Ink Witch (Kat Dubois Chronicles Book 1) by Lindsey Fairleigh

Author:Lindsey Fairleigh [Fairleigh, Lindsey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2016-09-19T16:00:00+00:00

15

The nearest pay phone I could find was four blocks east in the Industrial District outside of a twenty-four-hour convenience store. The clerk working the graveyard shift watched me through the front windows. I guess a drowned-rat motorcycle chick dripping blood on the pavement is quite the sight to see. I turned my back to him as I dialed 9-1-1.

Three rings this time before the dispatcher picked up. “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” I was fairly certain it was the same woman I’d spoken to earlier.

I cleared my throat and made an effort to deepen my voice. “I have reason to believe one of your officers is in trouble. I need you to connect me to—”

“What is your name?”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I leaned my forehead against the inside of the phone’s metal privacy alcove. “Officer Garth Smith is in trouble, and I need to talk to him right now.”

“Officer Smith has already called for backup. What is your name and how did you know he would be in trouble?”

“He already called for backup?” I went cold all over. Had Mari called in some Ouroboros goons to help her capture Nik? Would they hurt Garth? Would they go so far as to kill him? “Then it’s too late,” I said numbly, and hung up.

I stood there for a moment, feeling slightly nauseated, then took a deep breath and fished my sodden wallet out of my jacket’s interior pocket before going into the 7-Eleven. Standing there being worried and afraid and feeling sorry for myself wouldn’t help anyone. I headed straight for the refrigerated case of energy drinks in the back of the store, pulled two oversized cans out, and brought them up to the checkout counter. “No change,” I said, dropping a soggy five on the counter before walking out through the door.

If there was one thing I’d learned during my years as one of the Senate’s assassins, it’s that carrying cash is one of the best ways to keep a low profile. I always have some on me. And since many of my current clients paid in cash, I almost never had to go to the bank.

I chugged the first can of sugar and caffeine in thirty seconds flat. I tossed it into the garbage can by the door, then cracked open the second and downed it in five big gulps. They should sustain me for at least an hour, even with the untended stab wound. When I crashed, I would land hard, but this bought me some time.

I hopped back onto my bike and kicked the engine on, zooming away from the convenience store. I made it to Fremont in barely ten minutes—record time—only slowing once I was within two blocks of the troll. I couldn’t hear any sirens, but I could see the emergency vehicle’s lights flashing off trees and the sides of houses up ahead.

I rode around a corner and pulled the Ducati up onto the sidewalk, killing the engine and backing it into the driveway of a dumpy-looking house with an overgrown yard.

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