Whisper of Shadows (The Diamond City Magic Novels) (7 page)

I didn’t wait for his answer, since he’d probably have argued that he didn’t need my help, and there was no time for that. More cars were stopping and already the traffic jam extended to the top of the rise in both directions. If this was a trap, the bad guys had planned it well, and they’d be moving in already. They’d be looking for us and expecting us to run. They’d be lying in wait. I needed to go carefully.

I did have one option they didn’t know about, if they didn’t stop me first with binders. Like Touray, I could travel. Different road, different mechanism, but I’d recently found out that I could pull myself from one place to another through the realm of the dead. It was dangerous. Possibly fatal. The spirit realm didn’t exactly welcome live people. Staying too long was a sure ticket to the morgue, and you could count too long in seconds. I was still recovering from my recent injuries and adventures in the spirit realm. I wasn’t sure I could actually pull myself through at the moment. I felt okay, but it had only been a few days since I’d been through hell fighting off Percy Caldwell and his goons. If I risked it and failed, I’d be too dead to help Price. On the other hand, trying it was better than getting captured.

I tucked the option in my back pocket and looked around. First I’d try for a good old-fashioned escape. Guilt twisted in my chest. I ignored it. Touray could take care of himself. Besides, someone needed to run away to return and fight another day.

Chapter 5

I DUCKED BACK behind the SUV, then jogged down the sidewalk. Maybe jog is too strong a word. I went as fast as I could without slipping and breaking my ass. I wasn’t far above the berm where the elevated road met dirt. Unfortunately, mounded snow made it impossible to go that way. We’d had a thaw and then a freeze followed by some snow. The layer of ice beneath the new snow made for dangerous trekking. Traversing it wasn’t a great option in snow boots and ski pants, much less in a dress and high heels.

I decided to stay on the sidewalk. I’d be too visible on the white expanse of snow to make a good getaway, and at least I had cars to hide behind.

Trying to keep an eye on Touray distracted me from my own escape. He’d strode up the road, pushing past the rubberneckers and into the thick of the accident, not making any attempt to hide. Probably he hoped our enemies would focus on him while I got away. He headed for the ambulance first. It still lay on its side, having done one and a half revolutions. He was first to get there and yank open the doors.

I skidded on some ice and remembered I was supposed to be fleeing the scene. I glanced back up into traffic. I knew Mason and the other guards were somewhere in the jam. I guessed they’d abandoned their vehicles and were coming on foot. I didn’t have time to wait.

Beside me, a blue sedan sat idling, the people inside keeping warm. I moved past. The snick of doors opening sent chills up my spine. I didn’t wait to see if they were enemies. I broke into a run, dodged in front of the next car, and then sprinted down toward the intersection. I slipped on ice. My arms windmilled, and I lurched sideways against the back end of a truck. The driver’s door flung open.

“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” A bulky gray-headed man launched out of the seat. He snatched at me.

I ducked sideways under his arm and kept moving. My near-fall gave me a chance to look behind and revealed several pursuers threading between the cars behind me. They didn’t seem to be all that much in a hurry, which clearly meant that I was being herded and I was headed where they wanted me to go. Not good.

I cut through the traffic jam to the other side of the road. I was about halfway down to the intersection. I thought I saw Touray in the growing melee surrounding the accident, but I didn’t pay a lot of attention. He could take care of himself. Or not. Not my problem at the moment.

I focused on remembering the details of my surroundings. I made a habit of walking the city, getting acquainted with every shelf that clung to the sides of the caldera. I’d covered every inch of the city on foot more than once. I never wanted to be lost, and driving it wasn’t enough to teach me the nooks and crannies that were going to save my life tonight. I hoped.

Diamond City sits like a massive barnacle on the side of a prehistoric volcano—or really, the giant hole it left behind—which is about a hundred miles across. The city sits on three shelves sticking out on the east side, with the leftovers spilling down into the Bottoms at, appropriately enough, the bottom of the caldera. That’s where most of the poor lived, and where you went to get lost when you didn’t want to be found. Downtown, the lowest of the three shelves, was where most working people lived and where the business district was located. Midtown, the next level up, was where the just wealthy lived. Higher still was Uptown, where the dripping-in-money folks lived, and finally, there’s the rim, where the more-money-than-God people built sprawling mansions made of gold bricks with platinum toilets. The shelves were connected by a number of tunnels.

