threatened to fly apart at any moment and scatter me to the four winds.
“I feel it,” I said, tears spilling down my cheeks. “I’ve tapped in, Wyatt.”
“Picture the other side of the roof, Evy. Just a few feet. Let the Break take you there.”
I thought of a spot ten feet away, next to the edge. The tar seemed thinner there, ready to wear through at any moment and leak into the cheap apartment below. My body vibrated. The oddest sensation of movement was punctuated by a blinding headache. I wobbled, then toppled sideways when my hands found no traction.
Something slammed into me. I fell a short distance and hit the soft tar roof with a body on top of me. My eyes snapped open. Wyatt stared down, his eyes wide and fearful, mouth open and panting. The pain in my head subsided to a dull ache and settled between my eyes.
“What happened?” I asked.
“It worked. You overshot a little, though.”
We had landed on the soft tar roof, arms nearly touching the ledge. Ten inches to the left, and I’d have missed completely. My stomach knotted. “Holy shit, I almost killed myself.”
“We just need to practice.”
“Easy for you to say.”
He settled in, making no effort to get off me. I pushed my hips against his. He grunted and pushed right back, teasing. Jerk.
“You going to get off me?” I asked.
“You can get out from beneath me.”
Drumming up the loneliness took longer the second time, due in no small part to Wyatt. It was difficult to imagine being without him when he was on top of me, seriously affecting my concentration.
I thought about our time together in Amalie’s home. What if that had been our last opportunity to be together? Annoyance melted into sadness. I latched on and turned it until the tap opened. The static poured through me again.
Wyatt’s face faded. The ache increased. My vision blurred into a mass of swirling colors and unfocused shapes. I was moving again, but realized too late I hadn’t focused on a destination.
The ache flared into a sharp spike of agony that threaded through my skull from top to bottom. I shrieked. Movement stopped. I fell and hit a cool, slick surface and curled up into a little ball. The headache didn’t relent. Pain speared through me. Bright spots of color burst in my eyes.
It dulled in time and awareness returned. Familiar smells and voices. A hand on my shoulder, another on the small of my back, rubbing in gentle circles. I focused on those movements, let them calm my nerves and frazzled brain, then cracked one eye open.
The kitchen in Rufus’s apartment. Lucky transport. Wyatt was behind me, whispering soft words of support. And apology. I turned my head. Each muscle in my neck protested. Wonder and pride shined in his face.
“That was impressive,” he said.
“Hurt like hell,” I replied.
“Side effects are a bitch.”
I groaned an affirmation. “How’d you know I’d end up here?”
“I didn’t. When you didn’t reappear, I panicked and started looking. Nadia found me in the stairwell.” His hands continued to massage my back and shoulders. “But on the plus side, we know you can move through solid objects.”
“Yeah, and it feels like I’m being ripped apart.”
“Want to practice some more?”
“Fuck you, Truman. I need aspirin and a nap.”
He scooped me up into his arms, and I let him. The blinding headache had turned to a debilitating throb. My stomach swirled and threatened to empty. I imagined it was some sort of magic-induced migraine. Only time would fade the pain enough to let me think properly. Until then, I simply allowed Wyatt to settle me on the sofa, tuck a blanket around my shoulders, and watch over me while I tossed on the edge of agonized slumber.
The nap lasted longer than I’d planned—the bits of sunlight that had peeked through Rufus’s dark curtains were gone—but I woke refreshed. The ache still lingered on the very edge of my senses, no longer strong enough to affect me. I focused on the room and the soft hum of nearby voices.
Wyatt, Nadia, and Rufus were gathered around the dining table. I couldn’t hear the conversation, but Rufus had his cellular phone out and open. The apartment was otherwise quiet, almost serene.
“What time is it?” I asked.
Wyatt’s head snapped in my direction. He grinned. “Almost eleven at night, Sleeping Beauty. We need to go, if we’re going to manage any recon before reinforcements arrive.”
“They’re coming?”
Rufus angled his wheelchair to face me. “I called in a few favors. Three o’clock at the gas station, like you said. They trust me enough to trust you.”
“Great.” I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the sofa. Dizziness blacked out my vision for a short span, but I covered with a sunny smile. “You said something earlier about weapons?”
As promised, the hall closet hid a large black trunk. Nadia produced a key to the arsenal. Wyatt and I delved inside without waiting for permission. I strapped a pair of serrated knives to my ankles; their weight was familiar and comforting. Always more secure with guns, Wyatt slipped into a pair of shoulder holsters and checked the ammo on two modified Glocks. I tucked a similar gun into the back waistband of my jeans. We found six clips of anticoagulant rounds, took two each, and gave the other two to Nadia.
Wyatt opened a small metal case. “The hell, Rufus?” he said. “Where did you get grenades?”
“Took them from a Halfie nest once. Be careful, they’re pretty old,” Rufus replied.
“Nice.” Wyatt closed the lid and put it back into the trunk.
I plucked two more clips of fragmenting rounds. The back pockets of my jeans bulged with the ammunition, creating a false sense of security. In the past, having those weapons made me feel powerful, invincible. Knowing I wasn’t invincible anymore—and in fact, likely to die again very soon—made me feel like a fake. I was putting on a good show for Wyatt, even though we both saw the only real outcome of today’s planned assault.
“We’re going to need a car,” I said.
“So will we,” Nadia said. “We have ours. Good luck with yours.”
Helpful as always.
Wyatt pulled a light jacket off a coat hanger and slipped it on, effectively hiding his weapons. He walked over to Rufus, offered his hand, and tilted his head. Rufus looked first at the offered hand, then at Wyatt. The two men shared something in that look—silent encouragement, a parting of ways, maybe even an apology—and shook.
“See you on the flip side, man,” Rufus said.
“Yeah, you too,” Wyatt replied.
We left as cautiously as we’d entered and exited through the rear door of the building, back into the stink of the alley. It had cooled off significantly, enough for me to wish I’d borrowed a jacket, too. We headed for the street end of the alley.
“We’ll go a few streets over,” Wyatt whispered, “then look for something we can drive.”
“You ever hot-wired a car before?”
“I’ve seen it on television. How hard can it be?”
The explosion shook the ground. I pitched sideways and found myself on the mucky concrete, with Wyatt on top of me. Heat swirled around us. Bits of wood and brick and rubble peppered my exposed shoulder and cheek. He grunted. The roar of fire pushed through the thundering of my heartbeat and drowned out all other sounds. I turned my head, hazarded a look up. Windows and chunks of wall had blown out. Smoke billowed, acrid and thick.
The fifth floor was engulfed in flames.
Chapter 26
4:04
