“Harzl? Should I go for help?” the train called into his head.
Alex screamed and cried.
“Stand by, Chicago Line!” Harzl roared his frustration and willed himself forward. He nearly tripped over the girl in the purple coat as she flew backward, out of the bathroom, as though she had been thrown.
The mist swirled around her on the ground; she was bleeding from the nose, but was alive.
“Snori!” Harzl called out.
The barghest responded with a mighty “Aroooo ro ro ro!” that shook the walls. The mist retreated, and Harzl advanced toward the bathroom.
The stupid wizard came out, wand drawn, the boy struggling as Spencer held him by the neck. Growling rose up from deeper within, Jana, and was met by Snori’s deep warning. The shifter didn’t know what she was getting into.
“Let us leave!” Spencer demanded.
“Let them go, and get on the train,” Harzl responded, knowing the train would lock them inside.
Spencer aimed his wand at the boy’s head. Harzl took two steps forward, pulled his arm back, and punched the wizard inthe collarbone. The wizard screamed as he fell to the ground, releasing the boy and dropping his wand.
The wolfen charged out and leaped onto Harzl, knocking him backward, showing teeth and desperation. She launched off him and ran off.
Snori gave chase, nearly knocking Harzl the rest of the way to the ground. “Snori, stop!” he called out as the barghest chased the shifter into the tunnel that led north to Green Bay.
Snori didn’t stop.
“Snori, come back!” he called out.
Alex was pulling at the girl in the purple coat on the ground. “Get up, Cortney, we have to go!”
The girl steadied herself and made eye contact with Spencer. They both scrambled to get the wizard’s wand. She got it first and pointed it at the man. “You killed my sister, Spencer Beaumont.”
“She committed suicide when she became a bloodbag,” Spencer snapped back as he winced through the pain of his shattered collarbone.
Bloodbagwas the derogatory word for anyone who allowed vampires to feed from them in exchange for money, protection, and prestige, or what the newer generation called the blood life.
Cortney aimed the wand at Spencer.
“Cortney, you know what will happen if you kill me. They’ll hunt you down.”
“What about Nancy? What justice does she get? Or do her precious vampires only care about what they want?”
Harzl didn’t want to listen to this drama, and he didn’t care why the wizards were working with vampires. He just wanted to fetch Snori before the barghest got hurt.
The mist re-formed and swirled around the three in front of him. “Calm yourselves,” said a melodic female voice.
The wizards stopped what they were doing in shock. The mist flowed into the bathroom and Harzl followed. He cursed himself for not realizing that this was the inspector—and she was a banshee.
The banshee pulled together into its floating female form and reached down to Nancy. “She is alive, but fading; we need to get her to help, we cannot wait for it to arrive,” she said in a lovely, haunting voice.
“I can get her on the train,” Harzl said.
The banshee floated away from Nancy as Harzl bent down to scoop her up. She was as light as a wee child but did not smell of death yet, just vampires, blood, subway, and magick.
Cortney followed as Harzl placed her carefully on the longest seat in the back of the train. The banshee was now a fully formed being and sat beside Nancy. She was a mature, wispy woman with long white hair, very pale skin, and gray eyes. She wore a long dress of light gray under a matching uniform coat with an inspector patch and a name tag:Gwyn Ivershae.
“I am pleased to meet you, Madam Ivershae.” Harzl greeted her in the manner of his clan, with a slight bow and his eyes on her eyes.
She returned the greeting. “I am pleased to meet you, Harzl Hellirverja.”
