off with a single motion, a cutting swipe of her hand. "Not important." Evangelina went silent. She had appeared at the opening to the kitchen, her presence blocking another exit, a fact Beast did not like at all. Three angry witches had her cornered. Her claws came out and cut into my mind. "Where will you be?" Molly asked.
I sighed. Beast wasn't the only one feeling trapped. Molly had just backed me into a metaphorical corner too. I knew what could happen when a spell went wrong, when magic went haywire and escaped the confines of the working that contained it. It wasn't pretty. And it had been known to interfere with my own magics in unpredictable ways.
Grudgingly, I said, "I'll be at New Orleans City Park in an area called Couturie Forest.
It's several hundred acres, and I'll be off the beaten paths. You won't be able to find me in time."
Without taking her eyes from me, Molly said, "Evangelina?"
Her sister, dressed for sleep in a long sleep shirt, stepped around me in the dark and handed Molly something. Molly rubbed the surface with a thumb, and brought it to me.
It turned out to be a river stone painted with a black symbol. It was wrapped with silver wire and hung on a silver chain large enough to wear in either of my forms. "Put this around your neck. It works like a tracking device for maybe a half hour. Hold the rune for ten seconds between your thumb and forefinger to activate it, and we'll have a good idea where you are. We can find you." She pointed at the rune, which looked like a capitalF with the horizontal arms broken down at an angle. "Ansuz, a rune meaning a revealing message or insight, communication."
I sighed, long and frustrated, but slipped the silver chain around my neck. "Okay. Fine.
Wait for me near the soccer fields at the park. But if you get hurt or shot I'll make you regret it."
Derek Lee and his men met me at the entrance to the projects, their dark van under a rare functioning street-light. The side door slid open when I wheeled up. The smell of exhaust mingled with the hot grease of fast food and weed from inside. The men were all decked out in the latest military and paramilitary toys. My own personal army. Even with my worry, I couldn't resist the grin when I pulled up and cut the engine. "Dude.
You guys look seriously whacked."
"Dude? Whacked?" Derek laughed at me from the driver's seat, his teeth white in the moonlight. "Girl, that is so white-chick."
I chuckled, the laughter easing my tension. "Not me. I'm part of an enslaved, seriously abused, cheated, lied-to, and ripped-off minority. Two, if you count that I'm female."
"Pardon me if we don't bleed for you, babe."
I knew sarcasm when I heard it and my smile widened. I had too many people depending on me tonight. And I still wasn't sure what the heck I was doing. The snarky retorts reminded me that these guys, at least, could take care of themselves.
"What we got?" one of the men in the back asked.
"Did you get a look at the paintings you dropped by from the raid?"
"We saw."
"We're going to rescue two witch children, a witch adult named Bliss, and maybe a human or two, being sacrificed by witch vamps under the full moon. Blood magic, black magic, and secret weapons," I said, thinking of the sliver of wood in its velvet bag.
The men laughed, something appreciative and eager in the sound. "That's cool. Long as there ain't any cops around to spoil the fun."
"No cops. They're busy elsewhere." I got a thumbs-up for that and Derek tossed me a small metallic device. I caught it one-handed.
"GPS. So we can find you. Or drop it any place we need to get to and we'll be there."
"Handy." I tucked it into my jacket. My pals and their find-Jane devices. "We'll be in the New Orleans City Park. I want you guys to wait on the soccer fields for my call.
And, uh, a group of witches will be joining you." At the look on the men's faces, I added, "They'll be there to provide shielding against magical attack."
"Witches are nothing but trouble."
I found his face in the cavern of the van, Hicklin, the good-looking guy they had used to flirt with the shop girl. "It's the parents of the kidnapped kits. Children," I corrected.
"You want to be the one to tell