Format: 560 pages, Paperback
Release Date: July 14, 2026
Publisher: Ace
Source: Publisher
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Ace
Source: Publisher
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Witches Angelina and Evan Everhart-Trueblood take a case that spirals out of control until the whole city is at risk in this exciting new novel from New York Times bestselling author Faith Hunter.
Angelina Everhart-Trueblood and her brother Evan run Everhart Investigations, a PI firm in Chattanooga that solves paranormal crimes committed by supernatural beings. When their new client wants help finding her friend, who supposedly disappeared during a reception at Angie’s aunt Jane’s winter residence, things get . . . complicated.
The client is not who she appears to be, and demons strike the city for the first time since the Witch War. On top of that, evidence is pointing toward the involvement of an overly ambitious vampire—who just happens to be Angie’s ex-husband.
As Angie and Evan team up with CPD, they will have to dig deep into their magical reserves—and rely on some friends in high places—to rid Chattanooga of the danger creeping into their city. Story Set in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Spin-off of the author's Jane Yellowrock series.
Angelina Everhart-Trueblood and her brother Evan run Everhart Investigations, a PI firm in Chattanooga that solves paranormal crimes committed by supernatural beings. When their new client wants help finding her friend, who supposedly disappeared during a reception at Angie’s aunt Jane’s winter residence, things get . . . complicated.
The client is not who she appears to be, and demons strike the city for the first time since the Witch War. On top of that, evidence is pointing toward the involvement of an overly ambitious vampire—who just happens to be Angie’s ex-husband.
As Angie and Evan team up with CPD, they will have to dig deep into their magical reserves—and rely on some friends in high places—to rid Chattanooga of the danger creeping into their city. Story Set in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Spin-off of the author's Jane Yellowrock series.
Unpredictable Magic is the first installment in author Faith Hunter's Everhart Investigation series. This is a direct spin-off of the author's Jane Yellowrock series, set 20 years in the future. The novel follows witch siblings Angelina (“Angie”) and Evan (“EJ”) Everhart-Trueblood as they run their own paranormal private investigation firm in Chattanooga, Tennessee, focusing on paranormal issues. Angie and Evan take on a seemingly straightforward missing-person case tied to a reception at their aunt Jane Yellowrock’s (the Dark Queen) winter residence.
The investigation quickly spirals: the client isn’t what she seems, demons attack the city for the first time since the Witch War/Demon War, and evidence implicates an ambitious vampire—Angie’s ex-husband, as well as other dangerous vampires who desire to eliminate Jane. The siblings team up with Angie's former love interest, Detective Villati, and are joined by Walter, their vampire bodyguard; Jane Yellowrock; Eli Younger; and Alex Younger, all while trying to maintain independence from Jane's court.
Angie (often in first-person POV) grapples with the aftermath of a difficult marriage to a vampire who took advantage of her, and begins unlocking her full magical potential. Evan (frequently in third-person POV) carries his own scars from the Witches' War, where he was the youngest officer to serve, and brings a protective, tech-savvy edge. (Here is where I wanted more information on the war, although the author does hint at Evan's specialty. In fact, the author could write a novella explaining more about Evan and Angie's role in the War itself.)
There is also the appearance of Cousin Wacko, aka Shiloh Everhart-Stone, a witch-vampire hybrid, whom I would love to see a full novel written from her POV. Her life hasn't been the same since she was turned at 15. The book is dense with lore, history, and explanations—especially in the opening sections as readers (and the protagonists) learn about their magic and the political landscape. Action sequences are fast, visceral, and satisfying, with magic battles and demon incursions keeping momentum high once things kick off.
If you have NOT read the Jane Yellowrock series, you will likely be lost by any mention of characters from it. The story retains the gritty, battle-heavy, politically intricate style of Jane Yellowrock but feels fresher with younger leads establishing their independence and running a PI firm. The investigative mystery element is stronger here, blended with supernatural thriller vibes. It delivers the signature Faith Hunter blend of intricate world-building, high-stakes magic battles, supernatural politics, and character-driven drama, while giving fans a fresh perspective through the lens of the next generation.
