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Monty wasn’t inside.
Relief surged. I released the spell and, as the door crashed to the road with a loud clang, spun around and desperately scanned the area. After a moment, I caught sight of a red sneaker poking out from the deep drain that ran along the other side of the road, and sprinted over.
Monty.
His clothes were singed and there were bloody scrapes on his face and his arms, but he was breathing, his fingers were twitching, and his magic stirred through the air.
I jumped into the ditch and knelt beside him. One of the strands of magic ran around me and then quickly faded. He might not be fully conscious, but he was nevertheless aware enough to create a protective spell and that was pretty damn impressive.
The other strand of magic slid past me, growing ever thinner—the tracking spell. Still attached, still working.
I touched his shoulder and his eyes sprang open. For a moment, there was nothing but confusion, then awareness surged and his gaze sharpened on mine.
“Are you okay?”
“Battered and bruised, but alive. The same can’t be said of my car, however.”
He tried to move but I pressed him back down. “It’s probably best you don’t move until the ambulance—”
“Fuck not moving.” Though his voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, his silver eyes were afire with anger and determination. “That bitch tried to kill us and I’m not about to let her get away with it.”
“The tracking spell is still on her car—”
“Yes, and while it does have a good range, it’s not infinite. We can still lose her.” He knocked my hand away and pushed into a sitting position. His breath hissed between clenched teeth and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. “Help me up.”
I rose, took his offered hand, and helped him up—an effort that left my head briefly spinning. I took another of those breaths that really didn’t do a whole lot, and then glanced around at the sound of sirens. Headlights swept around the corner down the far end of the street, and then a SUV raced toward us, red and blue lights flashing.
I scrambled up the ditch, ran to the edge of the road, and waved my hands.
The SUV slid to a halt beside me, Jaz at the wheel. We didn’t give her a chance to get out, instead flinging open the doors and climbing inside, me in the back, Monty in the front.
“Go,” he said urgently. “She’s getting away.”
“Who the hell is ‘she,’” Jaz said, even as she obeyed. “And who the hell are you?”
“Jaz, meet the new reservation witch, Monty Ashworth—no relation to Ira,” I said. “And the ‘who’ is April Dale. Or, at least, something that’s currently impersonating her.”
“And your car? How did that end up ablaze?”
“The thing impersonating April set it alight.”
“Meaning it’s possible she can do it again, to us?”
“No, because she won’t catch me unawares a second time.” Monty motioned to the left. “Head down the next street then turn right three blocks down.”
As she obeyed, the onboard computer came to life. “Jaz, report in. What’s happening?”
Aiden’s voice was flat and very, very controlled. I knew him well enough now to understand it meant he was very worried.
Jaz touched the screen and then said, “I have Monty and Liz onboard. Both okay, though Liz’s car is a burning wreck. We’re currently chasing a supernatural entity.”
I leaned forward. “And there’s a body and more skin in Mrs. Dale’s place.”
“I’ll head there, then. Keep me posted.” He paused. “And be careful, all of you.”
“Right at the next street,” Monty said. “And go faster if you can—the spell is almost at breaking point.”
