“We’ll take care of him,” Nic said. “Ry can handle it.”
That she could. “Okay, I’m on my way now—”
Movement shifted in my peripheral vision, darkness on my left side. How the fucker snuck up on me, I didn’t know, but there he was pointing the barrel of a gun at my head.
Lovely.
“Call Peri and say I’ll be a tad late.” I disconnected before she could ask more and set my phone on vibrate. Placed my hands above the wheel. Stared straight ahead, waiting. Tensed. If he wanted to shoot me, he would’ve already.
“Step out of the vehicle,” he said, a cop’s line but I didn’t think for a second this douchecanoe was from the police. No sirens sounded in the distance, no lights flashed in my rearview mirror.
I made a showing of keeping my right hand visible on the steering wheel and slowly moved the left toward the door. I caught a flicker of movement—he was prepping to step back from my car. A burst of vampire speed later and my door flew open, striking him. Cracks snaked through the glass as the window struck his gun; I was beyond caring at this point as I already needed to get it detailed after them hitting me. I darted from the car, delivered a right cross to his jaw and his head snapped to the side, spittle and blood flying. The gun, I knocked—it landed somewhere behind my car—and I pulled the .357 from under my coat and fired a bullet into his skull.
Seriously, do not fuck with a girl busy trying to save her crazy boyfriend.
A gun fired again and this time it wasn’t mine; white hot flames of pain burst through my shoulder and my fingertips went numb, gun suddenly loose and dropping in my hand. I ducked down behind my car, switched the gun to the other hand, and scrambled on pebbled pavement. Jesus, I’d lost the fucking SUV—who the hell were these guys and how could they possibly have gotten the drop on me?
I leaned against the front grille on my Challenger, finger on the trigger of my Desert Eagle, ready. My left shoulder bled like hell; it would clot eventually but in the meantime I’d leave a blood trail.
“Oh, Miss Lain. Someone needs to have a word with you.”
I didn’t recognize the voice of the guy calling me, but then I wouldn’t say I could tell most people by their voices. Male, lower register. A little throaty like a chronic smoker.
“Call my secretary,” I shouted back. “She’ll book you an appointment. Busy girl and all that.”
“This meeting isn’t optional, I’m afraid.”
Shit, where the hell was he? Thirty feet away? Forty? Maybe. I was ducked outside an empty furniture shop; a handful of windows in the tall apartments above it had lights on. People would hear gunfire—someone would call the cops soon. Might scare these douchebags off. Of course, then I’d have to explain what was going on, but I could probably get out just as fast. Maybe. Possibly.
I tensed and prepped to run again; I couldn’t hide behind my car for long because contrary to popular film depictions, bullets do go through them. Only benefit was that my opponent didn’t know exactly where I was, but I wasn’t on the broadside so he had a smaller area in which to randomly fire at.
“So who’s your boss?” I called.
Silence.
C’mon, c’mon, talk to me. Tell me where you are. “I mean, I might be more willing to meet him if—”
A gun pointed down at me in my right peripheral vision.
Shit.
I licked my dry lips and sweat slithered down my spine—stupid jacket. I eased the gun down and raised both hands, fighting not to wince at the pain in my shoulder. I rose slowly and the barrel of his gun followed me the whole way up. Both hands still raised and angled toward my head, I turned to face him with a bored expression. He was my height in heels very thin and very gaunt, flesh pale against a black sweater.
Wait, a sweater? In summer? What the—
Tires rolled on cement behind me, lights cutting past the Challenger, over me, leaving a long black shadow over the ground by my car. It sounded big—likely the SUV.
Oh, fuck it.
I darted forward, driving into Sweater-Guy with my right shoulder first. His dark eyes widened a moment, gun swinging back my way, but I knocked him into the brick wall at his back. A car door slammed but I was still moving; elbow to the face, gun out of his hand, bullet in the knee, pistol-whip across the face. I spun, hair flaring, and fired at the guy who left the vehicle; he ducked for cover. I raced around my Challenger, snatched up my own gun, and fired again, this time into the SUV's front tires. He returned fire, bullets pinging and denting my poor, poor car—and, really, if I was less vain and wealthy, I'd keep the good cars inside and only take shitty ones out since they always got damaged.
