Free Master and Apprentice by Sonya Bateman Page B

Chevy pickup that looked like it had survived the Depression, and we were in a hurry, I took the truck. My conscience and I could have it out later.
    There was a grand total of one road leading out of town. I didn’t breathe until the place was out of sight and we’d failed to pick up an entourage of whirling lights and sirens, or citizens with torches and pitchforks. Then I could concentrate on navigating the claptrap on wheels down the winding mountain road, with only a guardrail separating us from a thousand-foot roll down a rocky slope.
    Beside me, Ian maintained a death grip on the oh-shit handle above his window while we bounced and rattled along. “Are you certain this vehicle is safe?” he half-shouted over the roar of a failing muffler.
    “Sure,” I said with more conviction than I felt. “Why?”
    He pointed down between his feet. “I can see the road.”
    “Oh.” I glanced over and looked through the rust-edged hole in the passenger-side floor at the dust gray asphalt rushing by. “Er … we should be fine. The floor’s not important.”
    “Indeed.” Ian slid back in the seat and tried to tuck his legs under him. It didn’t work, so he settled for propping them on the dash. “I believe I would have preferred walking.”
    I decided not to let him bait me. The road dipped ahead, so I slowed to twenty and puttered down a steep incline that looked like it’d never end. “So, what’s the plan now—hit the next town and find a mirror?”
    Ian offered a weary nod. His eyes fluttered closed. “Wake me when we arrive.”
    Great. I thought about protesting. If I had to stay awake, he should too. But it made sense to let him rest. I still had some juice left, and if whoever was chasing us managed to catch up, we’d need everything we could get.
    Toward the bottom of the incline, the blasted rock on the mountain side of the road gradually gave way to more trees. Twilight’s shadow distorted them, made them a fairy tale woods that no self-respecting girl with a basket would be caught dead in. I flipped the headlights on against the gathering gloom, and wasn’t surprised that only one lit up. The road leveled out a little, so I walked the protesting truck up to forty and held it there. Much faster and it’d probably shake itself apart. I pitied whoever owned this wreck, and not just because I’d stolen it.
    Something vibrated against my leg, and I finally realized it was my phone and not the truck. I fished it out. The thing must’ve taken a hit at some point, probably during my tumble down the tree. A crack split the screen and spiderwebbed in a corner. The display flashed on and off, but between flashesI made out the incoming number. Jazz. I thumbed the green button and said, “Don’t worry.”
    “I hate it when you answer like that.” The line crackled and echoed with distance. “You’re late. I worried.”
    “We had to take a little detour.”
    “How little? I need to know when to start worrying again. And … are you driving?”
    “Um. Yeah.” No point in lying to her. She’d read it like a billboard.
    “Funny. I don’t remember you taking a car out with you.”
    “I had to borrow one.”
    She swore under her breath. “Okay, now I’m concerned.”
    “I know.” I let out a sigh. “Tell you everything when we get back. Promise.”
    “And when might that be?”
    “If I’m not there by midnight, cancel the pumpkin coach and send out the glass slipper.”
    “Gavyn!” She choked back a laugh. “All right. Just don’t die.”
    “I love you too.”
    There was a long pause, and then she hung up.
    My mouth turned down involuntarily. Jazz wasn’t big on sentiment. It would’ve been nice to hear the words from her once in a while, but I understood her reservations. Our relationship hadn’t begun on the best of terms—and the risks I took with Ian didn’t help stabilize things. I wouldn’t want to get too attached to me either.
    I tried to slip the phone back in my pocket and