I nod. “Iris. She’s his sister apparently.”
Max blinks rapidly as if this will help him process better.
“I had Hank look into it when we were at the rest stop.” I speed back on to I-55, dragging my lower lip through my teeth, gathering my scattered thoughts into something semi-cohesive. “What he found was enough to convince me you’ve been telling the truth. We need to figure out what happened to your mom’s boyfriends. Which means we may need to try and talk to her.”
Groaning quietly, Max mashes his palms into his eyes.
A corner of my mouth hooks into a grimace. “I know you don’t have an awesome relationship with her, and believe me, I get it, but that might be the only way to clear your name. Unless you have a better idea about where to start?”
“It’s not that,” Max says. “It’s that I have no idea where she is or how to get in contact with her. We haven’t seen each other in four years. Plus, she’s always on the move and ditches her phone whenever she ...” He trails as color ebbs out of his face.
Green tinges his skin.
“What? Did you think of something?”
Breathing in slowly through his nose, then out through his mouth, Max drops his head onto a fist. “I always knew something was weird about the way my mom’s boyfriends just vanished, and that we never stayed in the same place for long, but I guess I never really let myself think about why. Which makes me sound like the biggest moron who’s ever existed.”
I suck in my lower lip, then let it pop out again when I find the words I want. “You probably did realize what was happening, but you were just a kid. When we’re young it’s hard enough to accept that our parents aren’t perfect, much less...”
“That they’re murderers?” Max says in a mumble.
I clear my throat. Talk about childhood wounds. His make mine look like nothing but papercuts. While my family drama mostly just left me an uncomfortable outcast with a weird condition, his has cloaked him with shame by association; put his life in danger. This will take a delicate touch.
And my tracking skills.
“We’re going to make it right.” I dig my fingernails into the seam of the steering wheel. “But we have to find her first. Where was she living when you left?”
Rubbing his chest, Max swallows. “Piracicaba, Brazil. She almost always stays close to natural bodies of water. I know that’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got.”
Brazil. Great. No problem. Not to mention the teensy tiny issue that if the bounty is now on Max, it must mean other hunters haven’t been able to find her. I’m no slouch, but if everyone else has failed, it’s highly arrogant to believe I can succeed.
And yet, I have to try.
Even as my stomach dips under the weight of all these difficulties, I muster up a smile. “It’s a start.”
Max sighs. “A start. And better than nothing, I guess.” He rubs a hand over his face. “Unless ... you can’t scry, can you?”
“Like a boss.” I roll my shoulders back, trying to find confidence in this posture. “Obviously using your vibrations won’t be super accurate, but I can give it a try when we have a chance to stop. Which will be sooner rather than later, because we need to ditch this car before Yaritza hears about what I did.”
OVER TWO HOURS LATER, we’ve returned the rental to the nearest store, and water bamfed to the farthest motel Max can get us to before wearing out. As we haven’t had time to scry on his mom yet, he travels us back toward New Orleans. I’m pretty impressed Max gets us this far. However, doing so definitely takes it out of him.
He leans on me as we climb the stairs to our second-floor room, gray skinned, dry-lipped, and wheezing. The second I get the door open, he stumbles to the bathroom. As I slide the chain in place and cast my shield spell, the pipes gurgle and creek.
Sinking onto the edge of the bed — the only one in the room — I pull my phone out of my back pocket, and stare at the dark screen. I need to get in contact with Hank, but is it worth the risk of turning the cell back on? Though he said it was untraceable, if it came from the guild, there’s still a chance they can track me.
If not through the GPS, then simply by scrying or a tracking spell.
I could always attempt to send a message with my magic, but like Max, I have my limits. Plus, I’ve never been particularly good at that spell. Usually when I try it, the receiver misses half of what I’m saying. That could do far more harm than good. Not to mention the fact that I need all my strength to try and find his mom’s vibrations.
