Kept

by Shawntelle Madison

  “What do you want? He’s busy.” Her normally chipper voice now had an edge to it. If I was in front of her I would’ve cowered at her dominance.

  “I need to check on my father. Thorn delivered him to a healer.”

  “I see.”

  She didn’t speak for some time. I knew she wasn’t moving or checking with Thorn. It was just her way of being spiteful and making me wait.

  Finally, I found my voice. “Can I speak with him, please? Unless you know if my father’s okay?” I tried to be nice. I really did. My grandmother would be proud I didn’t tell Erica what I really thought of her.

  “Thorn.” Erica yelled the word and then dropped the phone on a hard surface. Most likely a table. The jarring noise reverberated against my eardrum and almost made me jerk the steering wheel to the left.

  “Damn it all the hell,” I hissed.

  Of course, that was when Thorn picked up the phone.

  “Nat?”

  “Hey, Thorn. Is my father okay?”

  “We’re at the healers right now. She’s still taking care of him.” He sighed. “He’s in really bad shape.”

  I flexed my fingers on the wheel. “What exactly did the healer say?”

  “Don’t worry about that right now. How are you holding up?”

  My thoughts went to Erica, who was most likely standing close to his side and listening in on the conversation. I bet she wondered if I’d beg for him to come help me. I almost laughed and thought bitterly, I’m all alone, and now you’ve got him all to yourself. Enjoy your sloppy seconds.

  “I’m great.”

  The vehicle behind me slowly ate away the distance between us. I checked the speedometer. I wasn’t slowing down.

  “How long have you got to get there?” he asked.

  A few feet separated me from the SUV now. I sped up. The SUV matched my speed.

  “I-I just started out not too long ago,” I stammered. “I’ll be there tonight and should return home tomorrow.”

  “You don’t sound as confident as you did last night.”

  I heard Erica say, “Thorn, I’m hungry, let’s go get some breakfast.”

  “Just a minute,” Thorn said. “It won’t take long.” I could sense his exasperation.

  “Go ahead and take Erica to get something to eat,” I told him. “You don’t need to stay with my dad. I bet Mom’s there already.”

  “Yeah, she’s here.” Then he was silent. Words hung between us, like always. Maybe the conversation could’ve gone like this:

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come help you?”

  “Actually, I do want you here. I’m kinda scared and grossed out.”

  “After I check on your dad, I’ll be there.”

  But that wasn’t what happened.

  “Stay out of trouble, Natalya.”

  “I will,” I said softly.

  Then he hung up.

  Thorn wasn’t behind me. A flash of disappointment hit my gut. I guess I’d gotten used to him protecting me. But he’d done a great deal for my family by delivering Dad to the healer. It was a damn shame Erica played tagalong to watch him while he waited for news.

  Which brought another question to mind. Who the hell was driving behind me?

  A second later, whoever it was rammed into the dump truck.

  Chapter 8

  When the dump truck swerved, my head swung to the left hard enough for my neck to jerk painfully. The dull screech of metal against metal made me cringe. I glanced ahead and behind me. No cops, thank goodness. But there was also no one around to react to the SUV hitting me. When I sped up, they matched my speed again. And then I could go no faster—I’d need to shift again to do that. My trembling hands attempted to switch the gears. Every time I fumbled with them, the truck grumbled and groaned at my half-assed attempt to head into fifth gear. For once I wished I’d spent more time with my brother when Dad was teaching him the basics of mechanics and cars. Instead, I’d been more than happy to hang out inside the house and watch soap operas with my grandmother.

  The truck jostled as it was hit again.

  “Damn it!”

  My exasperated breath fogged up the front window. With one hand, I managed to grip the wheel and roll down the window to let in the chill. Which, when my attackers came around the truck, I realized wasn’t the best choice. A cold gust entered the cab, but the chill didn’t affect me as I watched the SUV gun it down the opposite lane to approach me.

  It came at me fast, since no cars were coming the other way. I pushed on the gas even more. “Faster, you piece of shit!”

