Boundary Crossed (Boundary Magic #1)(79)
“Then we go in and search blind,” Quinn said. “Tell us anything you do know about the house or the layout of the farm. Anything at all.”
Simon considered that for a moment. “There’s a driveway that runs north-south. The barn is on the west side of the driveway, and the house is on the east side. It’s small, maybe three bedrooms or so, two stories. Probably built early in the twentieth century.” His brow furrowed. “Come to think of it, the barn’s tall enough for a second story, too, although I don’t remember seeing a hayloft.” He shrugged. “I was too busy trying not to slice off my elbows, frankly.”
We were going in without much intel, but we didn’t have a choice. All that mattered was stopping Kirby before he could get Charlie out of the state.
But would that actually make my niece safe?
“Quinn,” I said, “Something else to consider . . . If you’re right, and Kirby was brought into this thing later . . .”
Understanding flashed in his eyes. “Then there’s still someone else pulling the strings,” he finished with a frown. “That’s not good. He or she might decide to oversee this thing in person.”
Shit. Quinn had guns and shredders in the car, but what if they weren’t enough? What if we were up against someone who’d be prepared for those things? I turned to look at Simon again. “How stable am I?” I asked. When he just blinked at me, I rolled my hand in the air. “You told me last month not to press any vampires because my magic was too unstable. Kind of a lot has happened since then.” Simon chortled at the understatement.
Before he could answer, Quinn broke in. “What did you just say?” He looked at Simon in his rearview mirror. “Did she just say she can press vampires?”
It was kind of funny, hearing so much shock in his voice, but I kept my focus on Simon.
“In theory,” he said hesitantly, “the tattoos should stabilize you.”
“But?” I prompted.
He shrugged. “You know the deal. Boundary witches are unpredictable. And you’ve got more access to raw magic than anyone I’ve ever met.”
I tilted my head, thinking it over. “I’m gonna take that as a ‘stable enough,’” I decided.
Quinn was still looking back and forth between me and his mirror. “You can press vampires?” he repeated. “Why didn’t you tell me? Have you ever pressed me?” There was an edge of anger in his voice. “Seriously, Lex, did you?”
“See?” Simon pointed out. “They really don’t like that you can do that.”
I eventually persuaded Quinn that I hadn’t pressed him, and we kept going straight north on Highway 36. Then Simon had Quinn go left on Ute Highway instead of heading straight into the town of Gainesville. We were in a very rural part of the county, with darkness unbroken except for the occasional single spotlight above a barn or house. The ground was all scrubby brush out here, which made it seem more like ranch country than farm country, but what the hell did I know about that?
Finally, Simon told Quinn to pull over and cut the lights. He complied, and we were suddenly sitting in near-total darkness, the brushwood around us lit only by the stars. “The Atwood place is a little less than a mile down this road,” Simon said in a low voice. “I think we should leave the car here and hike up. We may actually have a shot at the element of surprise if Kirby stays close enough to Charlie.”
Quinn popped the back latch, and we all got out of the car and walked around toward the tepid glow of the trunk light. I’d seen the top two layers of Quinn’s stash—camping gear covering up power tools and shredders—but now he shoved all of that aside and grasped the little hook to open the spare tire well.
There was no spare tire. Instead, the space had been slightly enlarged and packed with a small but excellent assortment of firearms. “Help yourself,” Quinn said casually, as though he was sharing a bag of M&Ms. I recognized an 8-gauge shotgun, which couldn’t have been legal, and a TAR-21 assault rifle, which was gorgeous but which I couldn’t shoot lefthanded. I admired a Desert Eagle handgun, but it was way too big for my hand. Then I realized I was standing around playing Goldilocks and the three guns, and told myself to stop geeking out.
“Yessss,” I hissed as I spotted a semiautomatic Beretta M9, exactly like the one I’d used in the service. I grabbed the Beretta, two spare magazines, and a Mossberg 590 pump shotgun on a strap, slinging it over my head in a move as familiar as brushing my teeth. Then I reached for a handful of shredders. As I did, Simon frowned at them.
“You should know that if you take those stakes close to your niece, they might not work afterwards.”
“Why not?” I asked doubtfully, examining the point of one of the stakes.
“Oh, they’ll still go into a vampire’s heart,” Simon promised, giving Quinn a little sidelong glance. “But I’m not sure how the spell on them will react to being near a null. It might short out, which will make it almost impossible to actually kill a vampire with one—unless, of course, you can get him to hold really still.”
I remembered Quinn explaining that you had to either remove or practically mince a vampire’s heart in order to kill it. “Okay, but they’re still safer to use around a baby than one of the guns,” I pointed out grimly. “Remember when you guys are shooting that any ricochets could go into my niece. Don’t fire unless you’re positive you’ll hit your target.”