Trace of Magic (9 page)

When it was done, I put the spent null back into my pocket and started slicing the carpet again. This time it separated easily. I pulled a flap back and cut through the padding. Underneath was a flat panel. It had no handle. Probably opening it with the proper magic would have popped it up. I pried it up with the tip of my blade. By this time, Price had come around the desk to squat beside me. Way too close for comfort.

I’m not sure what I was expecting to be inside. The compartment was only about eight inches deep and about a foot square. A navy-blue canvas bag fit neatly inside.

Price pulled it out. “We’ll take it with us. Let’s get out of here.”

I didn’t argue. I was ready to be out of the building. I was not really cut out to be a burglar. I’m too nervous to steal.

I put the carpet back together as well as I could and rolled the chair on top of it. Anybody making a search of the place was sure to find it, but it wouldn’t be obvious to someone just looking in.

Price shut the door behind us, and the lock clicked. It was reinforced with magic that activated as soon as the lock snicked shut.

We wandered back toward the stairs, taking two different wrong turns and ending up near the elevators. We had just gone past them when one of them dinged. I looked at Price.

“I thought they were shut down?”

He pushed me toward the staircase, handing me the bag of stuff we’d collected from the office and the one from the floor safe. “Get going. I’ll catch up.” He turned and drew his gun.

I didn’t know if I should stay or go. Not that Price couldn’t take care of himself. With my hands full, I couldn’t grab my gun, so I started running.

I had only made it halfway down the hallway when a man and a woman came out of the stairwell. I dug to a halt. Magic vibrated off them. I didn’t know if it was shielding or weapons, but I knew for certain they were Tyet. There’s a look, cold and snakelike, that a lot of them get. Like they are cold-blooded and don’t care who they kill. These two had it in spades.

They saw me about the same time I saw them. “Stay where you are,” the woman said.

Unlike Special Agent Sandra Arnow, this woman was dressed for snow. She wore tall boots over tightfitting ski pants, and a matching gray ski jacket with neon green striping. Her hair was a short cap of brown. She only stood about five foot two, but I didn’t make the mistake of thinking that made her an easy target. Her companion was about as tall as Price, but had a shaved head and shoulders that seemed to brush both walls at once. There was no way I was getting around the two of them.

That left me with staying there and waiting for them to grab me, or hauling ass back to Price. I chose Price. Hard to believe he is actually the safer choice in any version of reality.

I turned the corner to the elevators and stopped just in time to not barrel into Price. He stooped over an unconscious man, rifling his pockets. He looked up at me.

“Company,” I said and leaped for the elevator. It was still open, thanks to the fact that the door kept bouncing off the unconscious guy’s foot.

I was in before Price. He’s the size of a bull and came through the doorway just when the other two started shooting. So how the hell was I the one to get shot?

The bullet seared my left side and knocked me against the wall. Price shoved me down to the floor and the door finally closed. I’d already punched the lobby button. We lurched downward. I hoped to hell there wasn’t anybody waiting for us when we got there.

Price dropped down beside me. I was hyperventilating. My body had seized so tight that it was turning into one big cramp. I could hardly think. All I could do was feel the spreading heat of my blood as it leaked out of my skin, and pain. Whoa fuck, the pain was beyond words.

“Let me look.”

He pulled my hand from my side. Apparently I was trying to stop the bleeding. Or maybe I was hoping to stop the bullet, long after it hit me. Brains can be stupid.

Before I knew what else he was going to do, he pushed me onto my side. I squeaked and let out a cry that sounded like a raccoon caught in a trap.

“It’s through and through,” he said. “We can’t do much now. We have to get out of the building. Can you walk?”

Well, duh. It’s not like riding the elevator up and down was an option. It’s not like I wanted to get shot again.

“Help me up.” I sounded like I had a bad cold. That’s when I realized I was crying. I couldn’t stop it either, any more than I could stop bleeding.

Price put his arm around me. I grabbed his shoulder to steady myself. The bags were still looped over my arms. As the elevator reached the lobby, he maneuvered me off to the side to make me less of a target. Like that helped before. Maybe this time it would work.

I didn’t dare leave blood behind. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a blood null. Magic flooded outward in a scalding wave. Price about jumped out of his skin.