Chewing the inside corner of my cheek, I set my cell on the side table, pick up the hotel phone, and punch in Hank’s number. It rings once before going straight to voicemail. Worry immediately gnaws its way from my gut and into my chest. Hank rarely sends calls straight to voicemail, not even when he’s running his Dungeons and Dragons campaigns on his nights off.
With a huff, I try the main number, relaxing some when Sam’s voice crackles over the line. “Guidry’s, how can I help you?”
“Things must be crazy if you’re picking up,” I say, hugging my middle with one arm.
“Fee, you’re okay.” Sam’s voice cracks on my name. “Thank God. Yaritza just called Hank. I could hear her shouting on the other end of the line.”
My heart morphs into a terrified phoenix, struggling to flap its way out of my chest. “What did he say?”
“He didn’t say much before he went to his office and shut the door.” Glass shatters and Sam swears. “I’ve gotta go, but I can get him to call you when he comes out.”
“Thanks, Sam.”
I hang up, then glance at my cell, debating destroying it when Max limps back into the room. “Everything okay?” He asks roughly.
Furrowing my brow at him, I snatch a glass from the counter, fill it with water, and shove it into his hands. “Hank’s not answering. Hank always answers.” I massage my scalp with the tips of my fingers. “And I’m debating getting rid of that cell, just so they can’t track us either by GPS or by magic.”
Max eases into a chair, the corners of his mouth again as cracked as they were when I first met him. He drags a hand over his face. The movement takes him much longer than it should and his muscles shake. This is as comforting as it is worrying. That kind of travel wipes out a water spirit, at least for a little while. Which means that if Yaritza does come after us, she might not be at full power right away.
Unless she’s a lot stronger than Max, which she very well may be.
With a heavy sigh, Max lifts the now empty glass, his gaze disconnected and unfocused. “Would you mind...” He waves his fingers like he’s lost the words.
“Sure, sure.”
As I fill it up again, Max says, “Does that mean...” He rubs the crease between his brows. “Does that mean you need to ditch the backpack too?”
I groan and hand him the glass. “Maybe. If I could just get a hold of Hank.”
Nervous energy skitters through me. I pace the length of the bed a few times, then pick up the hotel phone again and dial the gargoyle’s number. Straight to voicemail once more. Cursing, I hang up. Hank’s a freaking gargoyle. Basically made of solid stone with skin so hard he had to have his tattoos magically applied. He can take care of himself.
My guts don’t listen to this logic. Instead, they twist themselves into nasty little knots. I breathe slowly through it, pressing a palm to the space between my hips as other scenarios fill my mind. While Hank is a tank, the other staff at Guidry’s are much more vulnerable. He’d do anything to protect them. Especially Sam.
The idea of anyone hurting that poor kid stokes rage in my chest and fogs my brain.
“How about this,” Max says, his words slurring slightly, head propped on one hand. “Turn on the.... the ... thingy. Phone, that’s the one. Make sure the ... GPS is off, check the article Hank sent, then we’ll ditch it.”
Still pacing, I lace my fingers at the back of my neck. “Right. You’re right. Yaritza still might be trying to duck the Amazons, so even
if Iris tried to contact her, we probably still have time before she can catch up. Plus, Hank might’ve sent another text.”
When the screen comes to life, those knots in my belly tighten. About one billion texts and voicemails from Yaritza pop up. None from Hank. I rub my chest, attempting not to spiral, and reminding myself to do the next thing. Clearing everything from Yaritza, I turn off the GPS, pull up the article Hank sent, then go back to pacing. As I read, I grab Max’s empty glass, fill it again, then push it back into his hand.
“This says that Joel met your mom at the culinary school where he used to teach.” Reaching the nightstand, I turn on a heel. “She came in for one of the community classes he offered for free on the weekends. He disappeared with her a week after that. That was the last time he was seen ... and the last time Iris reported hearing from him.” I look up at Max. “When was the last time you saw him?”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he squeezes his eyes shut. “I was fourteen, so, about four years ago, I think?”