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Chapter One
Angie
The music was so heavy the bass reverberated in my chest cavity. The lead singer of Kegs and Boots's house band, BloodSin-a vamp who considered himself a heartthrob-had hit an oddly off-key note three times now. It was weird enough to make it impossible to relax fully, to close my eyes and sink into the music and just freaking let go, which I really, really needed after the crazy week and the queen's reception.
People assumed being goddaughter to the Dark Queen of the fangheads was exciting, and sometimes, rarely, it was. But typically, being royalty was tedium: shaking hands, smiling until my cheeks ached, making small talk, and dancing ancient gavottes with five-hundred-year-old vamps. All that, while wearing a sparkly dress and five-inch heels for five hours straight.
Eardrum-busting rock music usually made all that better, but Labaka's fourth off-key note made my eyes pop open, which was why I saw the man approach our empty table, circle it, and walk away. I didn't reclose my eyes.
Our drink goblets and flutes were empty. I hadn't seen the man drop anything into a glass. My arms over my head, my body swaying to the beat, I turned my back to the band, keeping him in sight. Good looking, well-coiffed, he wandered the room by a circuitous route, stopping at a table full of men to clap one guy on the back, give a fist bump to another. Friendly guy. Knew some of the regulars. A moment later, he bent over a table full of women, attempting to flirt. The women waved him off, laughing. He left with a smirk that promised he'd be back. Idiot.
Or dangerous.
Deep inside, something whispered dangerous.
My precog gift or simple paranoia? Which one? Was the guy about to actually do something bad, or was he just a guy with the potential to do something bad? Maybe both. He moved on to chat up two women at a solo table. I didn't have to be a witch to know the two were together and he was wasting his time, but he didn't give up.
Precog or paranoia-my life litany since I was a kid. I'd once known which was which, back when I had an honest-to-God guardian angel, a vampire knight in shining armor, and unlimited witch power. Now, not so much. Being grown up, single again after a bad marriage, and a royal "princess by decree" wasn't all popcorn and lollipops.
In the crowd, I found Corry, KeeKee, and Lissa, the girls I'd gone clubbing with. Safe. Or they should have been. That not-quite-precog nudged me again.
I didn't close my eyes and kept Mr. Smarmy firmly in view. When the dance number ended, I dropped my arms and slipped a hand into a pocket, gripping a small labradorite duck.
The half-inch carved duck had been given to me at the start of my freshman year of college by my Aunt Liz, a stone witch. University was far behind me, but I never discarded an amulet that had been permanently imbued with a working, keeping them charged on one of the stone batteries Aunt Liz had made me, taking useful amulets with me when I was away from home. There was a hole drilled in the duck's head so it could be attached to a necklace or bracelet, but I no longer wore my amulets in public. I couldn't easily hide them under the glamour I wore while out clubbing, and keeping my identity as Angelina Everhart-Trueblood, the Dark Queen's goddaughter and a princess, secret, was the only way I got to go out and have a little fun.
It was different at work. Everhart Investigations Firm relied on the name recognition from both witches and the vamps to bring in new customers. The hypocrisy didn't elude me, though the double standards' sour taste in the back of my throat had decreased over the years.
Tonight, I was thoroughly glamoured in multi-green: eyes, spiky braided green wig, clothing that looked like leaves, even a green tint to my skin. My amulets were hidden in lead-lined pockets, a vamp-killer strapped to my thigh. The witch princess had been replaced by Baby, my club name.
As I made my way off the dance floor, a man's hand encircled my upper arm.
Instinct seized me. I took one step left, my left hand reaching across my body to his wrist. Ready to use his momentum and my body's torque to pull him over my outstretched right leg. Fast. Automatic.