A lot of money lived in Midtown. Most businesses here were the higher-end variety and included a lot of clothing stores, restaurants, and spas. On this side of the Valger and Bitner intersection was a broad, squat complex containing a couple swimming pools, waterslides, a gym, trampolines, and whatever other entertainment the Disney of workouts might include. The one thing it didn’t offer was a good place to hide. Anyhow, the little valley between the building and road berm was filled to the flat with glistening snow. I wasn’t getting across without being seen, that is, if I didn’t just sink down over my head. Across Bitner was a golf course. I could slog across it, but I’d leave such an obvious trail that even a blind man could follow me.

I considered jumping into someone’s car to hide, but I’d be trapped there when they started a car-to-car search, which I was certain they’d do.

A quarter mile away or so was a subway entrance. I might be able to disappear that way, but I was willing to bet it was guarded. This trap was too well planned. If I couldn’t think of anything else, I’d risk trying to slip inside. Providing I could even get that far.

I was only a couple car lengths back from the intersection when I felt a powerful binding spell bubble up and spread outward, effectively shutting down any magic activity in the vicinity. That wasn’t so great for the victims of the crash. Tinkers couldn’t do anything for them. But it did keep Touray from travelling out to safety, which was no doubt the point. It would also kill the trace null I always wore. When I got out of the binder zone, it probably would go haywire. I deactivated it. I could always fix it. On the positive side, until the spell shut down, no tracer would be able to follow me.

Shit. I had a sudden bad feeling it would stop me from dropping into the spirit realm, too. I focused and tried to push my hand inside it. Nothing. I was cut off from that route unless I made it out beyond the binder’s limits. That meant outrunning my pursuers.

I didn’t let myself panic. I’d been in worse situations. I just had to think outside the box. I eyed the nearest car, but there was really no hope of hijacking a car to escape, not with the traffic jam spreading in every direction. Barriers prevented anyone from flipping a U-turn and zooming back along the other side, which was clear. The best thing I could do was get off the road and lose myself in the neighborhoods beyond. After that, I could find a hidey-hole until I could call for help, grab a bus, or catch the subway.

All of that zipped through my mind as I minced downward toward the intersection, ducking down to try to hide myself behind cars. I realized then I’d zigged away from where I needed to be, which was on the east side of the intersection. Over there was a collection of restaurants, clothing stores, a little cluster of antique shops, plus a bunch of eclectic businesses. Behind those rose some high-rise condos beside the popular Feltall Street. No motorized traffic was allowed down it, and the street contained dozens of music joints, eateries, art shops, and a few playhouses and movie theaters. If it weren’t buried under snow, and everyone huddled inside for warmth, I might have had a shot of losing my pursuers in the crowds that frequented the area. As it was, Feltall was my best shot at ducking my pursuers long enough to get away. It appeared they were in no hurry. But then, they were herding me. Likely they had a vehicle waiting to carry me off and figured if they could get me close to it, their job would be easier.

I crossed back between the cars. In the distance, I heard more sirens. The arrival of emergency vehicles could be my ticket out. They might cause just enough distraction to let me slip away.

I hurried down to the front of the line of cars, where people gathered to gawk. Touray was helping to pull someone out of the rear window of a sedan. It had been smashed from the side and come to a stop against the back of a van. He knelt on the trunk and drew out the limp body of a teenaged boy. He passed the boy to the thicket of waiting hands and reached through to remove a child seat. Resting within was a baby who remained blissfully asleep.

I trotted over to the crowd surrounding the car, skirted around, and kept going past the van. I edged past the front of the ambulance, still lying on its side. The smell of spilled gas permeated the air, along with moans, screams, and crying. What sort of monsters caused this kind of damage, just to capture Touray and me? It was flat-out evil.

My phone rang. I fished it out of my pocket and glanced at the screen. Taylor. “You okay?” I asked by way of greeting, crossing the intersection to where more people gathered. I pushed between them. Two rock-jawed women started to move toward me. This was as far as they’d let me go. Now they would swoop in and pick me up.

“Yeah—I—”

“Good. Go to ground. I’ll call you soon as I can.” I hit
End
and dropped my phone back into my pocket, then broke into a trot again as I wove between the rubberneckers. I deliberately bumped into some to make them angry enough to get in the way of the women following me.

A gunshot ran out. People screamed and started running around like headless chickens. I kept moving, but my stomach churned at the thought that someone might have shot Touray. Three more shots popped off. I glanced behind me. I had four pursuers now—two men and two women. The woman in the lead caught my glance and pointed at me. She shouted something.

I reached the sidewalk and sprinted up it, dodging the people coming to see the carnage. I kept all my weight on the balls of my feet, giving me a better shot at staying upright, and prayed I wouldn’t hit a patch of ice.

