Kevin reaches for the radio to call in where he is and where he’s going, but I stop him before he can hit a button. “They can’t know,” I say. “I’m undercover investigating corruption in the ranks. Some of the people in dispatch might be part of the conspiracy.”

“Really?” he says, shock and fear on his face. He pulls his hand back and focuses on driving. I turn down the volume. The last thing I need is to have Kevin tell dispatch where we are with fuck knows who else listening.

With the lights and sirens going we’re making good time. Now this is the way to deal with L.A. traffic. We’re on the 101 coming up on Highland when I see them in the side mirror. Two motorcycles zipping through traffic toward us. Not an unusual sight in L.A., but the accompanying feeling of magic speeding toward us like a bullet gives them away. I wonder if they’re the ones who set the bomb, maybe assuming I’d be unconscious in the back of an ambulance by now. I’m not sure how they found me, though. Probably staked out Gabriela’s warehouse. Or one of her people talked. Doesn’t really matter.

If they did set the bomb, it’s not actually a bad plan. Would explain why the blast was so small. They don’t want me to be a smear on the pavement. They need my head if they want to collect, and I doubt the Werthers are gonna pay up for some sludge in a baggie.

“Get off at Highland,” I say. The air’s a lot more smoky than I’d expected. Something close by is on fire. Griffith Park, maybe, or the Hollywood Hills. It’s gotten to the point where it’s impossible to keep track of all the brushfires.

“What?” Kevin says, blinking around him like he’s coming out of a dream. “I—Hang on. Who the hell are you?” I was afraid of this. Sharpie magic is better at redirection than mind control, and it can wear off pretty quickly. But there are ways around that.

I push more power into the spell, throttling it back when his eyes start to go glassy. Frying his brain doing ninety on the 101 would be bad. For me, at least. He’ll already be dead.

“Get off at Highland,” I say again. What the hell is around here? Then I have it. “Head to the Bowl.” It’s late enough in the summer that the Hollywood Bowl should be crawling with people. And cars. That I can steal. I’ll have Kevin run interference and go after the bikers while I grab myself something off the valet and get the hell out of there.