I slipped in the front seat and hammered down on the accelerator, moving into reverse with the driver's side door still swinging open. A bullet shattered its window but I kept going. My bloody shoulder ached and fingers tingled—thank god it wasn’t my stick shift hand—but I bit my lip and kept moving it, grabbing the handle and yanking the door closed. I spun in a tight circle and jerked the car out of the side street, back toward the main roads.
A glance at the GPS: one mile from the warehouse. And I wasn't that late.
I picked up the phone again, steering with my knees as I gathered my bearings, and called to see if Nic could shed some light on what the hell just happened.
Chapter Ten
Practical Magic
Two cars sat in front of the warehouse: my BMW Peri borrowed, and a bright red sports car with a few dings and a Quebec license plate. Brittle light shone in the grimy windows of the building. I slammed my car door and it grunted as if in protest. Poor, poor car. I really liked that one, too.
I hefted the duffel bag in my right hand, the gun a comfortable weight once more under my arm. Two feet from the warehouse, one of the doors slid open and Toby met me.
His hair was dyed red, not matching his dark brown goatee, and he had dark eyes I’d never trusted. He was tall, lithe, with more strength than you’d give him credit for. Maybe if you saw him and he hadn’t opened his mouth, you’d find him attractive. Not me, though—I knew him.
The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, revealing a wolf paw print on his forearm.
Oooh. Subtle.
He flashed a glittering smile, but he was a wolf—I didn’t think baring his teeth was meant to be friendly, even if a few people stupidly took it that way. “You’re late.”
“Bite me.”
His eyes blatantly roamed over me. “I just might, sugar.”
“For fuck’s sake, if you’re going to sexually harass me, I will fire your dumb ass.”
He closed the door behind me as I stalked forward. A single light burned from above, a long fluorescent one that flickered and crackled every few minutes. The halo around the bulb stretched on, dust motes floating. With just a few dusty shelves and no other furniture, the place seemed overly large though it couldn’t’ve been more than thirty feet long. In the center on a straight-back chair sat the girl I presumed was Myra, bound with ropes across her torso and a dark red scarf gagging her mouth. Her head seemed almost abnormally large, the rest of her body extremely petite. Hair was dark brown and lustrous even under the harsh glow above, a thick fringe nearly touching her large blue eyes.
And the look she gave me—it was almost Nate, right there. Confused but aware of it, calculating, deciding precisely how much of a threat I might be. There was no connection, like when most people looked at one another.
Jesus.
Peri and Juliette both stood off to the side, mimicking one another with their arms crossed and backs against the wall. The quarter-demon tipped her head in a nod, which I took to mean she’d had minimal trouble. Or maybe it meant there had been trouble but she’d put them in line. Hell if I knew—I tried to avoid her at all costs and we hadn’t yet reached the “interpret one another’s looks” thing. And hopefully never would.
Juliette Aubrey I could read like a book: she had her “When the fuck are you paying me, bitch?” expression. T
hat tended to be the only one she ever had, aside from, “I remember the time you left me to die in a cemetery with zombie faeries” look. She was pretty but you could see the sharp features of fae in her lineage: delicate bone structure, long nose, high cheekbones. And it was the werewolf that sparked amber threads through her gray eyes as she watched me stalk through the room.
No really, a faerwolf. I didn’t even want to know how the fuck that worked.
I stopped six feet from Myra and dropped the duffel bag in front of me; it thumped on the concrete, some items inside rattling. Of the four of us, Jules was the only one with magic experience, but I wasn’t sure how faery magic even worked with witches so had specifically asked for supplies that would work without mojo in our DNA. Peri had her own brand of magic too but all I’d seen her do is exorcise sentry demons out of humans and close a demon portal. Again, not that useful in these circumstances.
“Sure you don’t need medical attention?” Toby asked as he came up behind me.
I gave my shoulder a roll and tried not to wince. “It’s healing. Bullet went clean through.”
Peri shifted almost imperceptibly, back straightening and body tensing. “You were shot?”
