“Ever driven a twin-mag shift?”
“Yes. I learned on Walker’s Specter.”
Davis was climbing slowly but steadily. It didn’t take psychic senses to realize that he was moving forward on willpower alone. “The burn isn’t going to last very long. I can feel it fading already.” It was obvious that he was not experiencing the high-rez rush before the crash that hunters normally got when they melted amber. Something was very wrong here.
Panic sliced through her. If he collapsed in the stairwell, she would not be able to haul him out on her own. The personal phones wouldn’t work out here in the middle of the desert, so she would not be able to call for help. They would be trapped until Davis recovered. That could take hours. At least some of the men down below in the chamber were bound to regain consciousness before that happened.
She moved up close behind Davis, planted her hands against his back, and started pushing. He didn’t say anything, but with the added support he was able move a little faster.
His weight grew heavier as they made their way up the staircase. At one point she nearly despaired. Max looked as worried as a dust bunny could get. He chortled encouragingly in Davis’s ear.
At last the tower entrance came into view.
Davis paused, chest heaving. He handed the mag-rez to her.
“Just in case they had the sense to leave a guard outside,” he said. “If we need this, you’ll have to be the one to use it. In this condition I couldn’t hit the broad side of a Dead City wall.”
“All right.” She took the gun from him. It was lighter than her own older model, but she could see that the mechanism was the same.
“You okay?” he asked hoarsely.
“Don’t worry. I’m saving my panic attack for some other time.”
“I’m glad to hear that, because you’re the only one who can get us out of here before some of those bastards down there come to or someone comes looking for them.”
She shuddered. “Rest assured, I’ve got the big picture here.”
A moment later, they emerged from the stairwell. Celinda’s pulse was pounding, not just from the physical effort of shoving Davis up the last few stairs but from the fear that someone else was going to jump out at them. She gripped the mag-rez very tightly in her right hand and prayed.
No one accosted them when they left the tower.
“Idiots,” Davis muttered. “Should have left a man on guard up here.”
“Just be grateful they didn’t. I certainly am.”
“No problem with gratitude here, either.”
He was starting to slur his words, a sign of the physical exhaustion that was rolling over him. But it was the psychic fatigue dampening his senses that worried her the most. The afterburn had not struck him nearly this hard the other evening when he had de-rezzed the doppelganger ghosts in the Old Quarter of Cadence. Whatever he had done to make himself invisible had sapped every ounce of psi power he possessed.
She managed to wedge him into the passenger seat of the Phantom and belted him in place.
Max and Araminta tumbled in after him. Davis leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. Max made anxious little noises.
“Don’t worry, Max,” Celinda said. “He’ll be okay. He just needs to sleep.”
Max did not appear reassured. Araminta cuddled close to him, offering silent comfort.
Celinda got behind the wheel, rezzed the high-powered engine, and drove out of the old parking lot, skirting the heavy Oscillators that Landry’s men had used.
She worked her way gingerly back toward the highway, afraid of jostling Davis any more than necessary. When she hit an especially high bump a little too hard, she glanced at him quickly. He didn’t open his eyes, but in the amber glow of the dashboard lights she was pretty sure she saw him wince.
“Sorry,” she said.
“It’s not me I’m worried about.”
“Oh. Right. The car. Well, look on the bright side. If you need a new one when this is all over, you can just put it on the Guild’s tab.”
“There is that. Celinda, I want you to listen closely to what I’m going to tell you.”
She did not take her eyes off the battered old road. “Okay.”
“I’m going to go under before we reach Cadence.”
“The burn and crash. Yes, I understand.”
“Not like the other night. This will be a major crash. As in, I may not come back out of it.”
“What?” Horrified, she jerked her eyes off the road long enough to cast him a quick, searching look. “What are you talking about?”
“The last time this happened, I ended up in a parapsych hospital for nearly two months.”
“You’re starting to scare me here.”
“Whatever you do, promise me you won’t take me to an emergency room. Call Trig as soon as you can. He’ll know what to do.”
She could hardly breathe. A fine tremor swept through her. She reminded herself that she had postponed the panic attack. She had to stay calm and in control.
“All right,” she said quietly.
“Tell Trig everything. Make sure he knows we’ve got the relic. He’ll take it from there. I want that damn thing back in Mercer Wyatt’s hands tonight.”
The last few words were so weighted down with exhaustion that she could barely comprehend them.
“You’re going to be okay, Davis,” she said firmly.
He did not respond. When she gave him another fleeting glance, she saw that his eyes were closed. That was normal, she told herself. But something about his energy patterns didn’t feel at all normal. Max huddled closer to him.
It took forever to get to the highway. When she reached it, she pointed the Phantom in the direction of Cadence City and gave the powerful vehicle its head. The reflective white lines on the pavement became a blur.
Ten miles later she realized that Davis was shivering violently. She took one hand off the wheel and touched his forehead. He was frighteningly cold.
His psi energy waves had faded to almost nothing. He wasn’t sleeping, she realized. He was sinking into something that felt much deeper and darker: a coma.
Chapter 26
WHATEVER WAS HAPPENING TO DAVIS, HER INTUITION told her that it did not fall into the admittedly flexible category labeled “normal,” not even for a hunter.
She was making excellent time, but she was still a good hour away from Cadence. All her instincts were shrieking that she had to do something now to stop Davis’s slide into psychic oblivion.
Max looked dreadful. He was crouched forlornly on Davis’s shoulder, muttering. Araminta was perched on the back of the seat. She hadn’t eaten a thing in the past hour.
“Davis?” Celinda said, glancing across at him. “Can you hear me?”
There was no response. His head hung forward. The only thing that held him upright was the seat belt.
“Davis, wake up,” she said, infusing a tone of sharp command into her voice. “Talk to me.”
Silence. Davis’s psi waves pulsed more weakly.
She thought about the relic in the tote and then she thought about what she had been able to do with it during the fight in the underground chamber. One thing was certain, she couldn’t run any psychic experiments while speeding along the highway at thirty miles over the speed limit.
Another badly weathered billboard came up in the headlights. It promised Cold Drinks & Snacks Next Exit.
She slammed the brakes, slowing the Phantom abruptly, and swung off the highway onto the side road. Her
