Chapter Thirteen
Lyssa shoved a spoonful of premium strawberry ice cream into her mouth. It should have been delicious. That was the whole point. She’d spent enough on the pint at a fancy upscale LA grocery store after fleeing to California per Samuel’s request. It almost felt like a sin bringing the fancy ice cream to a motel that rented most of their rooms hourly.
She couldn’t get into her treat. It might as well have been ash-flavored. The situation was ruining her tastebuds.
Bringing the Ducati with her had been out of the question, even if it slowed her travel. Tenebrous Air didn’t work on something as big as a car, but adding a few hours behind the wheel of a rental in exchange for not standing out as much was worth the security trade-off, given the uncertainty in the situation.
She’d chosen LA instead of her instinctive choice of running to San Diego. Anyone who knew her knew she didn’t care for LA. The earlier mercenaries had done a lot of research, and she wanted to steer the next batch in the wrong direction.
Worried about Tricia and Fred, she went ahead and contacted them, telling them to take a vacation for a few weeks. Tricia didn’t ask for any details and said she’d wanted to take a trip anyway. It didn’t make Lyssa feel any better.
“This sucks,” Lyssa muttered. “It’s like I’m the one on the run, and I’m the damned Torch. This is ridiculous.”
She picked up her remote and turned off the TV. There was nothing good on anyway.
“It’s only been a few days,” Jofi replied. “It doesn’t seem like your activities during those days have been very different from what you do on your normal days off. I don’t see why you’re upset.”
“Ouch.” Lyssa laughed. “I’m that boring, huh? But I have Bill and the range at home. I’m starting to do more with my life. What can I say? I’m a workaholic.”
“Why not take the time to reflect on recent events absent an immediate threat?” Jofi asked. “Mrs. Bennett has often suggested you don’t take enough time to focus on positive elements of your life. I do understand that much of that is driven by concern over your brother, but you can’t help him currently and won’t be able to help him at all if you’re killed. There’s little to be gained from this other than to take the opportunity to relax and recover.”
Lyssa patted her shoulder. “My wounds from the fight are mostly healed up, thanks to the Night Goddess and Tricia’s herbs. I don’t need to relax and recover. I need the stupid assassins to be found and killed, preferably by me.”
She’d spent almost every moment outside of showers in her regalia, her coat and mask nearby and ready to grab. It wasn’t the most comfortable rest, but it’d assured maximum power if anyone showed up ready to fight her.
A vague concern about collateral damage continued to bother her, but she was doing her best to keep a low profile. Her current haunt was far from luxurious, but spending time Old West camping with Aisha had left Lyssa wanting a decent bed and an ice machine. Camping deep in the wilderness wasn’t her style, and she suspected it might be easier to find her there. Even rogues stepped more softly in the city.
Lyssa sighed and laid her head on her pillow, her hands underneath. “It’s just annoying. I don’t like feeling like someone else has this situation under their control. Nobody knows what the hell’s going on. Not even Samuel and the Tribunal. What am I supposed to do? Stay here a week? A month? A year? All the while, whatever’s going on with my brother gets harder and harder to investigate.”
“I understand your frustration, but as the recent battle demonstrated so effectively, even experienced Torches and Eclipses can be surprised and suffer losses,” Jofi said. “The same lack of useful information you highlight dramatically increases the risk if you’re not more careful in this matter. I must stress that you can’t help your brother if you are dead.”
Lyssa groaned. “I know. You’ve pointed it out more than once.”
“Only because you don’t seem to accept it, and you’re reacting emotionally to a situation that requires careful risk analysis.”
“It’s called being stubborn.” Lyssa sat up. “But I need Last Remnant to at least start to move on. This assassin picked the absolute worst time to mess with me over this stuff. If I get my hands on him, he’s not going to last long. I’m going to make him regret ever even looking in my general direction.”
She set her ice cream aside before hopping up and walking over to the desk to fill a glass with ice, but her ice bucket was empty. With a frown, she glanced down at Jofi before grabbing her holsters and coat. Being taken out on the way to get ice would be more embarrassing than dying in bed. She could imagine her dead body on the ground, ice bucket in hand.
Lyssa willed the Night Goddess to turn into a black leather jacket and jeans. Her standard white jacket might be too noticeable or memorable. This was the annoying part of having to hide out. The little details added up when someone knew what to look for.
The only thing she didn’t have a good solution for was her face. Someone doing facial recognition on her might get hits, but she didn’t think her current roach motel was filled with cameras running sophisticated facial recognition algorithms on their guests.
There were no suspicious drones zooming by or sketchy people paying attention to her. There were plenty of questionable people at the hotel, but they were there for mundane vices that didn’t involve hunting Sorceresses. The incessant moaning from the room next to her was proof.
Lyssa grabbed the empty ice bucket
