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A soda machine glowed across the motel lot. I wasn't thirsty, but I had change in my pocket and it gave me a destination. After sloshing through one puddle in the dark, I didn't bother trying to avoid the rest, just trudged along, icy water soaking my sneakers.
When gravel crackled to my left, I spun and spotted a shape darting behind the motel. Which reminded me . . . besides losing my spells, I was also the target of a witch-hunter. Apparently she'd found me again.
I glanced toward my room. I should get Adam. Without my powers, I was--
Powerless? Hardly. I was six feet tall and in great shape. The witch-hunter was a scrawny mouse of a girl, barely an adult, barely five-foot-five, with no apparent supernatural powers.
I took another step, careful now, and instinctively started whispering a sensing spell under my breath. Then I stopped.
Do it the old-fashioned way. Look and listen.
I did, but couldn't hear anything. Peering around the corner didn't help. Then gravel crunched overhead.
On the roof. A trick she'd pulled before. I should have been prepared.
I looked around. There had to be a fire escape or trash bins I could climb--
A loud noise sent me spinning, back to the wall, hands lifted for a spell. Tires squealed as a car roared past the motel.
I looked down at my fingers, still outstretched, ready to cast. I inhaled sharply and clenched my fists.
What if she did have a gun? Sure, I knew some martial arts, but I was no black belt. I'd learned grudgingly, knowing my spells were better than any roundhouse kick.
I'd love to bring this kid down on my own, but the important thing was to stop her before she targeted another witch. Time to get backup.
I was two doors from my room when a hand clamped on my shoulder. I spun, fingers flying up in a useless knockback spell.
It was a man, a huge guy, at least three hundred pounds and a few inches taller than me. Beard stubble covered his fleshy face. He smelled like he'd showered in Jack Daniel's.
"You got a dollar?" he said. "I'm hungry." He pointed at the vending machine. "I don't got a dollar."
"Neither do I," I said.
He grabbed my arm and yanked me, his other arm going around my waist as he pulled me against him. I froze. Just froze, my brain stuttering through all the spells I couldn't cast, refusing to offer any alternatives.
"Let her go," said a familiar voice.
Adam walked over, hands at his sides, fingers glowing faintly, gaze fixed on the man. I snapped to my senses and elbow-jabbed the guy, who fell back, whining, "I just wanted a dollar."
Adam is my height and well built, but he's no muscle-bound bruiser. Still the guy shrunk, then slithered off to his room.
"Well, that was humiliating," I said. "Tell you what, I'll buy that new top for your Jeep if you promise never to tell anyone you rescued me from a drunk asking for spare change."
He didn't smile. Just studied me, then said, "Let's get inside."
"Can't. My little witch-hunter has returned. She's up on the roof. I was just coming in to get you for backup."
That gave him pause, but he only nodded, then peered up at the dark rooftop. "I'll go around the rear and climb up. You cover the front."
I should have warned him that I was spell-free. I really should have. I didn't.
A few minutes later, gravel crunched on the roof again and I tensed, but it was only Adam. He walked to the front, hunkered down, and motioned me over.
"No sign of her," he whispered. "But I can't see shit. Can you toss up a light ball?"
"Is there a flashlight in the Jeep?" I asked. "That'd be easier."
"Sure." He dropped the keys into my hand. "Glove box."
