to kill the grass.”
Marin rolled her eyes. “I could have set them on fire.” But she quickly moved the items onto the main path in a tidy path.
Jack bit back the natural response: why didn’t you? Because, really, he should have thought of that himself.
Sylvia shooed them away, then tossed the flask on the pile from about three feet away. As soon as the glass broke, the entire pile blazed with bright flames. She briskly walked away, grabbing the ice chest handle as she passed it.
As the threesome walked away, Jack looked around at the green grass, the trees—the fuel that surrounded them. “Are we going to be reading tomorrow about the Common going up in flames? You can’t tell me that stuff was harmless.”
“Mostly harmless. A little creosote bush and torchwood powder won’t set the park on fire.” Sylvia winced and limped along for a few feet. Ill-fitting flip-flops weren’t exactly the greatest footwear for a woman on the run.
Jack grabbed the chest handle from her. “Yeah, but we’re talking magically enhanced torchwood. I’m guessing the regular stuff doesn’t burn when exposed to air.”
“Seriously, Jack, I hope you had more in mind than getting rid of Sylvia’s gear,” Marin said. “For all we know, her ice chest is bugged. Or she is.”
“No. I don’t think that’s possible. The ice chest is a last minute purchase and wasn’t out of my sight before I left—and you can’t bug a person without them knowing.” Sylvia huffed a little, trying to catch her breath. “I don’t think.”
Jack could only think of a few possibilities. He grabbed the handle of the retracting handle of the chest from Sylvia. “The entire city is warded, or—”
“No way,” Marin said. “Las Vegas was a bizarre anomaly from everything I’ve heard. And impossible to miss when you passed through the ward. And don’t forget, that’s big spell caster magic. I don’t see any Coven members playing well with local spell casters.”
That was an understatement considering what happened to two Coven members who’d recently tried. Jack wouldn’t soon f
orget the sight of a man drowning in his own body fluids. “Yeah. What about a geo-locater?”
Sylvia stopped to catch her breath. “Where are we headed?”
“Park Street Station,” Jack said, glancing again at his phone. “Shouldn’t be much farther.”
Marin handed Jack her bag. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride.”
“I’m sorry?” Sylvia blinked at her in confusion.
“Piggyback. You must have done it as a kid. Come on.” Marin couldn’t hide the grin spreading across her face as Sylvia wrapped grabbed hold of a bunch of t-shirt to stabilize herself. Sylvia’s discomfort was clearly cracking her up.
Jack gave Marin a narrow-eyed look
“Whatever. They’re still back there checking out the pile of ash we left.”
Once Sylvia and Marin had figured out the dynamics of piggyback transport and they were headed to the station again, Jack said, “So—geo-locater? Do we think that’s a reasonable possibility?”
“Oh, my. That would be bad.” Sylvia seemed to have gotten over her embarrassment. Now her attention was focused primarily on not losing her flip flops as Marin trotted along at a good clip.
Jack tried not to shake his head. Surely Boston Common had seen weirder things?
“Any chance you know how to block a geo-locater?” Sylvia sounded a little huffy.
“We don’t know how to keep you from being tracked—by a geo-locator or anyone else. But at least if we can figure out how they’re doing it, we can try. So I’d say that’s a good next step.” Marin managed to reply and shift Sylvia around to a more comfortable position without slowing.
Thank God for dragons. And maybe he should up his running schedule to four times a week.
“I’ll call Harrington and see what he knows. We need to ‘ditch’ you metaphorically. Make you look like you’ve disappeared. Preferably like you’ve died. Then we quietly slip away home while you travel on to England. Because, at this point, they’ll be looking for you wherever Marin and I go.”
Sylvia’s eyes got big. “You’re going to kill me off.” Before Jack could assure her that they weren’t actually going to off her, Sylvia said, “Why didn’t I think of that?”
The subway station finally appeared. Not much further. Thank God. Jack unclenched teeth that felt cemented together.
Marin gently lowered Sylvia to the ground at the entrance of the subway station. And Sylvia had even managed to hang onto her flip-flops.
Jack checked the schedule on his phone. “Five minutes, if it’s running on time. How close are they?” He started to dial Harrington’s number but paused before connecting, waiting for Marin’s answer. When she didn’t reply, he looked up.
Marin stood completely still, facing the direction they’d just come from. Her stillness was so complete, Jack could feel the hairs rise on the back of his neck. He rolled his shoulders. He shouldn’t let her creepy dragon shit get to him. He couldn’t believe that it still did.
Finally, Marin turned around. “I think we lost them. They’re not getting any closer. Maybe we ditched the tracker?”
“There were at least three or four turn offs between here and there,” Sylvia said. “And witches can’t track like Lycan. Or dragons.”
Marin frowned in response, but didn’t correct Sylvia’s misperception that dragons could track by scent. Jack didn’t get why the Lycan-Dragon scenting comparison bothered her so much.
Addressing Jack, Marin said, “Do you have an end destination in mind?”
“If we’ve lost them, I’d love a crash pad.” As he spoke, an unengaged cab rolled by. Jack flagged him down. “If they’re not on our heels, we’re getting a room. You’re sure?”
Cautiously, Marin said, “I can’t sense any magic-users in close proximity.”
Sylvia’s mouth twisted. “I could really use some sleep—if we think it’s safe.”
