Page 75 of Break Out the Girl

“Hold up, pull in here,” Basil mutters from the passenger side, his eyes squinting over the paper map in his lap. He’s been in charge of the directions the whole way, his grimy, nail-bitten thumb tracking our route into the dense, timbered countryside. I guess it’s the indicator of the state we’re all in. A kid’s smarts are holding us together. “Ménage Manor is right through those dead firs.”

“Good work. I’m sure there are guards on the perimeter.” I cut the engine, coasting the vehicle into a deep pocket of brambles and low-hanging branches. Nobody speaks for a moment.

Looking in the rear view mirror, my gaze is drawn to Rory. The air around her is shifting, humming with a soft warmth that tastes clean and reviving. I suck in a deep breath, allowing the strange atmosphere around her to recharge me.

It’s incredible.

For some reason her spark has officially switched on again and has brought with it a strange sensation.

It’s like a fresh breeze moves around her, independent of the climate. And it’s the most invigorating, pure thing to have ever entered my lungs.

“OK,” I say, turning around in my seat. “This is the plan. London, you’re with me. We’ll do a quick recce of the situation. Basil and Rory, you stay here, but if anyone comes, just start the engine and leave. Do not wait for us.”

Rory’s eyes find mine. “A couple of points; I can’t drive, and where do you expect us to go?”

“I’ll drive,” Basil grunts. “We’ll go back to the main road and wait on the hard shoulder there. Simple enough.”

Gods, he’s a cocky little shit, but I can’t help but like him.

“You good, London?” I ask. He’s pressing his nose up against Rory and inhaling deeply.

Pulling back, the faun nods. “Right there with you, captain.”

“Let’s do this.”

As I get out, Basil slides over into the driver's seat, then Aurora clambers into the front beside him. “Be careful out there, guys. Watch each other’s backs.”

“Will do, Princess.”

The idea of London being on my six isn’t totally comforting. It’s not hard to imagine him getting into a conversation with a caterpillar then forgetting all about staying alert.

But as we move deeper into the birch and pine forest, I notice London’s restless, skippy energy is dialed way down. His eyes are focused, and faun-ears swiveling like radars.

It’s like the closer we get to this fight, the more his chaotic brain settles into something clever and sharp.

“I’m going to shift, are you staying like that?” I ask him. London has only his ears and horns currently, not the rest of his goat legs and torso. I’ve no idea how he manages to partially shift.

He shakes his head, “I’ll shift too.” There is no wise-crack follow up.

“OK. Let’s stick together—if there’s something I need to communicate, I’ll shift back. Hopefully that won’t be necessary.”

Within seconds we’re both in beast-mode and bounding further into the trees. The first obstacle is a tall electric fence, but my wolf claws dig underneath it within a minute. Squeezing through the muddy hole, we then race to find cover in a group of spruce trees.

Now we have a view of our target.

Ménage Manor is maybe five hundred yards out. Before us is a well-kept pasture. It runs downward, the slope ending at a dark, wide moat that surrounds the main house.

The water is black and still, and my nose picks up the stagnant scent of algae.

The main driveway is to our left.

We can run parallel to it, hidden by a thick hedgerow. I indicate my muzzle to London, then take off, fast and low. Once we are only a hundred yards from the Manor, the hedge stops.

We’re almost at the bridge that spans the moat. But first there is a small red-brick building with two guards standing sentry. More guards patrol the far side of the bridge next to the Manor walls.

Time to observe.

Over the next ten minutes, several patrols appear and disappear. Looking to the manor rooftop, I see two men with rifles posted on a high balcony.