Nice Dragons Finish Last (Heartstrikers) (33 page)

BOOK: Nice Dragons Finish Last (Heartstrikers)
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“Drive,” he said, brushing the glass out of the driver’s seat before plopping Marci down.

“Come on, Julius,” she said as he circled around to the passenger side. “They’re just cats.”

“That was
not
just cats,” he snapped, barely pausing to sweep the broken glass out of his own seat before jumping in. “Go.”

She glanced back at the house. “But my—”


Go
, Marci.”

She heaved an enormous sigh, but she obeyed, gunning the engine manually and pulling them out onto the street past the waves of cats that were still arriving.

***


Gone?

Mr. Bixby stood in the corner of his office, hunched over his phone like a boy hiding contraband. “What do you mean they’re
gone?

“I mean your team got trashed!” the young man on the other end of the phone cried. “But boss, you never saw anything like this. She was tossing guys around like they were nothing. Everyone she hit’s got third degree burns or worse, and we’re the lucky ones who got away. Oslo’s just dead. I don’t know what happened to the mage, but—”

“Stop.”

The kid shut up at once, and Bixby used the opportunity to take a calming breath and reminded himself that young guns could be as hysterical as teenage girls when they got spooked, and hysterical kids tended to exaggerate. “Let me make sure I have this right,” he said, calmly now. “You’re telling me that Oslo, my mage, and all the men I sent up to Detroit were beaten by
one girl
? Is this really the story you want me to believe?”

“I swear it’s the truth,” the kid said. “But the girl ain’t alone anymore. She’s got some kind of other weird mage with her, and they were doing all kinds of I don’t know what. And then a bunch of cats appeared, and it was super creepy, so the rest of us turned tail and—”

“Enough,” Bixby growled, rubbing his hand over his face. “So Oslo’s dead, my mage is unaccounted for, and everyone else just ran?”

“Yes, sir,” the boy said.

“And I suppose you want a medal for being the only one to report in?”

“Maybe not a medal, sir. But I wouldn’t be opposed to—”

Since the young man clearly had nothing else of value to add, Bixby hung up and called Oslo. When he got no response, he called his mage. Nothing. None of his field lieutenants were answering either, or his old hands. When he’d gone through his entire contact list without a single pick-up, he hurled his phone across the room with a curse, shattering the blown glass vase he’d won from his ex-wife in the divorce.

That made him curse louder still. He didn’t even like the ugly thing, but she had, and so he’d taken it as a trophy, a monument to the fact that he always won in the end. Now it was broken, and the symbolism was so fitting it made him want to punch someone.

Instead, Bixby glanced at the clock as he walked over to retrieve his phone from the glass-strewn carpet. As much as he didn’t want to, there was nothing else to do now but accept that the boy had been telling the truth. Still, Bixby wasn’t screwed yet. It was just after eleven in the morning in Vegas, which meant it was only one in Detroit and seven hours before his buyer was supposed to check in. Since Bixby’s seer always called two hours late, that gave him nine hours total to figure out a new battle plan for catching a girl with the devil’s own luck in a city that was two thousand miles away. It wasn’t impossible, just expensive and obnoxious, but at this point Bixby didn’t care about money. So long as got the Kosmolabe and the Novalli girl under his control before midnight tonight, and everything would be—

His phone buzzed in his hand, and Bixby looked down at once, praying to the god he only remembered at times like this that it was one of his men reporting in. When the AR popped up, though, it wasn’t a call at all. It was a message from the Unknown Caller.

Looks like you lose.

The words made Bixby want to throw his phone again, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. He wasn’t about to accept that his life was over because of something that happened on the other side of the country, and he wasn’t going to let this punk of a glorified fortune teller make him sweat.

“So fix it,” he snarled, typing the words so fast they would have been gibberish if his phone’s autocorrect hadn’t fixed them for him. “You see the future. Tell me what to do.”

I did,
came the reply.
You had a ninety-two percent chance of capturing the girl and my Kosmolabe this afternoon, but you couldn’t even manage that. I’m afraid your number’s up, Bixby.

No
, he thought frantically. He was supposed to live. The whole reason he was doing this was because the damn seer had promised he would
live.

He hadn’t even finished typing that when the seer’s reply flashed in the air.

I didn’t tell you you would live,
it read.
I told you you would die, and then I told you how to prevent it. That was the service I rendered in exchange for the Kosmolabe, which you have yet to deliver. Since I remain unpaid, I don’t see why I shouldn’t just leave you to your death.

“You were the one who told me to capture her,” he typed back. “If we’d done things my way and had her shot, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

There is no future I can see where you kill Marci Novalli and I get my Kosmolabe.

Bixby’s eyes went wide. “I thought you said there was no future where Novalli died and
I
lived!”

Whatever,
the seer typed.
You’re dead now, or good as. I don’t even know why I’m bothering to reply, really.

Bixby’s breaths began coming in short pants. Part of him, the skeptical businessman who survived by never taking anything at face value, was sure the seer was bluffing. Vegas was his town. There was no way he could die here, safe in his stronghold surrounded by security, because some idiot girl was alive and running around loose in Detroit. It was impossible.

