Wolf Hunted, стр. 39

The man chuckled. “Says the man with the magical axe in his truck.” He grinned again. “So many things here might just jump out and howl at the moon. I prefer not to lose a limb to barbaric jaws.”

“He just called the wolves barbarians, Ed,” I said.

He pointed a finger at me. “Now, now. I most certainly did not.” He sniffed. “I’m here precisely because of the wolves. I’m here to finish my father’s work.”

I slid my hand over the Tesla’s iridescent paint as if the act would pick up some sort of magical residue. I saw nothing, nor did I feel any energy. “What are you talking about?” I snarled.

The memory card he’d carried at the park had a shadow. Sal was adamant about there being concealments here. And I was sure I’d seen the shadow at Raven’s Gaze.

“When the time is right.” He leaned forward and looked out the windshield. “Where is my crew? They have a job to do. It’s time.”

This man carried some sort of shadowy magical armament. It didn’t emanate from him, nor was he carrying it on his person as protection spells. He looked like any other self-absorbed rich mundane.

Yet he knew all about Alfheim and her magicals, and he’d been mundanely buying up land around town for what Ed said had been years.

Years, I thought. This ugly little man who lacked his own magical abilities obviously had the resources to bulletproof himself—figuratively, literally, and magically. And he had an agenda.

And it looked more and more as if he was responsible for the poster vandalism.

“Your crew is smarter than you,” I said. “They’re cooperating.”

His nostrils flared and his lips pinched into a mask of hostility. “They’re fired!” He slapped the steering wheel. “Everything I do here is because of her.” He pointed toward Axlam.

“He’s a stalker, Ed,” I said. A stalker with some sort of magical help.

“I am not!” he yelled.

Of course he didn’t consider himself a stalker. He probably didn’t think slapping posters all over window fronts was property damage, either. “Said every stalker everywhere,” I responded.

He slapped the steering wheel again.

Ed tapped the window. “Roll it down!” he said.

The man slowly turned his head toward the shadow Ed threw onto his blacked-out window. “Does your mundane friend have a warrant?” he asked.

I moved slowly as I leaned down again, more to get a good look at the sun playing on the surface of the Tesla than to toss any dominant body language at our interloper.

And there, along the hood, the iridescence gave way to a shadow.

“He has cause.” I tapped the glass of the car’s rear window. “Downtown was vandalized last night. And you should really look into tint laws before you truck in an expensive car from California.”

Ed tapped the glass again. “Out of the vehicle!”

The man gripped the steering wheel tightly and frowned. He obviously hadn’t thought about the blacked-out windows.

“A fine is not sufficient cause to pull me from my vehicle,” he said.

“Are you sure?” I looked over the top of the car at Ed. “Blacked-out windows may mean, what?” I asked.

“In Texas, we saw a lot of cartel vehicles with windows like this,” he said loudly enough that the man in the car could hear. “Enough that searching their property fell within probable cause.”

I couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. But I wasn’t the target of his bluff, so my reaction didn’t matter.

The man’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “You need a warrant!” he yelled.

Something changed. The air, perhaps, or the angle at which the sunlight hit the top of the Tesla. Whatever it was, it pulled my attention completely away from the inside of the vehicle to its exterior.

And it… pushed me away from the vehicle.

Ed, too. His eye blanked—his whole body blanked out—and he backed away. We both sucked in our breath as if we’d been punched, and before I could blink, Axlam was between Ed and the car.

And the present Alpha of the Alfheim Pack broke the Tesla’s door. I wasn’t sure what she did, but it swung open and stayed open as if she’d damaged the hinge.

Ed staggered but quickly recovered. He drew his weapon. “Get out of the car!” he bellowed.

Axlam stepped aside as I rounded the vehicle. “Listen to Sheriff Martinez,” she snarled.

I saw the glint of the weapon just before Axlam snatched it from the interloper and tossed it away from the vehicle. Her eyes shimmered with their golden wolf color, and she held her hands as if they were claws.

Was she about to lose control? I didn’t know, so I grabbed the interloper by his collar and hauled him out of the car.

He balled his fists like a child. “How dare you touch me!” he whined.

I tossed him away from his car and toward a more open area of the lot.

All the hints of shadows, all the gleaming edges and the energy I needed to squint to see, erupted around him like a shimmering, bug-like carapace.

I wasn’t looking at present magic. I knew what I saw wasn’t here with us, yet I saw an echo.

Or perhaps it wasn’t an echo. Perhaps he’d opened a line and I was looking at the magical version of a smartphone video chat.

The magic of Axlam’s wolf leaped between Ed and the interloper just as Arne’s own electric vehicle pulled into the lot.

Dagrun was out of the passenger side before the car stopped. She twisted as if dancing with the vehicle’s door and walked directly toward the interloper. She said nothing, and her face communicated even less. She flicked her wrist.

A thick, semi-opaque wall of magic manifested between the interloper, Ed, Axlam, and me, but it did nothing to diminish his carapace of amber-tinted magic.

He jittered each time his shell pulsed, and his mouth opened slightly. His eyelids drooped too, as if whatever the magic was doing gave him great pleasure.

Dag did not disguise her disgust, and her wall pushed against the amber shell