by Jax Garren
She chased after him, jogging her bike with her. “We’re not stealing the lead singer of Rage Riot’s car.”
He paused for her to catch up and wrested the bike from her, walking it himself to the front of his car. “You’re right. We’re not.”
“We’re not borrowing it, either.”
“Also true.” He clicked open the front trunk and glanced between the five-foot bike and the nowhere-near-five-foot trunk space. “This is not going to work.” He quickly twisted the nut off the front wheel. “Can you get the back?”
“Where’s the engine?” she asked, a little uncertainty in her voice as she, to his surprise, compliantly removed the back wheel.
“In the back.”
“Oh. Weird. So this is not Rafael Marquez’s car?”
Next he removed the handlebars enough to fold them over and, with a wish and a prayer, crammed the whole thing into the small trunk. “Would you just get in? Gods, woman, I’m not riding on your handlebars for a crosstown voyage.” She narrowed her eyes at him as he shut his trunk, shocked to hear the click of it latching over the disassembled bike. “Miracle of miracles.”
“Give me the keys. You drank a whole cup of I don’t even know what.”
“I’m fine, promise. You don’t even know where we’re going. Get in the car.”
“You know,” she said archly, “I’ve met Rafael Marquez, and I know you’re not him.”
He clicked the doors open, and she, thank all that was holy, opened the passenger door. “How’s that?”
“He’s nice.” With that, she shut herself into the vehicle.
He slid into the driver’s seat, unsure if he was happy she didn’t realize he was, in fact, Rafael, or piqued by the insult. Beside him, she had her arms crossed defensively, and it suddenly dawned on him what this was about. Idiot. He blew out a slow breath. “You came here on a bike.”
She rolled her eyes. “No shit, Sherlock.”
“You’re a badass.”
She pulled away. “Don’t patronize—”
“I’m not.” He dropped a hand on her knee, afraid she was about to get out of the car. She glared at his hand but didn’t remove it, so he kept it there, willing her to stay long enough to listen. “I admire you—more than you can imagine.” Though her shoulders seemed to relax infinitesimally, her downturned eyes still brimmed with wounded distrust. “I’m not going to pretend I understand. I can’t. I’m a trust fund kid who grew up with a reasonably sane two-parent family. I’m really lucky. I get that.”
She shook her head with a little laugh like he’d just confirmed every ridiculous thought she’d ever had about him.
He ignored it; one day, he’d prove himself to her—he would. “But I also grew up around a lot of people who wouldn’t bother cruising their Ducati down the block to help me. You, though, you came when I called.” He pointed out the windshield, letting the surprise show on his face. “On that. You’ve got nothing but respect from me.”
She finally looked at him, her eyes loaded with more vulnerability than anyone as capable as she was should have, and his heart melted into what felt way too much like gooey devotion. Clever, talented, beautiful, vulnerable... he was so fucked.
He leaned back, removing his hand and starting the engine. “Now get over yourself, pauper, and have a blast riding in a quarter-million-dollar car.”
That got a snort of laughter from her as her arms slowly lowered from their tense cross to a hand-clench in her lap. Improvement? Yeah, he’d take it.
With two smooth moves, he had the car out of parallel, and then, for the joy of it—her joy—he stepped on the gas, launching them forward.
Her hands came up in startled release. “Oh my...”
He grinned. “How much time you got before you change?”
She kept her hands up, staring around her like she’d absorb every detail. “A while. I just...” She pushed back her sleeve to reveal a new nick, indicating she’d re-upped her magic with a larger outlay of blood.
Happiness flooded him. “Wanted to spend more time with me, eh?”
She blushed as she flicked the tiniest glance at him and changed the subject. “Thanks for the anti-magic field back there. It was exactly what I needed.”
“I figured you could hand them their asses in a fair fight.” Instead of driving through the city, the fastest way to their new downtown hideout, he turned toward the highway. “We’re going to take the long way.”
