“Are you okay?” Daniel asked, and she pulled her head up, resolved to carry the shame of it with no regrets.
Nodding, she took a deep breath and shouted, “You hear me, Kalamack! Something will come for you in the night. I promise you!” Falling back into herself, she gingerly rubbed her burned hand. She’d broken the most sacred rule of magic. You always pay for the dark you do. Forcing the smut on another was the darkest sin, one she’d walk away from with no one the wiser. It made her fouler than Kal. It made her akin to a demon. She didn’t care.
Much. “How about you?” she said, feeling unreal. “Are you all right?”
Daniel looked at the cars, his head drooping. “Fine. What was that you threw at him?”
Trisk gripped her elbows. Her aura was spotlessly clean, and she’d never felt so dirty. “Regret,” she said, though she’d do it again in an instant. And I’m going to raise a child? Our child? Quen, what have I done?
Her longtime friend’s moral compass would never understand why she’d done it. Unexpected tears threatened, and she clenched her jaw, refusing to cry. Seeing it, Daniel tugged her into a sideways hug—which only made things worse. “It’s okay. The thing right now is to get to a phone and let people know you can avoid getting sick.”
She nodded, throat tight. Her thoughts still on what Quen would say, she turned to the boxcar for one last look. Her grip on the ley line strengthened, and with a flick of thought, she sent the entire car into flames.
Daniel stumbled back, his eyes wide as they shifted from her obvious misery to the engulfed car, burning hotter than any normal fire. She wouldn’t leave them half-burned and foul; she wanted them cremated. Bones would remain, but little else.
“Let’s go,” Daniel said softly as the heated metal began to creak and ping. For all the fury of the flames, Trisk knew they wouldn’t catch anything else on fire. Head down, she fell into place beside him, thinking that she didn’t deserve any kindness when his arm went over her shoulder.
She watched their feet, her sneakers beside his sensible office shoes, now scratched and marred into a bland gray, as far from their original shiny black as she was from the innocent woman she’d been two weeks ago. Slowly the uncomfortable rocks turned into flat dirt, then an echoing, empty wheelhouse. The gates were locked, but they used a Dumpster to get over the wall, and the two of them came out onto the streets proper, their first eager steps faltering as they took in the empty silence.
“Where is everyone?” Daniel whispered, and she shrugged, angling them toward the taller buildings. A megaphone blared in the distance, and a heavy diesel truck rumbled. Without comment, they went in the opposite direction. Twitches of curtains balanced the pervading scent of new death. The city wasn’t deserted, and it wasn’t dead.
“I think everyone is hiding,” Trisk said. “How much change do you have?” she asked as she saw a pay phone outside a gas station.
“Few dollars.” He searched his pocket as they crossed the road. Someone was coming. Not that big diesel truck, but several cars by the sound of it. “Maybe we should find a phone off the main street,” he said as they passed two abandoned vehicles in the parking lot.
She didn’t have even a dime, and she lifted the receiver to find a dial tone. “Oh, thank God,” she whispered, loath to leave it.
“Uh, Trisk, it’s the cops,” Daniel said, and she stumbled when he pulled her into the chancy shadows to leave the receiver swinging.
Ahhh, shit, she thought, but it was too late and the lights flashed and the siren whooped once to tell them to stay put. “Oh, man,” she whispered when five cars stopped tight in the parking lot, almost pinning them against the wall of the building. Men dressed in combat gear spilled out, yelling at them, and she put her hands up. Her thoughts went to her hair, her clothes. She looked a mess. They’d never believe her story. Quen wouldn’t have made a mistake like this. I should have been more careful.
Silent, Daniel raised his hands, his fingers spread as two men approached, pushing him into the wall and cuffing him.
“Hey, we’re the good guys,” Trisk protested as one manhandled her, cuffing her hands behind her. “We know what’s causing the plague. We need to talk to someone in Detroit.”
Daniel stumbled, grunting as they pushed him into the wall of the gas station again. “I don’t think they care,” he said, lips pressing when someone told him to shut up.