"Hey. Baby. Whyn't you and me have a beer?" Smooth voice. Mesmerizing tones. Labaka, BloodSin's lead singer. Fangs, slick tone, gorgeous, and dumber than a box of rocks. I released his wrist and gripped his little finger, pulling it back just enough to hurt. Reversed my stance, pulled him around by the finger, and squared off with him, our position still keeping our table in view.
Labaka sometimes claimed Indian and Hindu heritage, other times Khmer Rouge, still others Egyptian. I had never been interested enough to check his dossier. He had long black hair, medium brown skin, dark eyes, and a unique vamp-smolder.
"Not interested, Labaka. Same as last week. Same as the week before."
"Come on. Gimme a chance, Baby. I can do things-" His other arm went around my waist.
I can do things. Sure you can. No one did things better than a vamp. Once bitten, twice shy. In this case, literally.
Twisting his pinkie with a rotating gesture, I continued my pivot, going to our table.
He grunted and fell behind, trying to keep up, tripping once over his own feet as I dragged him by the little finger. Idiot. I had never gotten physical with Labaka before. I had never felt this tepid warning of danger in Kegs and Boots either.
I spotted my gal pals together at the end of the bar, still safe in a crowd. I pushed Labaka toward a woman in our path and she grabbed him in a purely physical embrace, cupping his butt in both hands. Labaka forgot all about me.
Sitting, I tossed my wig's spiky green braid over my shoulder, studying our drink glasses. To the naked eye, they looked fine. But. Under the pretense of shoving the empties out of the way, I touched each rim, the duck in my fingers.
The amulet looked like a simple trinket until it detected certain drugs, like old-fashioned roofies, X, pong-a newer synthetic opiate-and even real oldies like LSD and Mollies. It also detected some common chemical poisons including arsenic, strychnine, cyanide, and a few dozen natural bio-poisons such as hemlock and belladonna. If it came into contact with the drugs, it flashed blue. If it found poisons, it gleamed a pinkish hue, the depth of the color indicating the drug. As amulets went, the working contained in it was sophisticated, very popular among the college set and bar hoppers. The working had made the Everhart-Trueblood family coven a lot of money when it went on the market.
The duck didn't change. No flash of color, no lights, no danger that it could detect.
Maybe the good-looking guy was just a random creep checking out the place. I was paranoid with good reason, but still, paranoid was paranoid.
I looked for Smarmy, but he was lost in the crowd. KeeKee's pink Afro was still at the bar and, near her, Lissa's brown hair glistened with fairy light. Labaka was suddenly in front of me, leaning backward against the bar, supported by his elbows, his shirt open to reveal a smooth chest and chains that looked like real gold, his gorgeous eyes on me. Vamps were turned only when a Blood Master had a need of, or a desire for, a human. Labaka had been chosen for his looks and his singing voice. I had to give him one thing: he was persistent in his attempts at seduction.
Lissa and KeeKee threw themselves into their chairs at the table, each with fresh drinks, Lissa gulping hers down. "Where's Corry?" I asked.
"Some cute dude bought us drinks. She's chatting him up," KeeKee said. She turned and pointed. But Corry was nowhere in sight.
I stood so fast, I knocked over my chair, ordering, "Don't drink." Darting toward the right side of the bar, around it, I headed to the entrance. From the corner of my eye I saw Lissa shove her drink away. Saw Labaka's gaze follow me as he instantly stood straight.
According to my internal clock, less than two minutes had passed from the moment I took my eyes off Smarmy. Long enough to drug Corry. Long enough to be halfway to a vehicle with a stumbling, compliant woman.
Corry had red hair, near enough like mine, when I was unglamoured, to pass for me in a dark bar.
And there was still a bounty on my head from that one blood duel that had gone sideways. Only an idiot would try to collect-Son of a witch.
I slammed open doors, scanning each room. No sign of her in the ladies' room. Nor in the lobby. I burst out the entry door, nearly ramming the bouncer. The cold hit me like a fist. "Berky. Have you seen Corry?"