But the rest of him, the man who wanted to live at all costs, refused to accept that logic. Everything the seer had predicted had seemed impossible, and yet it had all come true. He’d been doubling his empire for months now on impossible long shots. Did he really want to count on dodging the one that was aimed right at his head?

He was still going back and forth when the phone in his hand buzzed again, and a new message appeared in his AR, the letters glowing like cinders in the air.

I should just let you die. It would be a fitting end to your arrogance to let you kill yourself ignoring my advice, and I always did enjoy seeing mortals done in by their own pride. But I have seen my own future, and the only way I get my Kosmolabe is through you, so I have no choice but to keep helping you.

There was a short pause, and then the seer’s messages began arriving rapid fire.
I have made arrangements that open up one last chance for you to save your life,
it read.
The odds for success are not as favorable as I usually prefer, but if you do nothing, it is absolutely certain you will die tonight. Therefore, if you ever want to see another sunrise, you will follow my instructions to the letter. No questions, no backtalk, and no deviations. Do we have an understanding?

Bixby took a long breath, fingers hovering over the virtual keyboard. He actually typed the word “No” before he erased it with a defeated sigh. “What do I have to do?”

The answer arrived almost before he hit reply.
Give me unfettered access to all your accounts, contacts, and operatives. I’ll be running the show from here out, and if you want to survive, you’ll run along behind me like a good little dog.

Bixby’s eyes went wide. Oh, hell no. He didn’t care what was going to happen, he didn’t care if the Novalli girl was destined to draw and quarter him on the floor of his own office, there was
no way
he was going to give a stranger unfettered access to anything involving his businesses. Not a dime, not a contact, nothing. But when he went to tell the bastard exactly that, another message was already waiting.

Breaking our agreement so soon?
I just said no backtalk. You must really want to die. Now send me everything you’ve got. Time is already ticking away, and you have very little left to waste.

Bixby closed his eyes with a string of curses that would have made his mother roll over in her grave if she’d been dead, the old bat. In the end, though, Bixby was a practical man. He knew when he was beaten. It took a while for his sense to beat back his pride, but eventually, he sent the seer everything. Two minutes after that, he received his reply.

I’ve secured you a place on the next low-orbit flight to Detroit,
it read.
Check in at Gate 5 in precisely eighteen minutes. Bring no luggage. When you find your seat, trade places with your neighbor on the left. Do not let him know your name and do not fall asleep. Further instructions will be waiting upon your arrival.

The list of instructions sent him into a rage all over again, but he didn’t bother trying to argue. He just grabbed his coat and marched out the door, cursing seers and phones and planes and mages and Kosmolabes and everything else he could think of as he made his way down to the garage where his car was already waiting to take him to the airport.

Chapter 12

A
fter driving nearly ten minutes with no sign of pursuit, Julius motioned for Marci to pull over. She did so immediately, coasting to a stop next to the remains of a curb long since crumbled by the roots of an ancient oak tree. Julius checked one last time for pursuers as they slid into the tree’s shadow, but the street was empty, the condemned houses on either side listing like low country tombstones. There was no sign of Bixby’s men—no sign of Chelsie either, not that he’d see one. Still, the emptiness was enough to make him finally release the breath he’d been half holding since Ghost had spoken in his mind as he turned to face Marci.

“Before we run into another hit squad. I think it’s time you told me what’s really going on.”

Marci winced. “I’m super sorry about all that. I never thought Bixby would send a real force all the way up here.”

“You stole a priceless object,” he replied irritably. “Of course he’s going to come after it.”

“I didn’t steal it!” she said. “My
dad
stole it, and he only took it because Bixby was illegally withholding his money.”

“Fine,” Julius snapped. “But why did
you
keep it after he died? I would have thought one death would be enough to prove that thing isn’t worth messing around with.”

Marci shot him a hurt look, and Julius instantly felt like a jerk.

“Sorry,” he said, rubbing his hands over his face. “It’s just…stealing a magical relic from a vengeful mobster seems like a pretty stupid move for a smart girl like you.”

“I didn’t set out to take it,” she said, petting the Kosmolabe in her lap. “I didn’t even know what it was until Dad told me, and after everything went down, it seemed kind of pointless to try and give it back.”

Julius let out a long breath. “I just wish you’d told me everything back at the restaurant. If I’d known from the beginning you had something Bixby wanted, we might have been able to avoid all this. We could have used the Kosmolabe as a bargaining chip and negotiated—”

“Negotiated?”
Marci shrieked. “Those people killed my
father
! They nearly killed us just now. The only negotiating they do is at gunpoint.” Her eyes narrowed. “And anyway, if there’s anyone in this car who should have come clean earlier, it’s
you
. You’re not even human!”

Julius didn’t try to deny it. He just sat still while Marci eyeballed him like he was a wild animal she’d discovered in her car.

BOOK: Nice Dragons Finish Last (Heartstrikers)
13.58Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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