The Witch With No Name (The Hollows #13)(125)
Author: Kim Harrison

“Demons deserve to die!” another shouted, and I turned to him, feeling both strong and weak with Newt and Al behind me.

“Why, because you say so?” I said, fingertips tingling. “Maybe, but not on my watch. I warned you. I told you taking the easy way out was a bad idea. Did you listen? No! So you’re going to listen to me now!”

That went over even better, and small fights were breaking out all over as the Weres tried to get closer to the stage. “You need more practice at this,” Al said as two men vaulted onto the stage.

“Go home!” I shouted as Newt waved a cautionary finger at the men. “Go home, and pray that I find a way to reinstate the lines in Arizona, or demons without magic will be the least of your problems! You all think that security and peace are born from destroying everything stronger than you? There is no safety. There is no peace but what you make, every day, every second, with every choice.”

As if that was the signal, the crowd surged forward, swamping us.

Panic iced through me again, and I slipped on some poor man’s blood and went down, almost passing out from the pain as my hip hit the stage. “Rache!” I heard distantly, and then I’d had it.

“Enough!” I shouted, and a great boom of sound exploded from me. My fingers tingled, and I pulled my head up as men cried out, falling back from the stage, pushed by a glowing ball of silver light. My hair was floating, and I tried to flatten it, but I couldn’t stand up, and my hands were sticky. I felt as if I were glowing, and I looked at Al. He had fallen, seeming as shocked as I was. It had been magic, but how?

“Oh, you did it now!” Newt crowed, kicking that gun under the amp and almost dancing as she lurched to me and hauled me to my feet. Everyone in the square was picking themselves up. It was so quiet you could hear individual people and the whine of a siren.

“Mystics?” Al said, again at my elbow, but he wasn’t talking to me, and Newt nodded.

My heart seemed to both sink and expand. Mystics. I couldn’t hear them, but clearly they were here with me. And if they had found me, then so would . . . the Goddess.

“Oh no,” I whispered, scrambling to hide, to run, but Newt held my arm, forcing me to stay still and face the crowd.

“Just . . . let me,” she almost snarled, her lips inches away as she pinched my arm. “Let me in, Rachel.”

And panicked, I did, wiggling as I felt her siphon off some of the energy in my chi to shift my aura to hide me for a few moments more. As soon as the Goddess figured out she could find me by the mystics circling me, I was a goner.

“Bloody Band-Aid,” Newt said, eyeing the dispersing crowd. “I feel better already. Al?”

Someone in an FIB hat was beckoning us to the stairway. Numb, I shuffled that way. The crowd was scattering now as the cops started arresting them en masse, cuffing everyone and making them kneel in rows.

“Well, I’m not going to say this is a good thing,” Al grumped, and I gasped when Newt clenched my arm.

“Not good!” she snapped. “The lines are broken and you’re still going to hold to outdated beliefs based on a war that not even you remember the cause of?”

“It’s elven magic,” he whined, looking pathetic.

“Both of you shut up,” I said as I saw Trent. Oh God, he had Jenks with him, and I almost fell off the stage trying to get to them. The crowd was dispersing. They even had an ambulance, and I felt sick as I realized the medical people were clustered about that man who’d been shot. Another, very loud group of FIB agents was reading the rights to the man who’d shot him, his broken hand bound before him, bleeding and ugly. Maybe the shot man was still alive.

“Trent!” I called, and he reached out. I fell into his arms, burrowing my head against his shoulder as I shook. “They were going to kill me!” I sobbed as Jenks’s wings clattered. “What is wrong with them!”

“Shhh, you’re okay,” he soothed, and I pulled my head up, sniffing and sniveling as Al stiffly handed me a cloth handkerchief. “Next time, can we stop the lynch mob some other way?”

“Jenks, you’re flying,” I said, and the satisfied pixy landed on Newt’s shoulder.

“For the moment,” he said, sparkles almost vanishing. “Crap on toast, girl. How come you can do magic and no one else can?”

“Because she’s got a growing sliver of mystics looking to her,” Al said sourly. “That’s probably why you can fly. She’s a magnet.”

I felt like a magnet, all spiky and full of little electrical charges. I looked up at the thump-thump-thump of chopper wings echoing between the buildings. What was left of the crowd scattered, even some of the handcuffed Weres sneaking off. It felt good to be alive, and I leaned into Trent even more. “I told you this would happen. And no one listened.”

“Can she ever be right without rubbing your nose in it?” Al griped, and Jenks spilled a silver dust that vanished too quickly for my comfort.

The chopper swung into the square, and I smiled up at it, knowing it was going to take me somewhere where I wouldn’t have to think for a while, where I could have a bath, wash my hair, and maybe get the bullet out of my leg.

“Oops, she’s going down!” someone called, and I felt myself fall into Trent’s arms.

And I swear, I heard him singing as the helicopter lifted us up and away.

Chapter 28

The wind whipped my hair into a snarled mess as I inched to the edge of the medical helicopter. In an instant, the scent of antiseptic and bandages was stripped away, the hint of pavement and horse coming to me in the moonless night. Trent reached up, his hand bandaged and a raw red scrape on his cheek where he’d fallen. My heart seemed to skip a beat as I settled my fingers into his. I could have lost him. I could have lost everything.

“She should be in the chair,” said the paramedic who’d taken the bullet out and stitched me up on the way over. Trent just shrugged and lifted me down, my muscles aching as his grip tightened on me. My ribs hurt, and I held my breath. I’d rather die than sit in that chair with straps and be lowered down.

Which is a distinct possibility, I thought as my feet hit the parking lot and the resulting jolt of pain broke through whatever mundane drugs they had me on. “Thanks,” I whispered, feeling ill as I tucked the crutch Trent was handing me under my arm. It was already sized to me. Seemed he kept them on hand as a matter of course.

I was still trying to wrap my head around the mob at the square. They’d shot that man in cold blood. Newt was going to be next. Then me. Then Al. Nothing could excuse that kind of mindless panic, and I was shaken, betrayed by the same people I’d risked my life to save.