“No, my shoulder just perpetually bleeds and you never noticed before.” I dropped to kneel by the bag and yanked open the zipper. “Someone I pissed off at some point—imagine that—wanted an impromptu meeting. I left them behind and didn’t drive straight here, but someone might want to play lookout just in case. They had a blue SUV but I shot out the front tire. Check with Nic in case she found out more.”
Peri pushed off the wall and went with heavy steps for the door, apparently happy to have something to do. Girl took orders well—I’d give her that.
I pulled out a black velvet sachet and tossed it over my shoulder. “Here.” I didn’t hear it hit the ground so she must’ve caught it. “Dispel powder. Myra here throws a spell or does something, it’ll dispel it.” Probably. There were any number of ways it couldn’t work but hopefully if the witch knew we were prepped, she wouldn’t try anything. Next I pulled out some printed pages and handed them and a piece of chalk to Toby. “Draw these in a circle around her.” It was blood magic, too, and would require a dose of the good red stuff; I was already suffering blood loss but the wound had clotted so I couldn’t drip on it and power it up. Of course, maybe we could kill Peri.
Last was a legal pad and pencil, which I handed off to Juliette. “You’ll write down what the witch says, no matter how crazy, and also record it with your cell phone.”
Her fingers flexed on the pencil, wood creaking like she might snap it. “You want me to play secretary?”
“Well,” I stood and stuffed two extra sachets in my pockets, “electronics might go wonky—it’s only a one in ten chance, but I don’t want to risk it. Also, I’m not sure Toby’s literate.”
That got me a half smirk from her that she tried to cover up, then she moved back to her station. Toby glared but continued marking up the cement around the chair and I stood out of the way.
“No one goes in the circle,” I said as he finished. “Not once it’s activated. Anyone in it will be trapped. Toby, on my nod, you remove the gag.” Worry flashed through his eyes—while his back was to Jules, likely intentionally—but I nodded. I knew what I was doing.
Probably.
I popped a dagger out of the duffel and waited for Toby to get in position behind Myra. The witch took in all this silently, her gaze never leaving me—clearly she knew I was in charge, which meant if she tried anything, it would probably be aimed toward me, thereby freeing the others to come to my defense. That I was counting on totally useless people wasn’t lost to me, but I didn’t have another option. I angled my arms out of the bolero jacket—a pain in the ass with my shot shoulder—and left it sitting at my feet, raised my arm over the sigils, and held the knife to my forearm. I glanced over Myra’s head at Toby and gave him a nod just as I jerked the blade down.
People do it all the time in movies—slice their bodies for some blood ritual. But it always hurts. Always. Even when you’re a super healing vampire, and this is why I dragged the knife over my forearm, digging deep enough for blood and not nerve damage. Left my palm alone because I need my hands good and working for things like gunfights and driving and sex with hot guys. I winced as the blade bit deep and crimson dripped, sparking life into the sigils which buzzed and hummed happily.
Toby had done his part, standing out of the circle after jerking the scarf down to hang around the witch’s neck. He tensed and waited, watching from two feet away.
Myra blinked at me, two times slowly, her long black lashes brushing her cheeks as she did. She turned her head, eyeing my companions for a moment before she looked back at me. With that big head, she almost looked like a doll, and the black skirt hanging over her knees and burgundy cardigan did nothing to dispel that look.
“We’re not gonna hurt you,” I started. “Well, probably not. Unless you piss me off. Then I’m going to hurt you, like a lot, and it’ll be terribly unpleasant for all involved, so it would be best if we cut through all the threats and the begging and get to the point. You’re a witch and a vampire, and you’re functional. How’d that happen?”
She cocked her head to the side and blinked at me again. “You’ve made a very, very big mistake, little girl.” Her voice was soft and childlike, each word enunciated distinctly.
“You know, my patience is pretty fucking thin tonight. So tell me this: how long have you been alive, who turned you, and who helped you once you awoke.”
She laughed. Tossed her head back, dainty lips parted and showing a glimpse of tiny fangs as she let out a lilting chuckle. As she sobered, she tipped her head back down, gaze on mine, pupils dilating and eyes going black.
