The world went full color. I caught a shimmer on the bridge—Gwen, dropping the veil—and then the spell collapsed with a ripple that looked like heat rising off tarmac. Every face on the dock turned, all at once, toward Harper and her family.
The first shot came from PINK on the railing, a suppressed .308 that left no muzzle flash but a hot metal streak through theair. The round caught the edge of a trash can, ricocheted, and thudded into the stones an inch from Harper’s foot. The second shot went for the real target: Gwen, perched behind a street vendor’s umbrella, the bullet ripping through her shoulder in a spray of arterial red.
The glamour died completely. Every person within a hundred yards could see what had been hidden: me, crouched and bristling with hardware; Wrecker, already moving with murder in his eyes; Harper, vulnerable as hell with her hands empty and her heart in the open.
Civilians scattered in all directions. Paint-splattered easels clattered down. The street filled with screams and shouts in French, artists abandoning their gear as they ran for cover. Some tried to drag their canvases; others just ducked behind the nearest bench.
“Go!” I roared into the comm, already leaping from my chair and sprinting towards Harper.
Harper ran to Gwen, and Nanette tried to shield Brie who had jumped up and tried to run to a man in the distance. Luc, no doubt. Another suppressed shot pinged off the iron post inches from my ear. Wrecker vaulted a parked Citroën, closed the distance in five strides, and bowled over VEST with the force of a freight train, both men hitting the pavement in a tangle of fists and teeth.
On the bridge, PINK had reloaded and dropped into a crouch, lining up another shot. I skidded across the stone and tackled Harper and her sister, rolling them out of the line of fire just as a third round snapped the air where Harper’s head had been.
Gwen staggered into the open, blood pouring down her arm, her face twisted in pain. She raised her good hand and shouted some kind of spell, but the words fizzled into nothing, her spellbroken by the shock. I saw her knees buckle and watched her crumple, white hair soaked with red.
Harper clawed for Brie, desperate to keep hold, but the girl was screaming, fighting her off with surprising strength. “Let go!” she shrieked. “You’re ruining everything!”
“Brie, please,” Harper begged, but Brie’s nails raked Harper’s cheek, leaving twin red gashes.
I grabbed Harper’s shoulder. “We have to move. Now.”
And then I felt it—a hot, stabbing pain in my own neck, a tranquilizer dart glancing off the collar and nicking my neck. For a moment, my limbs went to rubber, world spinning. The next shot was for Harper, the dart thunking into the muscle of her shoulder. She gasped, tried to rise, and collapsed against me, her face twisting with confusion.
I saw the wolves coming before I heard them—two men in dark jackets, their eyes rimmed in gold, breath misting in the cold air. They moved with the lazy confidence of men who’d done this a thousand times.
Wrecker had finished with VEST, leaving him a crumpled heap, but was still thirty yards away, tangled with a second hostile who had come out of nowhere. Parker was gone from her window, probably circling for a shot, but the angle was bad and the crowd too thick.
The wolves descended. One seized Harper under the arms, yanking her upright; the other did the same to Brie. Both girls thrashed weakly, but the drugs were already kicking in. Harper’s eyelids fluttered, and I saw the terror in her face as she realized she couldn’t fight.
“Let go of her!” I shouted, trying to rise, but my legs were weakened by the small amount of drugs that had crept into my blood. I crawled, hands scraping the stone, every muscle in my body refusing orders.
The wolf holding Harper grinned, like he’d just won the first-place prize. “Stay down, cowboy,” he said, voice flat and American. “Not your show anymore.”
He slammed a fist into my face for good measure. I tasted blood, saw stars, and hit the ground hard.
They dragged Harper and Brie to the waiting car—a black Peugeot with the plates ripped off and the windows covered in cheap tint. The door slammed, the engine screamed, and the car fishtailed up the dock, scattering fleeing artists as it went.
I tried to rise. My head swam, vision doubling, but I got to one knee, then the other. I stumbled toward the curb, just in time to see the Peugeot take the first turn, Harper’s face a pale smear in the back window.
Wrecker reached me, panting, his face split and swelling. “Get up,” he snapped, dragging me to my feet. “They have her.”
I tasted the words, wanted to spit them out, but I knew he was right.
“We’re not done,” I said, my voice a slur. “We’re not done.”
He gripped my collar, shaking me until my eyes focused. “We never are,” he said.
We staggered for the van, sirens rising in the distance, the air stinking of smoke and fear. As I collapsed into the seat, I felt my phone buzz—Parker, on the line, her voice tinny and wild: “They’re heading south. Fast. I’ll track them as long as I can.”
Papa put the van in gear and yelled for us to hang on as he took off. I became more alert my the minute since the tranq had barely grazed me. But all I could see was Harper’s face, floating in my mind, and all I could taste was the blood in my mouth.
This wasn’t the end. Not even close.
But I’d just watched the only person I ever loved get ripped from my arms, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do but hunt them down and start again.
I watched the Peugeot bounce through the street market, dodging a delivery truck and narrowly missing a bakery cart, all with Harper and Brie crammed in the back seat like cargo. My chest twisted in on itself—I could almost taste her fear, sharp and metallic through the frayed cord of our bond. I was already calculating the intercept, every muscle straining for the signal to move.
That’s when Wrecker made a great shot out the passenger window. A suppressed single, perfect shot. The rear tire of the Peugeot exploded with a yowl of shredded rubber, sending the car into a wild swerve. For a split second, I saw hope: the rear fender clipped a bollard, the door popped, and Brie’s face appeared in the shattered window, mouth open in a silent scream.
