Centaur of the Crime: Book One of 'Fantasy and Forensics' (Fantasy & Forensics 1) (30 page)

“Dayna, one moment,” Galen said, as I got Shaw unloaded. The griffin got out slowly, careful not to jiggle his bandaged wing.

“What is it?”

“It would be best if I made sure that Magnus left us no nasty surprises.”

Galen took a pinch of spice from one his pockets, and then spoke a single phrase, emphasizing it with a downward sweep of his arm.

“
Finns det nagon mitt hus!
”

The air vibrated in a silent ripple. For a moment I swore that someone had swabbed my tongue with a leaf of chocolate mint. The sensation faded as Galen nodded to himself in the affirmative.

“It is safe,” he pronounced.

We went inside. The back door hung pathetically by a single, broken hinge. A circlet of sooty burns marked where the knob had been. The map I’d marked with Grauman’s theatre was missing.

My skin crawled as I went into my guest bedroom. But a flick of the light showed that nothing had been disturbed. Aside from the sheets I’d wrapped around Liam’s body. I turned away with a shudder.

I overrode Galen’s protests by cleaning and bandaging his arm wound. The wizard had been right—it was little more than a bloody scratch—but it had needed tending. Next, I helped him put the broken door back into place. Finally, I made sure to grab my cell phone.

I turned the phone’s ringer volume to high and plugged it into the recharging unit next to the kitchen sink. Outside, the world remained pitch black. It had grown late. Even the lights leading up to Griffith Park observatory had been doused. But I didn’t realize how tired I was, until I caught myself nodding off at the table.

Adrenaline had its limits.

“One must rest sometime,” Shaw admonished, nudging me softly with his beak. “Do not trouble thyself, Dayna. The watch shall be kept.”

“You’re hurt,” I protested feebly. “You need rest more than I do.”

“Shaw’s right,” Galen said. “You and he need to sleep.”

“Nay,” the griffin said, addressing both of us. “Both of you shall retire from the field. I have stood many a watch in my time. I shall not shirk duty now.”

Galen stretched his arms and let out a yawn.

“I would argue with you, Grimshaw. But I know griffins. Your code of honor forbids you to sleep when others are in need of rest or replenishment. And honor counts for all with a griffin.”

I grinned at that, for it sounded like what Shaw had told me, way back when I first met him.

Way back?

What, a day and a half ago?

I shook my head. I went to use the bathroom. Afterwards, I tried splashing water on my face, but even that didn’t perk me up. I gave in and stumbled my way over to my bedroom.

I lay down and stretched out. Savored the coolness of the pillow beneath my head.

“Dayna,” Galen said, gently shaking my shoulder. Reluctantly, I turned over and groaned in response. It sounded like someone was playing a song on a badly tuned music box in the background.

“Dammit,” I grumped, “just let me sleep for a moment, Galen. Take the guest bed. Or the couch. Whichever one, I don’t care.”

“I appreciate the gesture,” the wizard said dryly. “But you’ve been asleep for some time now. And your ‘phone’ is playing music.”

The little cellphone lay in Galen’s palm. It cheerily belted out a tinny rendition of Bach’s
Toccata in D
. I rubbed a stray grain of sleep sand from the corner of my eye as I grabbed the phone, more out of reflex than anything else.

Esteban didn’t mince words. “He’s moving, Dayna.”

My drowsiness vanished. Those three words sent a shiver down my spine like a deftly struck tuning fork. I swung my legs off the bed and stood. Galen retreated a step and stood by the doorway. His face wore a mask of concern.

“Location. And direction.”

“Two hits. First on Vista Terrace. Next on Runyon Canyon. So he’s heading north into the Hollywood hills. Call you when I get the next hit.”

“Gotcha. We’re moving.”

I untangled my jacket from where I’d crumpled it beneath me as I slept. Tucked the phone in a pocket. I caught the centaur’s expression, which remained strangely crestfallen.

“What is it, Galen?”

Wordlessly, he gestured to one of the windows outside my room. I stepped to the doorway and gasped.

Sunlight streamed in through the living room windows.

“How long did I sleep, Galen? How long did we both sleep?”

“Long enough.” He shook his head. “There was no reason for Shaw to wake us. None of us expected Magnus to simply cross his hooves until morning.”

“But the time…is it…has the war begun?”

“Within the next hour, surely. Unless one side or the other was stirred to strike first.”

The SUV’s horn blared from the garage, making us jump.

Shaw’s voice boomed out, calling to us impatiently. “Thou art a pair of sluggards!”

We hurried over. As Galen and I got in, Shaw withdrew his taloned paw from where he’d stamped on the horn button. He hunkered down in the rear compartment on his haunches looking battered, but strangely energized.

“You look awfully happy for someone who didn’t get much rest,” I said, as I triggered the door and backed the SUV out onto the road.

“Daybreak and battle approaches,” Shaw explained. “T’would be wrong to miss our chance to die as heroes!”

That’s a griffin for you. Always thinking constructively about destruction.

The sun’s burning orb hung a couple handspans above the horizon, blinding me with its glare in the rearview mirror. The air felt hot, humid. A rare combination in the dry climate of Los Angeles. Though the sky remained clear, the dampness made the day feel tenser. Expectant, the way the atmosphere felt before a cloudburst.

The phone rang again.

“Dayna,” Esteban said, “another hit. Glen Oaks and La Cuesta.”

I bore down on the gas pedal, boosting our speed over the limit. A quick glance in the rearview showed no cops, at least for now. I turned onto the main boulevard leading to the 101. But Esteban’s latest report made me hesitate.

