I wasn’t sure where to go to make my dramatic exit, so I ruined it by dithering a few steps. I finally swept into the saloon, where the bartender, Carlos, was dispensing drinks beneath the broken magic mirror.
The sight of it reminded me of Emmett and his trickiness, which made me even more angry. I couldn’t sit around waiting for Emmett to attack me when I least suspected it or goad me into making a move that would destroy everything, as he’d done out at the vortex.
I gazed up at the mirror, who was humming to himself—he was following my father’s flute, I realized—the bits of glass tinkling faintly.
Flora, the new maid, had said she could repair it. I caught no taint of evil in her, but if Emmett had sent her …
I somehow didn’t think so—would Emmett trust even a minor mage around a powerful talisman he wanted? However, I wouldn’t make any assumptions about Flora’s goodness, even if Cassandra vouched for her.
If Flora could repair the mirror, I might be able to use that fact to best Emmett. The shards Mick and I had pulled off it were handy, and we’d keep those, but a whole mirror might be stronger than a broken one.
Emmett wanted this one bad, so why shouldn’t Mick and I figure out how to use it against him? I wouldn’t lose any sleep if the world was suddenly minus an Ununculous.
Carrying the battle to Emmett instead of waiting for him to strike sounded good to me. We’d need help, though. I asked Carlos for a club soda with a twist of lime, drank it down, then went in search of my phone.
***
Twenty minutes later, I was riding out of town on the back of Mick’s Harley, heading to Flat Mesa.
I was still seriously angry at Mick for his idea about shortening his lifespan, but we could talk about that later. Meanwhile, I’d told him my plan to interrogate Emmett’s men Nash had arrested to find out what I could. Mick watched me without expression as I spoke then agreed it was a good idea and said he’d go with me.
Drake, who had remained at the hotel, didn’t offer to accompany us. He made for the saloon and some dinner instead, telling Mick to call him when he tracked down Emmett and needed help killing him.
Colby had disappeared somewhere, though when Mick and I went to the shed for his motorcycle, I saw him on the patio, where my father was now surrounded by people who were asking him about his flute. Gina was at his side, fielding the questions for my shy father. She seemed to know exactly when to let him answer and when to take over. My heart warmed again. She was so good for my dad, and I loved her for it.
Gabrielle was there as well, sidling up to Colby as I watched. Colby looked down at her, delight in his eyes.
I’d have to deal with Gabrielle and her obsession with dragons later. For now, I clung to Mick while we raced up to Flat Mesa at Mick’s usual breakneck speed.
The wind was cool, playing in my long hair. A hint of my dream came back to me—riding with Mick as we had years ago, carefree, happy, I thought. I missed that life, when I’d been innocent—mostly—and worried about nothing but riding from town to town and falling in love.
I knew I was viewing the past through the mist of nostalgia and had to admit that the present was better. I had figured out what my life was about, I’d found Mick again, and we’d connected with new understanding. The ring clasping my finger meant we’d committed to each other, come what may.
The evils we’d had to battle had become pretty much a day in the life of a Stormwalker and a dragon. After the fights, we’d celebrate our victory, and in between disasters, we settled in to take care of the hotel, ride out on our motorcycles, hang out with friends, or just be alone—so happy with each other we didn’t need to speak.
But such things could never last. Emmett was going to eat hot magic for ruining my alone time with Mick.
We rolled into Flat Mesa in less than fifteen minutes, then Mick cut his speed to a third of what he’d been doing, and we sedately slid through the little town. Nash wouldn’t hesitate to give Mick a ticket for going even a mile over the speed limit. Hopi County needed every dollar, Nash would say, as he busily wrote the ticket.
The courthouse, jail, and sheriff’s office sat on one edge of the town, surrounded by a parking lot that gave off into flat dry desert. This late, the building was nearly deserted, but Deputy Lopez was on duty, along with a clerk at the desk.
“Hey there, Janet,” Paco Lopez said when I walked in. His dark eyes sparkled with welcome and also curiosity.
I hadn’t been able to find my cell phone, so I’d used the hotel’s land line to call the sheriff’s department and ask to interview Emmett’s thugs. Lopez had told me that, sure, he’d arrange it. He’d also told me that Nash wasn’t there.