As soon as I could, I ducked off the roadway into a parking lot. It was revoltingly well lit. I zipped between cars and fled out the other side. I ducked inside a Mexican restaurant. The hostess stand blocked my way.

“I’ve got people after me,” I declared, deciding that honesty was most likely to earn me some good will. “Back door? Please.”

The hostess stared at me a moment. I guessed her to be about my age, with black hair caught up behind her head. Her eyes were outlined in black, with long lashes. She pursed red lipsticked lips, her gaze narrowing on my face. “You’re that tracer,” she said. “The one who’s so good, who finds lost people and kids.”

I don’t know why I was surprised to be recognized. My face had been all over the papers when I got outted.

“That’s me.” I glanced over my shoulder and back at her. “Seriously, these people are a nasty bunch. Where’s the back door?”

“You won’t get far in those shoes,” she said, and then her expression firmed as if she’d made up her mind to something. She pointed to a dark alcove full of tables. “Go in there. Sit.” She passed me a menu.

I hesitated. I couldn’t see how I had a choice, and scooted within, hoping to hell I could trust her. I found myself in a small bar area half full of diners. A few singles sat along the mahogany bar top. A fish tank on the wall provided most of the ambient lighting. I picked a corner booth, sliding over against the wall, as far out of sight of the door as I could get. At that point a waiter hurried in. He searched the room, saw me, and headed toward my seat. On the way, he grabbed a dirty plate off another table and plunked it in front of me, along with a half-drunk glass of wine. The other diners didn’t pay any attention.

“Emily said people were looking for you,” he said in a low voice, taking the menu that Emily had handed me. “I’m Luis. You should take off your coat so it looks like you’ve been here awhile.” He was a handsome kid, with black hair slicked back into a stubby ponytail and cow eyes. He looked like he’d have dimples when he smiled.

I did as told. I heard the outer doors open and voices in the vestibule.

He stiffened.

“Have you saved room for dessert? Our
flan de coco y queso
is
muy delicioso
.” He kissed his fingers dramatically. “It has a hint of cayenne, and may I also recommend our Aztec coffee?”

My stomach growled despite everything. It had to be at least nine and I’d not eaten since breakfast. I’d been too nervous about taking Price to dinner at Mel’s to even contemplate food.

Luis wrote something down as if I’d spoken, then collected the used plate. “Of course, Mrs. Delmire. It’s too bad your husband couldn’t join you this evening as usual. We always enjoy his company.”

It appeared he was destined for a career in acting. I couldn’t mind if it saved my ass. “I’ll be right back.”

I dug into my coat pocket for my phone. I stared at it a moment. Calling Mason risked having a war starting in the restaurant. Bad plan. Nor did I want to involve anybody else. I was better off finding someplace safe and lying low before I called for a ride.

Luis returned with a cup and a carafe. “Your friends left. Emily told them you ran out the back.” He poured the coffee into the cup and set the carafe down. “I’ll be back,” he said and vanished before I could speak.

I picked up the cup and sipped, nearly moaning as bliss ran down my throat. Coffee, cream, cinnamon, nutmeg, cayenne, sugar, and a healthy dose of coffee liquor. Pure heaven. I took another sip, and warmth filled my belly and spread out to my limbs.

Soon Luis returned with a plate of enchiladas covered in cream sauce. I looked at him in surprise. “You’re taking this whole scene awfully well. Why are you all so willing to help me?”

He shrugged. “We aren’t doing so much. Anyway, you’ve done a lot of good for nobodies like us. Like that Alvarez kid who got taken. He was from my neighborhood.”

I remembered him. Little Joe Alvarez, a six-year-old who’d been kidnapped off the school playground. Everybody had thought the culprit was the father who’d lost custody in the divorce. Turned out to be his grandfather’s bookie. I’d found him alive. One of my happy endings.

“Anyway, you looked after him, we can look after you,” Luis said and disappeared again. I stared after him. I’d done so much in secret over the years, and the Alvarez case had been one of my anonymous tips. After I became headline news, all that had come out, too. I’m pretty sure my best friend, Patti, had been the source. She’d wanted people to know I’d been using my talent for good. I hadn’t thought it mattered, but tonight I was discovering how wrong I was.

I practically inhaled my meal. I couldn’t remember ever eating anything so good. When I was done, I started considering how I was going to get at my money. I couldn’t very well dig into my bra in the dining room or pull my skirt up to get at the thin pack strapped to my thigh.

Luis returned before I could throw discretion to the wind and hike up my skirt. “Your friends are watching the doors,” he said, sliding into the chair opposite me.

“How do you know?”

“Carla took a smoke break out front to check and David went out back.”