No Quest For The Wicked
Page 98

I’d never thought I’d feel bad for Mimi. If anyone ever deserved to become dragon chow, it was Mimi. “She and the dragon should have plenty to talk about,” I said in a feeble attempt at a joke. “They have a lot in common. They can exchange tips on making friends and dealing with people.” In spite of my quips, I was still uneasy about leaving her.
“It’s my decision,” Owen said firmly.
It was for the greater good, I told myself. I knew that if it came to it, I’d have to leave Owen behind to protect the brooch, so why not Mimi? “Do you know the way out?” I asked, changing the subject.
“I think I do.”
“You think?”
“If we get too lost, I’m sure someone will eventually be drawn to that brooch and find us.”
“That isn’t very reassuring.”
We reached a wall, found a gap in it, and crawled through. That brought us into a railroad tunnel that, thankfully, was also sulfur-free. I couldn’t help but keep glancing over my shoulder. I wasn’t sure if I was afraid Mimi would come after us or afraid she wouldn’t.
Finally, I saw light ahead, and it wasn’t an oncoming train. It was the platform where we’d started. “We’re there!” I said, giving Owen a quick hug for joy.
Owen’s phone rang, the sudden noise making both of us jump. His magically souped-up phone really did work everywhere. He handed me the flashlight and took his phone out of his pocket. I couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation or see his face as he talked, but from what I could piece together, the box was ready. “We’re in Grand Central, and we’re safe for now,” he said. “But it would be nice if you could hurry. ‘Safe’ isn’t lasting very long for us, and I’m not sure how much more we can take.”
As he put the phone back in his pocket, he said to me, “It’s on its way. We’re almost done with this, for now.” He put his arm around me, and I leaned into him gratefully.
We reached the end of the platform, and I helped him up. He was limping pretty badly now. We headed arm in arm for the exit to the concourse, but as we passed a pillar, someone leapt out from behind it, jerking Owen away from me and tackling him.
I tried to pull the assailant off Owen, but I couldn’t get enough leverage to shift him. Owen shouted, “Katie, go, now!” After one more fruitless tug, I reluctantly ran for the exit, my hand held protectively over my pocket full of brooches.
I had a decent head start, but I doubted I’d be able to outrun a man, so I forced myself to put on as much speed as possible. The farther away I was before he realized that the brooch had gone, the better.
And then when I reached the “platform closed” sign in the doorway, I chanced a quick glance over my shoulder and saw that no one was chasing me. Even though the magical brooch that drew everyone to it with an intense lust for power was getting away, Owen’s attacker was still focused on Owen. This wasn’t about the brooch.
I paused, hesitating. The first priority was keeping the brooch out of the wrong hands, but if this guy didn’t want the brooch, then I wasn’t exactly going against the mission to stop and help Owen. I’d had to leave him in danger once before. I wasn’t going to do it again.
With a deep breath and a silent prayer for strength, I turned and ran back, as hard as I could. As I drew closer, I heard the attacker shouting at Owen, “I should have known you’d destroy your rivals for the Eye of the Moon!” I flung myself at him, using my full body weight to knock him off Owen’s back and onto the ground, where I kept him pinned down with my knee in the small of his back.
“I thought I told you to leave,” Owen said, sitting up and pulling the gun from his waistband to level at his attacker.
“He wasn’t after the brooch. He was after you,” I said.
“You still should have gone.”
“Yeah, because you were winning that fight so decisively.”
Ignoring me, Owen said to the attacker, “I’ve got you at gunpoint, so don’t try anything funny. Katie, get off him. Now, sit up slowly and keep your hands where I can see them.”
I eased myself off the guy and resisted the urge to fan myself at the sight of Owen playing the steely cop, which was hot enough to stir me in spite of my fatigue. The attacker sat up, holding his hands in the air. He’d seemed so menacing and angry in his attack, like some ninja commando, but he turned out to be just an ordinary-looking man.
In fact, he was extraordinarily ordinary-looking. I used to joke that I could get away with bank robbery because any description of me would also fit half the city, but compared to this guy, I’d stand out in any crowd. He was utterly nondescript—average height, average build, brownish hair, brownish eyes, no distinguishing features, no scars, birthmarks, or tattoos that I could see. He wore a beige trench coat over a dark suit that, depending on the light, could probably look black, navy blue, or a variety of shades of gray. You could stand face-to-face with this guy and then not be able to pick him out of a lineup later.