"Unlock it," Mallory said, jiggling the door handle on her side. As if that ever sped up the process.
"Working on it," I said, fumbling to get the keys into the door lock. But adrenaline and anticipation made me clumsy. We were so close. So close to zooming safely away, and to my getting Mallory safely home again without a magical incident.
But not close enough.
"Hey, ladies!" said a male voice behind us.
I glanced back. He was probably twenty-five, with pale skin, blond hair, and a skinny and mean demeanor. He carried a bowie knife in one hand and a hockey stick in the other.
We tried to ignore him, but he wouldn't be ignored.
"Hey, I'm talking to you! You good girls with us in our fight for human rights?"
His prejudices were so irrational he didn't even realize he was attempting to add supernaturals to his posse.
Mallory's eyes narrowed. Clearly, she itched to slap the stupid out of him.
"Human rights!" shouted two more humans nearby. "Down with fangs! Chicago doesn't need them, and Chicago sure as f**k doesn't want them!"
The guy looked at Mallory. "How about you, Blue? You on our side? Justice and truth and no more f**king vampires? Who needs 'em, right?"
His voice was teasing, his words flirty . . . and quite the wrong things to say. He reached out and put a wiry hand on the Volvo.
Mallory's eyes narrowed at the threat, and the air prickled around her. Her magic was rising.
"No more f**king vampires," I pleasantly agreed, then smiled at the guy, who was making himself at home on the hood of the car. Keeping my gaze on him, I made a blind effort with the key.
"You live around here?"
"Used to. Moved away." Finally, the key found home, and the lock clicked open. "Sorry, but we need to get going, so . . ."
He looked at me for a moment, eyes narrowing as he realized he'd been handily rejected. And because he couldn't fathom the possibility that anyone would reject him, he immediately decided there was something wrong with us.
He tapped the blade of the knife against the hood. "You like fangs? You think that's hot?"
"I think you should get off my car so my friend and I can leave."
He flipped the knife in his hand so its point was facing me, and he leaned in closer. "I think you need to learn some respect."
Mallory's hands began to shake, her body vibrating with energy. She crossed her arms, tucking in her hands. She gnawed on her lip, banked anger in her expression, all of it directed at the guy who was hassling me.
She wanted to kick his ass.
She wasn't the only one.
"I know plenty about respect," I said. "But really, we need to go."
"Who the f**k do you think you are? Do you know what we just did?" He gestured back toward the column of smoke rising behind us. "We brought a building down. They think they're powerful? The vampires? Fuck them. Fuck them. Clean Chicago!" he yelled out, raising his arms to gather more of the rioters around him - and around us. They came with their weapons and began to surround us, drumming them on the Volvo to the beat of their own hate-filled symphony.
"You ready to go now?" asked the hateful one, the man who'd started the drama.
He slammed his hockey stick down on the hood, leaving a two-foot-long dent in her otherwise unmarred steel.
"What the hell!" I said, my own emotions breaking through the faux-human barrier I'd erected. I squeezed my hands into fists to keep from throttling him, from attacking humans in the middle of a street surrounded by witnesses, and no matter the justification. "That's my car!"
"Yeah? What the f**k are you going to do about it?" He hit the windshield, a crack spreading from side to side.
"Maybe it's not her you need to worry about."