Delinquents Turned Fugitives - Ann Denton Page 0,24

Z’s back. “We’ve got this.”

Evan’s look to me wasn’t nearly as sure as his tone addressing Z. But that didn’t matter. Both Evan and I knew the pain of seeing someone we loved hurt by magic in a way that might be irreversible. I stepped closer and slid my arms around Z’s waist. “Hey, hey now. If it’s anyone’s fault it’s mine. If your grandma is going to be mad at anyone, it’s going to be me. Okay?” I shushed him and held him tight. His arms pulled me in close, his tattooed arms wrapping around my back, and I waited until I heard him take a deep calming breath.

Then I pulled back and teased, “No more talking, drunky. Get in and shut up while we fix your cousin.”

Z nodded, putting on a small smile.

We all clambered in and immediately, I took off the god-awful zebra heels. I glanced around the van, noting that Malcolm and Maurice—our driver—were both missing. By the back door, a full, tied-off trash bag sat like a boulder. “What’s that?” I asked.

“It’s the van’s old skin—the white one. He peeled it off and is gonna dump it after we get to our final destination.” Gray’s answer was crisp and factual.

I nodded, disinterested as soon as the bag had been explained. Instead, I peered down at Andros, who was just as frozen and blue as last time. An open notebook lay on the floorboards next to his head.

“Gimme a progress update,” I said, scooting closer so that I could see what Evan had written.

We crouched over Andros, who still lay prone in the van. The music switched from Brown to Black Sabbath’s “Electric Funeral.”

“Who the hell is in charge of the music?” Z moaned. “This ruins our mojo. It’s all dark and shit.” Though his tone was silly, he could hardly stand to look at Andros and I wondered if he was just trying to distract himself.

Z pursed his lips and slid back against the wall, turning away as if he couldn’t quite stand to see Andros like this. He curled his legs up so that the rest of us could get closer to Evan’s notebook in the crowded rear of the van.

Evan ran a hand over Andros' stone arm and chewed his lip thoughtfully. He pointed at one of the phrases he’d written in the notebook. "I dunno," he hedged. "I’ve been trying to diagnose it without doing another spell. Didn’t want to call attention to the van.”

Just then Malcolm arrived, his cheeks flushed when he yanked open the sliding door. “I won,” he grinned, climbing in, his slicked blond hair looking perfect and dapper—as if he’d done nothing but play damned board games all night.

“Now we’re just waiting on Maurice,” Gray announced, drumming his fingers against the side of the vehicle as he peered out the open side door, which Malcolm hadn’t bothered to close.

“He went to a dumpster to go drop some of that car skin—took up too much room. He wanted to do some here, some at another spot,” Evan clarified.

Gray hopped out of the door Malcolm had left gaping. He glanced down an alley. “Couple dumpsters down there. I’m gonna see if he needs help so we can get out of here.” He walked off into the dim alley, footsteps echoing dully.

I chewed my lip and said in a low voice that I hoped wouldn’t carry to Z. "My worry is that the longer we leave the spell on, the harder it will be to reverse. I mean, what if he's solid all the way through? What if this isn't just a surface thing?"

Evan nodded. “Yeah, there could be some kind of issue there. But I’m also concerned about the spell in general. Something tells me that even if I see the original spell, it's not going to be a straightforward unravel. I feel like there's gonna be a catch."

Z banged his head against the wall. “Nope. Can’t take it. Gotta change the music.” He’d definitely heard us, and was most definitely upset. He had a fake smile plastered on his face as he clambered out of the van and pulled open the passenger door. He perched on the seat and turned the radio dial, but the station didn’t change. “Wait. Oh, he has it set to bluetooth.”

Malcolm immediately popped his head up from where he’d bent forward to check Andros’ pulse, or lack thereof. “What?” he asked sharply.

“He’s gotta be playing the music off his phone,” Z said, waving his