Dreamwalker (Stormwalker #5)(3)

I hadn’t actually done a spell to make his dick fall off if he tried to touch a woman against her will, because subtle magic like that was beyond me. Except for a few small spells Mick had taught me, I could do either absolute destruction or nothing at all. But maybe the guy would believe I’d cursed him, plus he’d have the scar on his neck as a reminder of what had happened here.

I plucked the shotgun one the third guy had dropped and carried it gingerly out the door, barrel pointing to the ground. I didn’t try to unload it or uncock it, because firearms and me don’t mix. I’d blow the thing up trying to disable it, and who knows who else with it.

The cops tried to stop us. Mick kept going, bowling through them, Gabrielle yelling at him and beating on his back.

I handed the shotgun to one of the state police troopers. “They’re disarmed in there,” I said. “Better get in and help the cashier. Be careful—the poor guy’s got a baseball bat and he’s scared shitless.”

The cop took the gun, bewildered. I know he wanted to stop me, take a statement from me, possibly arrest me, but at that moment the other cops stormed the building. In the confusion, I hurried away after Mick.

Mick had Gabrielle on his Harley a little way down the street. She was still fuming, but had ceased her foul language and calmed her magic.

“Take her home,” I said to Mick.

He nodded, expressionless. I knew he was seriously annoyed that his date night with me had been interrupted by my insane little sister, but that’s what happens when you get yourself engaged to a Stormwalker with family issues.

Mick started up the motorcycle, Gabrielle clinging to the seat behind him. “You going to be okay?” Mick asked me.

“Sure,” I said, waving him off. “It’s a quiet night.”

He gave me a nod, understanding what I meant. In spite of the chaos at the convenience store, there had been no magical situation. The most dangerous person in this town right now was Gabrielle. Safer for everyone concerned if he took her away.

Mick’s look told me he’d come back for me as soon as he could, then he lifted his hand to me and took off into the darkness.

That left me alone in Winslow without transportation. I could have called someone at the hotel I owned at the Crossroads, south of here, to come and pick me up, but as usual, I was without a cell phone. Tonight, I’d left it behind deliberately, not wanting anyone to call me with a problem while I was trying to grab some alone time with Mick.

That had worked well. I could also contact the hotel through my magic mirror, a shard of which I always carried with me, but I was in no mood to deal with my temperamental mirror at the moment.

It was a nice evening, and a walk would not be a bad thing. I’d stroll along the highway, and Mick, when he had secured Gabrielle, would come back for me. Or if a resident of Magellan, the little town beyond my hotel, came along the road, they’d no doubt give me a ride.

I turned my steps southward and began my hike.

As I reached the street in Winslow that led to the train depot—the only touristy road in town, with a mural tribute to the Eagle’s song, an elegantly restored railroad hotel, and a depot that was both Amtrak stop and art gallery—a limousine pulled up beside me.

Limousines are not common sights in this little town off the freeway in northern Arizona. I stopped, peering suspiciously at the smoke-dark windows. The last time I’d seen a limo like this, it had been full of dragons in human form—not nice, sexy dragons like Mick, but serious kill-anyone-who-pisses-us-off type dragons.

The feel wasn’t right, though. Dragons give off an aura of fiery red, which sparks if you get too close. I’d been living with Mick long enough to recognize dragon aura at fifty paces.

This aura was far more subtle, hidden even. Only something very magical could cloak exactly what it was.

I didn’t have long to wonder. The door opened, and I looked inside to see a man in a business suit and expensive shoes, wearing wire-rimmed glasses and sitting comfortably on a leather seat. He appeared harmless, nerdy even, but the eyes that regarded me from behind the glasses were gray and hard as steel.

“Hello, Janet,” Emmett Smith said to me. “Get in. We need to talk.”





Chapter Two

The last thing I wanted to do was climb into a limo alone with Emmett Smith. It might be the last thing I ever did, so I did not leap to obey him. Even when two large thug-like men exited the car to persuade me, I stood my ground.

Emmett called himself the Ununculous. The because there was only one Ununculous at a time—the reason being that he’d killed all others who could rival him for the title. The Ununculous was the most powerful mage in existence. Emmett hadn’t only murdered everyone who stood in his path, he’d stolen their magic as he’d gone along, somehow absorbing it into himself. For all I knew, he ate his rivals and imbibed their magic that way.