“Say no more.” With a screech of tires, the Oldsmobile Starfire shoots out of the alley, and I lurch back in my seat.
Once we’re on the highway, I relax enough to worry about the logistics. I tap Ethan on the shoulder. “You wouldn’t happen to have your passport on you, would you?”
“Not on me,” he says, swerving in his seat to face me. “It’s in my hotel room. I brought it with me just in case you were overseas.”
“Your hotel room?” I squeeze the back of my neck. “A golem might be waiting for us there.”
Blue should be somewhere between Las Vegas and Monterey if he’s a capable undead assassin. But Daeseong’s been dead for over a hundred years; his magic might be so rusty that he made an incompetent golem who’s decided to wait for Ethan to return to his hotel room, with me in tow.
“A golem?” Ford chuckled. “You gave your bad guys nicknames?”
“Sure.” I keep my resting bitch face firmly in place. “You know me. I’m all about fun and games.”
“Yeah, right.” Ford laughs harder. “But you do have a morbid sense of humor, sunshine.”
“Call mesunshineone more time, and see how morbid my sense of humor gets.” I meet his eyes in the rearview mirror.
The man with the tree-trunk arms chokes on his laugh. “Sorry, Sunny.”
“Whatever.” I feel a smidgen bad for snapping at him when he’s sticking his neck out for us. “Let’s go a few more miles before we turn back.”
“Making sure we have no tails?” Ford asks.
I want to snicker because I, in fact, have nine tails. But my amusement is frayed around the edges, so I get a grip. “Yeah. No need to make it easy for the bad guys to track us.”
Ethan turns in his seat again. “Why do I need my passport?”
I flick a glance at the back of Ford’s head and meet Ethan’s eyes. “I’ll tell you later.”
Ford exits the freeway, takes a few surface streets, then gets back on in the opposite direction. “Where are you staying, Ethan?”
“The Venetian.”
“The Venetian?” I snort at the mention of the fancy Venice-themed hotel and casino. Its ceilings are painted to look like the clear blue sky, with tufts of white cloud above a miniature Grand Canalinsidethe hotel. “Did you ride the gondola while you were there? Wait, wait. Did a gondolier in a tight white T-shirt and red neckerchief serenade you?”
Ethan doesn’t bother turning around to flip me off. “I called in a favor. A friend of mine gets complimentary rooms. Something to do with his job.”
“Afriend,” I say extra earnestly. “Gotcha.”
The moment of normalcy passes too quickly, and I feel the weight of fear and grief settle down on me again. I haven’t forgotten that the blue assassin might be waiting in Ethan’s hotel room. That he might be the one who killed Ben. I blot out the memory of my friend’s smiling face and infectious laugh and focus on the bloodlust roiling inside me. I feel reckless with fury, but it’s better than drowning in sorrow.
Ford takes the initiative to use the most roundabout route to get to the Venetian and pulls into the parking structure. I crack my neck and reach for the sword in my backpack. I almost wish the golem will be there.
“You stay,” I tell Ethan as soon as Ford shifts the car into park. “I’ll go.”
Ethan glares at me. “Like hell I’ll stay.”
“Be reasonable.” I try to remain calm. I really do. “It’ll be safer this way.”
“Safer forwhom?” He somehow enunciates through tightly clenched teeth. “What happened to sticking together?”
“Do we have to be literallystucktogether? All the time? Maybe we should go potty together too.” My calm shatters, and I snarl. “Give me a fucking break.”
“What’s your room number?” Ford asks so matter-of-factly that Ethan answers without pause. “And where is your passport?”
“In the safe,” Ethan says with the beginnings of a frown.
Ford types something into his cell phone. “What’s the combination?”
