Page 58 of The Wolfing Hour
Instead, I went with it. I belted out the chorus at the top of my lungs, relegating the late, great Bon Scott to backing vocals. I was pretty sure he’d have been cool with it, given the circumstances.
“…your magic won’t survive—dark or elemental.”
I sang until my voice cracked, but it didn’t drown out the voices in my head.
“…your magic won’t survive…”
“Highway to Hell” ended, and “Ever Fallen in Love” by the Buzzcocks began. It felt like a sign, so I pointed the Mini in the direction of the guy I loved and headed home. Halfway there, “Come and Get Your Love” started up and sent me straight back to my childhood.
Odd how that song had been the thing that brought me back from the dark side today. Odder still that Margaux had known it would. What else had Mom told her?
I waited for some emotion to kick in—annoyance, spite, maybe even a little jealousy. All I came up with was gratitude. If Margaux hadn’t played that song there was no telling what might’ve happened.
The Mini was low on fuel, so I decided to gas up at a Circle K five blocks from the Siete Saguaros. I’d just slid my ATM card back into my pocket and poked the pump nozzle into the tank when a black SUV with darkly tinted windows pulled up to the curb across from me.
Tingles walked on spider feet up and down my spine. The spot between my shoulder blades didn’t just itch, it burned. As in the Wicked parking lot, I had no reason to believe the driver was Floyd—the man usually had other people carting his carcass around—but I sensed it was. It couldn’t be Mason at the wheel, not after that phone call.
Or could it? What if this whole Miles thing was an elaborate ruse concocted by Mason and the Org? Or Mason and the pack? I was certain of one thing—and one thing only—about Mason?Hartman: he couldn’t be trusted.
I reached for my cell phone in my pocket, belatedly recalling that I’d set it to airplane mode before starting up the music. Keeping my attention on the SUV, I leaned against the car, pulled up the settings on my phone, and switched on my data.
The SUV continued to idle at the curb. Lurking.Coulda vehicle lurk? Because if so, that was exactly what it appeared to be doing.
I circled widely, bringing the license plate into view. I raised the phone to take a photo?—
Bzzt-bzzt-bzzt!
My cell vibrated in my hand. Alerts flooded in one after another, indicating dozens of voicemails and missed calls.
Ronan:“Betty, call as soon as you get this.”
Ida:“Why is your phone off? Call the second it’s back on.”
Cecil (from my burner phone):“Home, asshat.”The voice was digital, the cursing deliberate.
The texts were similarly urgent. There were at least twenty of them from Ronan alone.
I dismissed the notifications and opened the camera app again. Held up the phone and snapped a blurry photo because one, I was distracted, and two, the car was now halfway down the street. Then I threw myself into my Mini, shoved my foot onthe gas—blowing five bucks’ worth of fuel out my tailpipes—and headed for the Siete Saguaros.
Gladys met me at the entrance. She looked a little pale, a little shakier than usual, but otherwise fine. “Good to see you’re feeling better, Gla?—”
“Betty, where the hell have you been?” She stuck her arm through mine and dragged me toward my house. “The boss has been looking all over for you.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
Ronan burst out of the house and made a beeline for me, his eyes glowing like the Smokethorn sun at noon. He was a foot taller than usual, his musculature had doubled in size, and fur covered his neck and most of his hair.
“Betty.” He hugged me to him, and his heart beat a tattoo against my chest.
“Ronan?”
“You’re safe. Thank the gods. I’ve been trying to call you for nearly two hours.”
It occurred to me that I’d been selfish in turning off my data at a time like this. Especially given the attack on Gladys. I’d only considered my need to be alone with my thoughts, not how the people who cared about me might feel if they couldn’t find me.
“Damn, I messed up. I’m sorry. Something happened today, and I just needed to think.” It was a bad excuse, and I knew it. “Sorry I worried you.”
Ronan gave me one last squeeze then held me out in front of him. “I thought Floyd had…”
