“That’s Francis!” both Jenks and I shouted as I spun to see his broken taillight. My vision swam from the pain the quick movement started, but I half crawled to the far backseat, Jenks still on my shoulder. “That’s Francis,” I cried, my heart pounding. “Turn around. Stop! That’s Francis.”

Edden hit his fist into the dash. “Damn,” he swore. “We’re too late.”

“No!” I shouted. “Don’t you see? Trent is switching them. The biodrugs and Brimstone. The I.S. isn’t there yet. Francis is switching them!”

Edden stared at me, his face alternating in the shadow and light as we continued up the long drive to the airport.

“Francis has the drugs! Turn around!” I shouted.

The van stopped at a traffic light. “Captain?” the driver prompted.

“Morgan,” Edden said, “you’re crazy if you think I’m going to pass up the chance to slip a Brimstone take right out from under the I.S. You don’t even know if that was him or not.”

Jenks laughed. “That was Francis. Rachel burned out his clutch right proper.”

I grimaced. “Francis has the drugs. They’re going out by bus. I’d bet my life on it.”

Edden’s eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. “You have,” he said shortly. “Clayton, turn around.”

I slumped, letting out a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding.

“Captain?”

“You heard me!” he said, clearly not happy. “Turn around. Do what the witch says.” He turned to me, his face tight. “You’d better be right, Morgan,” he nearly growled.

“I am.” Stomach churning, I settled back, bracing myself at the sharp U-turn. I had better be right, I thought, glancing at Nick.

An I.S. truck passed us on its way to the airport, silent with its lights flashing. Edden hit the dash so hard it was a wonder the air bag didn’t come out. He snatched up the radio. “Rose!” he bellowed. “Did the dog team find anything at the bus depot?”

“No, Captain. They’re on their way in now.”

“Get them back out there,” he said. “Who do we have in the Hollows in plainclothes?”

“Sir?” She sounded confused.

“Who’s in the Hollows that I didn’t move to the airport?” he shouted.

“Briston is at the Newport mall in plainclothes,” she said. The faint ringing of a phone intruded, and she shouted, “Someone get that!” There was hesitation. “Gerry is backing her up, but he’s in uniform.”

“Gerry,” Edden muttered, clearly not pleased. “Move them to the bus depot.”

“Briston and Gerry to bus depot,” she repeated slowly.

“Tell them to use their ACGs,” Edden added, shooting a glance at me.

“ACGs?” Nick asked.

“Anticharm gear,” I said, and he nodded.

“We’re looking for a white male, early thirties. Witch. Name is Francis Percy. I.S. runner.

“He’s no better than a warlock,” I interjected, bracing myself as we came to an abrupt halt at a red light.

“The suspect is probably carrying spells,” Edden continued.

“He’s harmless,” I muttered.

“Do not approach unless he tries to leave,” Edden said tightly.