Nine by Night: A Multi-Author Urban Fantasy Bundle of Kickass Heroines, Adventure, & Magic

by SM Reine

  Once more, his eyes phased, but it was gone as soon as I saw it, leaving only a tension around his eyes, a quick glance at me. The GTX leapt forward, throwing me into the edge of the seat. I heard more shots and peered back between the seats.

  I saw the cop in the road, firing steadily at us.

  “Get your head down!” Before I could react, Revik caught hold of the chains between the handcuffs, yanking me down forcibly.

  “Was that Terian?” I said. “The guy from the park?”

  Revik gave me the barest glance. “Yes,” he said.

  “I thought you killed him!”

  Revik jerked the wheel sideways. The tires thumped up over a curb, bounding me high enough to pass the headrest.

  “Put on your fucking seat belt!”

  “I can either stay down, or wear a seat belt...pick one!”

  He didn’t answer.

  I slid carefully back up the seat, peering out over the dashboard past the plastic statue of the saint.

  Still holding the gun, Revik gripped the steering wheel with his other hand, edging it hard and soft as he maneuvered us across a pit of gravel towards a field that stood between us and the main freeway. I looked back at the onramp, realized he’d bumped the curb to avoid the line of police cars heading for us on the frontage road beside the freeway entrance.

  Slamming his foot on the gas once he cleared the gravel, he bounced us across a weed-choked stretch of grass dotted with broken bottles, plastic bags and scrub brush. I glanced at the speedometer, saw it edging towards 60 mph, then glimpsed a large rock and cried out, but Revik had already jerked the wheel to clear it, jumping us into oncoming traffic.

  “Jesus! Revik—”

  “There are things I haven’t told you,” he said, over the screech of tires as he straightened the car out from a skid. For the barest instant, his eyes glinted silver. “...About Terian.”

  I swallowed as his eyes faded back to clear.

  “Is he here?” I said. “In the physical?”

  Revik barely looked at me. “No.”

  I glanced over as he wiped his nose. I didn’t notice the blood until his fingers came away covered in it.

  “What happened?” I said. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing. I’m losing light.” Reaching into his pocket, he dug something out and tossed it at me. Small and bright, it landed on my lap. It was a key.

  “I'm not chasing you anymore,” he said.

  I snatched the key off my leg just before he swerved again. Revik rammed the GTX over the path of an eighteen wheeler, sliding past as the man honked. Still watching the road, I unlocked the cuffs from around my wrists, dropping them to the floor.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  He nodded curtly, not looking over.

  Earl Redding knew a sicko when he saw one.

  He’d been running long-hauls across the whole of this country for 27 years, including all over California, and that mecca of perverts and terrorists, San Francisco. This dark-haired fellow, who obviously had some Oriental in him, had the audacity to impersonate a cop. Luckily, Earl saw through it. And a good thing, too...not five minutes later the Chink fuck went on to shoot three of Washington’s finest dead on the highway onramp like some kind of cop serial killer.

  That poor white girl was clearly one of his victims. Whatever his intentions, whether he wanted to sell her, rape her some more, or kill her, Earl couldn’t let it stand.

  He’d watched the whole thing, calling in details on his radio, then, when he saw the shooting and the green muscle car heading for the freeway proper, he’d turned the wheel, making the beginnings of the arc needed to clear the island around the onramp. Once he’d straightened out the length of his rig, he downshifted and jammed his foot on the gas, driving up the shoulder past the line of cars.

  Up ahead, a couple of highway workers stood beside the remaining cop car parked up on the shoulder. They were in the process of covering one of the cop’s bodies with some kind of tarp. A line of cars stood in the left lane, waiting for the space to clear. Horns honked, a few drivers cheered the highway workers as they huffed the second cop car up the steep incline and back towards the road, some even helping, wearing civvies as they pushed along with the orange jumpsuits.

  Earl pulled further up into the shoulder, glancing to his side to make sure he wouldn’t tip the rig. He started yanking on his horn. When the highway workers didn’t look back, Earl pulled harder, more urgently, finally just holding it down for a long, continuous bellow.

