Shadowspell Academy Page 5

  And they hadn’t. Not that night, or the dozens of others he’d spent with us.

  That was the first time it had occurred to me that, unlike me, Rory couldn’t seek shelter at home. If he did, he’d only find more nightmares. It was why I hadn’t batted an eye when he’d said he was leaving this town. And why I would beat the snot out of him if he’d lied to me. You didn’t lie to people you shared trust and history with. You just didn’t.

  I lightly pushed on the window, hearing the soft click that released the broken lock, and flattened my palms so I could slide the window open. A soft squeal made me pause for a moment. An intense itch flared between my shoulder blades.

  The stranger was here, watching. I was sure of it. Sideburns, or one of his minions, was watching me break into this house.

  My breath turned shallow, but I didn’t stop. He’d basically threatened Billy. I doubted he’d be calling the cops. Besides, we didn’t have a working truck and Billy had a deadline—he could do the math.

  Trying to ignore the eyes digging into my back, I gritted my teeth against the next squeal and slid the window the rest of the way open. That done, I paused, listening.

  A soft rhythmic ticking caught my notice. A clock. Nothing else permeated the thick, gooey silence.

  In one swift movement, I pulled myself through the window, stepping onto the strategically placed dresser and the stool beyond it, evidence of Rory’s habit of sneaking in and out. In near silence, I tiptoed out of his room, skipping the loose board below the dingy, rust-colored carpet, and paused at the edge of the living room.

  No head crested the faded green recliner with the back torn out of it. Leaning to the side, I looked around the chair facing the rabbit-eared TV and spied the couch. Buck’s body lay across it, his shoulders as broad as ever and his belly bigger than when I’d last seen him. Crumpled beer cans littered the floor next to an empty vodka bottle on its side.

  The expectation of danger slid across my skin as I crossed the threshold into the living room. That was the thing about Buck, he could be blind, passed-out drunk, but if someone messed with his stuff, he could still spring to attention. I’d never understood it. I didn’t trust that he’d changed.

  I had no choice but to find out.

  Silent as the grave, I slipped along the wall to the counter that separated the kitchen from the living area. A badly damaged basket held a pile of junk topped with keys, where they’d always been. Holding my breath, I gingerly lifted them from the mess.

  Two keys scraped against each other, a mournful metallic melody. I paused, my heart in my throat.

  Rhythmic breathing gently filled the space. Tremors of warning screamed through my gut.

  I needed to get out of here.

  I eyed the front door beyond the living room. Chances were Buck hadn’t kept the hinges greased. That, teamed with his unreal ability to detect when people were messing with his space or his things, meant I would have to head out the way I had come in. Not even Rory had risked taking any of Buck’s things out of the front door. That was a dead man’s game.

  Moving as fast as I could while still being silent, I ducked through Rory’s window and slowly closed it behind me. Eyes dug into my back again, almost a physical feeling. I half wanted to turn and sarcastically thank the stranger for waiting. Instead, I jogged toward the truck, time ticking.

  It wasn’t the watch or deadline that had me moving. It was that miserable sonuvabitch whose property I was still in the process of stealing. He may have lost some of his killer instinct, but I wasn’t counting on it. Adrenaline pumping, memories of the fear he’d inspired in my youth battering me, I reached the truck and eased the door open. A loud groan ripped through the silence.

  “Crap on a cracker,” I muttered as I jumped into the seat and fumbled for the right key. Rookie mistake—I should’ve plucked out the correct key when I was jogging closer.

  I left the door open. The less noise the better. I’d close it when I flung dirt at that bastard’s house, not before.

  The key clinked as I fit it into the ignition, and I chewed my lip as I turned it. The truck turned over…and over, and over, the engine struggling. When had it last been used? My plan suddenly didn’t look so good.

  “Come on,” I muttered, giving the gas pedal a push before trying again. “C’mon, c’mon…”

  The truck cranked to a slow, coughing start.