“Okay.” I turn at the edge of the bed and walk back toward the nightstand. “Okay. Okay, so you were all still in Piracicaba?”
“We were just getting ready to leave.” Max cradles his glass in both hands. “It had been like, two days since Joel left, or...” His nostrils flare. “You know. And my mom comes in talking about how it’s time for a change of scene. Just like she always did when she broke up with a guy. I lost it. Yelled at her for the first time ever. Told her I was sick of moving, of never staying in one place. She told me I was being childish, and things went downhill from there. So, I took off the next day and I haven’t seen her since.”
Tapping the power button, I lock the cell — unable to decide whether to turn it off or not — and slump onto the edge of the bed. “How long did she usually keep guys around? I mean, was there a pattern? Did some seem to ... deplete faster than others? Or ...”
Max slides down the chair a little further so his chin rests on his chest. “It kind of depended on the guy. She kept Joel around longest. She liked him a lot. And I didn’t notice ... I should have noticed ... should have done something ...” His words drag, and his head dips, barely kept upright by his hand.
Lips pursed, I flick a strand of hair out of my face. He needs to rest. Clearly that travel took it out of him badly. I’m not going to get much more out of him until he does. Straightening, I squeeze his shoulder. Max squints up at me with black blood shot eyes and attempts a weak smile.
“Let’s get you to bed. I can’t have you dying on me.” I smirk, then slide an arm under his, hauling him to his feet with an oof. “Not immediately after I saved your life.”
Max huffs a laugh through his nose. “I don’t know, that might actually solve all your problems, mama.”
A weight drops on my gut as Max’s words stoke panic inside me. I try to tamp it down, but it flickers and crackles like raging flames licking up dry kindling. How did I get here so quickly? How did I shift from wanting to know nothing, to caring so deeply about whether he lives or dies?
Guts still tangling, I help Max shuffle to the bed, then ease him down into it. Kicking off his shoes, he scoots back to try and get under the sheets. As he settles, I refill his glass again, leaving it on the nightstand at his side. Max wriggles out of his jeans and lets them flop to the floor — confirming he is not, in fact, wearing a thong — then rolls onto his side.
I stand awkwardly at the edge of the bed, extending my fingers, then curling them back into my palm. Nervous sweat needles the space between my shoulders and my face heats as I sway between my feet like a scrying spell stone.
“Do you, uh, need anything to eat?” Taking care of others is definitely not my strong suit, but offering food feels right.
It’s what Hank would do.
Tucking an arm under the pillow, eyes still hooded with heavy lids, Max wrinkles his nose. “I probably should. Though maybe not that beef jerky you got stashed in your bag. Unless you really want to see me puke all over this lovely motel carpet.”
“I’ll see what I can do. I think I saw a vending machine at the end of the hall. It probably has crackers or something.” I manage a smile, then unchain the door, and peek out.
Seeing the coast clear, I shuffle out in search of food, and try not to think about the life altering decision I just made.
10.
HOURS LATER, I STILL haven’t heard from Hank.
I try to rest while Max sleeps, but every muscle in me trembles with nervous energy, driving me to pace again. Cell clutched in my hand, I walk the perimeter of the tiny room. The AC unit kicks on. Voices in the hall slip through the thin walls, echoing loud enough to hear over the roar of cold air.
Jaw tight, I peek through the blackout curtains. The setting sun casts shadows across a group of women with big hair wearing loud prints and earrings so big I fear they might rip their earlobes. That I don’t recognize them isn’t comforting. Though I know most of the bounty hunters currently in this plane, too many of our kind can change their appearance. Not to mention the witch charms that can hide paranormals in plain sight.
I drum my fingers against my cell phone case.
With enough concentration, and the right kind of object, I might be able to create one of those charms. My eyes fall to the tattoo around my wrist. Or better yet, add a charm to the spell already connecting me to Max. First though, I should probably attempt to scry on Max’s mom, if I can keep worry from distracting me. I pull a chair up to the bed next to Max and sit cross legged in it.
