Cutting into the edge of a moving tire would probably tear it apart, and I’d lose the last chance I had for killing the sapphire dog.
Steve gritted his teeth and stepped on the gas again. “Hold on!” he shouted. He rammed the back corner of the truck as we came to a sharp turn.
God, it was loud. We were jolted harder than the truck was, but we were expecting it. The truck driver overcorrected toward the left, swerved into the other lane, then swung back too hard to the right.
Steve slammed on the brakes. The truck struck a fence, then, skidding, hit a tree.
Steve’s car fishtailed to a stop. I opened my door and stepped out, ghost knife in hand. No one told me to stop this time.
I crept along the passenger side of the truck, half expecting the sapphire dog to jump on me. Instead, I heard the driver’s door open and close. I moved back to the rear of the truck.
Steve opened his door and stood behind it, his little revolver trained on someone I couldn’t see on the other side of the truck. “Drop that!” he shouted. “Esteban, you drop that or I will have to fire!” He sounded desperately afraid.
Steve didn’t change position. I moved toward the corner of the truck as quietly as possible. Not quietly enough, though. A Hispanic man with a sizable paunch and the biggest monkey wrench I’d ever seen turned toward me. He was smiling.
He had a white circle just below his left eye.
Esteban was a lefty, and when he swung that wrench, it came at me in a high, slow arc like a Frisbee. It was so slow that I actually caught it and tugged him off balance. When he stumbled, I hit him once, quickly, where his jaw met his ear. He dropped to the asphalt.
Steve holstered his weapon. He looked relieved.
I knelt on the plumber’s back while Steve handcuffed him. At least it wouldn’t have to be a citizen’s arrest this time. I jumped up and walked around the truck. There were no signs of activity in the cab and no dark circles on the sides. I hopped up to peek into the window.
Empty. I went around to the back. The latch was padlocked, but Steve had fished a fat, jangly key ring off Esteban’s belt and was fumbling with the keys. I could have cut the padlock off in a second, but I didn’t want to use the ghost knife in front of them. Instead, I stood and waited, holding my breath to hide my impatience.
He found a likely key and slid it into the lock. It sprang open. He drew his revolver and waved me back. I reached into my pocket and held on to my ghost knife.
Steve opened the door and shined a flashlight inside. The walls were lined with tools and shelves, and there was no place for the predator to hide.
“Esteban,” Steve said. “Where is it?”
The man on the ground had come around enough to laugh at him. He tried to get his knees under him, but he was still unsteady. He fell onto his side and kicked at me, still laughing.
Steve and Justy tried to pressure him into sharing more information, but it wasn’t going to happen. He laughed and jeered at everything they said, pleased that he had tricked us into following him.
I knelt beside him and held his face still. The mark was just a spot rather than a streak. The texture of his skin was unchanged—the pores and tiny hairs inside the mark were the same as outside—but the skin itself had become as white as a sheet of paper. I poked at it; it felt normal.
“Why has the sapphire dog decided to stay in Washaway?” I asked. “Why isn’t it trying to leave anymore?” He didn’t answer.
“He’s not going to help us, is he?” Justy said. She didn’t want to get close to him, and I didn’t blame her. Esteban cursed at us and laughed again.
Steve sighed. “Help me put him into the back of the car.”
I did, slamming the door shut. Esteban didn’t fight me and didn’t try to break out. He just sat and smiled.
“What do you think?” Steve said.
“Let me check something.” I went to the truck and climbed into the cab. Hunting Cap had seen the pastor get into the truck with something in his arms. If Esteban had attacked him, it would have happened in here.
There was no blood. There was no evidence of a fight at all. And I didn’t believe for a minute that Esteban could have taken that quick little pastor in a fight. I climbed out of the cab.
“Something’s changed,” I said. “The sapphire dog’s previous victims fought one another over it, but this guy left it with someone else to lead us on a wild-goose chase, and he’s
“And the mark is different,” Steve said.
“Either it’s learning how to control us better, or it’s eating more carefully. Probably the latter. I bet it’s still with the pastor.”
“But where is he?”
A car whooshed by us. There were two people inside, but they were gone before I could catch a glimpse of them. “Pretty much anyone in town would offer a ride to the pastor, right?”
Steve sighed and rested his hand on the roof of his car. He looked tired. “Yes.”
“We should see if he doubled back.”
“What if he didn’t?” Justy asked.
“Then we’ll drive around town, looking for him or anyone else with marks on their faces.”
Steve’s car rattled and clicked as we drove back to the fairgrounds. He kept looking into the rearview mirror
