Roxy slumped against the rough bark at her back, infinitely grateful that the fire genie hadn’t scented her
energy signature. For a slow count of twenty she held her
place, then she pulled her cell out of her pocket and
dialed.
“I have a situation,” she said when Calliope answered. “I need you to move the girl again. Different
city. Better yet, a different state. It’s best if as few people as possible know about it. I’ll explain when I can.”
Ending the call, she stared hard at the shadows,
looking for even the slightest hint of movement or
light.
Then she dropped to the ground and spun, ready to
move.
She didn’t even have a chance to breathe before
something fast and lethal got her from behind.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The slaughterhouse of the god is what I abhor
And my heart shall not be taken from me
—Egyptian Book of the Dead, Chapter 28
DAGAN HAULED ROXY AGAINST HIM, his front to her back,
his hand tight against her mouth, his maimed forearm
pressed to her belly. Barbed shards of agony pierced
him, running up his arm like an electric charge. A new
limb bud had already started to form where his hand had
been, and the process was promising to be less than
pleasant.
For about a millisecond Roxy stayed still, stayed
quiet. Then she elbowed him in the ribs, brought her
heel down on his instep and smashed the back of her
head against his cheek. She missed his nose only because he read her intent and shifted just in time.
“It’s me,” Dagan rasped against her ear, his arm
tightening around her abdomen till he figured he’d