  I could pull over at the next exit, or I could slow down enough for them to either pass me—or shoot me.

  The SUV’s darkened windows didn’t reveal the occupants. And now I watched with horror as their windows rolled down. My mouth slowly dropped, expecting a gun to appear. But nothing came out.

  Another car approached from the opposite lane, so the SUV pulled ahead of me.

  For a moment, I sighed with relief. Maybe it was nothing.

  But then a faint scent hit my nose. One I’d never smelled before. It was like a washed-out meadow after rain. Muddy and rich. Nymphs? Fairies?

  Then I heard scratching noises along the side of the truck. A peek out the side window revealed nothing amiss. But my ears and nose never lied when I was on alert. Something was on the truck. The SUV remained ahead of me, an even length away.

  Oh, shit. Had they left me a little present on the truck? Should I make a stop at the closest car wash?

  I swerved a bit to avoid a pothole and heard rustling along the top of the truck. Tiny scrapes like claws moving along the metal. I looked up and wished I’d brought a weapon with me. The scraping got louder as whatever it was crawled along the roof, then descended down the side.

  My mind drifted away for a second—racing to figure out how to defend myself.

  A tiny voice in my head screamed, Hey, genius, roll up the window!

  I scrambled into action, using the rusty handle to raise the window. Along the driver’s side, the noises increased until my ears told me they were right above the windshield on the passenger side. And they were heading for the driver’s-side window.

  Said window groaned with each pull upward. I cursed every turn with all the bad words I could think of in Russian. I even said a few I’d heard Uncle Boris use when he thought the kids weren’t listening.

  The taps and scrapes grew louder as my pursuers approached faster—the scent of magic increased to the point where I knew it was a hairbreadth from attacking me.

  And then, just when the window was halfway closed, the freaking handle broke off.

  With one hand on the wheel, I used the other to crank what was left of the handle to roll the window the rest of the way up. I didn’t make it.

  Something black and slimy stretched into the truck and swiped at my head. I tried to move to the right, but it snatched a nice handful of my hair. I growled and tugged to the right again, only for my head to be pulled back toward the window. When I released the wheel to protect myself, the truck rolled off the road before I could manage to grab it again. The car behind me honked again and again.

  Another rough yank on my hair and my claws emerged to scratch at the hand. Black blood, warm and stinking of bitter copper, filled the cabin. Whatever fought to pull out my hair now tried to crawl farther into the cabin. No matter how much I hissed and clawed at my intruder, it stubbornly held on to my hair.

  The arm extended farther inside and was followed by a tiny bald and black head. Skin as shiny as wet rocks felt slimy to the touch. With white, pupil-less eyes, it glared at me and hissed, “Pull oooo-ver!”

  I reached down and clutched the broken door handle. When a vicious jab, I stabbed my attacker in the face. It screeched and then rolled off the truck. Through the rearview mirror I watched the creature fall on the highway and then get run over—by an ice-cream van. Should I call it magical roadkill now?

  A tired breath escaped my lungs
. The SUV was out of sight. But I felt wary and on edge. I’d been attacked, but not by werewolves. Werewolves didn’t employ these kinds of creatures.

  The side of my head ached. I’d been stabbed in the neck with Scabbard’s magical knife, and now I was driving with shaking hands. What little control I still had over the truck was precarious.

  After driving in fear for twenty minutes, I decided to stop and get my shit together. Time to pull over. I spied the first exit advertising diesel fuel, in New Gretna. With some gas for the truck and a nice cup of coffee for me, perhaps I could piece things together.

  Scratches covered the front part of the truck. Not just your average scratches you see on an old truck. But the kind that made you wonder if a badger had mauled it. While an attendant pumped the gas, I tried to think of a million excuses to call Thorn. Didn’t I need to check on my sister-in-law? Didn’t I need an update on how my father was doing?

  I wasn’t even halfway to my destination and I’d been attacked already. By a magical creature.