“Enough with the sleep talk already.” Marin stifled a huge yawn then threw open the door of the cab that had rolled to a stop in front of them.
Sylvia got in first and as she pushed through to the far seat, she said, “Know of a motel outside of town that takes cash?”
The driver’s answering grunt must have meant yes, because she pulled out into the road as soon as Jack closed the door.
As the cab pulled away from the curb, an uneasy feeling crawled up Jack’s spine. Their escape had been too simple and the loss of their Coven tail much too easy. Much as he hated to keep falling back on Harrington, he was Jack’s best source. And Jack had to figure out how the Coven had been tracking Sylvia. Otherwise, how was he going to kill her off?
CHAPTER FIVE
Jack closed the bathroom door of the cheap room he, Marin and Sylvia had just checked into. He’d gone with something outside of town in the hopes of escaping the Boston hotbed of witches. He flipped the cover of the toilet down and planted himself on the seat. Before he could talk himself out of it, he dialed Harrington.
Harrington picked up on the second ring. “How can I help you, Jack?”
Jack cringed. He already owed the guy one favor. “I might be able to help you out. I’ve got access to some recently developing intel that might interest you.”
“In exchange for...?”
And here was the tricky part. Trying for a casual tone, Jack said, “Information for information. I could use a little background on magically tracking a person.”
Harrington’s response was immediate and sharp. “I’m not putting you in touch with Cliff.”
Jack shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position on the hard seat. “I get it. I’m not asking for your precious geo-tracker. Just some information from you.”
“Done. What have you got?”
“A Coven witch on the run, headed your way. Well, headed IPPC’s way, to London. Not sure where she’ll end up, but she’ll be passing through London.”
“Jack,” Harrington chided. “You know we can’t help. We have a strict non-interference agreement.”
“Right. I’m not asking you to interfere. I’m letting you know she’ll be in the area and, more than likely, open to answering some questions. If you have any.” Jack shifted the phone to his other ear. “Or not. If you don’t think she’d be useful.”
“When?”
Just as Jack expected, Harrington couldn’t pass up commitment-free intel on a rival organization, regardless of whatever non-interference agreements the two groups had in place.
“Not sure yet when she’s landing, but I can update you.”
There was silence on the other end of the line for several seconds. Finally, Harrington said, “Agreed. What do you want to know about tracking?”
“What methods are there? And is there a way to block them? Hypothetically, I’d like to make someone untrackable.”
“You know about geo-locaters. As you’re already aware, there’s a way to tag a person or object so that a geo-locater can still actively track them from a distance. Then there’s scent tracking.”
“There’s been no evidence of Lycan,” Jack said.
“Lycan aren’t the only magic-users capable of scent-tracking. But they do all utilize basically the same principles. Could you have been tracked by scent?” The tapping of keys in the background punctuated Harrington’s response.
“Doubtful. Maybe in conjunction with some detective work and some other magical means—but not alone. Any hints for finding a geo-locater’s tag? There are no electronics: no phone, no computer.” Jack couldn’t help but hope they’d destroyed whatever tag might have existed when they destroyed Sylvia’s gear.
“Well, tracking through technology requires a gifted geo-tracker. You know they’re rare. Fire is good if the tracking device is an object. But if the subject has ingested the marker and it’s been absorbed into the subject’s system, then only time will dissipate the signal.”
Jack closed his eyes and let his head fall forward. “How long?”
“Two days? Three? No more than five at the most.”
Shit. “Wait,” Jack said. “Wouldn’t Marin have picked up on the magic?”
“Possibly with an item. But if it had a relatively weak signal and she didn’t know exactly what to look for, maybe not.” Harrington tapped away on his computer. After a few seconds, he added, “And even less likely with an ingested tag.”
“So it’s likely there’s a geo-locater involved. How the hell are we supposed to hide from someone whose gift is finding people?” Jack rubbed at his temple where a nagging throb had begun.
Harrington muffled some noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh then the typing in the background started again. “My source doesn’t think there’s much talent locally. If a geo-locater is involved, they’re close.”
“Wait a second: are you IMing with Clifford?” Jack couldn’t keep the incredulity from his voice.
Harrington made a noncommittal noise.
“That bastard. When I went looking for him, he didn’t have a phone let alone a computer.” Jack couldn’t help a huff of laughter. “Good for him.”
“He sends his greetings.”
Jack smiled. Cliff was a funny little guy, and it was good news he was crawling out of his hole—well, his Welsh fortress-castle-prison—even if it was only virtually. “So, exactly how far does Cliff think the local talent could stretch?”
“Ten or twenty kilometers, but it’s possible he’s underestimating. He seems to think the local talent barely qualify as geo-locaters.”
Jack considered the logistics of a short range tracker. Best guess, the Coven had used some old fashion detective work to track them to Boston. And once there, the fleeing trio had stepped into a web of Coven contacts—so their tracker could easily be in Boston. An escape plan was slowly forming.
“What about blocking? Scent, geo-trackers, whoever might be looking.” Jack stood up and stretched out his back.
“You need a spell caster. A decent spell caster.”
Of course he did. In retrospect, Jack couldn’t believe his luck when Marin walked in The Junk Shop just weeks ago and asked him for a job. But, damn, a spell caster would be handy.
“Anyone reliable in the area who would considering subcontracting?” Jack asked.
