Rachel Caine - Kicking It

I jumped onto the booth bench and searched the crowd. The man was already outside. Double damn.

“Hey, Knight,” I yelled, hoping my voice carried over the panicked outcries.

Derrick, unsurprisingly, hadn’t entered the melee. Instead he stood against the back wall, arms crossed over his chest as he remained well clear of anyone who could accidentally touch him. He watched the madness with a rather apathetic expression, but his head jerked toward me when he heard his name.

“Can you get her secured and processed? She’ll be down several hours unless someone dispels my knockout spell.”

At his nod, I jumped from the booth and pulled an evidence bag from my pocket. If I were following procedure—or being intelligently cautious—I would have pulled on gloves and cast a circle before trying to remove Vicky’s heels, but I needed to catch up to the man she’d worked some unknown magic on. And I needed to find out what that magic was. With that in mind, I grabbed the shoes and pulled them off feet covered in welts and blisters.

“Damn, I’m even more surprised that you could walk.” How could she have smiled like she did when she had to be in agony? Not that such a question was what I needed to be focused on right now. I shoved the shoes in my bag, the spells on them all but crackling when the magic-dampening spell in the plastic touched the red material. I sealed the bag and then ran for the door.

Some of the panicked patrons scuttled out of my path, but many didn’t and I spent priceless seconds trying to shove through the crowd.

“Darque, activate your charm,” Derrick yelled from the back of the building. He’s the premonition witch. I covered the small pendant with my palm and channeled just enough magic into the healing charm to activate it. Then I continued to elbow my way through the crowd.

By the time I made it outside, the victim had vanished. I ran for my vehicle, scanning people and cars as I moved. There. The man was in a silver sedan, already in line to make a right out of the parking lot.

I jumped into the rental Hummer and reversed the large beast, forcing it to turn a little tighter than it liked. I did it without smashing any other cars, so it was a success. The sedan had already turned. Damn. I didn’t bother with the line but took the Hummer over the sidewalk and onto the grass—it was an off-road vehicle after all. I made good time with my improvised private turning lane, but still not fast enough to spot my target. Which means a little aggressive driving is in order.

The Hummer had a lot of pickup, and I pushed its horsepower as I swerved and darted around other cars while the speedometer needle continued its climb. It took only a mile for me to spot the silver sedan, and only a minute to catch up. I slowed as I approached and flashed my lights, trying to signal the driver. He didn’t turn off the road. Swerving around him, I opened my passenger window waved, yelling for him to stop.

The small car sped up.

Damn it. Just because he didn’t know I was trying to help him didn’t mean he had to be so stubborn.

As I gave chase, I considered shooting him. I could probably bounce a metal bolt in such a way it would pierce the glass and spill its contents on the driver without actually hitting him. There were a lot of variables though, and while I could get away with a lot in my job, even I would get in trouble for shooting a victim for his own protection. Besides, I had no way to control his car. He’d likely end up in worse shape than the victims already affected by the waitress’s spell.

Behind me, three sets of blue lights throbbed in the growing darkness. Well, that’s just peachy. The lights grew brighter as the cops drew closer until they completely filled my rear window. “You’re driving Impalas and I have a tank of a Hummer; what exactly are you going to do?”

Apparently just follow me and hope I pull over. Well, I would as soon as the silver sedan did. Which meant we made a nasty gang of cars flying down the quiet road at breakneck speeds.

Finally the sedan made an abrupt right. I’d been waiting for the move but it still left me wrenching the steering wheel. The Hummer shuddered as it slid into the turn, at least one tire losing contact with the ground. Oh, you really turn on a dime, don’t you? Just don’t flip.

It didn’t.

I swung it back on the road, still following the silver sedan. Behind me, two of the cops made the turn. I wasn’t sure what happened to the third, but I imagined he’d be joining us soon.

The sedan pulled into the vacant parking lot of a golf course, but even though his car stopped, he didn’t get out. I gave him points for picking a public place to stop—if you think someone is a crazy killer you shouldn’t lead them to your house—but I took away points for it being empty. The clubhouse ahead of me was dark, the course and parking lot lit only by security lighting. I put the Hummer in park but I didn’t cut the engine.

Behind me, the two remaining cop cars skidded to a halt and the officers poured out hot, guns out and ready for action. They barricaded themselves behind their open doors as four guns pointed at the Hummer.

I pulled my ID and badge out of my pocket, unrolled my window and held both my hands—one open to prove I was unarmed and one holding my badge—out of the car.

“I’m MCIB,” I yelled through the window and hoped they could hear it over their adrenaline. “I’m unarmed and I’m coming out. Don’t shoot.” I double-checked that my weapons were hidden under spells and then twisted my arm so I could open the Hummer from the outside, never letting my hands leave the cops’ views. No one shot up my door, so I took that as a good sign and slid out of the vehicle.

Still no shots, but the cops still had their guns drawn.

“I’m Magic Crimes Investigation Bureau,” I told them again and they looked from one to the other. Finally one of the older men made a waving motion and his partner ran forward, his gun still out but at least pointed at the ground and not me. When he reached me he held out his hand and I handed him my credentials.

“She’s legit,” he said after studying the badge and ID extensively.

With his announcement the other cops dropped and holstered their guns; they kept them unsnapped though, as if they expected to need to draw fast again soon. I ignored the implication.

“So he’s a suspect?” one officer asked, pointing at the idling silver sedan.

“Actually, a victim, but I don’t think he realizes that fact yet.” Still, I’d learned a long time ago not to allow a victim carrying an unknown spell to wander around unobserved. You could tie up a case only to discover a new problem had spawned. “He needs to go to a magical containment ward at the hospital.”

The cop glanced from me to the sedan before shrugging and approaching the car. The driver didn’t immediately unroll the window let alone get out. It took the officer knocking on his window twice before the man finally cracked it. The man then went on a too-fast diatribe about how I was a psychotic murderer. I didn’t bother listening beyond the fact that his name was Justin. Sometime during the panicked retelling, the third police car arrived. They seemed more than a little confused by the scene, but didn’t stay long once it was obvious there would be no more car chases and no firefights.

“Sir, please get out of the car,” the officer told the still frantic man.

He refused at first, but like most good, law-abiding people, did as the officer requested. I watched the proceeding idly. As long as Justin made it to a secured location where he’d not only be safe from the magic that I’d seen infect him but everyone else would be safe as well, then my job was done. The police could take it from this point. I had other things I needed to do. Like interview my suspect.