  I heaved a sigh and reached out for the door, chancing a glance at the house as I did so.

  The front door stood open.

  “Whuddya think yer doin’?” Buck roared as he stepped around the side of the truck. His huge hand wrapped around the edge of the driver’s side door. “Tryin’ to steal my truck, you stupid—”

  He reached in to grab me with his other massive, scarred hand.

  The old coot would beat me bloody without shame.

  Terror flooded me, and I reacted without thinking.

  I jammed my fingers into that ol’ bear’s beady little eyes before hammering a fist into his throat. Before he could react, I flung off his reaching hand, and he fell backward with a strangled shout.

  I slammed the truck in gear and jammed my foot onto the gas pedal.

  The truck coughed and sputtered but caught, slowly rolling forward.

  “You filthy, thieving whore,” Buck yelled, his voice raspy. He lurched for me again with one eye closed, his reflexes dulled with age and lingering drink. He wasn’t giving up though. And neither was I.

  I leaned to the side and yanked my arm away. His long fingernails raked across my skin, tearing it open. The truck jerked forward and the door swung shut, catching Buck’s body.

  He grunted, and I swerved the truck to the right, the quick motion finally wresting his hand from the side of the door. An elbow hit the fender and his body fell away. I yanked the wheel, swerving the truck in the opposite direction before skidding onto the road. Buck’s body rolled in the dust and flying gravel behind me.

  “Serves you right,” I muttered as I left him behind.

  I guess there wouldn’t be a question of who stole his truck. Thank God my siblings knew how to work the shotgun. I had less than forty-eight hours at this point—I didn’t have time for a nap in a jail cell.

  Chapter 6

  I gripped the steering wheel of Buck’s crappy old truck as I wrestled to keep the entire hunk of junk on the hard curve of the on-ramp. Clearly, it hadn’t been left to the spiders just because Buck lacked gas money. The power steering was completely shot.

  The brakes squealed like a pair of pigs caught in a noose, and I was pretty sure the signal lights were out, given the level of honking from my lane change. Still, it was better than walking.

  With one last crank of the wheel, I was on the highway. “Almost as bad as holding Bluebell,” I muttered as I shifted up, the gears grinding.

  Foot on the gas, I pushed it to the floorboard in a vain effort to get up to highway speed. The body of the truck shook and rumbled under me, and what was left of the muffler clattered before screeching against cement and falling off—freaking falling off! It tumbled off the road in a shower of sparks that lit up my side mirror.

  When I was fairly certain nothing else would fall off, yet, I rolled the window down and let the fresh morning air blow out the stench of old man and sour beer. A deep breath in and out and my heart rate finally slowed. I was on my way to these Culling Trials, and I had time to spare. Once there, I could convince them that Billy would never be a good fit. That he would be terrible at… whatever they wanted him for.

  I lifted my eyes to the rearview mirror and the blood cooled in my veins, sending a shiver right down to my tailbone.

  A sleek black sedan, gleaming in the morning sun, pulled into my lane about three cars behind me. The cars between us, annoyed with my lack of speed, passed one by one, but that sedan hung back, allowing others to cut in front.

  “Dumber than a box of rocks if they think I don’t see them,” I murmured, adrenaline racing through me. Nothing t
hat new and shiny would loiter around these parts, happy to go slower than the speed limit. They were here for me.

  There was no way I could outrun a slick new sedan, not in Buck’s truck.

  Fear mingled with the adrenaline and I chewed the inside of my cheek, my mind running through the possibilities. The next exit led into a series of suburbs, schools, and small parks. I could turn off, see if they followed and try to lose them. But if they were aggressive…I’d have no choice but to abandon the truck and lose them on foot.

  That would slow me down, and time was not something I’d been allotted a great deal of to get to upstate New York.

