Devils & Thieves (Devils & Thieves #1)(12)

“You shouldn’t have made me do that,” I said, my voice wavering.

“If anyone else could have, I wouldn’t have asked you to.”

We reached the street. I’d headed this way simply to escape, but now that I was out here, I realized I didn’t have a ride home. If I wanted to go anywhere, I’d have to walk.

“Did Alex drive?” Crowe asked, reading my frustration easily.

“Yeah.” I crossed my arms over myself and rubbed my hands over my bare skin. The night had cooled off since I’d been inside the bar, and goose bumps rippled down my forearms. Still, the fresh air was nice. And necessary. Finally, my head was starting to clear from the muddle of magic and alcohol.

“Let me take you home.”

“I’m not riding on the back of your bike.” Too soon for that, in so many ways.

“I have my car.”

Spend time in an enclosed space with him? Ha. “Not riding in your car, either.”

He ran his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip. Crowe didn’t have a lot of tells, except for this one. It was what he did right before he put someone in their place.

I braced for it. It’d been a long day, and I wasn’t sure I had enough left in me to fight him.

Hoping to cut the tension, I added, “I like walking.”

“It’s three miles.”

“I’m in great shape.” I peered down at my sandals. I was going to have blisters for days.

He sighed. “Just wait here. Please?”

“Fine.”

He jogged back toward the Schoolhouse, disappearing in the shadows on the north side, swallowed whole like a specter.

Less than a minute later, he pulled his black 1967 Nova into the street. He crossed the centerline, driving up alongside me at the curb, then leaned over and opened the passenger-side door.

Inside, the chill in my bones seeped away immediately, despite the fact that the car’s heater hadn’t had enough time to warm up. A heavy scent of cinnamon hung in the air, along with tiny pink shimmers. He’d used a cut to kindle a warming charm. Probably from his mom.

I glanced at Crowe as he shifted the car into gear and pulled back onto the road. “What?” he said, without looking at me.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

We rode in silence for a while, and I tried to calm down. Crowe had no idea why I didn’t use magic, or what it did to me—and that was because I kept my problem to myself. He’d wanted to make an example of Alex and me tonight, and he had succeeded. He couldn’t have known how scared I had been, how awful it felt to cast. Those thoughts cooled my rage and humiliation, making room for other realizations. I had managed to do a binding charm, and I hadn’t ended up on the floor or in the hospital. That… was actually a good thing. And if Alex would let me know that she wasn’t pissed or hurt, then I’d feel even better. Needing to turn my anxious thoughts away from my temporarily powerless best friend, I asked, “What was Old Lady Jane doing at the Schoolhouse?”

Crowe’s thumb tapped against the leather steering wheel while we waited out a red light. “Club business.”

“About the festival?” With a half-dozen other clubs in town, there was a lot of business to do.

The intersection was empty of traffic. Crowe tapped out a quicker rhythm, as if sitting still in the car, the brake engaged, was making him restless. “Jane’s been consulting for me on a few things.”

“Such as?”

“The future.”

I sighed. “Obviously. That’s what Old Lady Jane does. So what’s happening in the future?”

The light finally flicked to green and Crowe stepped on the gas. The car’s engine roared to life as we lurched through the intersection.

“Bad things,” he said quietly.

“You planning to break more bones?”

He leaned back on the headrest. “If I have to. But this is bigger than a few fistfights.”

“A lot of fistfights, then?”

“We haven’t run up against the Deathstalkers since last year.”

I sat up in my seat. “But hasn’t it been seven years since the Devils took their president down? I thought you guys had made peace.”

“Hardly. The Devils didn’t just take down the Stalkers’ pres—they took out all five of the officers, too.”

“Whoa,” I said quietly. “I didn’t know—”

“You were young. I’m sure your dad didn’t want you to know.”

“You were young, too.”

“I was old enough.” Weariness had seeped into his voice. “Anyway. I don’t think the fight is over.”

“But the Deathstalkers hosted us last year in New Orleans.” My hands got clammy as the memories poured in. “They didn’t seem to hold any of that against us,” I said lamely.

“Yeah, they were perfect gentlemen,” Crowe said.

“Your sarcasm is loud and clear,” I said.

“They murdered my dad, Jem.” His voice had gone low and husky.

“What? I—” I swallowed hard. Talking to Crowe about his dad’s death felt like playing catch with a loaded gun. “I thought it was an accident.”

“Wouldn’t it be easy if we all believed that?”