rather you did away with the nickname.”
“But it suits you so well. You even have the tai—”
“Enough!” Omen barked. “You’re wasting her time.” His tawny hair rippled, a few tufts rising. So, there were a few topics that could get Bossypants emotional. Interesting.
And what had Ruse been going to say he had? The memory rose up of the tail with the devilish tip I’d caught a glimpse of when Omen had sprung from his prison cell in beastly form. Maybe that was the shadowkind feature he kept even in human form—the slacks he was wearing were loose enough to conceal it.
I yanked my gaze from Omen’s behind to his face before it became too noticeable that I was checking out his ass, as fine an ass as it was. Such a pity it was attached to a massive jerk.
My time to complete his challenge was ticking away. How in holy heathens was I going to make it downtown in less than three hours without a vehicle? Even if taxis came out this far into the middle of nowhere, my phone had no reception here.
Back out now, and I’d never live it down. I waved toward the car. “Go on, then. I’ll see you at the Finger by noon.”
Omen strode toward the station wagon. The others followed more hesitantly, Snap lingering on the lawn until I shot him a smile more confident than I actually felt. He immediately smiled back, beaming back at me with so much certainty in my abilities that I had a spring in my step when I ducked into the cabin to grab my backpack full of my cat-burglar gear.
As I re-emerged, Betsy roared away down the dirt driveway. I slung the straps over my shoulders, careful of the bandaged wound, and set off at a jog. No time for dillydallying, as my Luna would have said.
It was hard to imagine what she’d make of the woman I’d grown into. Would she have been proud of everything I’d done to rescue the mistreated shadowkind in this world so far or horrified by how much I’d stuck my neck out? True to Omen’s comments about shadowkind attitudes, during the time I’d been with her she’d never shown concern for anyone other than the two of us. I could easily imagine her racing past a hundred caged creatures to spare me from a splinter.
She definitely wouldn’t have approved of the all-black outfit I wore for my thievery—I knew that much. Stealth and sparkles really didn’t mix.
I headed down the New-Age retreat’s overgrown driveway to a quiet road bordered by fallow fields, stretches of woodland, and the occasional farm house. As I loped alongside the ditch, I scanned all of those for anything worth putting those thieving skills to use on.
The sun crept up across the sky, and the heat intensified with it. Sweat trickled down my back.
I must have covered at least a couple of miles before I spotted my salvation: a mud-splattered bicycle leaning against a fence post, ratty tassels drooping from the ends of its handlebars. Not my typical plunder—I was more a gems and rare coins kind of gal—but right now I’d take that bike over the Hope Diamond.
No, let’s be real: I’d take the Hope Diamond, but then I’d steal the bicycle too.
It was obviously a kid’s bike, but a big kid’s, at least. I couldn’t have pedaled it while perched on the seat without hitting my chin with my knees. So, I gripped the gritty plastic handlebars and took off with my ass up in the air like I was about to race in the Tour de France.
As methods of transportation go, you’d be better off not following my lead. I bounced along the potholed country roads for the better part of an hour, until my thighs and back ached almost as badly as my wounded shoulder, and my eyes were stinging with sweat. Thankfully, my vision wasn’t so blurry that I missed the delivery truck at the pumps of a gas station up ahead.
The delivery truck with its back door ajar.
There weren’t many places around here that a truck that size would be taking its cargo to. I dropped the bike at the edge of the station and slunk over. The driver had his elbow leaned out the window as he chatted with the attendant who was running his credit card.
“Not my favorite type of load, but you’ve got to take whatever you can get these days. At least it’s a short drive