Dying Is My Business

“Watch me,” I told her.

“Trent, just put the gun down and we can talk about this. Don’t you think others have tried to destroy what’s in this box? Hell, I would destroy it myself if I could, but it can’t be destroyed. It just heals itself, puts itself back together again. It’s like you that way.”

I stared at the box on the floor by her feet. “It’s alive?”

At that moment, the garage door motor roared, startling me. The door rolled up, revealing Chaz standing on the sidewalk outside. He grimaced at us as he pulled his key out of a key box on the outside wall.

He wasn’t alone. Big Joe held Chaz tightly by the arm. Beside him, Tomo flashed me a malicious, triumphant grin, and said, “Why are you always runnin’ away from us, T-Bag? Don’t you wanna play with your friends no more?”

Twenty-two

Keeping a tight grip on Chaz’s tattooed arm, Big Joe pushed him forward into the auto body shop. “Thanks for unlocking the door, kid. Remember when I said we’d let you go afterward? I lied.” In one swift motion, he grabbed Chaz’s head with both hands and twisted. Chaz’s neck snapped with a muffled crack.

“No!” I shouted, but it was too late. He shoved Chaz’s limp body into the corner of the shop.

Big Joe sneered at me. “You’re not gonna act all holier-than-thou, are you, T-Bag? You know you’ve got just as much blood on your hands as I do.”

“You know these men?” Bethany demanded.

“They’re the ones I warned you about,” I said. I looked at Chaz’s body. The kid was dead and I might as well have painted a target on him. They must have caught him running away from the auto shop. I glared at Big Joe and Tomo. My jaw went tight. My finger twitched on the trigger, but as much as I wanted to take them down, I kept the gun pointed down at the floor. I didn’t want things to get any more out of hand than they already were.

Tomo nudged Big Joe with his elbow, chuckling and pointing at Thornton. “Dude, that’s gotta be the most fucked-up dog I’ve ever seen.”

Thornton growled and pushed himself up onto his feet. His legs trembled under his weight.

Bethany reached for her vest, but I held up a hand to stop her. Tomo and Big Joe hadn’t drawn their weapons yet, but there wasn’t a doubt in my mind they were armed. They always were, and they were quick on the draw. Bethany would be dead before she could pull out a charm.

“So, you got the box or what?” Tomo demanded. “Underwood’s waitin’.”

“The girl’s got it,” Big Joe said, nodding his chin toward Bethany and the box at her feet. “Yo, T-Bag, you gonna introduce us to your friend? She’s smokin’ hot.”

“Short as hell, though,” Tomo said. “What is she, a kid? You bangin’ her, you fuckin’ perv?” He and Big Joe laughed, and my temper flared.

“Come on, T-Bag,” Big Joe said. “Grab the box, waste the girl, and let’s get out of here. Unless you think we should take turns with her first. Share and share alike, right, T-Bag?”

“Charming,” Bethany said.

I’d had enough. “Back off,” I said, and lifted my gun, pointing it at them.

“Whoa, what the fuck are you doing?” Big Joe demanded. He stared at the barrel of the Bersa semiautomatic for a moment, then grinned. “Look, if this is about before, I’m sorry we kicked your ass, but you had it coming.” When I didn’t say anything or put the gun down, he sighed. “Ah, I see. You’re making a big mistake. A big fucking mistake.” He and Tomo reluctantly put their hands up.

“Tell Underwood he’s not getting the box,” I said. “Tell him I’m done being manipulated and lied to. If he comes after me it’s his own funeral.”

Big Joe shook his head. “Keep dreaming. Underwood wants that box. One way or another, we’re not leaving here without it.”

I kept my gun trained on them but glanced over my shoulder at Bethany. “Bethany, give me the box. It’s the only way I can be sure.”

“Not on your life,” she said.

The moment I took my eyes off them, Big Joe and Tomo moved like lightning, reaching into their jackets and pulling out their guns. I cocked my gun. “Don’t,” I warned.

Big Joe kept his gun trained on me. Tomo drew a bead on Bethany. Thornton growled louder, his hackles rising. Somehow he found the strength to lope toward them, but he was slow and his whole body shook from the exertion.

Tomo kept his eyes on the wolf’s approach. He swallowed nervously, his instinctual aversion to the undead kicking in. “Call this fucking thing off,” he yelled, his voice wavering.

“Thornton, get back,” I said, but the wolf ignored me. He inched closer to Tomo, snarling and baring his fangs. Then, without warning, one of his front legs gave out and he tipped forward, off-balance. Tomo kicked him hard across the snout. Thornton skittered backward, tripping over his tangled clothes and collapsing to the floor.

Big Joe locked eyes with me and spat on the floor. “You dumb piece of shit. You’re fucking with the wrong people.”

A voice from behind him said, “No, gentlemen. You are.”

Tomo and Big Joe turned.

Standing in the doorway of the auto body shop was a man in his late fifties with a mane of coppery red hair on his head and a neatly trimmed beard that matched it. He wore a long, hunter-green duster that flapped behind him in the breeze. He wasn’t alone. To one side of him stood a tall, statuesque woman in a black leather jacket, her skin as smooth and dark as onyx. She had black, braided dreadlocks tied back behind her head. On his other side stood a lean, sinewy Asian man in a black turtleneck and mirrored sunglasses.

“Who the fuck are you clowns?” Tomo demanded. He and Big Joe turned their guns on the newcomers.

The red-bearded man grinned. “The name’s Isaac Keene. These are my associates Gabrielle Duchamp and Philip Chen. Commit those names to memory, gentlemen. The next time you hear them, you’re going to want to run.”

The two enforcers cocked their guns. Big Joe said, “Sorry to break it to you, pal, but there ain’t gonna be a next time.”

They both pulled the triggers in quick succession. At the same time, Isaac waved a hand in the air before him as if he were tracing a giant circle. The bullets hung in midair, frozen just a few inches away from Isaac. He thrust his arm out in front of him, palm forward. There was a quick, bright flash, and suddenly Tomo and Big Joe were off their feet and hurtling back toward the shop wall as if a wrecking ball had hit them.

But Isaac’s hand was empty. He wasn’t holding a charm or artifact the way Bethany and Thornton did when they worked magic. The flash—the spell—had come directly from the palm of his hand. Isaac, I realized, was carrying magic inside him.

Tomo and Big Joe crashed hard into the wall, their guns flying from their hands, and then fell in a heap on the floor, unconscious. The suspended bullets fell harmlessly at Isaac’s feet, tinkling like wind chimes.

A loud squeal of tires came from the street outside. Underwood’s black sedan pulled away from the curb and sped past the auto body shop. He would be back, though. I was sure of it. He wanted the box too badly to let it go.

The man in the black turtleneck and mirrored shades, Philip Chen, moved away from Isaac’s side so fast he was little more than a blur. In a second he was in front of me, grabbing the front of my shirt in his fist and slamming me back against the wall. He wrenched the gun out of my hand, his grip so strong I thought my fingers would break under the pressure. Philip pocketed my gun. Then he smelled me. He brought his face right up to the bloodstains on my collar and shirt and sniffed me like I was a bouquet of flowers.

“I can smell your blood,” he said, his face close enough for me to feel hot breath on my throat. Where he gripped my shirt, his stone-like fist pressed so hard into my chest it felt like my ribs were going to crack. I couldn’t