“Where the fuck did you get this, Dimitri?” She holds up something, but I can't tell what it is. “I found it in your car! Where did you get it?”
“What were you doing in my car?” I scowl, trying to recall if I had locked it before coming inside. I have been in a stupor since the drive home from Mark's condo.
Syd storms through the doorway, like she's going to bust out a gun and do her own version of knock, kick, kill.
“You work for Karl Walker.” Her tone is angry and accusatory. “Is that who you protect?”
“Yeah,” I say, still not quite sure what is happening. My brain is not all there right now.
Then I realize she's holding a small stuffed bunny.
She shakes the toy at me. “Where the hell is Zoe?”
I stare at her, dumbly.
“Zoe is my little sister.” Her voice—and face—cracks into the flood of emotion dammed up since the day we met. She flips the rabbit over to reveal a name in marker on the underside. “This is my handwriting, Dim. What happened to her?”
I can't respond, because I never know what happens to my prisoners. But now I understand why Syd hadn't left to Italy with her grandmother. She has a younger sister.
Syd screams at me. I can't make out the words. My brain is struggling to understand how I managed to kidnap Syd's sister. Why did Karl want her? He must know Larry is onto him.
This whole situation has slipped through my fingers, and I can't seem to catch it.
“Fuck you, Dimitri.” Syd leaves, slamming the door behind her.
I stand with my back against the wall, trying to think. Larry knows Karl has a jinn. Syd works with Larry, but she doesn't know everything they're looking for is right here. It's me.
How would she feel knowing all those nights had been spent with a creature from folklore depicted thousands of years ago?
And that's all I am. A creature. I lived among humans, watched them, participated with them in my own way. I was always different, but I thought it was circumstantial. I thought that, fundamentally, I was like them. But I'm not.
This is why Doctor Patricia Kerr was paid off for my DNA. Why Karl went to such extremes to conceal it.
I have to protect Karl. Protect Silvia. Before, I just wasn't allowed to kill them. Now I have to keep them alive. Something tells me if they die before me, that fail switch will make my death long and drawn out. That's how this curse works. It screws with me every step of the way.
I need to tell Karl what has happened. I just don't know how. I can't tell him about Syd, or that I met Patricia. Or that I waited so long to kill Mark that someone else got to him first.
How am I supposed to let him know they're gaining on us without admitting what I've done?
Car doors slam outside. I tilt my head and listen.
Sirens.
I cross to the door and pull it open. The sirens grow louder. Approaching.
Syd reported me.
Panic floods through me, driving my actions, yet I don't really feel it. Like it doesn't reach my brain. I grab my jacket, verify the guns and ammo are still in the pockets, and head outside. I don't bother to lock the door behind me.
Two cop cars swing into the street outside my front yard. The officers start to unload. I'm behind the steering wheel of the Accord. The engine turns over. I pull out, barely missing one of the Crown Victorias. The officers shout something I don't catch. I turn my car and take off.
Lights flash behind me. Sirens kick on. I glance in the rear view mirror, expecting to see one or two police cars behind me. There are too many to count.
I stomp the gas pedal.
Just like that, I'm in a high speed chase.
The speedometer creeps toward sixty miles per hour. I turn out of the residential street and onto the main road. Traffic is sparse. I can do this.
I lock my gaze out the windshield, ignoring the urge to look behind at the pursuing cops. I know they're there. The sirens are steady.
The truck ahead of me doesn't see me coming. I swerve around it and back into the lane. The light is yellow, so I accelerate and breeze through it.
I think I have a destination in mind. My brain is too focused on not getting jiggy with the vehicles around me to acknowledge it though.
Seventy-five miles per hour.
A woman is crossing the street. Jay walker. I arc around her, nearly swipe an SUV, and then swing back into my lane.
The on-ramp is coming up. If I miss it, I'm screwed. I don't have the capacity to reroute my path right now. Not while maintaining eighty miles an hour.
As I approach, a Volkswagen trudging along changes into my lane. A goddamn Beetle is preventing my escape.
I honk the horn. The bastard doesn't seem to realize there's a damn chase happening around him. He doesn't accelerate or slow down or move out of my freakin' path.
I say, “Slug bug red!” and skid my car in front of him and onto the ramp, then punch it.