Berky was six-four, a good three hundred, heavily tattooed over every inch of skin not scarred during the Witch War. "Walked off with Tony Montgomery, guy in the Scorpion MAGXL. Sweet ride."
"Where!"
"Chill, Baby. I checked her out. She was fine, chatty, happy as-"
I whirled on Berky. Looked at him with all the power I possessed. "Where. Is. His. Car."
Berky shut up and pointed.
The Scorpion's backup lights came on.
I gave Berky the look, the one I'd learned from Koun, the Dark Queen's war strategist. "You're with me," I ordered.
"Fuck."
Yeah. He'd let a guest get lured away.
Berky lumbering behind me, I dashed toward the Scorpion, a Mag-car. It had an Octi paint job, automatically blending into whatever the driver wanted. Right now, that meant the car had no color at all, opaque, dark as the night. Scorpions were silent and fast as sin.
Tony wanted stealth.
I yanked out a disrupter amulet and pulled my vamp-killer from my thigh as I ran. I initiated the amulet and tossed it at the Scorpion Mag. It attached itself to the back panel. Three seconds until it worked.
One second: The vehicle whipped for the driveway.
Two seconds: I grabbed the wheel well and spun myself onto the hood. Landed with a thump that dented the synth-metal. Caught my grip into the space between hood and windshield.
I had never hit an electromagnetic-powered engine with a disruptor. It might explode. It might fizzle. Anything in between.
Three seconds: Berky cursed. Grabbed the door handle as if he'd stop the car by sheer muscle power.
The disruptor activated. My magic sizzled over the vehicle, interfering with every circuit, every electrical thingamajig, every sensor, every freaking object, gadget, and security feature that used tech. The Scorpion died. Its wheels locked up. The car skidded to a stop.
I didn't have fangs, but I showed my teeth at my reflection in the black windshield. Vicious. Snarling. Green as a leprechaun.
Berky slammed a fist with brass knucks into the driver's window repeatedly. More as an annoyance than to any real effect. These cars were designed during the Witch War, with Witch War tech. The window glass could withstand most anything.
Knowing the car's cameras were down and the security cams for the bar out of sight, I dropped my glamour for a count of two and then reestablished it. I could almost feel the reaction from the guy inside.
Yeah. You drugged the wrong chick. Now you got me to deal with.
I released my hold on the car, kneeling on the hood. Green reflected back at me from the black glass. Like a green gnome with attitude. I removed a small earring from my left earlobe. Held it over the windshield. Still grinning. Giving the guy inside a chance.
"Baby. Stop, girl."
Smooth voice with a vampire push of mesmerism. Labaka. Damn. I risked a glance to both sides. Behind Labaka were six more guys, a mixture of vamp and human. Not the band, but the table full of men that Tony Montgomery, or whoever he really was, had spoken to. What had Labaka gotten me into?
I thumbed the amulet, dropping it into the space between the windshield and hood. Shoved off from my knees, leaping, and landed on the roof. Whirled my vamp-killer in my offhand and tossed two reverse hedge of thorns amulets at the men. In an instant two of my opponents were trapped in energy cages.
Four guys charged.
Berky had reacted to the presence of more men. He stopped smashing at reinforced windows and rushed from the car like a freight train. Rammed his fist down on top of a vamp's head. The guy dropped like a stone. Blood gushed from his mouth. Maybe bit off his tongue. Berky jammed a stake into the vamp's belly.
That left three humans and Labaka. Can't kill humans. Couldn't let them take me either.
Do the unexpected. A memory from my past.
I gripped two stasis amulets and leaped at the men. I was still in the air when a vehicle whirled into the parking area. Headlights lit us up, flickering shadows jittering like zombies.
Whirling, horizontal, I kicked out. Landed only a glancing blow on one as they both moved smoothly to the side. Training. I hit the pavement off balance. Between them. On one foot and hand. Skidded on the old-fashioned asphalt. Caught myself and pivoted on that hand. Left some skin from my palm on the parking lot.