“What the hell?”

“I’m burning my blood trace. We should go. It might cook us too.” The spell might think the stuff in our bodies needed frying, too.

Another thing a lot of tracers can’t do. It’s actually a tinker trick. I didn’t like having to rely on a tinker, though, so I figured out how to do it for myself. The only problem was that it was pretty obvious when I used it, and there wasn’t much finesse to it. What blood it found, it liked to cook, whether or not a person was still using it.

Price pulled us out into the empty lobby. He dragged me toward the doors. I was already drenched with sweat and could barely catch a breath. My head was spinning and it took all my concentration to control the null. I had no idea what my feet were doing.

I vaguely noticed the doors were still closed. I guess the Tyet goons didn’t want anyone to notice they’d broken in either. If they had broken in. Maybe they had a key. Price didn’t waste time using his badge to open them up, but popped off six or eight shots. I expected a hail of glass, but the doors held, the bullet holes pocking the right one in a long oval. Price kicked out the glass and it folded down like crumpled paper. He swung me up in his arms and carried me out to the snowmobile. He knocked the helmets off and settled me on the back, then swung aboard, and we roared off. I hoped he’d managed to keep the two bags, otherwise I’d gotten shot for nothing.

I slumped against him, deactivating the null. I was pretty sure it had scabbed up the bullet’s entry and exit wounds. My clothes were stuck to my side and felt crusty. I made myself put it into my pocket.

I don’t remember a lot after that. Price took a corner sharp, and I slid off. At least the snow was deep and soft. I couldn’t even feel the cold. He said something that sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher—
mawawaw wawa mawawa
.

He put me back on snowmobile, this time in the front. I flopped forward like a rag doll. The bullet holes had cracked open, and I could feel blood seeping. The ride seemed to go on forever. It didn’t even thrill me to have Price all wrapped around me. Apparently if you get shot, you don’t care much about sex. Who knew?

At some point it turned abruptly dark and the growl of the motor died. I was vaguely aware of Price lifting me again. Pain lanced through my gut. He talked to me, I guess. It didn’t make much sense. He was probably telling me to pull up my big-girl panties. I started to giggle, only it came out like I was choking. I couldn’t pull up my big-girl panties; I was wearing Taylor’s boy shorts underwear. I know, it wasn’t funny.

We went inside a building, and Price laid me down on something soft. A couch? A bed? Where were we, anyway? He disappeared, and I sank down into gray. The next thing I knew, I heard scissors and then something tugged against my side. Fire seared my skin. I yelped and twisted away. Something heavy landed on my shoulder and pain exploded in my side. I’m pretty sure I screamed. I know I cried like a baby.

I’ve heard that when you’re in a lot of pain, after a while it just gets monotonous and it doesn’t seem that bad. Fuck that. I don’t know what Price was doing to me, but it felt like he was kneading dough—I was the dough in that metaphor. It hurt on a level I don’t even have words for. I passed out sometime in the middle of his ministrations.

When I woke up, my mouth was sticky and my teeth felt furry. My eyelids gritted like sandpaper over my eyes when I opened them. Otherwise, I didn’t move, the memory of pain holding me still.

The room was dim. Overhead was a white ceiling. Way overhead. The room must be a cavern. I took an inventory of myself. I felt . . . okay. The pain was gone. I was tired though. And really hungry. Tired won out though. I closed my eyes.

The next time I woke up, I was both starving and I had to pee. Bad. Well, nothing to do about that but find a bathroom. And then a kitchen. Hopefully stocked better than mine, which had some ramen noodles, peanut butter, microwave popcorn, and some frozen dinners.

I pushed myself up. I was sitting in the middle of a king-sized bed, wearing a tee shirt and pair of sweats, neither of which were mine. Also, I was not wearing them when I was shot. This I was certain of. As I started to scoot to the edge of the bed, I realized I was also not wearing underwear. This gave me pause. A girl doesn’t just lose her underwear. Someone had taken it and the rest of my clothes as well. Presumably that was Price.

I didn’t look at my bullet hole. Holes, since it went in and out. I wasn’t ready for that. Dizziness swept over me as I stood. I grabbed hold of the tall post at the foot of the bed and hung on for dear life. Didn’t work. My legs sagged, and I slid down to the floor. The good news was that across the room was an open door. I could see a sink inside. Where there was a sink must also be a toilet. All I had to do was get there.