“But it’s somebody else’s gas—”
He waved a hand, stopping her protest, and held up his pinky finger. “I won’t look into you if you won’t look into me. I figure if we’re working together, we’re going to learn quite a few things about each other. It wouldn’t take much of an internet search to piece together who’s behind the mask. So I won’t try and you won’t try, and we’ll keep our secrets. Deal?”
Her pinky linked with his as one of her small, secret smiles spread across her face. “Deal.”
He squeezed her finger, wishing he was squeezing more of her. Even that little touch of her hand was enough to make his heart beat faster.
Sooooo fucked. And then he told her something he shouldn’t. “It’s my car.”
She pushed herself up to straight. “But you’re... you put on Rafael’s face and took your own car, not his?”
“You think I’m going to disguise myself as... myself? What kind of an idiot would do that?” This kind of idiot.
But she laughed and, for the first time since they’d found Ande in the driveway, relaxed completely. “Yeah, well, what kind of idiot goes incognito as the most famous person in south Texas?”
He pointed at himself and said, this time aloud, “This kind, mi diosita.” He pulled off the highway and onto the best driving road outside the city, full of turns and twists for no reason as it zigged through ranchland and back around to the other side of the city. “I’m also the kind of idiot who’s about to speed like a demon without checking for cops first.”
“Oh,” she said in a tone like she was worried... or trying to make a decision about something.
“What?” he asked, pulling his eyes from the road for a fraction of a second to watch her teeth worrying her lower lip. Eyes on the road, lover boy.
She wrinkled her nose. “Got a piece of paper and a pen? I may be able to help with that.”
“Glove box.” She reached to open it, and he quickly slapped it shut again. It wouldn’t take an internet search to figure out who he was when she pulled out a notebook of song lyrics. “Sorry. I just realized, uh...” He pulled over onto the shoulder and stopped the car. “Would you mind closing your eyes a minute?”
She arched an eyebrow at him, amused. “Condoms, guns, or both?”
That made him smile. “Would you believe neither?”
“Nope.”
“How about insurance with my name on it?”
She blinked, then looked back down with a blush. “Oh! I wasn’t thinking. Sorry.”
“No problem. Eyes?”
She studied him for a moment, face full of nerves and what he sure hoped was interest as she focused on his... cheek? Dimples. She was attracted to dimples.
Did he have them as Coyote? He’d have to check.
The air seemed to thicken and heat between them as they stared each other down. “Still want that paper?” His voice near dropped an octave as he said it, and her cheeks pinked.
Slowly, she shut her eyes. From her tense stillness it seemed like she felt this took a monumental amount of faith in him, although he wasn’t sure why. She had a problem with trust. Okay, he’d earn it. Efficiently as he could, he extracted his notebook. “How many pages do you need?”
“Uh, like a quarter of a page? Not much.”
He ripped off the empty bottom of a page with some scribbles that were going nowhere, grabbed a pen, and shoved his mess back into the glove box. “Here you go.”
She opened her eyes and seemed relieved to find him back on his side of the car, then took the p
aper and pen he offered. She gave him a quick smile before she started to draw what he could only guess were—“Runes?”
She nodded, layering an angular P on top of an M and then blending in an upside-down peace sign. As she wrote, she chanted, “Wunjo, ehwaz, algiz.” Her lancet came out.
“Want to use my blood?” he offered.
She looked at him, then at the paper, hesitating.
“Will it still work?”
She frowned. “It’s your car I’m warding. It might work better.” He held out his finger. “Are you sure?”
He chuckled. “I use a godstone, Freyja. I can handle a finger prick.”
That brought out that fleeting quirk of a smile, and she handed him the lancet and the paper. “Visualize your car driving fast and far and free—all pleasure, no worry—then use your blood to trace the bind-rune as I inscribed it. Wunjo is for joy, ehwaz for your mode of travel, and algiz for protection. So... protect this vehicle that brings me joy, basically.”