This would be easier with a crystal.
Out of curiosity — though seriously lacking hope — I dig through the pockets of the backpack, grinning when my fingers brush a small, smooth object at the front. Sure enough, good old Hank thought of everything. The small, white stone hangs from a thin leather cord. Apophyllite. Perfect for what I need.
Resting a hand lightly on Max’s shoulder, I close my eyes, concentrating on his vibrations. They roll through my body like pleasant little prickles. Goosebumps run across my skin, and the knots clenched in my gut unwind. Shades of blue and green and purple that I feel more than see bloom in my vision like watercolors on a blank canvas.
I shake my head to force myself to focus, then redirect the tiny quiverings into the stone. It glows with the same hues I saw moments ago, and a musical hum sings out through the room. The light pulses, shifting the shadows along the walls as the chain starts to rock gently.
Unlocking my cell, I pull up the Maps app with a thumb, and hover the stone over the screen. It swings in a wide circle as I concentrate on searching for like but different vibrations. At first, the magic only picks up on Max, stopping on our current location. I grind my teeth.
Focus, Fee. Similar but not the same.
The stone shakes, then lifts again, and spins. Warmth floods my phone as the display blurs. Sharp pain needles through the space above my left eyebrow as sweat beads along the small of my back. My jaw clicks with tension.
Concentrate...
Music blasts from the speaker, and a black screen obliterates the map. I’m torn between irritation and relief when I zero in on Hank’s name. Tapping the answer button, I hop out of the chair, and press my cell to my ear.
“You’re alive?” My voice squeaks, betraying my anxiety.
“And kickin’,” Hanks says. “How you doing, kiddo?”
“I’m not a kid.”
“Tell it to someone your own age.”
I chuckle through my nose. “Seriously though. Decisions were made. The kind that might put you and your staff in danger. Are you okay?”
A rustling sound crackles in my ear. “We’re all fine. When you went rogue and ran with Max, Yaritza called.”
Fear shoots through my chest, sharp and jarring.
“I talked her down,” Hank says. “Promised I’d make contact and find out what happened. Based on what you asked me to do—”
“I broke the contract,” I blurt, pacing again. “Or delayed it anyway. I changed plan
s when I read your text. Max swore he had nothing to do with this disappearance, and, well, I pretended to think Iris might be a shapeshifter. I know it was stupid but ... I just couldn’t do it, Hank. Not if he’s innocent. Not if Iris wants to make him pay for what one of his parents did.”
“I know,” Hank says, a low rumble under his words.
I scrape my fingers along my scalp. “You freaked me out. I thought ... I know this probably puts you in danger.”
“Hey, I can take care of myself,” Hanks says before I can continue. “And so can you. We do what we need to.”
Rubbing my chest, I try to let go of some of the tension there with a slow breath. Hank’s right. We’re equipped to handle this. Unfortunately, so is the guild. My best hope is to hope Yaritza buys my lie about why I hit Iris Smith with that shield spell and ran with Max. If Hank talked her down, I might still be in an okay position.
Still. So much for getting help from a powerful member of the Tribunal.
Groaning softly, I tug a strand of hair until pain cuts into my skull and takes my mind off that disappointment. “Do you think Yaritza will buy it? That I thought Iris might’ve been a shifter?”
“Considering you already had trouble with rival bounty hunters and were attacked on the bus, I think she will,” Hank says. “Send her a text. Tell her you had reason to believe Iris wasn’t who she said she was and that you’re going dark. Then don’t respond to anything she sends you. According to Camp, the payload was raised when Iris realized the Amazons were involved. Which explains why so many are after the two of you.”
I peek out through the curtain again, finding the hallway dark and empty. “Hopefully she’ll believe me. Though that’ll take a miracle.”
“I’ll do what I can to convince her, too. I can at least buy you a little time.”
Holding back a frustrated whine, I turn toward Max, studying his face as I ask, “What about this cell? Should I ditch it?”
Cursed: Out of Ash and Flame Page 9