I looked at Yale. “My boss is here now. You are in such trouble.” I looked back to Vayl. “That is so not something I would usually say. I think I have brain damage. That son of a bitch has a hard head.”
Vayl nodded. “Shall I dispatch him for you?”
I smiled again. “Sometimes you are so eighteenth century.”
Yale finally got tired of the patter. With a growl, he withdrew his sword. But he came back fast, his attacks a blur of motion that Vayl met with a backhanded blow that flipped him completely over and landed him flat on his back, where he lay, wheezing.
“Get up, Reaver,” said Vayl. “My
Yale struggled to his feet. Despite the fall, his shield held firm. He could probably fight all night as well. And on into the morning.
Except he also had an enormous bump on the forehead. It looked about as painful as mine felt. Now, what was the deal with that, really? I’d shot the guy multiple times and it hadn’t even stained his pretty plaid shirt. But knock him in the noggin and he’s gonna need an ice pack for the next twenty-four. Why was that?
“Go for the forehead, Vayl!” I yelled. “That’s his Achilles’ heel!” I stopped. Okay, was that just the stupidest thing I’d ever said? The jury didn’t have time to weigh in because Desmond Yale chose that moment to make a run for it.
Vayl started after him, but he was slow in this form. Slower even than me. “Dammit, he is going to get away!”
I said, “I think I can track him, just like Pengfei. But we need some wheels!”
Vayl started listing possibilities. “RV. Mopeds. Taxi. Commandeer a vehicle.”
“Cole!” I yelled.
“Yeah!” I could see him running toward us down the hill, dodging craters like a ski-less moguls pro.
“Call Jericho! We need wheels at the RV, now!” I turned to Vayl. “Does that work for you?”
“As long as it happens quickly.”
“Agreed.” We ran to the RV. Vayl waited outside for our ride while I went in to change. A headache that promised to build to massive had replaced my dizziness, so I called for a couple of Advil on my way to the bedroom. Within five minutes I’d ripped off the dress, donned blue jeans, a burgundy sweater, and my black leather jacket, reloaded Grief, stuck a spare clip in my pocket, slipped my muddy feet into Cassandra’s blister-builders, and promised to buy her a new pair.
“Jericho’s here!” Cole yelled from the front of the RV. I ran forward, my feet already aching. I passed Bergman, who’d paused in his packing and stacking to get the lowdown from Cole as he stood in the open doorway.
“I know you’re in a hurry to leave,” I told Miles as I passed him, “and I don’t blame you. In fact, I commend you. But Vayl is still stuck inside that armor. If you happen to think of anything he might try that will allow him to lose it before dawn, let us know, will ya?”
Bergman nodded. I took the pills and a glass of water from Cassandra, who gave me an I-wish-I-could-help look. “Stay inside,” I told her. “The reaver has targeted you as a way to get to me.” If I was lucky, by the time I returned she would have joined Bergman in the exodus.
I sped through the near empty streets of Corpus Christi on a hot, red Kawasaki Ninja 250. Jericho’s personal ride. Vayl sat behind me, one arm wrapped tightly around my waist. I could no longer feel my back, and my teeth were starting to chatter. Otherwise, I felt fine. Beautiful motorcycles will do that to me.
“We’re getting close,” I told Vayl through the mike. When Cole had discovered we’d be on two wheels rather than four, he’d pulled our helmets from the trailer. They went much better with this bike than the mopeds. He followed us with Jericho and the three cops he could round up in a sleek black dual cab 4?4. I didn’t think their presence was necessary or even smart. But I didn’t have time to argue. And frankly, if I owned the bike I presently rode, I’d be keeping a close eye on it myself.
The reaver’s scent pulled me past classic Southwestern buildings dressed in rich earth tones that abutted glass and steel high-rises. Even complemented by row after row of stately palm trees, the mix bewildered me. There seemed to be no transition between present and past here, nothing to keep the city from somehow cracking as it tried to assume far too many personalities. Then I saw the
“Vayl, ask Cole what he’s sensing.”
Vayl obliged, and moments later he relayed the news. “Cole notes an abundance of witches, weres of some sort, though he is not sure exactly what. And he believes those two lovely women we just passed are nereids.” I glanced into the rearview. Wow. When you knew what to look for, it made sense. Those two ultratall silver-haired girls obviously spent more time swimming the ocean than they did pounding the pavement.
The streets of Corpus Christi weren’t all that different from those of Chicago or New York or L.A. after all. They seethed with magic. Power. Creatures who could remember when horses drew wagons full of settlers down their muddied lengths. Maybe that’s what keeps any city from blowing sky high.
Two blocks later we saw the reaver, a single dark blur running down the center of a two-lane avenue. Traffic was so light he’d probably only freaked out a couple of drivers with his antics so far. Make that three.
The light turned red and Yale wrenched open the door of a silver Pontiac Grand Prix. Out flew the driver, a kid who couldn’t have had his license over a week. In went Yale. The tires squealed, the kid shook his fists, and off we went, chasing the reaver deep into the heart of the city.
“Do you think he has any idea where he is going?” asked Vayl.
