Chapter 22 #2
“You might not want to take it, but I’ll tell you.
Britannia is being protected by Devlyn because she’s promised him the album, which I suspect she doesn’t have any more.
I made a bigger bargain of bringing Devlyn what he wants most, Sert.
But I did not use Sert’s name, so Britannia has no idea what she’s up against in the bargain.
As part of the deal, I had Devlyn agree to fix the artifact.
When Sert is released, Britannia will be vulnerable again, and we should be able to get the ring fixed. Then I will deal with her.”
“Do you trust Devlyn?”
“No, but the second half of the promise stands that, if I don’t get what I want, Sert goes back into his cage.”
Ah, leverage, the language of criminals. Excellent, we were in a good spot.
Wald opened the warehouse door. Our rental car was gone, and in its place was a blonde woman wearing an outfit, which I guess you could call modern Bohemian or Boho.
Huge hoop earrings with feathers, a tank top revealing brown ink sleeve tattoos, and a long patchwork skirt which brushed the tops of her bare feet.
Her long blonde hair was calf-length and held off her face by two braids.
She wasn’t tall, a petite five-foot something, but her eyes were black, like no iris at all, and the weirdness of her rolled off in sheets.
“Time for you to go,” Wald pushed me in the direction of the street, standing between me and whatever it was. This whole standing-in-front-of-me-to-protect-me was getting old.
“What the fuck. Don’t you dare push me. Who is she?” But I had to admit, looking at whatever this thing was made running seem like a great idea.
Wald didn’t look at me. “Harlan. Leave. Now.” His voice held ice crystals that jabbed me like a stake through the heart. The blonde woman took one step toward us, and it was as if a dam holding back pressure burst. The air literally rippled.
Terror fueled me as I tore out of the lot and around the building to the sidewalk.
The few retail stores painted in bright colors gave way to the high fence of a schoolyard.
I turned the corner, leg muscles on fire and gasping for breath, but I didn’t slow down until I was probably three streets over.
It wasn’t like I was counting. The houses mostly had tall fences even across their driveways.
Two guys in tank tops with far too many gold chains were coming down on the other side of the street in my direction.
There were no kids even at the school’s playground.
A bright LA morning was not a good time of day to be dressed in skintight clothing with no destination, money, ID, or transportation, and likely with a warrant out for me that would make someone money. At least robbing me wasn’t an option.
Worry for Wald was crawling over me like fire ants. I’d run because I had to, not because he’d told me to. But the controlling voice he’d used had terrified me almost as much as whatever that thing was. Grigores, I guessed, but a different kind? Fuck, what did I know?
I slipped on the sunglasses and kept my eyes down and walked past the two men, deciding to double back to the warehouse.
I turned the corner, and my heart skipped at the sight of Wald coming up the street.
I ran toward him, closing the distance. About halfway, I noticed the blood dripping from a gash down the side of his face.
“Oh my God, are you okay? Talk to me?” The stupid things that fall out of your mouth when you’re in shock. “What the hell happened?” I cupped his jaw with my hands.
“Get to the car,” he said, but the words were almost like a breath.
“You better not fucking die on me,” I replied, my heart choking me as he slumped against me.
“I promise not to die on you,” he replied, but it was a faint whisper. I was crumpling under his weight, and about four steps later I couldn’t hold him up and we landed on the sidewalk hard. I was basically pinned under him.
“We have to get up.” I began to roll him back and forth as gently as I could, so I could wriggle out from underneath him. His deadweight was like an anvil. If I yelled for help, people might come, but did I want that?
“Wald, say something.” I slapped his cheeks lightly, then pulled off his glasses.
His eyes were closed, but he was breathing.
I leaned over his chest, touching his neck for a pulse.
Something was beating slowly. Thank God, he wasn’t dead.
Phoning for help might have been an option if, one, I had anyone at all I could call and, two, I had a phone.
I couldn’t let him die here in the streets.
Could he die? I had no idea, and I wasn’t finding out the hard way.
I tucked an arm under him and wrapped it around his back, then hefted his leaden weight. I knew the fireman’s carry but had never tried it. Wald had done it to me. Maybe I could do it to him. It was worth a shot. Grabbing a leg and an arm, I draped them over my shoulders, then tried to stand up.
Epic fail.
I crashed backwards, landing on his chest. He groaned, and I muffled a yelp. Blood dribbled out of the cuts on his face. Enough to be concerning.
It was going to have to be an ambulance. I pulled him upright, and after six tries, I managed to rip a piece of his shirt off. Wadding up the fabric, I applied pressure to the wound, then took his limp hand and pressed it against the fabric. My hands were shaking. I had to do something.
“Hold on, I’ll be right back,” I said, eyeing the houses across the road. I got up and sprinted into the street, screaming as a car screeched to a halt. I whirled at it, cursing. The car was black. Our rental car.
“Did you seriously rip my Folaca and Signali suit?” Britannia yelled, getting out of the sedan.
“Wald is dying, and you’re worrying about your clothes?” I yelled back, looking down. I had in fact ripped the crap out of the knees of the catsuit.
“He’s not dying,” she said with a harrumph , making it to the sidewalk. “Get in the car. I’ll handle this.”
I was going to protest, as Britannia running the show was perhaps the last thing I wanted, but my outburst and the screeching tires had gotten the attention of the inhabitants of the house I had been headed for.
People spilled out onto their porches as Britannia woman-handled Wald into the back seat.
I got into the front passenger side and slunk down, throwing my hair forward to hide my face. From the attention of the gawkers, the license plates on this car were burned, but at least we had transportation. I’d deal later with the infuriating concept that Britannia was calling the shots.
“What are you waiting for? Drive!” She ordered from the back seat.
Drive? Yes. Control the car, I could do that.
I had no idea where we were going, but anywhere away from here was a good plan.
By the time the back door slammed, I’d slid over to the driver’s side and started the car.
I threw it into gear and drove up the street, flipping up the turn signal to turn right as I stopped at the stop sign.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter, just drive,” Wald answered. My heart burst with joy as I whipped around while entering the intersection. The car slamming into us took my breath away. A slow-motion crunching, crushing, glass-breaking slide to the curb. The airbag ballooned out with a thwack .