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I wrinkled my nose. “That’s a good four-hour drive from here, which means it’ll be well and truly into night by the time we arrive. It won’t be safe to enter the mine, no matter how many lights we carry with us.”
“We’ll find a place to stay close by.” He tossed me the keys. “You’d best drive, given we have no idea how long the drug will take to totally clear our systems.”
We jumped into the car and got the hell out of there. We made two stops—one for fuel and food, and one to buy foil and tape and then apply it—but it was nevertheless after midnight by the time we neared Cheltenham. We found a hotel within easy striking distance of the chimney and grabbed a couple of rooms. I had a quick shower to clean the various cuts and scrapes, waited while Cynwrig checked the tape holding the foil across my shoulder remained in place, then fell into bed and was asleep within minutes.
An insistent ringtone woke me gods only knew how long later. I opened an eye and glared blearily at the offending object. It didn’t stop. Before I could move or even swear, a body pressed closer to mine, and then Cynwrig reached past me and grabbed it.
“Lugh?” he said, sounding as weary and as sleep deprived as I felt. “What’s up?”
Cynwrig held the phone close so I could hear Lugh’s reply. “I just got a call from Rogan, wondering where I was. He did not sound happy.”
“Maybe the foil is working, and he can’t trace us,” I said.
“Could be, but I suspect we’re nevertheless running out of time. Up, lazy people, we need to get moving. I’ve ordered coffee and toast to go, and it’ll be ready in five.”
“Well, why didn’t you just say that in the first place,” I grumbled. “See you soon.”
Cynwrig hung up, dropped a kiss onto my cheek, and then threw off the covers and rose. I was tempted to lie there and just watch all the muscular magnificence on display, but Lugh was right. We were running out of time.
I sighed and got up. The tape sticking the foil to my skin immediately started itching, but I’d put up with a whole lot worse if it stopped the signal getting out.
Once dressed, I did my teeth, then grabbed my pack and followed Cynwrig out the door. Lugh was already downstairs. He handed us a takeaway coffee cup and a brown paper bag containing what smelled like raisin toast, then led us out the door and over to the car. A thick fog hugged the ground, and the air was crisp and still. It was a good hour or so until sunrise, but some birds were already and rather too cheerfully greeting the dawn.
I climbed into the back seat and happily munched on my toast as Lugh started the car and drove off. We were on Leckhampton Hill Road, heading for the chimney, when a car rounded the corner ahead with its lights on full beam.
“Idiot,” Lugh muttered, and briefly flicked our car’s lights onto full beam in warning. The driver seemed to take no notice, accelerating at us with speed.
“Um, Lugh,” I said, “I’m not liking the feel—”
The rest of the sentence ended in a yelp as we were hit side-on with enough force to crush the side of our car and send us tumbling.
Over the road, down into a ditch, into deeper darkness and unconsciousness.
ChapterTwelve
Waking wasa slow and painful process. I was aware first of the stickiness that plastered the side of my face and the little men armed with picks chipping merrily at my brain. There was a fiercer ache in the lower part of my left arm, and it felt wrong. Heavy, though I couldn’t immediately tell why without opening my eyes, and I didn’t want to do that just yet. Not without understanding more of my situation.
As my consciousness continued to deepen, I realized I was lying on some kind of carpet that vibrated oddly.
A car. I was in a car.
Our car?
Probably not. Not given the ropes of moving air that bound my arms to my body.
Lugh, I suddenly thought. Where was Lugh? Were he and Cynwrig okay?
Almost of their own accord, my eyelids sprang open, only to be met by darkness. As my eyes adjusted, I saw a carpet-covered wall in front of me and metal above. It took a moment for recognition to kick in. I was not only in a car, but the goddamn trunk of it.
I tried to roll over to check what lay behind me, but the minute my weight hit my left arm, a scream rolled up my throat. I somehow clamped down on it, but sweat popped out across my brow, and for several seconds, all I wanted to do was throw up.
When I could, I looked down. It was bandaged and splinted from wrist to elbow, suggesting I must have broken it in the crash. I could still move my fingers, so there was obviously no muscle or nerve damage, and that meant I could still grip my knives... Fuck, my knives. Their weight was missing, and their sheaths were no longer strapped to my thighs. Which in truth was more an inconvenience than a real problem, given I could call them to me, but I nevertheless missed their comforting weight. I did at least still have the Eye—I could feel its chain around my neck and its thunderous beat of power against my chest. It appeared to be beating in time with my heart, but its energy was one of fury rather than fear. Which was odd—the Eye wasn’t in and of itself a weapon.
I rolled back onto my right side and stared at the back of the seats. I couldn’t hear anyone talking and had no idea how many people there were with me in the car. The storm mage was obviously present, given the airy ropes, but I had no idea who else was.
I tried to gather the air around my fingers, but nothing happened. I had no idea why—I was aware of the movement of warm air in the cabin beyond the back seats, could feel the heaviness of an approaching storm, but a barrier of some kind had been placed between us, preventing me from reaching them.
Was it a spell? Or had they used some sort of inhibitor? I knew there were drugs that could temporarily stop the use of certain psi talents, but my ability to call down storms was more than just a psychic talent... wasn’t it?
