Reckoning

the pavement when we breasted a short rise, and if I had to do something I was going to have to do it quick before Johnny Law got on the radio and reinforcements showed up to box me in.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Ditching the Jeep was a little easier than I’d expected. It was a good car, but two of her tires were busted and she was making a wheezing noise by the time I killed the lights and scrambled for the backseat. I kicked the rear passenger door open, bailed out with the duffel, and was on the roof of a nearby abandoned warehouse by the time the chopper found the car again, its bright white beam stabbing down like a shot from an alien abduction film. They’d get my prints, probably, but I couldn’t do anything to help that. The empty ammo boxes in the back next to the can of gas would perplex them a bit, too.

And there went the Tiger Tails, too. Dammit.

I shrank into the shadow of a big silver HVAC unit. It wasn’t humanly possible to get up here, so the cops should ignore it. I’d gone straight up the side of the building like I was a fish being reeled in, the aspect smoothing down over my body like hot oil and my wrists aching as my claws sank into the lip of the roof, my arm tensing to pull me and the duffel over. My left palm was a searscorch of pain, but that didn’t slow me down.

Landing with jarring force, sneakers skidding, and I’d actually crashed into the vent and stayed there. I almost didn’t think to twitch the duffel back out of sight against my feet, everything in me rabbit-jumping as if I still had to run.

Don’t be stupid now. Be smart. Be still.

My pulse dropped now that I was reasonably safe. It was hot, an oppressive wet blanket full of smog-taste and the reek of cooling pavement. More sirens bayed in the distance as more cop cars arrived, bouncing over the train tracks and sending up spumes of oily dust. I kept my eye on the chopper, though, lighting up the fenced railyard next to the warehouse. It was a good guess—through the busted-out parts of the chain-link fencing and among the confusion of the yard and the scrubby kudzu and trash wood was pretty much the only way to run with a hope of losing them.

For a human, that is.

I wasn’t even breathing hard. I watched as the cops swept the area, more of them arriving all the time and searching through the rail yard. The warehouse was locked up below; I know because they circled the whole building looking for a way in. Just in case.

Well, gee, that was easy.

I was just congratulating myself when my temples gave a flare of pain and a ghost of citrus wandered across my tongue. It wasn’t danger candy, but it was enough to make me stiffen.

In the distance, a high glassy cry rose like a spiked silver ribbon.

Suckers.

Shit.

Were they after me, or just hanging around? That was a hunting cry, but it was a long ways away. The suckers could be chasing someone else. Who knew I was here? Who could’ve tracked me when I still wasn’t sure where I was going?

You don’t know, and you can’t take a chance. Get the hell out of here.

Still . . . I was hidden, and the cops were still spreading out and searching. It could be unrelated.

Yeah. And monkeys could fly out your butt, Dru. Come on.

But I waited. I watched them swarm over the Jeep and look for me.

If I could go up a wall like this, evade the cops this easily . . . wow. It was a weird feeling. Creepy. Scary.

Powerful.

Was this what Graves was talking about when he said he didn’t want to go back to being normal?

Then I thought about finding a place to sleep tonight, getting a fresh set of wheels, and figuring out where the hell to go next and what to do while suckers were trying to kill me. I thought of the burned-down hulk of the Houston Schola and wondered if anyone, djamphir or wulfen, had died in the flames. I thought of a broken body lying in a hotel hall with red and blue hexing crawling all over it. I thought of Piggy Eyes Lyle slumped against the newspaper box like a mangled toy and how easy it had been to tear up a cop car, how easy it would’ve been to pull the trigger on that poor county sheriff. I thought of Dad, and Mom, and Gran’s house burning down, and Graves’s eyes turning black as Sergej reached through him. Of Ash screaming while he tried to change back into his human form.

I don’t want this. I never wanted this.

I didn’t even know how to fight back without hurting someone who didn’t deserve it. Or who might’ve deserved it, like Lyle or the hex-kid, but who might not’ve deserved how much of it I dished out.

Another high piercing cry, this one much closer and shading up into what had to be ultrasonic. It drilled through my head, but I was pretty sure the cops clustering around wouldn’t hear it.

Get the hell out of here, Dru. The need to be moving rose under my skin. I couldn’t tell if it was more rabbit-jumping, or if it was the touch warning me. If I started doubting the touch I was dead in the water, but I was also dead if I tired myself out running when I should’ve been staying put and resting so I could run when it was absolutely necessary.

“All right,” I muttered, and took a look around. They were starting to lose hope over in the train yard, and apparently nobody seriously thought I would’ve gone this way. The warehouse slumped under an oppressively heavy sky, hard diamond points of stars trying to pierce the orange glow that was citylight trying to replicate sunset and failing miserably. Other warehouses crowded close, some empty and others just locked up. The spaces between them weren’t overly wide. Not for a djamphir, I guess. Which meant not for a svetocha.

I eyed the closest building, the one that would set me up for leapfrogging to another one, and another. My eyes picked out the likely route with no help from me, and the aspect’s warmth was a balm even under the oppressive heat. My left hand stopped smarting and settled into a heavy ache.

First things first. Wonder if I can jump to that rooftop over there?

Well, no time like the present to find out.

* * *

A half-mile away I dropped the duffel and peered down into the street. It’s amazing what a difference so short a distance can make. A neon sign down the street—a pair of legs in fishnet stockings—blinked blearily on a post lifting it up like a sacrificial victim. Underneath it, a red-roofed windowless bulk crouched. The place was called the Lustee Ladee, and I immediately crossed it off my list of Places I Might Conceivably Want To Hide.

On the other hand, there were cars clustered around it like shiny little piglets hooking up to a sow. It was a veritable smorgasbord. A good chunk of people who worked around here were probably parked there, having what I supposed might pass for a good time to a certain type of grown-up dude. I realized my face was squinched up as if I tasted something bad at the thought.

I crouched on the nearest warehouse roof, a muggy breeze touching my messed-up braid but not cooling my forehead one bit, taking my time. You can’t just pick any car. It has to be right— something with some legs and pickup, but that won’t get you pulled over. You also have to consider that a parking lot isn’t the best place. Too much chance of someone strolling out or a bouncer getting nosy, a security camera or something messing everything up.

I was still eyeing my choices when the touch twitched inside my skull, and my head jerked up. My left hand jerked, palm filling with molten pain. There was a low weird sound like silk tearing, and my heart dropped into my stomach with a splash, somersaulted, then leapt up into my throat and did its best to strangle me.

The red and blue sparks came out of nowhere, birthing themselves from the static-laden wind. Swirling,