Since walking seemed out of the question, and since I didn’t want to pee on the floor, I eased onto my hands and knees. I had got about halfway across when Price swooped in out of nowhere.

“What the hell are you doing on the floor?”

He sounded furious. What would his reaction have been if I’d pissed all over the rug? It was a nice one. I imagine I would have ruined it.

Before I could answer, he lifted me to my feet, holding me against him when I instantly started to melt back down to the carpet. Man, he was hot. Or I was really, really cold.

“You are hot.”

“Thanks for noticing,” he said.

I blushed. That came out well. True, but still embarrassing.

“Why were you on the floor?”

“I wanted to go to the bathroom.”

“You didn’t want to walk?”

“I did, but my legs had other ideas. It seemed safer to crawl.”

“Very logical.”

“Thank you. I still have to go.”

He grinned. Shit, he was pretty. I sighed.

“What’s wrong? Do you hurt?” He frowned and his hair fell across his eyes.

So, so pretty.

“I’m hungry, too.” For him. I managed not to say it.

“Good. Food will help you recover.”

“Recover?” I repeated stupidly as he helped me to the bathroom.

“You were shot. Don’t you remember?” He sounded worried.

“Of course I do. They hit my side, not my brain.”

That brought out the smile again. “That’s my Riley,” he murmured. “Feisty.”

His
Riley?

I didn’t have a chance to ask, because we were in the bathroom beside the toilet.

“Do you need help?”

“I don’t think so,” I said, even though I probably did.

“I’ll be right outside the door.”

Yay. Because him listening to me pee is guaranteed to stop me up like a cork. “I’ll be fine.”

He just gave me a long look and stepped out, pulling the door closed behind him.

I pulled the tie on the sweats loose with one hand, holding onto the towel rack with the other. The pants fell around my ankles. I sat down with a sigh of relief. It was about that time that I noticed that my thighs were smeared with dried blood. Clearly someone—Price no doubt—had done his best to clean me up, but hadn’t been able to get all of it. My stomach lurched, and bile burned my tongue.

It’s not that I am afraid of blood, or even that I freak out at the sight of it in general. But this was mine, and it came out of a bullet hole. Two bullet holes. An innie and an outie. That makes a big difference in the way I look at it.

I bent down and tried to breathe. My side hitched and felt tight, but otherwise there was only an ache. I straightened and finished my business, suddenly needing to see what had happened to me. I didn’t bother pulling up the sweats. I left them in a puddle in front of the toilet. A full-length mirror hung on the back of the door. I stared at myself for a long moment.

My skin is usually pale with freckles. I’m a ginger, after all. But at this moment, I was pasty white. My eyes were bruised looking and my lips had no color at all, like I’d been sucked dry by a vampire. My left thigh had smears of blood on it, and of course, I wasn’t wearing underwear.

Biting my lips, I pulled up my—Price’s—shirt. It was your basic black V-neck, with a pocket on the left breast.

The bullet had gone through my left side below my ribs and above my hip. Apparently it hadn’t hit my kidney or liver or spleen. Not that I had a clue where they were except inside my stomach. Where it had gone in was puckered red. I touched my fingertip to it. It was slightly numb. No pain, but an ache inside, like freezer burn. I twisted, but couldn’t see the exit hole. Instead I traced it with my fingers. It was bigger, somehow, like the bullet had grown inside me.

“Are you okay in there?” Price asked just outside.

I started. “Where are my clothes?”

“I cut your shirt off. Your pants and underwear are in the dryer.”

“I want to shower.” Suddenly I really, really wanted it, like dying of thirst want.

“Are you sure you’re strong enough?” he asked doubtfully.

“Most definitely. Do you have a razor?”

The knob of the door twisted, and before I could protest, he came in. Luckily his shirt covered my rug, as it were, which he’d already seen more than once. Why I should possibly be embarrassed to let him see it again, I don’t know, but there you are.

He stopped just inside and looked me over. His expression was brooding. Impatient even. Look, it’s not like I planned to get shot, right? Sorry I’m taking so long, but I am not of fan of wearing my own blood.