With effort, I text Syd asking her to call me—the only time I have ever been thankful for autocorrect—but I know she's already on the road. By the time she sees my message, it will be too late.
Scanning through a month of text messages while shaking from the Jolts of Damnation is not an easy task. Finally, I find an old message with the address to the cafe where I had met her and Coleen to return the ring. They had left to hang out with Larry. Help with his research, no doubt. Looking for me.
Some of the threads are matching up. I can't make sense of it yet, but I know Larry is not the good uncle. That spiked spearhead came from the anthropology lab in San Diego. Larry's anthropology lab.
I don't know why Larry is killing his own family, but something tells me he isn't going to make an exception for Syd.
Come to find out, the Corolla can fly nearly as well as the Accord. I focus every sizzling brain cell on the road, weaving among traffic, reminiscent of a high speed chase that didn't end so well.
I have no doubt my license plate will show up in a dozen speed cameras, but I dare anyone to pull me over right now. There will be some serious Hulk smashing going down if they try.
I whip off the freeway, run a few red lights, and speed by the cafe. They had turned left. I don't know why I remember that, but I do. The Corolla’s tires squeal as I force a sharp turn and floor it down the street.
The red and black Audi is parked on the curb in front of a house. At least she kept the car. I can pick her out while cruising one hundred miles per hour.
The Corolla drags belly as it comes to a halt.
I storm across the lawn and up the porch, then kick out the front window. I'm over the sill before all the glass has landed.
The living room is empty.
I tilt my head and listen around the hum. Noises from the back of the house. Never one for stealth, I clomp through the kitchen and round the corner.
The barrel of a gun touches my face. Holding the pistol, a middle-aged man with thinning dark hair and fair skin. I hit low, in his gut. He doubles over. I pull my gun. He reaches up and grabs my arm and shoves.
I stumble back, clawing at furniture to break my fall. I only manage to pull over a table as I hit the ground. He lunges at me. I roll out of the way and scramble to stand. His foot catches me in the chest. My sternum and heart seem to collide. I fall face first into the carpet.
He yanks me up. I swing, miss. My back hits the window. Glass shatters, and I thud to the ground outside. He leaps down. I kick his leg, knocking him to his knees. He scurries for me, but he's obviously missed the memo on who the monster is around here.
I launch to my feet and catch him in the face with my elbow, crunching his nose. I smash him in the back of his head. Blood dribbles to the trampled grass. His hand goes to his face. Then he raises his head to me.
I tense, waiting for him to make the next move. He stares at me. I think for a minute that he might realize who I am. But he doesn't. He spent his life looking for the jinn, and he doesn't even recognize that the jinn is kicking his ass.
Syd did say I wasn't what they had thought I would be. Not exactly a compliment.
Larry scuttles to his feet and darts past me. I spin around as he swings a brick. I try to dodge, but fail to channel Bruce Lee this time. The brick lands solidly against my shoulder. I stumble, think I caught my balance, then fall straight into the bushes.
Larry clomps over me and raises the brick like he's playing the High Striker game at a carnival. I pull my knee to my chest and slam my heel right under his chest bone. The brick drops. I twist out of the way. The brick catches me in the hip.
I curl up as the pain from my hip bolts through my body. Larry is still hovering around me somewhere. I reach out blindly and grab at him. My fingers latch his wrist. I pull him around as I kick upward. Another solid strike below the chest bone.
He gasps, then wheezes. I'm on my feet, pushing my way through the bushes. His hand shoves against his chest. Blood is still running down his lips and falling from his chin. I'm covered in blood too, but he can't take credit for much of it.
He swings, but it's weak. I step out of the way. There's so much anger on his face, so much hatred, that I wish I could tell him who I am—right before I kill him.
He swings again. I catch his fist and shove him back. He stumbles, and I take a step toward him. I clench my hand and slam my elbow into the side of his head. He staggers forward, hunched over. Then I realize he found a gun on the ground—my gun. The one I had dropped when he heaved me through the window.
He raises the gun. Satisfaction settles over his face.
I pull a Syd and rush him, slamming my shoulder into his chest. As he falls, I grab my gun and twist it from his grasp. He jerks forward. I bash the butt of the gun into the back of his head. He drops to his knees. I flip the gun around, shove it against his temple, and look up.
Syd is standing on the other side of the broken window, her face swollen and bruised. Her arms are bleeding.