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Authors: Kim Harrison
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wouldnât stop me, but the Inderland run I.S. would, just out of spite for having quit their lame-ass, nationwide police force.
I tucked a strand of blowing hair behind my ear and warily checked behind me. Iâd only had my car a couple of months, and already the entire fleet of I.S. flunkies doing street duty knew me by sight, taking every opportunity to help me rack up points on my license. And it wasnât fair! The red light I ran a month ago was for a darn good reasonâand at five in the morning, no one had even been at the intersection but the cop. I still donât know where he had come fromâmy trunk maybe? And Iâd been late for an appointment the time I got pulled over for speeding on 75. I hadnât been going that much faster than everyone else.
âStupid car,â I muttered fondly, though I wouldnât trade my little red ticket magnet for anything. It wasnât its fault the I.S. took every chance they could to make my life miserable.
But âWalkie Talkie Manâ was cranked, Steriogram singing so fast only a vamp could keep up, and it wasnât long before the little white hand crept up to eighty again, pulling my mood along with it. I even found a cute-looking guy on a cycle to flirt with while I made my way to Edgemont where Jenks had his run.
The cessation of wind as I came off the interstate wasalmost an assault, and when a rumble of real thunder rolled over me, I pulled to the side of the road to put the top up. My head jerked up when the guy on the cycle whizzed past, his hand raised in salute. My faint smile lingered for a moment, then vanished.
If I couldnât get Jenks to talk to me, I was going to kill the little twit.
Taking a deep breath, I turned my phone to vibrate, snapped off the music, and pulled into traffic. I jostled over a railroad track, peering into the coming dusk and noting that the pace of the pedestrian and bike traffic had changed from casual to intense as the threat of rain increased. It was a business district, one of the old industrial areas that the city had thrown a lot of money at to turn it into a themed mall and parks to attract the usual outlying shops and apartments. It reminded me of âMrs. Bryantâs flat,â and I frowned.
I drove past the address to evaluate the multistoried sprawling building. By the art deco and the mailbox drive-through, it looked like a manufacturing complex turned into a mix of light commercial and upscale apartments. I hadnât seen Jenks, but that wouldnât be unusual if he was tailing someone. Matalina said he was on a smut run to build up money to buy an airline ticket.
My brow was furrowed in worry when I turned the corner and got a lucky spot at the curb in front of a coffeehouse, jerking the parking break up and shifting the stick to neutral. Pixies couldnât fly commerciallyâthe shifting air pressures wreaked havoc with them. Jenks wasnât thinking straight anymore. No wonder Matalina had come to me.
Snatching up my bag, I timed my move with traffic and got out. A quick look at the lowering clouds, and I reached for Ivyâs umbrella. The smell of coffee almost pulled me inside, but I dutifully went the other way. A quick glance, and I slipped into the alley of the building in question, walking so my feet were silent in my vamp-made boots.
The scent of garbage and dog urine was strong, and I wrinkled my nose and pulled my jacket closer, looking for aspot where I could stay out of sight and watch the front door of the complex. I was early. If I could catch him before he went in, it would be all the better. But then I froze at the sound of a familiar wing clatter.
Face going still, I looked up the narrow passage to find a pixy dressed in a black body stocking rubbing a clean spot to see through on a dirt-grimed, bird-spotted, upper-story window.
Shame stilled my voice. God, I had been so stupid. I didnât blame him for leaving, for thinking I
I tucked a strand of blowing hair behind my ear and warily checked behind me. Iâd only had my car a couple of months, and already the entire fleet of I.S. flunkies doing street duty knew me by sight, taking every opportunity to help me rack up points on my license. And it wasnât fair! The red light I ran a month ago was for a darn good reasonâand at five in the morning, no one had even been at the intersection but the cop. I still donât know where he had come fromâmy trunk maybe? And Iâd been late for an appointment the time I got pulled over for speeding on 75. I hadnât been going that much faster than everyone else.
âStupid car,â I muttered fondly, though I wouldnât trade my little red ticket magnet for anything. It wasnât its fault the I.S. took every chance they could to make my life miserable.
But âWalkie Talkie Manâ was cranked, Steriogram singing so fast only a vamp could keep up, and it wasnât long before the little white hand crept up to eighty again, pulling my mood along with it. I even found a cute-looking guy on a cycle to flirt with while I made my way to Edgemont where Jenks had his run.
The cessation of wind as I came off the interstate wasalmost an assault, and when a rumble of real thunder rolled over me, I pulled to the side of the road to put the top up. My head jerked up when the guy on the cycle whizzed past, his hand raised in salute. My faint smile lingered for a moment, then vanished.
If I couldnât get Jenks to talk to me, I was going to kill the little twit.
Taking a deep breath, I turned my phone to vibrate, snapped off the music, and pulled into traffic. I jostled over a railroad track, peering into the coming dusk and noting that the pace of the pedestrian and bike traffic had changed from casual to intense as the threat of rain increased. It was a business district, one of the old industrial areas that the city had thrown a lot of money at to turn it into a themed mall and parks to attract the usual outlying shops and apartments. It reminded me of âMrs. Bryantâs flat,â and I frowned.
I drove past the address to evaluate the multistoried sprawling building. By the art deco and the mailbox drive-through, it looked like a manufacturing complex turned into a mix of light commercial and upscale apartments. I hadnât seen Jenks, but that wouldnât be unusual if he was tailing someone. Matalina said he was on a smut run to build up money to buy an airline ticket.
My brow was furrowed in worry when I turned the corner and got a lucky spot at the curb in front of a coffeehouse, jerking the parking break up and shifting the stick to neutral. Pixies couldnât fly commerciallyâthe shifting air pressures wreaked havoc with them. Jenks wasnât thinking straight anymore. No wonder Matalina had come to me.
Snatching up my bag, I timed my move with traffic and got out. A quick look at the lowering clouds, and I reached for Ivyâs umbrella. The smell of coffee almost pulled me inside, but I dutifully went the other way. A quick glance, and I slipped into the alley of the building in question, walking so my feet were silent in my vamp-made boots.
The scent of garbage and dog urine was strong, and I wrinkled my nose and pulled my jacket closer, looking for aspot where I could stay out of sight and watch the front door of the complex. I was early. If I could catch him before he went in, it would be all the better. But then I froze at the sound of a familiar wing clatter.
Face going still, I looked up the narrow passage to find a pixy dressed in a black body stocking rubbing a clean spot to see through on a dirt-grimed, bird-spotted, upper-story window.
Shame stilled my voice. God, I had been so stupid. I didnât blame him for leaving, for thinking I
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