Violet’s face paled. “You mean—you mean you left it there in that Southtown parking lot? All night?”

Her concern was more than warranted. Leaving a car in that neighborhood was just begging for trouble. By now, the vehicle had probably been stripped of everything but the cigarette lighter. Hell, somebody had probably taken that too. Barracudas couldn’t pick a corpse any cleaner than the white trash and gangbangers in Southtown.

“It might be okay,” Finn replied in a hopeful tone. “It’s just a Honda. Several years old at that. It’s not like I left my Aston Martin down there.”

He shuddered at the thought. Violet chewed her lower lip.

“You have insurance, don’t you?” I asked.

Violet nodded.

“Then you can worry about your car later. Right now we need to go see your grandfather. You still want us to help the two of you, right?”

Violet nodded again. “Of course. Like I said, the Tin Man was my only hope. Now you’re my only hope.”

Only hope? How very Star Wars. I grimaced. But I didn’t tell Violet Fox how misplaced her trust in me was, how misguided, how laughable, even. That I only brought death to people, not hope. That I was doing this rare, pro bono good deed out of my own fucking insatiable curiosity more than anything else.

“Come on,” I said, opening the door on the SUV.

“Let’s go.”

———

Finn steered out of Jo-Jo’s subdivision and headed north. Following Violet Fox’s directions, we left the suburbs behind and drove through the heart of Northtown, where the rich, richer, and richest lived. People didn’t have mansions in Northtown—they had estates. If not for the driveways, iron gates, and tasteful brick walls that could be seen from the streets, you might have thought the area was deserted.

Because nobody with real wealth, magic, or power was gauche enough to let their home be seen from the road.

We drove on, still heading north. The terrain became rockier, more rugged, as the rolling hills of the lowlands gave way to knobby ridges and pine-covered mountains.

Houses began to appear on the side of the road, although they were far less grand than the hidden McMansions that populated the Northtown estates. The road narrowed from four lanes to two and twisted back on itself in a series of switchbacks that would give most folks nausea.

Instead of sleek sedans and chrome-covered SUVs, we began to pass dump- and coal trucks on the road.

After about thirty minutes of driving, Violet pointed out the windshield. “That’s it, just up ahead at the crossroads.”