Alejandro shifts gears. Takes it slow. He knows better than to blast into a Guild master’s land at full speed unless he wants a hidden arrow through his throat.
“Pull off here,” I add. “Kill the lights. Engine too. We walk from here.”
He turns both off without arguing.
I open the door, slipping into my leather jacket and breathing in the cold mountain air. The moon paints the path in silver.
“Grab Skippy,” I tell him.
He stares at me. “Who?”
I jerk my chin toward the corpse slumped in the backseat. “Your new best friend.”
“Por el amor de Dios…?*” he mutters, rubbing a hand down his face. “We arenot dragging a dead man through a forest.”
“We are,” I say, already stepping away from the car. “I’m not leaving him. Not until I know who he is.”
“That is a terrible plan,” he grumbles. “A ridiculous, impossible, stupid?—”
I glance back at him, deadpan.
“Is it because you’ve lost so much muscle mass?”
He looks down at himself so fast I nearly laugh. Hands patting his arms, chest, like he’s checking for missing parts.
“Lost—? I have not lost muscle.” He flexes his arm as if the mountain fog needs convincing. “I’ve actually put on muscle.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” I say, dripping sarcasm. “If you can’t lift him, just say?—”
He grabs the corpse by the collar so violently the body jerks upright like a marionette.
“I can lift him,” Alejandro snaps. “Por supuesto que puedo. ?*Watch.”
He hauls Skippy out of the car, muttering Spanish curses under his breath the entire time—something about saints, demons, and poor life choices—while dragging the dead weight through the gravel.
“See?” he grumbles. “Perfectly capable.”
“Congratulations,” I say. “Your ego lives to fight another day.”
“Barely,” he mutters, adjusting his grip as the corpse’s arm flops across his knee. “This is still ridiculous.”
“And yet,” I call over my shoulder as I head toward the path into Kenji’s land, “you’re doing it.”
His answering sigh is loud, dramatic, and deeply offended.
“Fantástico,” he says dryly. “I always dreamed of being promoted to pack mule.”
“You know, have big dreams,” I say, already heading up the faint dirt path toward the dark outline of Kenji’s compound.
Alejandro grunts behind me as Skippy’s body thumps over another root.
We make it down the ridge, to the point where the trees thin enough that Kenji’s territory begins. I kneel, raising a hand.
“Stay here,” I whisper. “I’ll only be a moment.”
Alejandro shifts Skippy to one arm. “And if he kills you?”
“Then I’ll be longer than a moment.”