In my peripheral vision I saw one guy holding a gun. He fired. I was already rolling.
Angie
The music was so heavy the bass reverberated in my chest cavity. The lead singer of Kegs and Boots's house band, BloodSin-a vamp who considered himself a heartthrob-had hit an oddly off-key note three times now. It was weird enough to make it impossible to relax fully, to close my eyes and sink into the music and just freaking let go, which I really, really needed after the crazy week and the queen's reception.
People assumed being goddaughter to the Dark Queen of the fangheads was exciting, and sometimes, rarely, it was. But typically, being royalty was tedium: shaking hands, smiling until my cheeks ached, making small talk, and dancing ancient gavottes with five-hundred-year-old vamps. All that, while wearing a sparkly dress and five-inch heels for five hours straight.
Eardrum-busting rock music usually made all that better, but Labaka's fourth off-key note made my eyes pop open, which was why I saw the man approach our empty table, circle it, and walk away. I didn't reclose my eyes.
Our drink goblets and flutes were empty. I hadn't seen the man drop anything into a glass. My arms over my head, my body swaying to the beat, I turned my back to the band, keeping him in sight. Good looking, well-coiffed, he wandered the room by a circuitous route, stopping at a table full of men to clap one guy on the back, give a fist bump to another. Friendly guy. Knew some of the regulars. A moment later, he bent over a table full of women, attempting to flirt. The women waved him off, laughing. He left with a smirk that promised he'd be back. Idiot.
Or dangerous.
Deep inside, something whispered dangerous.
My precog gift or simple paranoia? Which one? Was the guy about to actually do something bad, or was he just a guy with the potential to do something bad? Maybe both. He moved on to chat up two women at a solo table. I didn't have to be a witch to know the two were together and he was wasting his time, but he didn't give up.
Precog or paranoia-my life litany since I was a kid. I'd once known which was which, back when I had an honest-to-God guardian angel, a vampire knight in shining armor, and unlimited witch power. Now, not so much. Being grown up, single again after a bad marriage, and a royal "princess by decree" wasn't all popcorn and lollipops.
In the crowd, I found Corry, KeeKee, and Lissa, the girls I'd gone clubbing with. Safe. Or they should have been. That not-quite-precog nudged me again.
I didn't close my eyes and kept Mr. Smarmy firmly in view. When the dance number ended, I dropped my arms and slipped a hand into a pocket, gripping a small labradorite duck.
The half-inch carved duck had been given to me at the start of my freshman year of college by my Aunt Liz, a stone witch. University was far behind me, but I never discarded an amulet that had been permanently imbued with a working, keeping them charged on one of the stone batteries Aunt Liz had made me, taking useful amulets with me when I was away from home. There was a hole drilled in the duck's head so it could be attached to a necklace or bracelet, but I no longer wore my amulets in public. I couldn't easily hide them under the glamour I wore while out clubbing, and keeping my identity as Angelina Everhart-Trueblood, the Dark Queen's goddaughter and a princess, secret, was the only way I got to go out and have a little fun.
It was different at work. Everhart Investigations Firm relied on the name recognition from both witches and the vamps to bring in new customers. The hypocrisy didn't elude me, though the double standards' sour taste in the back of my throat had decreased over the years.
Tonight, I was thoroughly glamoured in multi-green: eyes, spiky braided green wig, clothing that looked like leaves, even a green tint to my skin. My amulets were hidden in lead-lined pockets, a vamp-killer strapped to my thigh. The witch princess had been replaced by Baby, my club name.
As I made my way off the dance floor, a man's hand encircled my upper arm.
Instinct seized me. I took one step left, my left hand reaching across my body to his wrist. Ready to use his momentum and my body's torque to pull him over my outstretched right leg. Fast. Automatic.
"Hey. Baby. Whyn't you and me have a beer?" Smooth voice. Mesmerizing tones. Labaka, BloodSin's lead singer. Fangs, slick tone, gorgeous, and dumber than a box of rocks. I released his wrist and gripped his little finger, pulling it back just enough to hurt. Reversed my stance, pulled him around by the finger, and squared off with him, our position still keeping our table in view.
