feet next to Amos. The truck didn't have access to the rear from the cab. I had to go outside to reach it.
"Geez. Good thing I snuck this onto the plane, then." Amos reached down and lifted the back of his pants, pulling a small handgun from where it was taped to his calf. "It ain't much, but I'll cover you."
I helped Prithi from her seat. The three of us all crouching together didn't leave much room to maneuver, and I waited for Amos to make some kind of comment about the tight quarters and his excitement that Prithi's chest was smashed against his side.
Not now. Now he was all business. "I'm gonna poke my head out and draw their fire. Somebody's gonna be pissed that they did this in front of all the yokels. You slip your way out the front."
Rule one of being a ghost was to work in the shadows, out of the public eye. They didn't know what ghosts were. They didn't know how the world was operated nowadays, and they weren't supposed to. The Houses frowned on public activity and normally penalized the ghosts involved by taking their lives. What would have motivated Black's team to agree to this kind of assault?
I raised my hood up over my head and maneuvered between the bucket seats to the front. I glanced down at Astral, a single gunshot wound in his forehead. He was a user. I couldn't bring him back.
"I'm ready," I said. I wasn't. I never would be. I preferred stealth to this kind of blunt force.
"Kiss for luck?" Amos asked, leaning his head down towards Prithi. She turned her head away, and he laughed and reached up to the passenger side door. He unlocked it and shoved it open. "Going up."
He came out of his crouch, leading with his arm, aiming the gun in the direction the sniper round had come from. He started shooting right away, a controlled wildness towards the rooftop of a nearby building.
I ducked through the front of the truck at the same time, wrapping my coat tight around me and dashing towards the back. The trench was ballistic, bulletproof, though I didn't think it would stop a round from anything more powerful than a thirty-eight.
The first shot pinged against the top of the truck three inches from my head. A more rapid burst from Amos prevented the second until I had reached the rear. It hit the coat somewhere, pulling it tight for an instant while I rounded the corner. I reached for the latch on the rear doors, yanking it up and over so the closer one fell open.
I had a split second to soak in the scene around us. Civilians were running from the gunfire, abandoning crashed cars and nearby shops to put as much distance between us and them as they could. Sirens were echoing in the distance.
The crates holding Carl and Lila had been tossed in the crash, with Carl's busted open and his huge body exposed. In this case it was a stroke of good luck, and I hopped over the lip of the truck and fell to my knees at his side, putting my hand on his wrist and gathering the field energy. At the same time, I cursed the fact that Death was going to know right where I was.
I couldn't not use the magic. It was the only thing I had.
"Come on, Carl," I said, feeling the energy passing between us. "Time to get up."
SIXTEEN
Round one.
The false representation of life flowed into the dead boxer's limbs, and his eyes gained an eery sentience.
"I'm tired," he said.
I had been holding my breath, waiting to see if I got Carl back or if Death had decided to come along for the ride again. I let it go, relieved to have Carl.
I pounded the side of the truck with my fist. "Hear that? That's the bell. Fights on. Let's move it, Mary."
His eyes narrowed, and he kicked out his legs, shattering the rest of the crate. He rolled over and pushed himself to his feet. "Where is he, Coach?"
I had forgotten how big he was. His arms were as wide as one of Amos' fat legs, his trunk threatening to burst from underlying muscle tissue. Dead tissue. All of his power came from the magic, and from how strong he believed he was. He knew he was ridiculously strong.
"Out the door, on the rooftop across the street."
He lowered his head, a little confused. He