Page 109 of A Witchy Spell Ride
“Lot cam,” I said.
“Up,” Cross answered, voice carved out of calm. “White van. Magnet swapped again. Passenger side opened for three beats. Closed. They’re gone.”
“Direction.”
“South then west. I can’t track plates, they’re stolen. I’m following speed cameras by shadow. Give me a minute.”
“You have thirty seconds,” Reaper said again.
Briar grabbed my wrist hard enough to bruise. “She took the blade in her boot. She won’t be helpless.”
“Selene was never helpless,” I said, and the growl in my voice surprised us both.
“Cross,” Bones said into comms, “that degreaser smell we caught at the motel — check inventory. Who uses it. Who doesn’t like gloves, buys thin ones from the corner store, not our bulk.”
“On it,” Cross said. Keys like rain. “Two purchases at Jimmy’s in the last week for single-pair latex. Same time as hardware buys: nylon cord, not zip ties. Cash. Security footage shows—”
“Don’t say Banks,” Briar snapped.
“I wasn’t,” Cross said. “Banks buys Monster and regret, not nylon cord. Footage shows… Briggs.”
The name sat dead in the middle of the hall.
A hundred small memories rearranged themselves at once. Briggs carrying a crate meant for two. Briggs in corners. Briggshelpful. Briggs quiet. Briggs near the garage sink, citrus, and solvent on his hands.
“Worm,” Bones said, not unkindly. “He’s always under the floorboards.”
“Hangaround,” Reaper said, and the word sounded like a condemnation and a confession. “We didn’t see him because we didn’t look.”
“He saw us because we let him,” I said.
The burn under my sternum went from coal to white heat.
“Cross,” I said, “where do they take women when they think no one’s coming?”
“Storage units,” he said instantly. “Rental lockers with cash boxes. Vacant lots dressed as construction. Abandoned storefronts with back doors that don’t lock. I’ve got three within five minutes of that van’s last ping.”
“Pick one,” Reaper said.
“Cinderblock, blue door, east of River Grove,” Cross answered. “Thermal reads two heat signatures. One pacing. One still.”
I was already moving. “Briar, you stay with Cross.”
“Over my dead—”
“Not tonight,” Reaper said. “You anchor the room. If she calls, you answer.”
Briar’s throat worked. She nodded once, fury shining like tears she refused to let fall. “Bring her home,” she said. “Or I will.”
“Count on it,” I said.
We ran. Lot. Bikes. Gate. The steel grudgingly rose on Cross’s command and slammed again behind us, and I took the lead into a night that suddenly felt small enough to fit in my fist.
Streetlights stuttered past like a metronome. We cut two alleys and a blind corner and burst onto the industrial strip that even the Quarter pretends not to see. The cinderblock block rose up in front of us. Blue door. One high window with cardboard. A single security light tremoring like a dying star.
“Eyes on,” I breathed.
“Van in the lot,” Cross said. “Driver still inside.”
