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The beep sounds again, louder this time, and a flashing green light draws my eyes to the clunky device near Savannah’s head.
Adrenaline spikes through me, and I bolt out of my chair, knocking it over in the process. It lands with a crash, and Sharpe jolts to his feet, his hand reaching for the gun he no longer carries.
Around the room, the others stir.
“What the hell is that noise?” Flint pushes Anny off and sits up, rubbing his eyes.
I point at the device. “The tracker. It’s beeping.”
Savannah grumbles, rolling off the table with a thud, followed by a string of curses. Darius and Marc wake with a start, disoriented.
I search for our resident witches but don’t see them. “Where are Reese and Xander?”
“I think Meredith offered them the couch downstairs.” Sleep roughens Sharpe’s voice.
The beep sounds once more as Reese and Xander burst into the room.
Reese drops the fresh bag of coffee grounds he was carrying and rushes to the device, picking it up. “We’ve got a reading on the black dog. It’s close.”
The news jolts us awake faster than any cup of caffeine could.
We snap into action, grabbing weapons and gear from the armory.
Sharpe goes for a gun before his hand fists in frustration. He grabs a belt of batons and flash grenades instead. “Please tell me you have a portal to one of the garages.”
“Reese?” I tug on a vest, fastening the buckles tight.
“All set up.” Curiosity lighting his eyes, Reese reaches for a shotgun.
Marc slaps his hand away with a stern frown. “Stick to your wand until you pass some field training.”
Savannah straps an ax to her back, the handle pointed over her left shoulder. “Trent has the vehicles ready to go.”
“Let’s move it!” I shout.
Downstairs at the Hub, Meredith already has the door open so as not to slow us down.
We rush to the door for our Clearhelm safe house, portalling us from the Bone Yard to the industrial part of Clearhelm from one step to the next.
Tingles dance over my skin, and my eyes take a moment to adjust from the bright lights of the Hub to the dimness of the warehouse. The rumble of engines mingles with the faint trace of exhaust.
Trent waves us toward the two SVUs lined up in the middle of the rest of the parked vehicles. “All gassed and ready to go!”
“Reese, Sharpe, you’re in the lead with me.” I stride to the front passenger seat, while Sharpe heads for the driver’s side. “Xander and Savannah, in the back SUV. Everyone else, split up.”
Reese climbs into the back of our vehicle, followed by Marc. “Trent’s tagging along in the other car.”
Four heavy hitters feel like overkill, but I won’t tell the older mercenary not to cover his partner’s back in a fight. We’re overloaded on magic, too. The reality is, we have no idea what will work against the black dog.
Sharpe drives out of the garage and to the street. “Which way?
Reese checks his device. “Right.”
We navigate the quiet streets, the beep of the machine growing faster.
“Wait! Left.” Reese slaps the back of the seat as the beeping slows. “We need to go left!”
Sharpe’s hands tighten on the wheel. “I have to find a road to turn on.”
