Witch Hunt(48)

She looked surprised by the question. “Oh. It’s just…Helltown drama, I guess. North side versus south side. Death’s Hand doesn’t like incubi and vice versa. They’re always after the priestesses.”
“I don’t think you should go back there.”
Isobel stroked her fingernails through my hair. “I can take care of myself.”
I was too exhausted to argue. I dropped my head into my hands again. “I wasn’t lying to you when I told you I didn’t kill Erin. I didn’t know—I never thought I could have—”
She kissed me.
My first reaction was all animal—the little brain, not the big brain. She climbed into my lap and all I could think about was how incredible she felt, the way she tasted, the smell of her hair. She pushed me so that my back bumped the wall and she kissed hard.
I liked it. A lot.
But big brain won out. I grabbed her by the arms instead of the parts I really wanted to grab. I pushed her back.
She looked surprised and confused. “What?”
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Isobel skimmed her fingernail down my cheek, like she was tracing the path of a tear. I tried not to look down her shirt. It was hard. I had a great view from that angle. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you ever since you saved me in the desert. Actually, that’s a lie. I’ve been thinking about it ever since I washed your face off and realized you weren’t a hideous gargoyle.”#p#分页标题#e#
I was too confused to be offended. “But I killed Erin.”
“Oh, Cèsar,” she sighed, like I was totally clueless. She melted against my chest. Her head felt good tucked against my neck. “You need to turn yourself in. Tell Fritz everything that’s happened—everything about the Needles in Helltown, and Erin Karwell, and the union     guys. I know he’ll be able to help you.”
“Turn myself in?”
“Yes. I’ll take you to him in the morning.”
So Isobel wasn’t afraid of me, but she still thought I should be arrested. She was probably right. That was the only way that Erin Karwell was going to get the justice she deserved now.
But I couldn’t let Isobel drive me to Fritz’s house. The OPA had been looking for her. They wouldn’t just arrest me.
“You’re right,” I said. “I’ll turn myself in. And I should probably—”
Isobel put her hand over my mouth. “Shut up and hold me.”
That I could do.
I wrapped my arms around her. Lord, what I would have given to have been with a woman like Isobel a week ago. Before I hurt Erin. Before I fucked up and made an innocent life pay for it.
Isobel didn’t try to kiss me again. She rested against me, warm and comfortable and silent, giving me the trust I didn’t deserve.
Eventually, her breathing slowed. She relaxed.
I’d had energy potions, but Isobel hadn’t. She probably hadn’t slept in days. Made it easy to gently move her off of me, stretching her out on the cot. Took superhuman strength not to lie down next to her, but I didn’t. I grabbed another energy potion out of my jacket, took a quick swig.
Then I went walking.






 
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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I had to walk for three hours before I finally spotted a cab. The closest things I had to water were the energy and strength potions I’d snagged from Domingo, so I drank them as I walked up the highway toward Los Angeles. I was jittering hard by the time I got into the checkered cab.
“Where to?” the cabbie asked me.
My hands were shaking like I’d tossed back a twelve pack of Red Bull. I raked my fingers through my hair. I was soaked with sweat.
It wasn’t just the walk or the potions. It was knowing what I had to do next.
For a second, I thought about telling him to take me back to Isobel. I thought about locking myself in the RV with her and seeing what else she’d been thinking about doing to me. I thought about asking her how she felt about spending the summer in Mexico with Ofelia, maybe heading into San Salvador to visit Abuelita’s family.
But Isobel wouldn’t take me back, so I gave him a different address.
The driver turned on the meter and got on the road.
Fritz Friederling lived in Beverly Hills. He’d told me over drinks at The Pit once that his great-grandfather had been big in mining—something about minerals—and Fritz had inherited everything when he was sixteen. He worked for the OPA because he was passionate about keeping the country safe, not because he wanted the benefits. Definitely not because he wanted an extra eighty grand a year. It was pocket change for him.