  First one worker looked up, then another.

  Earl saw the second react, eyes widening to white-rimmed dots in a cartoon-like face. Earl waved his hand out the window, telling them to get out of the way. One shouted to the others. Another tried to wave Earl off, but Earl only hit the horn harder. All five of them finally scattered, three in the right direction, two in the wrong one.

  The front grill of Earl’s truck slammed the back end of the cop car.

  The car leapt forward on the hill then abruptly off to the right and into the main onramp, rolling straight for the gravel bank at a quickly accelerating rate. It knocked over one of the highway workers, hitting another a glancing blow that threw him 10 feet where he promptly began to skid down the sharp gravel of the hill. The car shortly followed him.

  Earl only saw part of this. Glancing once in his rearview mirror, he patted the 12-gauge wedged between the cushion of his seat and the plastic storage containers that held his music collection and audio books for driving. Muttering, he aimed for the freeway down the sloping frontage road.

  Seeing the green GTX on the weed-choked field between the town and highway, Earl hit the gas, and the giant engine thrummed louder.

  “You’re going to put that girl down, boy,” he muttered, wiping a hank of greasy hair out of his forehead. “Then you and I are are going to have a talk...yessir.”

  He propped the gun against his knee, dislodging a photograph that had been wedged in the ashtray since he’d quit four years earlier. On it, a little boy and girl smiled, encircled by the arms of a woman with long, streaked-blond hair.

  Earl didn’t notice.

  9

  MORTAL PERIL

  My eyelids drooped.

  I jerked up my head, then shook it violently, overwhelmed by my own exhaustion, irritated by its suddenness...but more than anything, scared by it. The intensity of my sudden desire to sleep struck me as more than a little strange. It was weird enough, in fact, that it made me wonder if I’d been drugged. I couldn’t imagine when, or how, so my mind drifted to shock, to wondering if I was having some kind of psychological reaction.

  Was this how people went into shock?

  But I wasn’t really that kind of person, either.

  Generally, when the shit hit the fan, I got more alert, not less. I’d never been one of those people to fall apart in a crisis, to go catatonic or start flipping out. Never.

  And yeah, okay, granted this might be more of a crisis than I’d ever dealt with before, but I’d been in life or death situations before today, sure. Hell, I’d been in life or death situations a few times in that prison cell, only a few months before.

  I didn’t go into shock. I didn’t panic. Not like that, anyway.

  My mind usually got really damned clear in those situations, in fact.

  Usually, I was the one to keep my head straight when stuff got rough, like when Cass had that asthma attack at the bar in college and nearly died, and when my friend, Frankie, got stabbed by that crazy biker chick outside the No One Club.

  I hadn’t freaked out. I was scared, sure...but I dealt with it.

  The GTX had been weaving up the road, avoiding cars, for what felt like hours now, although I knew realistically it couldn’t be more than twenty or so minutes. I still crouched low on the passenger seat, watching Revik’s eyes dart between side and rearview mirrors as he wove from lane to lane, evading our pursuers. Crouching there, I struggled to stay awake, watching trees and land flash by thro
ugh the windshield and side window, even pinching my arms to keep my eyes open. Most cars on the road, seeing the black and whites, just got out of the way.

  I nodded off, thinking about this...

  There was a crash, metal grating on metal.

  I jerked in my seat violently and opened my eyes, saw Revik slamming the GTX into a Ford Ranger with banged up fenders, forcing it into the next lane. I saw the driver of the Ford yell at Revik, eyes wide, tinged with more fear than anger.

  When I looked over, Revik was staring at me. His narrow lips curled into a frown.

  “What do we do now?” I said, loud above the wind from the holes shot in the back windows.

  His eyes returned to the road.

  I glanced back at the passenger side window and flinched back, seeing a truck driver staring down at me, a shotgun resting in the crook of his arm. His eyes looked manic, not quite at home, and I sensed more than saw the silver flicker of light that lived there.

