Page 109 of The Wolfing Hour
“Hold on tight.”
The light turned red, and I punched it, the Mini sputtering and shuddering. Truck horns and tire screeches greeted me, heads leaned from angrily rolled down car windows, mouths spewed a litany of curse words, and hands thrusted up some well-deserved middle fingers as I weaved through the intersection.
It worked.
The ensuing confusion left the highway looking like a losing game of Tetris. I zipped down a farm road, hung a tight right, whipped around, and landed on an ill-used dirt road. Minutes later, I emerged on a paved one, a mile and several streets away from where I’d started.
Cecil’s excited chitters mingled with Fennel’s angry meows, drowning out the opening lines of Jackson Browne’s version of “Take it Easy.”
“Remember, we stick to the plan. No magic or explosives unless necessary. Keep an eye out for humans.”
Fennel released a pent-up sigh.
Cecil made a nasty noise. An offensive snick-chitter-clatter that encompassed how we all felt.
“You’re right,” I said, “the plan sucks. But it’s all we have, so we stick to it—and wing it when it inevitably fails. At least this time, I did everything the right way. I notified Ronan and Ida, secured the park, and I’ve got my partners with me.”
The boys agreed. Or at least stopped complaining, which was almost as good.
The address Bronwyn had given me—with marked reluctance since she’d gotten it from a semi-conscious Mason and couldn’t verify it—was for the Paloma Sunset, a no-tell motel on a street locals referred to as “Stoner Boulevard.” Every town,no matter how big or small, seems to have a street like this, where the seedier denizens lurk during the night hours, making their deals, selling their souls, and just generally existing in a world that had been particularly unkind to them.
The sun had set an hour ago, but the motel’s baseball-field floodlights made it daylight bright, ostensibly to prevent crime. Didn’t seem particularly effective, given the state of the place. In deference to the light, I parked my bright orange Mini in the alley one street over, beside an oil-coated dumpster that even Cecil would hesitate to light a match near, and headed to the motel on foot.
Eight boxy units stood in a strip-mall line, with a space between the office and the rented rooms. The stucco was a sun-bleached shade of aqua, half the units had no number, and the vacancy sign was hand-painted. The ice machine looked like a health hazard, and the tiny, single exit laundry room seemed the perfect spot for an ambush.
The scent of fabric softener and exhaust from the street blended into an aroma that wasn’t nearly as unpleasant as the skunk weed smoke wafting out of a nearby window.
Through the dirty window of the office, a TV set played an old black and white western. A woman in a tightly belted bathrobe sat on the doorjamb of a room three doors down from the laundry, smoking a cigarette. Two teen boys skateboarded in the empty pool, their wheels splashing in the Giardia water at the bottom.
They appeared to be human, but the kind of human that got along well with paranormals. Meaning, these were people who tended to mind their own business. The sort not to have seen or heard anything when human law enforcement came knocking on their doors.
I ducked behind the ice machine and dug in my pocket for the handful of Siete Saguaros soil I’d stowed there. It was coolto the touch and slightly damp. The soil heated, vaporized, and absorbed through my skin into my bloodstream, rocketing to my heart and out to the rest of my body.
I will keep you safe.
“Appreciate your help, but I’m going to need some space,” I said to Demon Betty, gritting my teeth against the burning sensation in my chest. “I don’t want to be numb for this. I want to fully experience the entire betrayal so I don’t ever make the mistake of letting him into my heart again.”
I motioned Fennel and Cecil to hang back and shot across the asphalt lot to room eight, the furthest one from the office. I didn’t knock or reach for the knob. Instead, I crossed my fingers I had the right room, focused my magic, and kicked the godsdamned door in.
“What the devil?”
The mononymous demon hunter Miles sat in the center of the queen bed, propped on the flattest pillows I’d ever seen, a TV remote in his hand. He wore khaki trousers, a white V-neck undershirt with a damp sweat stain down the front, and a pair of droopy white socks. The room was stifling even though the air conditioner was making a lot of noise, and it smelled like stale cigarette smoke, body odor, and something deeply foul—and familiar.
“If it isn’t the venerated leader of the Smokethorn branch of theEsteemed Order of the Removal of the Blight on Humankind. What’s up?”
The remote dropped onto the stained bedspread. “What in Hades do you think you’re doing?”
“Bronwyn said the Org believed I was a dangerous demon. They instructed her to observe me. Mason Hartman was given the same job.”
“So?”
I continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “She said,You’ve got an enemy in Smokethorn, Betty. Someone who knows what you are.”
“Is that so surprising? You’re the most abrasive person I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. Hartman’s echoed the sentiment, as I’m sure you know.”
“Mason’s my best pal these days. I saved that wolf’s life—again.” I shook my head, laughed humorlessly as I repeated, “You’ve got an enemy. Someone who knows what you are. But the thing is,Ididn’t even know what I was when Mason and Bronwyn showed up in town. How could the Org have known?”
“We have connections.” He clambered to his feet. “Get out. You can’t just break down someone’s door. There are laws against this, you know.”