He copied her pattern, feeling a little silly as he visualized the total freedom of driving as fast as he wanted for as far as he wanted. But she nodded like he was doing it right as he finished up the bloody mark, now thinking of her laughing joyfully in the passenger seat. She placed her hand over his and closed her eyes again, this time with no hesitation.
After she opened them, her look was all business. “Good. Later you may want to cut the bind-rune out and glue it to something a little more permanent. Keep it in the glove box or somewhere safe.”
“It’s a permanent spell? Like, you don’t have to be here.”
She shook her head. “No. I can make things that last. I don’t have a lot of showy powers, like changing shape or flying or whatever. But I can create something and use it later. It’s pretty cool... if I could learn how to make more things.”
“What does this—this bind-rune do?” He studied the crude drawing, feeling like quite the Pagan staring at bloodied runes expecting it to do something.
“Protects your car. You may need to recharge it every month or so; just do what you just did. It’ll reactivate.”
He set the paper down, still not sure what she meant. “Protects my car from...?”
She rebuckled herself in. “Law enforcement. You won’t get pulled over. Either there won’t be cops on the road or their equipment will have a glitch or they’ll just decide it’s not worth the bother. Basically, nobody will get a speed reading on you.”
The notion of never getting a speeding ticket gave him more joy than any law-abiding citizen should have. Then it struck him that getting pulled over was suddenly a lot more dangerous when he had an illegal weapon in his pocket—and Freyja had hers activated. Automatic prison. That wasn’t just the annoyance of a ticket. “And you’re sure this works? You drive a... uh...” She’d just given him a really cool present. Best not to bring up her mode of transport.
She just shrugged, looking once again uncomfortable with the reminder, and he cursed himself silently for his stupidity. “I did one for Ande. She trusts it. But it’s up to you.”
He didn’t walk onstage and ask Jada if she knew what a drumroll was; he simply trusted his bandmate to keep Rage Riot on tempo. He’d said he wanted to be Freyja’s partner. Time to act like one. He leaned back in his seat, buckling in. “Reapply blood once a month?”
Her arms were back to crossed. “Again, you don’t have to trust that I can do—”
“Siri, set monthly reminder to recharge bind-rune.”
“Reminder set,” came the chipper response.
“Oh, okay,” she said, dropping her arms again, face screwed up in consternation.
“We’re partners,” he said with a significant glance at her before putting the car in gear and getting back on the road. “I’m sorry I didn’t accept what you said right away. I’m still getting used to all this magic stuff. But I trust you.”
“Why? We’ve known each other less than a week.”
He snorted. “But what a week it’s been. Ready for a real accelerator?”
Chapter 14
FREYJA SQUEALED IN delight as the car charged around another turn, and the sound thrummed all through his body. She was so serious, so uptight. And here she was screaming, “More more!” as he zipped around corners and blasted down straightaways while her hands moved frantically from the dashboard to the air to—his favorite—clutching his arm.
Heaven. The most frustrating heaven ever.
But suddenly she frowned, her head whipping to look out her window. “What’s that?”
He slowed to a more normal speed, figuring—bind-rune or not—it wasn’t a great idea to push his magical luck right here. “Military base. Fort Mitchell.”
The tension returned to her back as she stared out the window, practically plastering her face to the glass.
“What’s up?”
“You don’t feel it?”
He shrugged, suddenly remembering that she was superpowered and he wasn’t—maybe he should feel something. So he made a joke to deflect. “I’ve got a beautiful woman in my car while driving well over a hundred miles an hour. Trust me, I have many feelings.”
She backhanded him on the shoulder just hard enough for a teasing sting. “I’m serious. There’s something there.”
“Like what?”
They passed the base, and she returned to facing forward, albeit without the joy. “Do you know anything about that place?”
He’d been on it a few times, but he wasn’t sure if she should know that. “It’s old—like,” he made his voice playful, “your-people-making-an-outpost-to-shoot-my-people old.”