  Paralyzed for the barest breath, I only stared up at him, at his too-blue eyes and dirty brown hair. I took in the blue flannel shirt and reddish nose and mutton chop sideburns and realized I recognized him. It was the same man who’d yelled at us on the street, who yelled at Revik to get me out of the road. He didn’t look like he wanted to help me now, though.

  He aimed the gun down at the hood of the GTX.

  Before I could make a sound, Revik hit the brakes, slamming into the car behind us. He created enough space to slide the GTX behind the bigger rig, pulling us out of range of the crazy guy with the shotgun. Then he jammed his foot back on the accelerator, passing on the truck’s blind side, in the far right lane.

  A few car lengths later, he found a clear patch of road. The driving smoothed, even as he jammed his foot down on the accelerator. I watched the blur of trees go by faster.

  The GTX’s V-8 engine thrummed a soothing, low sound...

  I snapped awake, panting.

  Revik gripped the front of my uniform shirt in his fist. His other hand gripped the steering wheel even as he leaned over where I lay.

  I was still frozen there, panting, when he slammed my back into the seat.

  “What the—”

  “You cannot sleep!” He barked the words, his accent thick. “You cannot sleep!”

  His face flashed into the negative...

  ...and gold lines make up the bones, muscles and blood of his jaw. His eyes shine white, filled with clouds, darkly twisting movies. Shadows dart as Rooks rope him with silver threads. One throws a ball of spinning silver light.

  ...a complex gold and orange geometry explodes over his head in a shower of sparks.

  Revik's light body flickers, dims.

  I see him draw his light arm back. Then he completes the rest of the motion...

  And suddenly, I am wide, wide awake.

  “Ow!” I held my face. “Ow, Jesus!” When my fingers left my mouth, blood colored them. I felt my cheek swelling already and my shock and pain turned into something closer to rage. “Are you kidding me?” I touched my lip. “You hit me!”

  “Stay here, Allie!” he said. “Do whatever you have to, but stay the fuck in your body...I cannot do everything!”

  “You hit me!”

  He glared at me. “Yes.”

  “You’re an asshole, you know that?” I said.

  “Yes.” He released the front of my shirt.

  Taking another breath, he exhaled sharply, leaning back in his own seat.

  “They are draining you, Esteemed Bridge...you will get tired. You will get very tired, but you cannot sleep! I hit you only to bring you back. If your body perceives itself in mortal danger, your light will return.” His eyes returned to my face.

  “Pain is fastest. Understand?”

  Something rammed us, hurling me into the dashboard.

  Revik veered when the truck accelerated to smash into our rear bumper again.

  Suddenly a police car blazed behind us, siren on as it flashed its lights.

  Revik yanked the wheel left, throwing us into the grass and tree-filled island between the north and south-bound lanes. I gripped the dashboard as we bounced down the grade. We hit hard at the bottom, then Revik gunned the GTX up the grassy hill.

  Behind us, the cop car hit that same grade at a different angle and got stuck, wheels spinning in the dirt after it smashed its grill into a boulder.

  Revik entered the south-bound traffic going north.

  I let out an involuntary cry as horns blared, cars spun and veered with a squeal of grinding metal and burnt rubber. He straightened the car’s trajectory and accelerated.

  I looked back through our half-missing rear window.

  Glass covered the back seat. I touched my face, realized I had tiny cuts on my arms and hands that I hadn’t noticed.

  Cars screeched to a halt, swerved to avoid hitting us, slamming into one another instead. I counted five...six separate vehicles wrecked just past where the GTX dragged dirt tracks onto the road. Taking a breath, I gripped the armrest under the side window and stared at the blurring trees, flinching at the view out the windshield.

  He spoke up as he weaved between cars.

  “The Rooks would rather convert you,” he said. “But killing you would be an acceptable outcome for them...”

  I gripped the dashboard, not looking at him. “Great. Nice to know. Revik...just drive the damned car, okay?”

  He swerved again, causing another car to slam its brakes too hard and flip.

