Maybe I could try a message spell. I’m still pretty trash at it, but it’s worth an attempt ...
The woman extends her hand. “Fine. Five minutes.”
My breath bursts out in a rush as I take it. “Five minutes. Promise.” I shuffle a few steps away, and tap in Hank’s number, which I know by heart.
As predicted, Hank answers after three rings. “This is Hank.”
“Hey, it’s Fee. We ran into a little trouble. See—”
“I’m on my way, where are you?”
Good old Hank.
FIFTEEN MINUTE LATER — during which time I place a sleeping spell on Camp and prop him on one of the benches — Hank pulls up to the bus station in his impossibly small, lime green, old school Volkswagen Beetle. Max cackles as the gargoyle somehow manages to crawl out of the tiny car with a surprising amount of grace.
“This is the second very dangerous man I’ve known to drive the most unexpected car on the face of the planet,” Max says.
I lift my brows at him.
“My vampire coworker’s car is purple.”
“Wow.”
“Sheah.”
“Lilac or LSU?”
Throwing his head back, Max laughs again. “Somewhere in between.”
Hank lifts his hand as he approaches, a bright pink backpack hanging from one massive thumb, a slight grin half hidden by his bushy beard. “Someone order a change of clothes, a burner phone, and cash?”
I cross my arms. “In small, non-sequential bills?”
“And an untraceable number.”
Max looks between us. “Y’all serious right now? Because that’s pretty awesome.”
Hank’s grin spreads, and he chucks me the bag. “There’s also water, some rations in there, and a copy of your bounty hunter ID. Just in case.” He folds his arms. “So, you still need to work on that fireproofing spell, huh?”
Groaning, I march toward the station bathroom. “It’s a work in progress.”
The magic around my wrist tugs a little the farther away I get from Max. Absently, I rub it, grateful that this particular spell is working just fine. At fifty feet, our connection would yank him toward me like a high-powered magnet. Thankfully, the bathroom isn’t that far. Sure, he’s already seen me naked, but a girl needs a moment of privacy now and again.
In the handicap stall, I slip quickly into the well-worn jeans and t-shirt, then clean unknown public restroom gunk off one foot at a time before carefully sliding them into a new pair of shoes. Bless Hank and his wet wipes. Though I’ve never been a germaphobe, I don’t mess with bus station bathroom floors. Fates only know what people have done to the tile in here.
Shouldering the backpack, I jog out of the bathroom to find Max and Hank laughing, the sound reverberating across the platform. I purse my lips to stop a grin as I pause to watch a moment from the doorway. Hank presses a hand to his broad chest, a sure sign of utter amusement.
Camp lies still against the wall on the bench about a foot from the gargoyle, my spell keeping him wrapped up nicely. I’ll lift it when we leave, but for now, it’s best for everyone if he keeps drooling on his own shirt sleeve.
“Done with your exhibitionism?”
I slide my hooded eyes to Max, then grin and toss his shirt back to him. “Try not to drown in your disappointment.”
He and Hank laugh again. “I’ll do my best,” the water spirit says, pressing a palm to his chest as if wounded. “But it will be a torturous endeavor.”
With a snort, Hank nudges Camp with the toe of his boot. “Want me to take care of this guy? I can’t guarantee anything, but I might be able to get something out of him. It could be telling if the person who ordered the bounty in the first place sent out a broad call. They might be getting impatient.”
The muscles between my shoulders wind together and Max sways between his feet. Hank’s got a point. If the buyer is getting impatient, other hunters might be after us as well. Again, that asterisk on the PNN app. Add the Amazons to the mix and this job just got a lot more complicated. In a perfect world, I’d interrogate Camp myself, but I have to hand Max back off to Yaritza asap.
Then again.
I chew the inside corner of my mouth. Then again, if I’m the one who gets Max to the very powerful buyer — whoever it is — I might gain the respect of someone who can help me with this stupid curse. All I have to do is figure out who this person is and navigate sidestepping Yaritza without napalming any bridges.
I give Hank a sharp nod. “Yeah, see what you can find out. We’ve got to get moving, but text me when you find anything out, huh?”
“You got it, Fee,” Hank says, gripping Camp by the arm, and pulling him up and over his shoulder. “And be careful. If the buyer did send out a general call, every hunter who hears about it will be after you.”
“Thanks Hank.” I punch his shoulder.
Gently, mind. Trying to hit him full out would definitely break one of my fingers and I need all of those to function. At least until I die again tomorrow. Of the many obnoxious aspects of my curse, this is one I don’t mind too much. Though staying stuck at sixteen blows, at least any injury I sustain is totally reset the next time I die and come back.
It’s the little things.
“Be careful, Fee,” Hank says, bumping me with his elbow, also gently. “You know as well as I do how dangerous other hunters are, not to mention the Amazons.”
“Be careful yourself.” I wink.
As Hank drives off with Camp slumped in
