Chapter Thirty-Two

I was, hands down, the stupidest psychic in the history of supernaturals. This was the second time a bad guy had knocked me out. I kept my eyes closed and listened. Judging by the hum of tires on the road and the smell around me, he’d taken Nancy’s vehicle. Point for me—at least this time, I hadn’t ended up next to a decaying corpse. And based on my position, the feel of the cold window pane against my head, I was in the front passenger seat.

“If you’re going to pretend to be passed out,” he said. “Do a better job. I know you’re awake.”

I didn’t respond.

He grabbed my shoulder and shook me hard. “Stop pretending!”

“I was doing you a favour,” I said, opening my eyes. “Figured if I stayed still, it would give you time to rethink what you’re doing and take me back.”

“And what?”

I shrugged. “Leave me in the truck, engine running, maybe crack a window so the animal rights folks don’t get mad.” I stuffed my hands in my pockets.

“You’re pretty funny for a girl in your position. I know what you’re doing, but stop searching. I took your cell phone. Dumped it.”

“I can afford to be funny, I’m not the one who kidnapped a minor,” I said as I buckled into the seat. I sensed Serge’s presence manifest in the seat behind me.

“Maggie! We came out and you were gone—oh, holy crap!” He took in the scene and leaning forward, squinted at the windshield. “Where are you?” He scanned. “Claxton, heading west.”

“Where are you taking me?” I asked Carl.

“Your psychic talents can’t tell?”

“They’re stunned by this display of your stupidity. How do you think you’re going to get away with this?”

“Don’t worry,” said Serge. “I have a general location. I’ll get Nancy and come back to you.”

“I’m not trying to get away with anything,” Carl said. “I need your help, that’s all.”

“And then you’ll quietly allow yourself to get arrested?”

He touched his pocket. “I have a plan.”

It was too dark to make out the shape of whatever he’d touched, but I got the sudden sense that his plan involved a final, deadly solution. “All this for an interview?”

“Interview? You think this is about some article?”

“Isn’t that what you’ve been harassing me about? ‘Tell us your secret. Admit to the truth.’”

“Not for some stupid story. I need your help.” He reached into his jacket, felt around for something, and I tensed. But the object he pulled out was a photo, laminated against dirt and time. “This is my ex-girlfriend. Julie. She died in a car accident.” He turned left on Miller’s Ave.

I pulled on my harness, reached across, and took the photo. “And?”

“You have to contact her. We had a big fight the night she died. That’s why she was in the car. She was driving around, trying to clear her head. I need to know if she forgives me. I need to know if she blames me for the accident.”

Serge reappeared.

Tell Nancy, change of plans. He’s on Miller’s—smart money’s that he’s taking me to the old mill. No witnesses, lots of deserted area.

“Okay, I’ll be right back—” Serge stopped. “I’m an idiot. I’ll text her.” A second later, he said, “What next?”

Don’t do anything yet. I have a plan.

“That’s not how this works,” I told Carl. “I’m not some spooky version of the cell company.”

“You have to do it!”

“I can’t—”

Carl smashed his fist into the steering wheel. “I didn’t risk all of this to have you say no.” The speedometer climbed higher. “You’re going to help me. One way or another, you’re going to help me.”

“I’m sorry for your crappy planning,” I said. “But I don’t have the power to call the dead back from the other side.”

“You’re psychic—”

“I’m not that kind of psychic.” I tossed the photo at him. As he fumbled to catch it, I took my chance.

I leaned over, hit the button of his seatbelt, and unlocked it. At the same time, I grabbed the wheel and wrenched it toward the shoulder.

Serge pushed through the driver’s seat, put his hand on the wheel, and aimed it for the lamppost. “Get in your seat, hold on!”

I shoved myself back into the seat, grabbed hold of the handle, and braced for impact. The SUV skidded on the ice and careened for the light post, and this time, there was no ferrier to save me.