Yeah.
Canyon pulled out his binoculars and looked closer. They both had black silhouette tattoos in the same spot behind their left ear. Six had a mouse and another animal—a mink or a badger, while Thirteen had just a mouse.
Weird shit, Canyon said.
He eyeballed the workstation and the computer on top of it and all the tools he saw around the area. He pulled his phone from a cargo pocket and called Predator to him, then hunkered down again, listening.
Thirteen took some swigs from his bottle. “Why’re they here?”
“Missus might have some business them boys’re interested in. Our job’s to keep ‘em away from the Inn.”
“I’d throw ‘em off the fucking mountain…. but I fucking hate jail, too.”
Six took a hit from his cigarette, making Canyon realize it was actually a joint. The smoke that rose from it shimmered red.
“No worries, cubbie, I’ll pay your bail.”
“It’ll be half a mil.”
“I’m loaded. You’ll be too if you mind your biz. The missus can break you out of anywhere—” He looked pointedly at the other male. “—when you learn to behave.”
“Shit, I ain’t much for behavin’.”
Six handed over the joint. “That’s why the missus likes you. An’ she always ‘as room for an explosives guy.”
Thirteen hit the joint, then said, “Am I really married to her?”
Six was back at his computer. He produced another joint and lit it up. “She got your name, ain’t she?” he cackled through the smoke.
Canyon had heard enough. He dropped his rucksack to the ground, growled and stepped out of his hiding place. Timber stayed hidden. Canyon expected the males to attack him. He expected Six to pull a handgun out of somewhere and start shooting. He expected anything other than what happened.
Six met his eyes, then disappeared—just gone—except for his coveralls and boots, which dropped to a heap on the ground where he’d stood. The other male panicked. He ran for the brick shed. Timber burst from a bush on the far side of the circle and sprinted after him.
Canyon ran for him, too, but the guy was going to reach the shed before Canyon reached him. Canyon went all out, turning on all his speed, planning a flying tackle—
49—Enraged
“Rhen help me,” Sage whispered.
She closed her eyes tight, remembering what the magic looked like, imagining how she’d first seen it, then popped her eyes open. There it was! White smoke-slime stuff occasionally tinged with muddy red slid through the rooms and collected in the corners.
“Yesssss,” Sage breathed, savage excitement flowing through her.
She rushed to the exit door and examined the magic. It was three inches thick, built up in spongy layers, covering the entire door in a sheet. Sage tried to gather some. It resisted her. She ran her hands up and down the length of the door looking for a way in, paying the most attention to the hinges and the lock areas. Here, the layers were thicker, convoluted and smooth.
Frustrated, Sage backed away and tried to think what to do. She scooted in again and placed her hands flat over the area of the lock.
“Please open up,” she said with a quiet desperation.
Nothing happened.
“Open sesame.”
Nothing.
Sage backed up again and stared at the sheet of door-sized magic, her mind working over the problem. When no ideas came to her, she turned around, still thinking. Down the hallway she went, examining walls, floor, ceiling, and everything in the room, determined to figure something out.
There was little magic in the kitchen, and almost none in the open living area, but near the back of the suite, there wasanother layer of magic covering the door to the bedroom closest to her. This layer was thinner than what was at the exit door. Maybe she had a chance here, and maybe there was something in the room that would help her get out.
