When the ringing blindness cleared a little, I could hear shouting – muffled, like someone had wrapped my head in a pillow – and there was a distinct sensation of movement. Took a few more fuzzy seconds for me to realize that I was being dragged. Someone had their hands under my armpits, and was lugging me like a body needing disposal. I finally found my voice to protest when we hit the stairs.
“Then get off your ass and move yourself.” It was the girl – Nyx – sounding even more annoyed than usual. “Or so help me, I will let you roll to the bottom.”
After a bit of awkward gymnastics – my sense of balance had apparently decided to take the rest of the day off – I managed to get to my feet, using the closest wall for support. My vision was still mostly a blur.
“Where are we?”
“Back stairwell. Come on, no time for loitering.”
I followed the dim, bobbing blob that I assumed must be Nyx down the stairs, leaning against the railing to keep myself upright.
“What was that back there?”
“Flash grenade.”
I gathered from the ensuing grunts and curses, and the eventual screech of rusty hinges, that the door at the bottom of the stairs was not cooperating. A dozen words danced in my throat, but never quite made it out – “You’re shitting me,” was on the top of the list. Thing is, I hadn’t know her that long – maybe an hour or two, tops – but I got the impression that she didn’t kid. Or exaggerate. So. Flash grenade.
“I take it Trev’s paranoia wasn’t completely unfounded, then. Who the hell would want to hurt him, though? He’s harmless.”
“Not him. As for who tossed it, I didn’t wait around to ask. But I have some ideas. You wouldn’t happen to know how to hotwire one of these, would you?”
One of… “What..? No.” No, I was pretty sure I didn’t know how to hotwire, period. My vision had returned enough to tell that the blocky shapes around us were cars – must be the underground parking lot.
“Damn,” Nyx said. “Need to find an older model. Before everything got all covered up and computerized.”
Since that made no sense to me, I tried another topic. “Speaking of Trevor…”
“No idea. He wasn’t anywhere to be seen when I showed up. Ah…” This time her voice gained a note of satisfaction. “There you are. And you are a thing of beauty, aren’t you?”
I knew she wasn’t talking to me, and my clearing vision could see that the garage seemed unoccupied, aside from us.
“You talk to cars a lot?”
“Shut it.” Nyx pulled something thin and wiry out of her pocket, and unfolded it like a telescoping fishing pole. In a matter of seconds, she had the door open, and the panel off the car’s steering column. Then she was contorting herself on the driver’s seat, doing something I couldn’t see – presumably something to do with wires. There was a cough and a sputter, followed by the begrudging, phlegmy rumble of an engine starting. It didn’t sound all that healthy, as engines go, but I had to admit she was right. It was a thing of beauty.
“1969 Dodge Charger,”I said, impressed. Not that I know thing one about cars. But I had spent many a childhood afternoon cross-legged on the carpet in front of the TV, following the adventures of the Duke brothers with far more rapt attention than they deserved.
“You getting in or what?”
Tempted as I was to try leaping into the passenger seat via the window, I had recovered enough to realize that first, my coordination was still of questionable reliability, and second, that the window was firmly shut. I settled for yanking open the door and settling into the cracked leather seat.
“So is this the part where the car chase starts?”
Nyx grimaced. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Still – you might want to put your seatbelt on.”
I did my best to follow her advice, as she floored it, first back, then a sharp arch forward, out of the parking spot and onto the exit ramp.
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