  I turned my right wrist up to see the face of my new watch. Thirty hours, fifteen minutes, and four seconds left. The flight would take four hours or so, I guessed. The drive to upstate New York maybe another two. I wasn’t sure it would work, but I had a crazy idea that might get rid of this tail.

  Crazy was my only option at this point.

  “I’ve got time.” I cranked the wheel hard to the right and shifted the truck into a lower gear, letting the engine slow the speed rather than the squealing brakes. It clunked along unhappily, but at least it was quieter than the alternative.

  I coasted down the off-ramp, wrestling with the steering wheel again as I went around the curve. A glance in the rearview showed me all I needed to know. The sedan had followed me, closing the distance between us, and the sensation of being watched crawled over my skin again.

  The difference was this time there was no doubt someone was on my butt.

  A part of me was so scared, I couldn’t think. Not just any predator was tracking me, but the ultimate predator, pushing me toward a dangerous future from which I might not escape. Another part of me, however, flared to life, the part that had raced through the fields with Tommy and Rory and broken into abandoned houses. The part that had earned me my nickname.

  “I can do this.” I shifted down again, and again, until the truck was all but crawling in first gear, the engine grumbling unhappily, chugging and jerking along. I didn’t have the vehicle to outrun them. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t outsmart them.

  I rolled the truck to a stop at the bottom of the off-ramp, stuck my arm out the window and waved them by me. Anyone trying to keep their anonymity would surely comply and pick up the tail later.

  The black sedan crept forward, closing the distance between our bumpers. It stopped just shy of bumping me, waiting patiently, applying pressure to hurry me along. In the rearview mirror was a stern face wearing aviators and sporting some serious sideburns.

  A grin I couldn’t control budded on my lips even as warning tingles washed through my body. That man was dangerous. I knew it in every fiber of my being. But he was hounding me, and I didn’t take well to that kind of treatment. There were times to back off and times to fight back. My gut told me this was one of the latter.

  Here’s to hoping that Buck’s back-up lights don’t work any better than his turn signals.

  I shifted into reverse and hit the gas. The engine growled, and the truck shot backward far more efficiently than it moved forward, slamming hard into the hood of the black car. I didn’t take my foot off the gas.

  “Take that, Sideburns.”

  The tires of the sedan shrieked on the pavement, but Buck’s truck was heavy and made for hauling weight. It shoved the smaller vehicle backward, smoke curling up around it as Sideburns worked the brakes. But I wasn’t done yet. Grinning, staring out the back window, I cranked the wheel hard, turning the truck and forcing the sedan into the ditch on the side.

  Gravity helped me out and the black car rolled down the steep slope, tires spinning in the dry grass until it bottomed out. There would be no getting out of that without a tow truck.

  Still grinning maniacally, I put the truck into first gear and drove forward. One last glimpse in my rearview mirror showed me a single person standing at the top of the ditch. The sunlight flared off his aviator glasses and those sideburns.

  My grin slid away at the look on his face, which those glasses did little to hide.

  That lone wolf I’d killed, the one with a taste for cattle, had looked at me like this, with glittering eyes and lips curled over teeth that wanted to tear me apart. I knew without a shadow of a doubt I’d made an enemy that didn’t take well to being bested.

  As surely as the sky was blue above me, one day, this moment would cost me.

  I pressed the gas pedal to the floor and got back on the highway as quickly as I could, fear pricking at me to move faster. To get clear of that wolf’s gaze.

  The drive was long enough that I had plenty of time to stew, even as I constantly checked my mirrors. I was going to a school where students died and their deaths went uninvestigated. A school for magically talented people.

  I snorted to myself. If there were real magic in the world, like it was in fantasy books, I would’ve known about it before now. That was too big of a secret to keep. Maybe my dad had exaggerated, and the school was for kids with exceptional skills in certain areas, more than book smarts.

  This time I frowned. As much as I hated it, I could understand why they’d wanted Tommy. He was good at everything he touched. The consummate golden boy who made friends easily and charmed the teachers and got good grades. But Rory had a rap sheet with the local police a mile long for fighting, and his only skills were five-fingered discounts and a knack for shifting the blame to others. None of it made sense.

