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“Fuck, Doyle, change—now!”
He called to the magic and felt it rip his body, reshaping flesh and bone, the process as much about healing as shifting. He remained in panther form for several minutes, his breathing rapid and head light, then shifted back to human form.
And promptly blacked out. He must not have been out for long, though, because Camille was still bandaging his leg when he woke. “Why in hell did you detour for that damn knife? It almost cost you your life.” Anger edged Russell’s words.
Doyle shrugged. “It’s silver, and the only one I have with me.”
“So? Steal another. It wasn’t worth almost losing your life over.”
“Russ, silver is the one thing immune to magic. We may yet need it.” Especially if the witch went after Kirby. He went still, and in that moment knew beyond a doubt that she was in trouble and needed help.
“Kirby,” he said urgently, struggling to rise. “We have to get back to her!”
Camille swore at him, and Russell held him down. “Don’t move, damn it!”
“You don’t understand—”
“No, you don’t understand,” Russell said vehemently. “We need to get that leg tightly bandaged, otherwise you’ll break the wound open again and bleed to death. How is that going to help Kirby?”
He relaxed a little and closed his eyes. Tension rode him, as sharp as the fear stirring his gut. “Okay. But once my leg is bandaged, we go get her.”
Russell glanced at Camille. “I don’t think—”
“I don’t care what you think, my friend. She’s in danger, and it’s far more important that we save her than get me to a hospital.”
“As much as I hate to say it,” Camille said into the tense silence, “he’s right. We can’t let the witch get her hands on her.”
Camille shifted slightly, revealing the massive blob of bandages on his leg. What was left of his jeans below the wound was soaked in blood. No wonder he felt light-headed. “How come the van survived the explosion?”
“Because I jumped in and drove it off,” Camille said. “It runs a might faster than these old bones, let me tell you that. Besides, it was Russell’s only hope. The sunshine would have killed him.” She rose and lurched toward the driver’s seat. “Now, where’s this farm you two were staying at?”
He gave them the address, then added, “It’s out along the Calder Freeway.”
“Wherever that is. Russell, type it into the sat-nav while I get us moving.”
The van started. Doyle closed his eyes, letting the movements of the old van lull him into a semi-sleep. Pain drifted through him, but at a distance. No doubt Camille had put something in the water to diminish it.
The noise of city traffic gave way to the hum of freeway travel. Not far now, he thought wearily, and hoped Kirby was okay. Hoped he was worrying over nothing.
Awareness tingled across his senses, and a wave of tension and fear rushed through his mind. Not his—Kirby’s. He sat up abruptly
. She was somewhere close. He scooted down to the back windows and tore away the plastic.
“What’s wrong?” Russell said, voice sharp with concern.
“She’s here.” They were still on the freeway. There were no cars immediately behind them, but across the other side, a yellow cab sped by. “Turn the van around,” he added, urgently.
Camille didn’t argue. Tires squealed, then they were bouncing through the dividing strip of grass. “What car?” she asked, once they were on the other side.
“The cab. Hurry!” He leaned back against the side of the van and closed his eyes, wondering if she was a prisoner to evil or merely breaking another promise.
The traffic closed in around them again. Camille swore, and the blast of the van’s horn was almost lost in the squeal of tires. “Idiot!” she yelled out the window.
Doyle edged forward and peered out the windshield. Not a cab in sight.
“It turned left two streets down,” Russell said, glancing at him. “But from there, it’s anyone’s guess. How good is this connection between you and Kirby?”
“Good enough to find her, I think.” I hope.