  I watched through the rear window as that same car came crashing down in the middle of the road, facing the opposite direction as traffic, like us. I looked to my right, saw the truck driver pacing us in the northbound lanes up above, flashing between the trees of the wide divide.

  “...The reality is, no one knows what causes the end.” Revik was saying. “Your death itself might start the wars.”

  He drove up and over the gravel shoulder. He aimed us back into the island between the north and southbound lanes, bouncing a rough diagonal line through the sloped grass. I realized he was heading back towards the north-facing lanes.

  “Your presence here complicates things for both sides. The fact that you are telekinetic—”

  I shouted over the engine and bouncing car.

  “You pick now to get chatty?”

  The GTX slammed into a hole and a rock, and I smacked my head on the roof, yelped. We were nearly across the island.

  “Hold the wheel,” Revik said.

  “What?”

  He turned to look at me...

  ...and his eyes are silver once more, metallic. Inside, pictures flicker in an organic projector, a war happened and happening and about to happen in shadows and exploding lights. I see vultures around his head, raptors...

  ...and snapped out.

  His body lay slumped over the steering wheel.

  I leapt onto him without thought. Pushing his torso back, I slid into his lap and gripped the wheel, turning it sharply to avoid hitting a tree. Shoving my legs down between his, I jammed my foot on the accelerator over his leather boot.

  Still, we’d slowed down, enough that the trucker pacing us miscalculated.

  I drove us through a narrow gap between two trees as that same trucker hit his brakes, trying to head me off. Managing to just get in behind him anyway, I headed for the right lanes, swerving on asphalt and gravel as we abruptly accelerated out of the lawn...

  When Revik jerked beneath me.

  He grabbed the wheel over my hands, as if to steady himself. Remembering what he said about pain, I dug my fingernails into the skin of his knuckles.

  “Wake up! REVIK!”

  His eyes clicked into focus.

  He looked up at me, briefly, then turned away, coughing. Blood speckled the glass of the driver’s side window. He wiped his mouth, but when I started to climb out of his lap, he grabbed my wrist.

  “I need you to drive,” he said.

  He was already moving out from behind the wheel.

&nbs
p; Gripping the steering wheel, I considered protesting, but realized it was too late as he crawled into the passenger seat to my right and leaned between the seats to retrieve the gym bag from the back seat of the car.

  Watching him, I perched on the edge of the driver’s seat to compensate for his long legs, gaining control of the car before I fumbled for the knob to move the chair.

  I forgot about both things when a booming sound vibrated the sides of the car.

  I ducked as I felt nicks from more shards of glass, glancing at the ragged hole punched through a rear side window.

  The trucker accelerated from a few lanes over, leaning out his cab.

  Revik opened the black gym bag, and pulled out a shotgun that looked like law-enforcement issue. He dug around in the bag for a box of shells. Cracking the cardboard open one-handed once he found it, he dumped a pile in his lap, then began methodically loading the Remington 870 with deft fingers.

  He paused, giving me a quizzical look.

  “How do you know that?” he said. “About the gun.”

  I looked at him, blank, then at the gun. “Old boyfriend.” When Revik went back to loading, I said, “What are you going to do? You can’t just shoot them all.”

  He continued loading the gun, not answering at first.

  Then he glanced up at me again, his voice flat, “You have the right to lodge a formal complaint regarding my methods with the Council once we arrive. They will hear you, and with a great deal of sympathy...I assure you. But reminding me of the damage I’m doing to my soul won’t help either of us right now, Allie.”

  I stared at him uncomprehendingly, saw no hint of sarcasm. When he seemed to be expecting a response, I could only nod.

  “Okay. Sure.”

  “Thank you.” He chambered the first shell with a smooth jerk of his hand, then leaned out the window.

  I watched in the mirror as he aimed at the truck, firing as soon as he leveled the barrel.

  The truck swerved and his shot went wide.

  Revik aimed again.

  He hit the grill that time, and the truck swerved behind another 18-wheeler.