That lightened her mood a little bit as she said drily, “I didn’t realize the Aztecs made it into Texas. Or the Vikings.” She turned back to the window. “But I get what you mean. Looks small, but definitely updated since the ancient-hundreds.”
“Yes to both, although the original fort is still on the property. It used to be a museum. The military kept saying off and on they were going to close the facility—budget cuts—but recently it got a new life.”
“You know a lot about it.”
“My, uh—we’re not looking each other up, right?”
“By the power of the pinky, I have thus sworn.”
She said it jokingly, but this time it was easy to believe her. “My uncle was stationed there when I was a kid. You think one or more of the Morrigan could be stationed there? I’ve heard rumor the military has access to the godstones the government’s been collecting.” He glanced at her uncomfortably, not sure how she’d react to his next statement but figuring it was worth bringing up. “There are a lot of people in the Latino community who think Macha’s working for ICE or Border Patrol or some other government entity.”
Her head whipped back to the base, and she grunted. “Can’t see behind me for squat in this car.” She took a breath, and her tongue came out just a little, like she was tasting the air instead of smelling it. Finally she said, “I can see why people would think that—it’s crossed my mind, too, and I’m not, you know, affected by it.” She shyly patted his knee, then her hand shot back to her lap. “She’s a racist mass murderer who needs to be stopped, government or not.”
It was the first time she’d touched him in support, and awkward as it was, he appreciated it. “Amen to that.”
The city lights came back into view as they crossed back under the highway and into the small city. He headed for the third-tallest building—the tallest residential, at a not-so-whopping sixteen stories. Freyja straightened in her seat as they pulled up.
“Do you live here?” She shook her head. “Of course you live here. It’s freaking nice.”
He laughed. “Our lair is here.” She blinked at him in surprise. “A condo went up for sale last week. I got it.”
“You just... bought an apartment at a luxury condo?”
“Did I mention I’m a trust fund kid? I can do crazy crap like that. Besides, this is Malverde, not New York City. It wasn’t that bad.” S
he shot him a look, and he realized what a rich asshole thing that was to say. “For me, I mean. It’s... I’ll shut up now.”
“How are we going to get in? You can’t go in there looking like Rafael Marquez.”
“Why not? He lives here.”
She’d leaned forward as they’d approached the tower, looking up like people did to skyscrapers in New York, and he’d wondered how much—if at all—she’d traveled. But at his declaration, she snapped back into her seat. “He what?”
He pointed at himself. “I picked this disguise for a reason. I’m not about to go in wearing a skirt and mask, so I picked our neighbor’s face.” Yeah...
“And I can go in dressed like this?” She motioned to her outfit. “Why am I still wearing chain mail?”
He pulled into a no-parking zone and turned on his flashers. “You’ve got leather pants and a tank-top-looking thing. Take the Viking gear off, hang all over me like a groupie, and no one will think twice about the mask.” He grinned. His not-a-plan was working out better than he’d anticipated.
Not that she’d do anything like that.
She rolled her eyes and unbuckled her seat belt, then got her head stuck in her tunic as she tried to pull it and the chain mail over her head at once in the tiny space. “Fuck. Coyote?”
“Need some help there?”
She huffed so loud he could hear it through all the layers. “Dear boy, would you mind taking my shirt off for me, hmm?”
“Thought you’d never ask.” He gathered the thick cotton in his hands and gingerly pulled, trying not to get her hair caught on any of the metal rings inside. “Let me know if this hurts.”
She wriggled back, and he shimmied the fabric forward in the most cramped and unsexy stripping he’d ever seen. And somehow it still turned him on. When her pink-hued face emerged, he dropped the chain mail to push her tangled mass of hair from her eyes and tried not to grin like a wolf.
She smirked at him as she finished shoving the sleeves down her arms. “I hate this outfit. Laugh all you want.” Her voice turned self-mocking as she quickly unplaited her braids. “I know I’m so provocative with my hair in my face and my rumpled nine billion layers of clothing. In freaking Texas in freaking summer.”