Free Master and Apprentice by Sonya Bateman Page A

room.
    I clambered down from the sink and felt for the light switch. By the time I flipped it on, the mirror had lost its reflection and Ian climbed through. I allowed myself a moment of relief before I realized he looked worse than I felt. The bridges shouldn’t have taken quite so much out of him. That probably meant he’d cast an extra spell.
    “What did you do?”
    He perched on the edge of the sink, slumped in place. “A temporary ward,” he said. “It should keep them from detecting us for a short while. I have not harmed the—Khalyn.”
    His grudging use of the name said more than his words. “Does that mean you’re not going to destroy this guy?”
    “We must keep moving.” He didn’t look at me while he slid to the floor and took a few unsteady steps. “The spell will not last long.”
    “You didn’t answer me.”
    “No.”
    When he didn’t elaborate, I said, “No you didn’t answer, or no you’re not going to kill him?”
    “Blast it, thief ! We have no time for this discussion.” He pushed past me and into the main room, weaving like he’d just mainlined a bottle of liquor, and fell on his knees beside one of the beds. “Collect whatever you need, and give me a moment to recover.”
    I didn’t like the dodgeball game he was playing. “Come on, man. Don’t tell me you still don’t trust him. He saved our lives twice.”
    Ian closed his eyes. “I am aware of this. Now move, unless you wish his efforts to have been in vain.”
    “Fine.” I’d take it up with him later. I grabbed the bag I’d brought and considered changing, since I was filthy with dirt, twigs, dried blood, and God knew what else from our romp through the woods. But apparently we were in a hurry. I went back to the bathroom, washed as much of the crud from my face as I could, and finger-combed water through my hair.
    “Donatti! We cannot wait any longer,” Ian called. “We must leave.”
    “Coming.” I sighed, shouldered my bag, and headed out to join him. My head pounded, my ribs ached, and my leg twanged every time I put pressure on it—but I was still alive. And I wanted to stay that way.
    We left the key in the room and exited the building through a side door. Outside, a fine spring day in Ridge Neck, Virginia, refused to reflect the trouble we were in. Bright blue skies hung above tidy, whitewashed buildings tucked between flourishes of vegetation. The place would have made a great colonial postcard. Beautiful. And absolutely useless. No airport, no car-rental place, and if they had a bus station, I doubted they ran regular shuttles to the nearest cradle of modern civilization.
    Not to mention that we stuck out like bikers at a tea party. I looked like something dragged up from a river, and Ian—besidesbeing almost seven feet tall with inhuman eyes—wore only pants and a tattered, bloody vest. We weren’t going to get too far unnoticed.
    “Damn,” I said under my breath. “Now what?”
    “Walk.” Ian started toward the back of the motel. Away from the town. Headed straight for acres of wilderness.
    I grabbed his arm. “Hold on. I thought we needed to make some miles here.”
    “Yes. And since you cannot fly and I have no power left, we will walk.”
    “Did you get hit on the head harder than me?” I let go and stepped back. “You’re barely standing. I’m not much better. Who knows how far the next shitpoke town is through there? We won’t last until sundown.”
    “We must—”
    “Yeah, I know.” I frowned and glanced back toward the mostly quiet village, this time with a thief’s eye. It was doable. “We’ll have to steal some transportation.”
    For once, Ian didn’t disagree.

Chapter 7
    A s a personal rule, I never stole late-model vehicles in poor condition. People who drove cars like that couldn’t afford to lose them. Robin Hood I wasn’t, but I still had standards. However, since my only feasible options were a brand-new Mercedes sedan with more alarms than Fort Knox or a