  I sighed to myself as the sign for the airport came up. The answers would come, but I doubted they would just land in my lap. I’d have to hunt for them. At least that was one skill I had under my belt.

  I merged into the airport traffic, working to keep the truck from lurching forward into one of the nicer vehicles. Traffic slowed to a stop, caging me in as we approached short term parking.

  The engine growled and lurched forward, nearly kissing the shiny red Porsche in front of me.

  “Total pig of a truck!” I muttered as I hit the brake hard.

  I leaned and craned my head, trying to figure out the hold up. I knew cities were crowded and busy, but with so many people coming and going out of this place, I would’ve thought they’d have traffic under control.

  An SUV inched forward in the right lane, giving me a glimpse of the terminal. My breath caught. Two black sedans glimmered in the morning light. Waiting for someone.

  I jerked my head straight and inched forward behind the Porsche. My heart picked up speed, hammering away in my chest so loudly, I couldn’t hear the honking around me.

  Sideburns apparently had more friends than I did. I watched them from the corner of my eye. Both sedans were new and undented, so neither of them belonged to Sideburns. I swallowed hard, a litany of curses flowing under my breath as I tried to figure out what to do. How did I get out of this pickle?

  Buck’s truck wasn’t exactly what I’d call inconspicuous with its peeling paint, louder than a shotgun blast engine, and the smell of the exhaust rolling out past its non-existent muffler. Then again, I wasn’t in the only rust bucket in the airport either. Given that they hadn’t climbed into their car or jogged into traffic, I was good for the moment. As long as I kept things calm.

  A few more minutes, I checked the time on my watch. Twenty-eight hours, forty minutes, and eighteen seconds to go. Plenty of time.

  The numbers shivered as I stared at it, as it went foggy, and then jumbled up like a snow globe being shaken.

  “What the hell?” I tapped the screen with one finger. What a junky piece of crap they’d given me…and then the worst thing that could happen did.

  The time changed.

  And not in my favor.

  Six hours left, and counting.

  “You piece of donkey crap,” I snapped, anger flaring. “Whoever is tinkering with my watch is begging for a shortened life span.”

  Gritting my teeth, I craned in my seat, seeing a man a few cars up directing traffic into the parking garage. A sidelong glance told me the black s
edans were still there.

  The minutes ticked by. The truck fought my maneuvering. I kept from looking at the watch, terrified the time would change again.

  The airport staff at the mouth of the parking garage waved me to a stop, redundant given the lowered wooden arm next to the ticketing kiosk.

  “How long ya gonna be?” he called.

  I fought past my heart lodged in my throat. “No time at all. Short. Short time.” I grimaced. When had I forgotten how to talk to people? “Just real quick.”

  “Yup.” He waved me on. “Second level. First level’s all full up.”

  I grabbed a ticket, nearly took out the wooden arm as the truck lurched forward too quickly, and parked in a no parking zone on the second floor that was faster than finding a spot big enough to easily fit the badly maneuvering truck. I left the truck running. Maybe someone would steal it. Again.

  I bolted for the stairs. I needed to figure out a way past those sedans or I needed to head to the next terminal.

  Movement too close behind me fired through my senses. On pure instinct, I dodged right, putting distance between us. A brick of a man pivoted, not thrown off for long. Another from the other side ran between two parked cars.

  The first man lunged for me, nearly grabbing me. I danced away and clipped a car with my hip. The car alarm blared and lights strobed in the dim interior of the garage. My blood pumped through my veins as I spun and landed in a crouch in front of my assailants, two men in suits identical to the one Sideburns wore. They had the same look going on—military short haircuts, aviator sunglasses, and jackets bearing the red Web of Wyrd patch—except these men were both clean-shaven. Apparently, terrible facial hair wasn’t standard issue.