  Once the tank was full, I pulled out my cell phone. With a sigh, I scrolled through the names on my contacts list. It would only take a second to dial Thorn’s number. But one name came before Thorn’s, so I dialed it.

  The phone rang twice before someone picked up.

  “This is unexpected. Hello, Nat.” The voice was masculine, soft-spoken. It promised the possibility of much-needed help. I was instantly glad I’d called Nick.

  For a second I almost felt shy, but words soon came out. “Hi, Nick. How’s it going?”

  “Good,” he said. “What’s up?”

  I groaned. Where the hell could I begin? “I’ve got a few problems.”

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  I spilled the beans. My dad’s moon debt. The trip to Atlantic City. My choice to take my father’s place after Roscoe tricked us. Nick listened quietly the whole time, and I didn’t feel the need to hold back any details. Talking to Nick was different than with Thorn. I felt like I could speak freely to Nick—minus the baggage I had with Thorn.

  “So, what do you think it was that attacked me?” I asked.

  “Trouble. Where are you?”

  “A truck stop in Jersey.” I closed my eyes and hoped he couldn’t sense where I was. White wizards had many tricks I didn’t know about, and I wouldn’t be surprised if cell phone geo-location spells existed.

  “Nat.” His voice rose, scolding me.

  “I’m thinking it was something magical. What about you?”

  He sighed. “You can’t do this alone. From the description you just gave me, I’m pretty sure it was an imp.”

  My eyebrows rose. I’d heard of them before, but I’d never seen one. “Well, getting run over by an ice-cream truck killed it.”

  “Getting run over by a truck pretty much squashes almost anything.” He chuckled, and then his voice grew serious again. “Imps are creatures that do the bidding of other magical creatures. Dark ones.” I heard movement on the other end of the phone. The click of keys on a keyboard.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Looking up a few facts. And e-mailing my boss at the pawnshop to tell him I’m not coming in today.”

  I rolled my eyes and stared at a happy, noisy family while they piled into an RV across from me. At least they’d be able to enjoy their trip today. “I’ll know what I’m up against so I’ll be careful the rest of the way.”

  “Uh-huh. You’re about ten miles from Tuckerton, right?”

  So my tricky little wizard figured out my location. “What spell did you cast this time, Mr. Wizard?”

  Nick laughed again. “I’m a good listener, Nat. It’s not hard to figure things out when you listen to the conversations around you.”

  The happy, loudmouthed family in the RV had apparently revealed a few clues … but only another werewolf would’ve been able to hear them. This wizard had a few new tricks hidden in that black trench coat of his.

  I wanted to question him further, but Nick spoke first. “Don’t move. Stay in the truck, in an area where humans are moving around, until I show up.”

  “Nick, I don’t need—”

  Then that damn wizard hung up on me. Evidently, no one could say good-bye to me properly today.

  A hand tapped on the window and I turned to see I had a visitor.

  I’d expected to have to wait over an hour for Nick to show up from NYC, but he made an appearance in less than a half hour. Not too shabby at all.

  A giggle escaped my mouth, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Nick was definitely a welcome sight. His best feature—his smile—was brief, but he did offer it when mine appeared.

  I unlocked the truck door and he opened it to the cold. “How did you get here so fast?” I asked him.

  He leaned inside, blocking most of the chill. I took in his lips up to his eyes. After a brief moment passed, I realized I’d stared at him too long when our eyes met. That was embarrassing. He chuckled softly before he turned to scan the parking lot.

  His laugh became an easy grin. “You know me. I’ve got enough jump points in my pocket to travel from here to Death Valley if I wanted to.”

  My face soured. “You still trust those things after what happened to us?”

  I avoided jump points like the plague since the time Nick and I had been attacked heading from group therapy back to my house. We’d been ambushed in an old nasty basement and Nick barely made it through alive. After that, for the first—and hopefully last—time in my life, I carried an unconscious wizard home on my back.

  “One can’t be afraid of the dark forever.”

