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Gotta hurry, gotta hurry! I can’t let them be seen!
Instead of using the sidewalks, I shifted to a cat and zigzagged my way up an alleyway. There, I found what I was looking for, a fire escape ladder.
I changed into a human to make quick work of it, then cut my way across the roofline of the block before I jumped off and had to shimmy up the next ladder.
It was faster—I could run without worrying about catching anyone’s attention or getting run down by a car.
When I was close enough that I could see splashes of blue and red from the police cars over the ledges of the buildings, I hopped down, planning to merge into the chaos.
I jumped down into an alley and popped out in a street, pausing for a moment to get my bearings.
The street was empty, except for a fae walking down the sidewalk—away from the accident—on the opposite side of the street.
His hands were tucked into his black jacket, and his stride was casual and even.
He wasn’t bothered by what had just happened, even though—if Rodaric was right—he couldn’t access magic at the moment.
I studied him, taking in his blond hair and casual fae grace and height.
There’s something déjà vu-y about him. Not that I’ve met him before, but…have I seen him somewhere?
He wasn’t a Night Court fae—those guys were way too proud of their Court Alliance, they all wore stars and moons or trash griffin pins somewhere on their clothes whenever they were out and about.
Save it for later.
I attempted to brand a mental image of him, but I could hear cries of people in pain, and raised voices.
I needed to move it.
Sprinting up the street, I slowed down only when my sidewalk merged with main street. The place was a mess.
There were ambulances, police cars—police tape was actively going up—and crowds of injured pedestrians were being shepherded through the now closed street as onlookers stopped to gape and—stupidly—take pictures.
I couldn’t tell exactly what had happened, except to say there was shattered glass everywhere, I still couldn’t feel magic, and the only supernaturals I saw were three werewolves who were leaning against the ambulances, holding their ears and whimpering.
I think they were among the worst injured—it seemed like everything else was limited to cuts and lacerations from the broken glass.
What was the point of this?
I let the thought fester for a moment before I snuffed it out. It didn’t matter now—that was for people like Pat to document and guess. I needed to get Jaqleon and Oleander out.
If I could find them.
Lost Garden is farther up the street. Let’s head there first.
I skirted around a police officer who didn’t even give me a second glance, and scrambled around one of the parked ambulances.
I didn’t see Pat, which was a good thing for me. He was immune to my magic that made me unnoticeable, and if he saw me he would chew me out. But his absence also probably meant he was briefing his task force, so time was of the essence.
When I arrived at the Lost Garden clothing boutique, I sucked in more air than I needed and almost hiccupped.
All the front store windows were blown out. The shattered glass littered the front of the store and was tossed across the wooden floor and the chic rugs that were going to be impossible to clean.
The display mannequins had toppled—probably from the force of the blast—but the rest of the store’s interior was untouched.
Hopefully Oleander wasn’t near the front.
I stood in the doorway—which was empty, because the glass door had been blown to smithereens. “Hello, Oleander?”