Labaka sometimes claimed Indian and Hindu heritage, other times Khmer Rouge, still others Egyptian. I had never been interested enough to check his dossier. He had long black hair, medium brown skin, dark eyes, and a unique vamp-smolder.
"Not interested, Labaka. Same as last week. Same as the week before."
"Come on. Gimme a chance, Baby. I can do things-" His other arm went around my waist.
I can do things. Sure you can. No one did things better than a vamp. Once bitten, twice shy. In this case, literally.
Twisting his pinkie with a rotating gesture, I continued my pivot, going to our table.
He grunted and fell behind, trying to keep up, tripping once over his own feet as I dragged him by the little finger. Idiot. I had never gotten physical with Labaka before. I had never felt this tepid warning of danger in Kegs and Boots either.
I spotted my gal pals together at the end of the bar, still safe in a crowd. I pushed Labaka toward a woman in our path and she grabbed him in a purely physical embrace, cupping his butt in both hands. Labaka forgot all about me.
Sitting, I tossed my wig's spiky green braid over my shoulder, studying our drink glasses. To the naked eye, they looked fine. But. Under the pretense of shoving the empties out of the way, I touched each rim, the duck in my fingers.
The amulet looked like a simple trinket until it detected certain drugs, like old-fashioned roofies, X, pong-a newer synthetic opiate-and even real oldies like LSD and Mollies. It also detected some common chemical poisons including arsenic, strychnine, cyanide, and a few dozen natural bio-poisons such as hemlock and belladonna. If it came into contact with the drugs, it flashed blue. If it found poisons, it gleamed a pinkish hue, the depth of the color indicating the drug. As amulets went, the working contained in it was sophisticated, very popular among the college set and bar hoppers. The working had made the Everhart-Trueblood family coven a lot of money when it went on the market.
The duck didn't change. No flash of color, no lights, no danger that it could detect.
Maybe the good-looking guy was just a random creep checking out the place. I was paranoid with good reason, but still, paranoid was paranoid.
I looked for Smarmy, but he was lost in the crowd. KeeKee's pink Afro was still at the bar and, near her, Lissa's brown hair glistened with fairy light. Labaka was suddenly in front of me, leaning backward against the bar, supported by his elbows, his shirt open to reveal a smooth chest and chains that looked like real gold, his gorgeous eyes on me. Vamps were turned only when a Blood Master had a need of, or a desire for, a human. Labaka had been chosen for his looks and his singing voice. I had to give him one thing: he was persistent in his attempts at seduction.
Lissa and KeeKee threw themselves into their chairs at the table, each with fresh drinks, Lissa gulping hers down. "Where's Corry?" I asked.
"Some cute dude bought us drinks. She's chatting him up," KeeKee said. She turned and pointed. But Corry was nowhere in sight.
I stood so fast, I knocked over my chair, ordering, "Don't drink." Darting toward the right side of the bar, around it, I headed to the entrance. From the corner of my eye I saw Lissa shove her drink away. Saw Labaka's gaze follow me as he instantly stood straight.
According to my internal clock, less than two minutes had passed from the moment I took my eyes off Smarmy. Long enough to drug Corry. Long enough to be halfway to a vehicle with a stumbling, compliant woman.
Corry had red hair, near enough like mine, when I was unglamoured, to pass for me in a dark bar.
And there was still a bounty on my head from that one blood duel that had gone sideways. Only an idiot would try to collect-Son of a witch.
I slammed open doors, scanning each room. No sign of her in the ladies' room. Nor in the lobby. I burst out the entry door, nearly ramming the bouncer. The cold hit me like a fist. "Berky. Have you seen Corry?"
Berky was six-four, a good three hundred, heavily tattooed over every inch of skin not scarred during the Witch War. "Walked off with Tony Montgomery, guy in the Scorpion MAGXL. Sweet ride."