  I caught a whiff of something and took a step out of the truck. It wasn’t Nick. He never left a magical scent unless he cast a spell or two. This one was faint, like when the breeze from the ocean hit my nose. Not more than five feet away stood two women with wide grins on their faces.

  “Surprise!” one squealed. It was Heidi. The mermaid might fear the ocean, but she sure didn’t have a problem standing close to a dump truck like this one. In a pair of army boots and an old bomber jacket, she looked comfortable. In contrast, my other new arrival wore only a sweater, blue jeans, and a small smile. Most of her chestnut-colored hair hid her face, but I immediately recognized the Muse named Abby.

  Both of them were a welcome sight.

  “Where did you get this hunk of junk?” Heidi laughed while I frowned.

  I snorted. “I’m moving my collection up north. A nasty truck seemed like the best option.”

  “Maybe in the ninth circle of Hell it would be,” Nick said. He eyed the truck with distaste.

  “What are you two doing here?” I glanced at Abby and Heidi before looking at Nick. “How much do they know?”

  “We got a little phone call from Nick here. He told us enough for us to figure out you’re in deep shit and need help.” Heidi placed her hands on her hips.

  “As much as I’d like to accept your help, I can’t. Something attacked me not too long ago and I don’t want you in the middle of my mess,” I said.

  Now the Muse appeared—well, amused. “I think you’ve seen we can handle ourselves just fine.”

  My thoughts drifted back to the battle with the Long Island werewolves. Both the Muse and the mermaid had worked a blade with a finesse I hadn’t expected. But even if the mermaid could gut a whale with her trident, I still didn’t want them to sacrifice themselves to help me.

  “No. You don’t need to do this for me.”

  “Whatever. I need to take Abby up to Maine anyway, so the least you can do is give us a ride for saving your ass awhile ago.” She winked as she checked out the truck cab.

  I frowned. “Why can’t she drive herself?”

  The mermaid sighed. “Maybe I should simply let Abby drive herself so the cops can notice her car doesn’t have a driver?”

  Whoops. With Abby standing there quiet all the time, I sometimes forgot she was invisible to all humans—except for the authors she inspired.

  “Sorry,
Abby,” I mumbled.

  “It’s okay.” Her soft voice drifted to me on the wind, her smile soft and sweet.

  Heidi then examined the truck. “Looks like you got a DT 466.”

  “That’s what the guy who gave it to me said. What is that anyway?” I asked.

  “It’s a truck, that’s all you need to know.” She appeared thoughtful and then whistled. The noise was shrill and hurt my ears. “Hey, Nick, come take a look at this.”

  Nick followed Heidi. He peered at something and nodded at her. “Yeah, I saw it when we walked up.”

  They’d spotted what had put me on edge while I’d filled up the truck. A bunch of scratch marks from my attacker.

  I joined them. “You still thinking it was an imp?”

  “Yeah, but what I’m worried about was what or who dropped an imp-care-package on your truck.”

  “And if they’re coming back,” Heidi added.

  “Oh, they’ll be back.” Nick circled to the back of the truck. We all followed.

  His hand hovered near the dirty handle to open the back compartment, but he never gripped it. I couldn’t gauge his feelings, other than seeing his face, but I was sure he was as grossed out as I was.

  He examined the lock but didn’t touch it either. “Nat, did they show you what’s back here?”

  I shook my head. “The guy just handed me the keys and sent me off on my merry way. They told me not to take a peek at my Christmas presents.”

  “Have you tried to open it?” he asked. “I’m getting weird vibes from this thing.”

  I tossed the keys in his direction. He caught them with one hand.

  When he gave me an exasperated look, I replied with one that said, You asked, you open it, pal.

  Nick tried the lock; it didn’t budge.

  “Is it jammed?” Heidi asked.

  “It’s sealed.” Nick tried again, but no dice. “With magic.”

  I scratched my head. I’d been attacked by an imp, and now I’d learned the back of the truck had been sealed by magic, presumably to keep people out. Should I add to the list that werewolves rarely use or even know any spells, so the fact that magic was involved made it even worse?