Page 24 of Capitol Matters

I hadn’t considered that a skilled cryomancer—or even an average one—could plunge us into subzero temps. But when snow started falling from the headliner, it was all I could think about.

“You’d better cut that out,” I growled, brushing flurries off my shoulders.

“I can’t help it,” Yankee Doodle blubbered.

Was he crying?

The stoplight changed, but we didn’t budge.

“That’s your cue,” I told him. “Take a left at the next intersection.”

Still idling.

I glanced out the back and saw another vehicle approaching.

My heaved breath fogged in the air. “Either you hit the gas, or I will.”

“I don’t want to die,” Yankee Doodle sniveled. “I don’t want to go to storage.”

A morbid laugh slipped out of me. I definitely needed to workshop my terminology before attempting this again. With another sigh, I rose. Standing, hunched, I threw a leg over the center console and let it lead my body on a contortionist journey into the front passengerseat.

At my approach, Yankee Doodle let out a guttural howl. He slammed his shoulder into the driver’s door, which was now fully frosted over. Predictably, it didn’t open. I reached for the dashboard controls, turning the heat and defrost on high.

Proximity aided precision and reduced my mental strain. If I was going to chauffeur by proxy, it needed to be a flawless run. A fender bender or speeding ticket would deal a killing blow to my kidnapping plan.

Invisible tethers stretched from me, one for each of Yankee Doodle’s legs. I lifted his right foot from the brake pedal, then lowered it gingerly onto the accelerator. We rolled ahead, accompanied by the councilman’s wails and a blinding shower of snow.

Seven miles and ten minutes provided ample time for Yankee Doodle to fill the BMW with drifts of powdery ice. Despite hunkering in my seat and holding my hands against the vents blasting hot air, my teeth were chattering by the time we reached Lock n’ Roll Self Storage.

Donovan had followed up his confirmation text with directions to the row of garages at the back of the property. While the defroster fought a losing battle against the indoor blizzard, I was forced to hang my head out the window to see the path to our destination.

At the end of the aisle, Donovan stood outside anopen unit with the overhead door rolled up.

I thought, belatedly, that he should have worn a mask—one of those black balaclavas like bank robbers used in the movies. I’d take one, too, less to protect my identity and more in the hopes of being able to feel my nose again.

All concerns about decent driving vanished as we pulled up beside my brother. I planted Yankee Doodle’s foot on the brake, then used my numbing hands to shift into park and yank the keys from the ignition. Flinging the door wide, I bailed from the rolling snow globe and tumbled out onto the pavement.

I stood and shivered, rubbing feeling into my bare arms as I walked toward Donovan.

He looked past me at the BMW’s open window, where flurries escaped to die in the warm afternoon air.

“Help!” Yankee Doodle bawled. “Somebody, help me!”

“I could’ve killed you!” I shouted back at him. “Would have been easier!”

Of course, I’d helped myself to the councilman’s phone, which I slipped into Donovan’s hand along with the Beamer’s keys.

“You probably shouldn’t say stuff like that.” Donovan’s mouth drew a tight line.

“Bite me, Donnie,” I snapped.

Damn doe eyes looked back at me like I’d physically punched him in the feelings. He was nervous about this assignment. I knew that. He was still fresh on the scene of criminal behavior, and I wanted better for him.

I tossed my head toward the parked car. “Frosty overthere is your problem now. I gotta get back to work.”

Donovan scrutinized the keys he now held. “Aren’t you taking his car?”

I shook my head. “Nope. Yours.”

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