"Where!"
"Chill, Baby. I checked her out. She was fine, chatty, happy as-"
I whirled on Berky. Looked at him with all the power I possessed. "Where. Is. His. Car."
Berky shut up and pointed.
The Scorpion's backup lights came on.
I gave Berky the look, the one I'd learned from Koun, the Dark Queen's war strategist. "You're with me," I ordered.
"Fuck."
Yeah. He'd let a guest get lured away.
Berky lumbering behind me, I dashed toward the Scorpion, a Mag-car. It had an Octi paint job, automatically blending into whatever the driver wanted. Right now, that meant the car had no color at all, opaque, dark as the night. Scorpions were silent and fast as sin.
Tony wanted stealth.
I yanked out a disrupter amulet and pulled my vamp-killer from my thigh as I ran. I initiated the amulet and tossed it at the Scorpion Mag. It attached itself to the back panel. Three seconds until it worked.
One second: The vehicle whipped for the driveway.
Two seconds: I grabbed the wheel well and spun myself onto the hood. Landed with a thump that dented the synth-metal. Caught my grip into the space between hood and windshield.
I had never hit an electromagnetic-powered engine with a disruptor. It might explode. It might fizzle. Anything in between.
Three seconds: Berky cursed. Grabbed the door handle as if he'd stop the car by sheer muscle power.
The disruptor activated. My magic sizzled over the vehicle, interfering with every circuit, every electrical thingamajig, every sensor, every freaking object, gadget, and security feature that used tech. The Scorpion died. Its wheels locked up. The car skidded to a stop.
I didn't have fangs, but I showed my teeth at my reflection in the black windshield. Vicious. Snarling. Green as a leprechaun.
Berky slammed a fist with brass knucks into the driver's window repeatedly. More as an annoyance than to any real effect. These cars were designed during the Witch War, with Witch War tech. The window glass could withstand most anything.
Knowing the car's cameras were down and the security cams for the bar out of sight, I dropped my glamour for a count of two and then reestablished it. I could almost feel the reaction from the guy inside.
Yeah. You drugged the wrong chick. Now you got me to deal with.
I released my hold on the car, kneeling on the hood. Green reflected back at me from the black glass. Like a green gnome with attitude. I removed a small earring from my left earlobe. Held it over the windshield. Still grinning. Giving the guy inside a chance.
"Baby. Stop, girl."
Smooth voice with a vampire push of mesmerism. Labaka. Damn. I risked a glance to both sides. Behind Labaka were six more guys, a mixture of vamp and human. Not the band, but the table full of men that Tony Montgomery, or whoever he really was, had spoken to. What had Labaka gotten me into?
I thumbed the amulet, dropping it into the space between the windshield and hood. Shoved off from my knees, leaping, and landed on the roof. Whirled my vamp-killer in my offhand and tossed two reverse hedge of thorns amulets at the men. In an instant two of my opponents were trapped in energy cages.
Four guys charged.
Berky had reacted to the presence of more men. He stopped smashing at reinforced windows and rushed from the car like a freight train. Rammed his fist down on top of a vamp's head. The guy dropped like a stone. Blood gushed from his mouth. Maybe bit off his tongue. Berky jammed a stake into the vamp's belly.
That left three humans and Labaka. Can't kill humans. Couldn't let them take me either.
Do the unexpected. A memory from my past.
I gripped two stasis amulets and leaped at the men. I was still in the air when a vehicle whirled into the parking area. Headlights lit us up, flickering shadows jittering like zombies.
Whirling, horizontal, I kicked out. Landed only a glancing blow on one as they both moved smoothly to the side. Training. I hit the pavement off balance. Between them. On one foot and hand. Skidded on the old-fashioned asphalt. Caught myself and pivoted on that hand. Left some skin from my palm on the parking lot.
In my peripheral vision I saw one guy holding a gun. He fired. I was already rolling.
