CHAPTER 14
The coyote’s snarls and the snapping of his teeth reached me clearly in the hallway, reminding me-as if I could have forgotten-how flimsy the bathroom door was. The single-wide quaked with the were’s panicked attempts to escape his prison. I hoped he would exhaust himself before he broke a bone or gave himself a concussion.
I pulled out my wallet and managed to extract Jacinto Amaya’s business card while maintaining my grip on the doorknob. I retrieved my flip phone from my jacket pocket and dialed the number he had scrawled on the back of the card.
He picked up after two rings.
“Amaya. Who’s this?”
“It’s Jay Fearsson. Your friend attacked me, and now I have him trapped in his bathroom.”
“Fearsson? What the hell are you talking about? What friend?”
“Gary Hacker.”
“Hacker attacked you? Is he all right? Did you hurt him?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” I said, my voice rising.
“Did you hurt him?” Amaya asked again. Even through the thin connection, I could hear the steel in his tone.
“I made every effort not to.”
“What happened? What did you say to him?”
“Nothing! We were talking about what had been done to him, and I asked about the man who’s been controlling his changes. And at that point we both felt a pulse of magic. Next thing I know, he shifts and attacks me.”
“He shifted? So he attacked you in his animal form?”
“That’s right.”
“Damn.” I heard Amaya exhale, though the sound was nearly drowned out by the snarls and thrashing coming from the bathroom. “Where are you?”
“We’re in Hacker’s single-wide; I have him locked in the bathroom.”
“The bathroom!” Amaya repeated, sounding angry.
“It’s the one room in his place without a window,” I said.
Amaya was silent for so long, I began to wonder if the call had been dropped. But then he said, “Yes, I understand. Thank you, Jay.”
“I don’t know what to do with him,” I said. “He’s trying to get out, and I’m afraid he’ll hurt himself. I’m also afraid that if I leave, he’ll find a way out of the single-wide. There’s no telling what kind of trouble he could get into.”
“Someone cast a spell to make him turn,” Amaya said, still catching up with the conversation. “How did that person know what you and Hacker were talking about?”
“That’s an excellent question. I have no idea. But he did. Or she. Maybe it was the same woman who spoke to me before Solana’s blew up. Listen, Mister Amaya, I can’t stay here all day waiting for Hacker to pass out or shift back to his human form. I don’t know what to do.”
“What makes you think that I have answers for you?”
“He’s your friend. I could have shot him, or used an attack spell on him. I didn’t. But you set up this meeting, and it’s gone to hell. And you hired me to do a lot more than pet-sitting.”
Another pause, and then, “I’ll send a man.”
“Thank you.” I started to close my phone, but heard him say, “Jay.”
“I’m here.”
“They wouldn’t have been watching Hacker. They control him. They don’t see him as a threat.”
A cold feeling crept down my spine, like a bead of sweat. “Which means they’re watching me.”
“Night and day, I’d assume.”
“Right. Thanks.”
I ended the call and leaned against the wall, which shuddered every time the coyote threw himself against the door. The impacts were slowing; Hacker was wearing himself out. I figured that right around the time Amaya’s man arrived, I wouldn’t need him anymore.
As I waited, I considered what my next move might be. I needed to speak with Namid; with all that had happened in the past two days, I was more alarmed than ever by his failure to materialize the last time I called for him. Had he refused to answer my summons because he knew that others would overhear our conversation? Had something happened to him, making it impossible for him to communicate with me? Days ago, the very idea would have seemed impossible; not anymore.
I also needed to get back to my dad. He was under attack, like I was. But why?
I could hear him in my head. I don’t matter, he had said, so many times that the words lost their meaning. But not to him. The boy is not for you, he had said as well.
Did he know I was in danger before I did?
Sooner than I would have expected, I heard a car pull up outside. Of course, a few minutes before, the noise from within the bathroom had stopped. The coyote was probably sleeping soundly, harmless as a puppy.
The door to the single-wide opened, and Rolon stepped inside. He carried an oversized handgun; I didn’t recognize the model. After surveying the living room, he peered down the hallway and spotted me.
“Amigo,” he said.
“Hey, Rolon.” I nodded toward the weapon he carried. “You do understand that Jacinto wants this guy protected, not shot, right?”
“It’s a tranquilizer. One shot, and Hacker will be out for hours.”
I frowned. “Is that safe?”
“It is if he’s still a doggie. If he’s human again, I shouldn’t need it, right?”
It made sense.
I pushed away from the wall and walked out into the living room. “I think he’s out already,” I said. “But just in case, keep that thing handy.”
He grinned.
I crossed to the door, and as I pulled it open, Rolon said, “Jacinto sent a message.”
I exhaled, turned. No doubt I’d broken some unspoken rule by calling his cell. “Yeah?”
“He says, ‘When the time comes to fight, don’t go in alone. Call and you’ll have backup.’”
Better than what I was expecting. I nodded once. “Tell him, thanks.”
I left the single-wide, climbed back into the Z-ster, which was oven hot, and drove out of Buckeye, intending to make my way to Wofford. There was no direct route to my dad’s from Hacker’s place, and the closer I got to Phoenix, the worse the traffic would be. So I took the scenic route, hoping it would prove quicker. I wound up on a lonely stretch of road known as the Sun Valley Parkway, which cuts northward through the desert from I-10 a couple of miles west of Buckeye, before heading east back toward the city on the north side of the regional park. In another ten or fifteen miles it would intersect with the Phoenix-Wickenburg Highway, which I could take to my dad’s trailer. The parkway was popular with bikers of all stripes-cyclists as well as motorcycle enthusiasts-and it was one of the prettier stretches of road in the Phoenix area.
Huge saguaro cacti stood like sentinels beside clusters of palo verdes and catclaw acacias, desert creosote and brittlebush, barrel cactus and several species of chollas. Beyond the cacti and shrubs, the White Tank Mountains rose from the desert plain, their peaks and ridges like the cutting edge of a bread knife. Ravens soared overhead, black as coal against the azure sky, and a hawk circled in the distance, nearer to the mountains.
I had passed a couple of guys on fancy road bikes in the first mile or two outside of Buckeye, but after that I had the highway to myself, and once more I thought about the attack at Solana’s, what was being done to my dad, and, now, my encounter with Hacker. It all came back to Flight 595. I was sure of it. But why, and how?
Maybe ten miles out from Buckeye, a car appeared in my rearview mirror, coming up on me fast. It was a silver sedan, not a make or model I recognized. And I knew every make and model there was.
The windshield glass was tinted top to bottom, which was illegal in this state. Then again, there was no plate on the front of the car, so I didn’t know where it was from. All I knew was I couldn’t see the driver at all, and that made me nervous.