“You said the devil would be tracking us.” Maybe that’s who she was looking for in the mirror. “Didn’t Adam slay her?”
“She got away. Talk about a beast. Adam’s trying to track her. The Order, too. We’re going to stay in the Segue bunker for the time being. Hide out. Eventually, they’ll bring her down.”
Layla leaned forward, squinting upward to peer at the sky. Then braked hard when she came too close to the vehicle in front.
“It’s pointless to track her,” Shadowman said. He knew what had to be done. The devil wouldn’t stop until Layla was dead, the gate secure.
He’d have to finish Rose himself. Even though he was mortal there was a way, though less expedient than his strength and power as fae Death. Mortals had been making deals with devils since the beginning of time. He’d simply do the same.
An adjacent car, boxy like the Hummer, nearly veered into Layla’s space, and she jerked into another line of traffic, cursing, “Asshole!” All her previous levity was gone. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, her back straight and tense. “Hey, can you call Adam on that mobile?”
The car lurched forward as they were bumped from behind.
“What was that?” Shadowman asked. He grabbed the slender piece of technology from the slot in the dash but had no idea how to use it. Again, he was useless in this world.
“We’re being followed, but I don’t know who it could be. Only you, me, and Rose know about the warehouse.” A drip of sweat rolled down her temple. She puffed her hair out of her eyes.
Cold stole over Shadowman, and he shivered for the first time. Ever. “The angels know as well. They came for the gate, and moved it.”
“Angels are bullying me on the road?” she demanded. “They could get someone hurt!”
“They just want me.” The Order was taking no chances. A mage had been born, one who’d already brought Hell and death to the world. His cursed gate was his own death warrant. “You simply found me first.”
“Well, they can’t have you.”
The boxy car veered again, scraping against theirs, the sound an offensive shriek of metal on metal.
And still the devil had to be dealt with. Might as well be now, before he lost this last chance.
“Get off this big road, Layla.” The calm in his voice surprised even him.
“No way.”
“We can’t go on like this,” Shadowman insisted. “Trust me. Let me speak with them.”
“The angels will do what’s right. Right?” But she didn’t sound as if she believed it.
The truth was, the angels would do what they believed was right, whether it was or not. They had only their own counsel to go by, the good of humankind foremost in their minds. But there would be no doubt: A mage who’d built a gate to Hell would be best scrubbed from Earth. Unless of course, that mage meant to fight a devil first.
“This road is dangerous, Layla,” he reasoned. “Let’s get off it before someone”—meaning you—“gets hurt.”
“Custo wouldn’t hurt you, and he’s an angel,” she said, trying to convince herself.
She took a side road, and the guard of surrounding cars followed, yes, like a flock of strange geese. She turned right onto the next street and coasted down its length. This road was wide, surely busy at certain times of day, but just now few cars passed. The buildings seemed gray, passionless, silent, on the sidewalks only a soul or two.
Shadowman noted the intersection ahead. Perfect. “Stop here.”
The surrounding cars gave Layla no choice but to stop in the middle of the street.
“Good,” he said. “Stay in the car.”
So of course she got out at the same time he did.
The angels were exiting, too, their bright, beautiful faces full of doom. Two there, four on that side, another group joining at his back. Ballard at his right. They were men and women in modern dress, all of them armed with Heavenly weapons. And suddenly he was reminded of that first day with Layla, on the city street. Then, too, the angels had stepped out of obscurity and made themselves known. Watching.
He approached Ballard, who momentarily braced himself to strike.
Shadowman glanced down at the battle-ax in Ballard’s hand. The haft was long and the silver-blue blade moon arched, though differently oriented than his scythe had been. Still, the handling would be similar. “Might I borrow that for a moment?”