“Alanzo, those streets…that’s almost up by the reservoir.”

“You think he’s heading up there to dump a body?”

A morbid thought, but understandable. We’d worked more than a couple gristly finds up that way.

“Don’t think so.” Actually, it was more that I ‘hoped’ it wasn’t so. No time to dwell on that now. “My point is, he’s moving really fast.”

“Right. He hasn’t turned off the main roads and he’s almost out to the San Fernando Valley.”

“Then he’s still heading north.”

“Looks like. Call you on the next hit.”

Snap decision.

I cranked the wheel around to the right, earning a well-deserved honk and cussing out from the BMW that I cut off. Went through the yellow as I took us up the entry ramp of the freeway. Galen blinked, puzzled, as he saw the sign that labeled the ramp
SOUTHBOUND
.

“Dayna, did I not hear you say that our quarry lay to the north?”

“You did,” I agreed.

“Then should we not…head the same direction?”

“Not necessarily. At least, not in Los Angeles.”

The wizard sighed and massaged his temples. “Your world never ceases to baffle me.”

“Magnus is heading north at speed. But he’s in the twisty part of the Hollywood hills. We take the freeway south to the next exit, it’ll take us to a straight, flat frontage road heading west and north.”

“We take the long but fast way,” Shaw nodded, understanding. “Move to thine enemy’s flank.”

“Got it in one.” I got us off the freeway, caught the next light, and roared up the hillside frontage road.

The SUV’s transmission squeaked in protest as we jounced over the badly kept pavement, but we kept speed. I had to pound the horn a few times, at first to get around slower moving cars. Then, as the city faded behind us and we got into the Hollywood ranch-and-mansion country, I used the horn to warn off the odd horse rider or group of cycling enthusiasts.

Another ring on the cell.

“He just passed through the Beverly Glen underpass.”

Dammit. Magnus must’ve been flooring it. He’d gotten even further north than I’d gambled. I powered us around a grumbling pickup truck loaded with hay, and then my attention snapped back to what Esteban was saying.

“-police report from last night. A single auto theft was reported near Grauman’s. A blue Tacoma pickup with a white camper shell. That’s got to be what he’s driving.”

“Got it.”

I bit my lip, made another turn up an even steeper slope to the west. I leaned on the gas harder, felt the SUV grunt and labor under the strain. Less than a quarter-mile between my car and Magnus’ now.

“Passing Dorado and Hutton now. Dayna, you’re cutting this close! If he gets north of Mulholland Drive–”

“I know, there’s a dozen ways he could go!”

Major understatement by Dayna Chrissie. Once on Mulholland, Magnus had a warren of side-streets he could disappear down. He could vanish into the suburban sprawl of Sherman Oaks or Burbank. I hung up and stashed the phone within easy reach on the center console.

“That didn’t sound encouraging,” Galen observed.

Up ahead, the road made a graceful dip. Then it side-winded its way up the side of a canyon, up towards a veritable cliff. A narrow strip of land, dotted with olive trees and tangled underbrush, ran along the ridge line at the top.

Shaw poked his head out between us again. His feathers rustled in the breeze from the dashboard vents. The griffin focused his golden eagle eyes as he focused on something above and ahead of us.

His beak clicked in agitation. “Couldst that be our quarry?”

I squinted up the slope. My eyes watered in the brilliant California sunshine. The image swam amidst tears, but I saw the blue and white Tacoma as it went by. A stray shaft of sunlight revealed Magnus’ shiny bald head and his dark scalp lock.

“Dammit! He’s gotten ahead of us!”

“Nay, that shall not do!” Shaw cried. “Release the hindmost door!”

I reached down, popped the SUV’s rear hatch.

The griffin leapt out the back as if shot from a cannon. He took three long, loping strides on the hot asphalt. Then launched himself into the air, unfurling his wings with a roar.

Shaw’s wounded wing stuttered, quivering, as he took off. He veered to one side as he fought to stay on course. The griffin banked, trying desperately to stay aloft. I watched helplessly as the bank turned into an uncontrolled roll.

Shaw disappeared into the trees that lined the steep slope of the cliff face.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Shaw plunged out of sight beyond the canyon rim. I searched the Expedition’s rearview mirror desperately, hoping that he hadn’t slammed into the canyon wall or its rocky floor. My skin broke into gooseflesh as I heard the sound of cracking branches and the scrape of flesh on rock.

“There, up ahead!” Galen cried. He jabbed his arm forward for emphasis.

The griffin emerged from amidst the underbrush that grew by the boulder-strewn base of the cliff. Leaves, twigs and bits of bark fell away from Shaw’s underbelly as he soared upward along the sunbaked cliff face.

I couldn’t exactly gun the motor on the twisty part. Thin metal guardrails were all that kept the huge Ford from going off the edge. Steering the SUV felt more like driving an extra-large waterbed. I gritted my teeth. Just another couple of hundred-degree turns, and we’d finally be on Magnus’ street.

“What’s he doing?” I asked, swerving around another hairpin turn.

“What would you expect of our resident happy warrior? It appears that he’s trying to stop Magnus on his own.”

I risked a glance away from the road. The griffin had shifted his glide pattern to get ahead of Magnus’ vehicle as it drove past on the road overhead. Using both hands, I racked the steering wheel far right in order to make the turn onto the main road.

The tires made an unnerving rasp as the pair on the driver’s side scratched for purchase on the edge of the dirt embankment. I snapped the steering wheel back around. And with that semi-smooth maneuver, Magnus’s pickup truck appeared through the haze of road dust, not more than sixty yards distant.