And oh, wasn’t that a fear? That Lu wouldn’t even earn a clean death, but that she would be caught, maybe in a coma, or some other vegetative state, for eternity.
My stomach rolled and soured as that old fear hit me and hit me hard. I opened my mouth to get enough breath into my lungs, so I wouldn’t throw up right there.
There really were things worse than death. We’d both seen them.
“It’s just a journal, Lu,” I said, turning away from the psycho so I could see her hear me. So I could see her understand me. “We’ll find something else for Headwaters. Let him have it. We can take care of him later.”
Lu had that stubborn look to her. Like she was going to do the dangerous thing, the savage thing. She wasn’t a woman who stood idly by as people told her what to do. She’d lived a very long life cutting her own path through the wild.
“Baby, you need to listen to me,” I pleaded. “You really need to listen to me. Let him have the damn journal. We’ll find something better. We’ll make it square with Headwaters.”
I thought she was going to argue with me. Thought that bullheaded side of her was about to get her shot, was about to get Lorde shot too.
If that happened, I was pretty sure Hatcher would just let the house go up in smoke out of spite. I wasn’t sure why he needed Lu to give him the journal. He could just tell her to step away from the junk pile and reach in there himself, but he hadn’t yet.
He was cautious. Waiting to see what touching that book of strange magic would do to someone like Lu. Which meant he knew something about the book and what powers it held inside.
Dangerous magics.
Hatcher rubbed his thumb along the grip of the gun, bringing Lu’s attention back to it. Back to how he had it pointed at Lorde.
Lorde growled, low and menacing. She wanted to attack. She wanted to protect.
Hatcher started counting. “Five…four…”
“This is not going to end well for you,” Lu said like she was judging a poorly designed parachute he was about to jump off a cliff with.
“…three…”
Lu rocked forward, her hand and arm pushing into the pile of junk, through the magic that radiated from the journal, her shoulder sliding between a couple crumbling bricks, then a little farther, until her cheek almost grazed the stone. She wasn’t looking downward, couldn’t really at this angle.
She was looking at Hatcher.
He had stopped counting, but I knew time was running out. If he really meant to blow up Dot’s house, what would keep him from doing it after he got what he wanted? Why wouldn’t he take the book, shoot our dog, blow up the house, and try to kill Lu?
“Who are you working for, you piece of shit?” Anger pounded behind my bones like a fist trying to punch its way out of my chest.
Stella flickered at my left. “She’s not inside. Not that I can see. I think he kidnapped her. I think he kidnapped her and stole her car to leave it here and make us think she was in there, in the house. She might be dead. Brogan! What if she followed the light? I can’t find her, Brogan. I can’t find her, can’t find her!”
If the hunter heard her, he did not show it. His gaze was steady on Lu, his gun unwavering on Lorde.
I was not physical, not any more. Not in the way that the world defines it. But if I were angry enough—and right now I was burning, an inferno, rage and rage andrage—I could tear the world apart.
It would cost me, cost me for days and weeks. Could do permanent damage. That was a price I didn’t mind paying.
Stella was screaming and screaming, not words, just pain and loss and madness. She was so loud, I almost didn’t hear Lu speak.
“I’m going to enjoy this.” Lu quickly—almost too fast for eyes to follow—stood.
And wasn’t she a sight? A warrior from myth, her hair catching in the little breath of wind, her eyes so amber they were almost yellow, shining. Shining brighter than any magic, brighter than the sun.
She was fire and fury. Facing down a man who didn’t know how little of his life he had left.
I couldn’t love her more.
The book in her hand burned with magic that snapped and arced like ghostly serpents made of fire, electricity and sound: a deep, humming thrum. A maelstrom of magic surrounded the book, a collision of light, darkness, and smells: cinnamon, hot metal, snow scraped across an ancient land.
It was powerful. It might even be deadly, all on its own.