The ropes burst—not untied, not loosed, but simply burst—threads puffing out and drifting around her. Myra stood.
I rocked on my feet, grip tight on the knife, prepping. Toby shifted in my peripheral vision and the papers rattled as Juliette started to set down the legal pad.
“She’s stuck in the circle,” I called, not taking my gaze from her, “so just calm the fuck—”
A sachet lifted from my duffel, drawstring popping open, and powder burst, striking the circle and shattering the sigils.
Oh. Shit.
Myra stepped forward, grinning deliriously, mini fangs peeking out. “Thank you for bringing the dispel powder.” She stepped out of the circle and flew straight at me.
Chapter Eleven
Only You Can Prevent Supernatural Forest Fires
For a moment the absurdity of her tiny body flinging itself toward me was almost comical—enough so that I blinked, was slow to respond, just staring at the ridiculousness of—
Myra slammed into me and I toppled onto my back, crashing into the concrete. The knife flew from my grasp and her hand snapped out to press on my wounded shoulder. Fresh pain burned, lashing up and down my arm, across my chest, something in her simple touch shooting agony through me.
Thwack and her head snapped to the side as a boot struck her face. I jerked back, drew my knee up and slammed my foot on her chest. Juliette, who had kicked her, grabbed my arm and yanked me away.
Myra stood slowly, her dark skirt dusty from the concrete, and twisted her head, rubbing where Jules’ boot had struck. “Had you knocked me out and put me in the circle before I was conscious, that might have worked.”
“Good to know for next time. In the meantime, you can answer my questions.”
“I think not.”
Worth a shot, at least.
She stalked forward. Toby moved in my peripheral vision for the chair and I didn’t let my gaze flick on him, didn’t acknowledge him as he lifted it silently, raised it, and—
Myra spun, hair, cardigan, and skirt fanning out, and threw her hand up. The chair struck a barrier, legs splintering. But I had my hand in my pocket and withdrew the sachet, which I jerked open and tossed forward. The barrier sparked and
shattered in the glittery powder.
“Again!” I barked as Myra turned toward me, and Toby came around with the chair once more. Splintered legs struck the witch, the seat sent a crack against her skull and she stumbled. The gag still hung around her neck, swinging; I doubted I could grab it easily so might need to improvise. What else could I shut her up with? Besides a stake to the heart and that was a last option—yeah, we’d kidnapped her and tied her up, but driving metal through someone’s heart is not indicative of a mutually beneficial relationship.
Myra was conjuring up a storm then—literally, her hands weaving, threads of electricity dancing around her. Wind whipped about, throwing her hair around, as she turned back to us with dark, dark eyes.
Oh, this is gonna hurt—
The storm slammed into me and I flew off my feet, flew across the warehouse, struck the wall and slumped down like a broken doll. My left arm was all but useless, not due to the shot shoulder anymore but whatever the hell she’d done to me. Fucking bitch. I scrambled up, heels digging into the grimy cement, and braced against the wall. Myra had Toby by the throat, somehow lifting a six foot guy off the floor despite the fact that she was maybe five-two total. Veins popped up in his throat and he gasped, eyes bugging.
If I wasn’t also currently worried for my own safety, I likely could’ve watched awhile.
Instead I had work to do and yanked at my belt with my right hand, jerking back the buckle and slipping it through my jeans’ loops. It snapped straight at my side and I ran.
The scent of fresh earth, damp and almost-sweet, swept through the warehouse, green and gold threads streaming from Juliette. The concrete below us cracked, a great, gaping split in the ground almost black. Roots snaked through, long and winding, climbing up and up, shooting straight for Myra. The windows shattered next, more roots creeping in and these ones with tiny branches and bright green leaves. I took in a heady breath of forest as plant life tore through the building.
Myra dropped Toby in a heap and backed up, her crazy-yet-alert eyes weighing the threat, and her hand snapped out as she muttered words I couldn’t hear. Fire sparked, bright orange with a lick of red in the center, and singed the plant leaves, scorched the roots—fucking fire was shooting from her fucking fingertips.
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