Page 100 of A Witchy Spell Ride
I rolled my shoulders, tried to force my breath into squares, and failed. The drum in my chest wasn’t fear. It was the beat before war.
“Ghost,” Reaper said quietly as the shutters parted for us. “Alive.”
“Alive,” I repeated, and meantSelene. Not him.
We split. Reaper and Bones took a truck out the main. Vex and I went on foot to the back lot’s blind corner where the van had idled. Cross guided us in our ears like a god who preferred spreadsheets.
“Van’s two blocks south, westbound,” he said. “Stopped at a light. Passenger looking back. Driver fidgeting. Blue hoodie. Hands on ten and two like a teenager.”
“Chase or catch?” Vex asked, already grinning like he hoped the answer washit.
“Neither,” I said. “Follow and learn. They’ll bring us to her.”
We moved parallel streets, cutting through a courtyard I knew better than my own pockets. New Orleans at night will swallow you if you let it; I used the noise as cover and the shadows as lanes. Vex flowed with me, a devil on my shoulder who knew when not to joke.
Cross called turns like a metronome. “Left. Straight. They pass the grocery. Slowing. Right again. Gravel now. You’re losing streetlight.”
“Industrial,” I said. “Back lots and storage units.”
“River Grove’s behind you by four blocks,” Cross added. “This is east of that. I’ve got three possible buildings with vacancy and bad locks.”
“Pick one,” Reaper said. “We’ll clear.”
“Start with the cinderblock with the blue door,” Cross replied. “Thermal says two heat signatures inside. One pacing, one still. The van just parked. Passenger out. Driver stays put.”
Vex and I rounded a corner and the van’s silhouette cut the dark like a cheap omen. Another turn, and the cinderblock box appeared, blue door, one high window with cardboard slapped crooked, a single security light that flickered like a heartbeat trying to decide.
“Eyes on,” I whispered. “Two outside?”
“One,” Cross said. “The jittery one.”
“Let Reaper take the driver,” I said. “Vex, you and me on the blue door.”
“Copy,” Reaper said, voice of a weight that settles men.
I moved to the side of the door and pressed my ear to cool paint. Inside: a hum, fluorescent. The shape of pacing, a scrape of chair leg, and God, her. A cough, small and mean, the kind chloroform leaves behind. Rage scalded the back of my throat, and I swallowed it because I needed hands steady.
“Ready?” Vex mouthed.
I nodded and counted down with fingers for Cross’s cameras and Reaper’s rhythm. Three. Two. One.
Vex hit the light above the door with a gloved fist; it popped, shorting the world to darker. I slid the pry bar into the latch like a secret and levered once. The door gave with a whisper. Inside, the pacing stopped.
I went in low and left. Vex went right.
What I saw in the half-light did something to me that will never undo.
Selene. Tied to a metal chair. Crown crooked. Lip bitten. Eyes open and clear, not broken, not begging. Furious. There was blood on her wrist and glitter on her throat and a blade tucked high in the lacing of her corset like she’d planned for a moment just like this.
The man nearest her, gloves, cap turned too slow. I had him by the wrist before his brain decided what to tell his body. Iwrenched his arm back and down; he folded the way men do when a joint is a better negotiator than words.
“Stay down,” I said, very calm, because the part of me that screams had gone quiet now that I had eyes on her.
“Ghost,” Selene said, voice rough silk. “Took you long enough.”
I huffed a laugh that wasn’t a laugh. “You leave sharp edges everywhere,” I said, eyeing the blood and the cut tie. Proud. Wrecked.
“Driver’s gone,” Cross warned. “Ash is on him.”
