There was a beat—a shadowy, unsettled moment—then everything became clear with Kitty’s chilling scream. She had recognized the car, the dented sage panels and squat, muscular stance.

The passenger door opened. Luke saw a swish of blond, braided hair, the flash of an ax.

Johan Fly came at them, a terrible Viking storm.

24
Rage

The last time Johan saw Kitty, she had been scrambling down the embankment behind Jink’s Warehouse. He’d watched her topple over a wooden fence and disappear from sight, but here she was now, locked in the headlights, as small as a rabbit. The rage that had consumed him all day pushed itself out of his throat and his eyes. He exited the Mustang, hoisting Krókr to his chest. His ancestors announced themselves in his blood.

There were other rabbits. The actor was there, his face smeared with blood and dirt. Ramón looked equally beaten. He stood with his shoulders slumped and his hands tied behind his back. Five raggedy-ass women lurked just behind them, almost transparent in the dusty evening air. Johan had no idea who they were, or what the hell was going on here, but none of that mattered now.

It was only as he got closer that he saw the snub-nosed revolver in the actor’s hand.

Luke raised the .38 Special, took aim, and pulled the trigger. He did it before the fear could take hold—a reflexive action, almost. It gave him no satisfaction, no sense of power. He would never have believed that shooting to kill could feel so unremarkable.

His aim was true. He knew it before the hammer dropped—a sizzling, deadly projectile on a collision course with the middle of Johan’s skull. Johan lifted his ax at just the right moment, though—or the wrong moment, from Luke’s point of view—and the bullet deflected off the blade. There was a spark, a brilliant ping! that cut through the echoing report. Johan staggered backward, rocked by the bullet’s closeness. Xander Cray, who’d stepped out from the Mustang’s driver’s side, took cover behind the front fender.

Kitty’s scream tailed off, and another—Christine’s—took its place. Luke stood with the gun extended, trying to process how Johan was still standing. He remained locked in that position for a blink or two, which was as long as it took for the world to rupture and fall.

Ramón peeled away, shouting something in Spanish. The women scattered like birds. Their movement jolted Luke from his stupor. He turned, saw Lisa drifting aimlessly, and caught up to her at a leap.

“Listen to me, listen . . .” He tucked her behind one of the stripped-down vehicles and turned her face up to his. “The house. Go back to the house, okay? And hide. Hide. A closet, a crawl space. Anywhere.”