“We need to get the hell out of here before we get arrested, or witches pop up to take us back.” Ellie pulled over and got out of the car.
Maggie got out and ran to the driver’s door.
When she reached Maggie’s still-open door, Ellie slid into the car. She glanced at Maggie, now in the driver’s seat. “And I need to rest and recharge.”
Within moments, Ellie was sound asleep, and Maggie was left withher thoughts—and avoiding the sirens that were zipping through the streets.
Passports and ID.
Get to Ellie’s aunt.
Maggie twisted her way through side roads until she came to her cousin’s shop. Hector wasn’t a bad guy, not really. He was a good guy in his way—family first, money second, law somewhere down the line. When Leon took him on as a client in exchange for staying away from Maggie and Craig, she should’ve stepped in and said no. A lot of things Leon wanted were things she ought to have refused.
She rolled up to the garage. One man with a barely concealed gun gave her a look, and she spotted three others at various places. The first was tucked between two towering stacks of tires that had to have come from rigs or construction machines. Another was sitting in the doorless frame on the second floor, kicking his feet into the open air and smoking a cigar that was likely as illegal as whatever else Hector had here.
Leaving the door partly ajar so as not to startle Ellie, Maggie stepped out and waved at each of Hector’s guards.
Then—hands held palms out and raised—she strolled toward the open garage bay as if she had all the time in the world. Once, his guards would’ve all known her, but she was a long way from that life.
“Hey, cuz!” she called out. “Charlie?”
“Charlie, my ass,” Hector muttered as he swooped her up into his arms. He twirled her around in half circle before letting her feet touch the ground. The result was that his back was to the door, and his lackeys had seen his exuberant greeting.
“Hector.” Maggie stared at her cousin. It hit her then, just as at the gas station, Hector knew her. Carefully, she asked, “You recognize me?”
“Hell, girl, it ain’t been that long.” He scowled. “You’re a little skinnier, and a lot less dead than I expected. I read how you died. Drinking, they said. As if.”
Maggie couldn’t understand why he recognized her, but Craig didn’t. His words made it click though. He wasn’t in her life in a way that anyoneknew, and likely, a witch wouldn’t seek out every person—just the closest ones.
Magic took energy.
Prospero—because it had to be her since she was the only mental magic witch—couldn’t alter all people’s memories, just those closest to the vanished person. Maybe Leon really did believe Maggie was a drinker! Craig obviously now thought she’d died. Had that changed when the Congress of Magic decided Maggie couldn’t leave? The article was proof that, at first, the common belief was that she was missing. Craig, however, had said she died.
Who knew what lies Prospero had woven into their minds? Or when? Maggie wanted to know, but right now, her pressing concern was escape.
“Did he hit you or something?” Hector asked. “This is some abused wife shit you’re doing. Vanishing like you did and then showing up asking for new identities for you and the kid, and these other two…”
Maggie started crying again and found herself in her cousin’s embrace.
Hector’s hand patted her awkwardly. He might be adept at fake identification, but he was lousy at crying women. “There, there,” he muttered over and over, patting her back like it was a drum.
It was awkward enough to make her smile.
“Whatever you hear about me, it’s Leon’s bullshit. I need to get Craig away from him, to somewhere safe. And if anyone shows up here asking about me, just think about taxes or gadgets or something real hard, okay?”
Hector gave her an odd look.
“They can get info out of most people, so do your best, but if they do get you to talk, I forgive you.” Maggie pulled back and caught his eye. “Try, though, okay?”
“What kind of shit are you into? Spies? Treason? Talk to me, Maggie girl!”
She shook her head. “Just get me the papers. I need to get out of Carolina. Fast.”
Hector stared at her. “You call if you need anything at all, you hear me?” He led her to his workshop. Behind the predictable auto mechanic’s garage was a locked room, and inside it was a gleaming sea of technology. Printers and scanners, whirring computers, and humming monitors. It was a geek’s dream.
And it was where Hector did his real work, the stuff that paid for his assorted children’s private school tuition and his indulgent gifts to at least three on-and-off-again exes. He was devoted to family, and that included the women he never quite married but continued to impregnate. Not a one of his girlfriends needed a job. Not a single kid they claimed was his wanted for anything. “Good guy” wasn’t as easy to define with men like Hector. But good to his family? Every single time.
He handed her a fat envelope. “I took the liberty of adding a credit card for each of you.”
