Chapter Six
I managed to propel myself far enough out from the balcony so that I missed the sharp, jagged rocks of the cliffs below. The wind screeched in my ears before my body plunged into the murky depths of the Aneirin River.
I flipped over during my descent and hit the water feetfirst. The force of my fall ripped the weapons from my hands and knifed me down to the rocky riverbed, fifty feet below the surface. The black water was so cold I felt like I'd been flash-frozen.
The icy, cruel shock of it stole precious air from my lungs. But I didn't flail or try to struggle to the surface. Instead I let the current catch me in its rough embrace and drag me downriver. I started counting the seconds in my head. Ten, twenty, thirty ...
When I reached forty-five, I kicked up. My waterlogged clothes and boots weighed me down, but I broke free of the water. I gasped in a breath and sank back under the surface. Ten, twenty, thirty ...
When I reached forty-five, I kicked up again. This time, I stayed up. I treaded water and looked back at the opera house. Lights blazed on the balcony, from which I'd jumped. Figures moved back and forth on the ledge, but I was too far away to see who they were. I wondered if Donovan Caine was still on the balcony. Or if he'd gone back to Gordon Giles to hustle the accountant to safety.
But I couldn't think about them right now. I had to reach Fletcher. Even though Brutus was dead, news of the botched assassination attempt would start leaking out-along with the fact Giles was still alive. Whoever had hired Brutus would start cleaning house, killing everyone who might be able to point the finger of guilt at him, including Fletcher.
I turned my head and swam for shore.
It took me twenty minutes to reach the opposite side of the river. By the time I plodded up the sloping, muddy bank, I'd drifted half a mile downstream from the opera house. Blue and red police lights flashed in the distance, and a bloodhound bayed at the moon. His brothers and sisters joined him in a low, throaty chorus. The sound echoed across the river to me, then bounced back. They weren't assuming I'd drowned. Too bad.
Despite the Ice magic in my veins, the frigid water had taken its toll. My teeth chattered, and my short fingernails had blued out from the cold. The groove in my shoulder where the bullet had grazed me felt tight and numb, and my kidneys ached from Brutus's blows. So did my left arm where he'd sliced it with the knife. And worst of all, I smelled rotten, like catfish.
But I forced myself to keep moving, to put one foot in front of the other. I increased my puttering pace to a swift walk, then a jog. I had to move. Had to keep warm until I could get some dry clothes.
While I jogged, I unzipped a pocket on my vest and fished out my cell phone. Thanks to my waterproof case, I still had a signal. I dialed the number for the Pork Pit. The phone rang and rang and rang. Fletcher should have been there. He always waited for me at the barbecue restaurant after a job. He should have answered.
I tried Finnegan's number. No answer. Dread flooded my body, adding to my misery, making my chest hurt, weighing me down. But I pushed it aside and forced my feet to move. Faster. I had to go faster. Water squished out of my boots with every quick step.
I ran two miles in the dark, stumbling most of the way. I stayed just inside the dense row of shrubbery and fir trees that lined the highway. Cars whizzed by on the four-lane, but I didn't dare try to stop one of them or hail a cab. A wet possum looked more appealing than me right now. Smelled better too.
Up ahead, I spotted a sign for one of the Sell-Everything superstores that dotted the city like cavernous zits on a teenager's face. One of Mab Monroe's many business interests. For once, I was grateful to see such a blatant symbol of southern corporate America. Because all of my knives had gotten ripped away from me when I'd hit the river, and I'd need new weapons to save Fletcher and Finn. Dry clothes and shoes too, or I ran the risk of hypothermia. Despite my jog, my teeth still chattered and my hands shook from the cold water. Hard to cut somebody if your fingers were too numb to wrap around the hilt of your knife. As much as I hated a second's delay in getting to Fletcher and Finn, I needed some supplies before I went after them.
Or we'd all be dead.
I trudged into the parking lot and headed for the fall garden section, deserted except for the day's fading pansies and bags of mulch that hadn't sold. I slipped past the low wall of cinder blocks that separated the flowers from the parking lot. Rows of rakes and leaf blowers hung on the makeshift peg-board walls, and the whole area reeked of fertilizer. The door to the store itself was still open, and I headed inside. All around me, the cheap concrete of the building beeped and chimed like a cash register.
An empty cart, abandoned by some wayward shopper, stood by the entrance. I pushed the squeaking metal contraption to the women's section and grabbed the first clothes that looked like they might fit. Jeans. A bra. Panties. Long-sleeved black T-shirt. Matching fleece jacket. Socks. Boots. A black baseball cap with a red primrose rune stitched on it. The symbol for beauty. Because baseball caps were so beautiful in and of themselves.
My next stop was the pharmacy, where I grabbed antibiotic ointment, gauze, superstrength aspirin, and more medical supplies. I did a drive-by in the beauty section, picking up deodorant and body freshener to try to smother my catfish perfume. Then I went to the outdoors aisle and dumped several packs of chemical hand warmers into the cart. My final stop was the kitchen section. Several large knives went on top of my pile of goods.
I pushed the full cart to the self-checkout lane in the front of the store. I fished a credit card with a fake name out of my soggy vest and paid for the items. A clerk stationed by the registers gave me a bored look, then went back to her magazine.
Since I was merely wet and cold, and not strung out and jonesing for blood like the vampire hookers who shopped late at night, I didn't merit her attention.
I took my items to the bathroom in the back of the store. I locked the door behind me and stripped off my wet clothes, shivering all the while. Using the supplies I'd just bought, I cleaned the wound in my shoulder and the one on my bicep, glued them together with liquid skin, and covered both with gauze bandages. The injuries still throbbed and pulsed with heat, but they weren't deep enough to need stitches. The bullet had just grazed my shoulder, instead of punching through it.
Of course, I could have gone to Jo-Jo's and had her take care of me. A few minutes with the Air elemental healer, and I would have felt like I'd spent a week being pampered at a ritzy spa. But I didn't have that kind of time.
Not if I wanted to get to Fletcher and Finn before they got dead.
I tried calling the father and son again as I hosed myself down with the deodorant and body freshener, changed into the dry clothes, and cracked aspirin between my teeth. No answer.