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Thanks for the unsavory skills, Rosy.

Shoving thoughts of the gargoyle aside, Truly palmed the handle and pulled. Hinges groaned as the heavy door opened. She slid inside and, reaching over the center console, unlocked the passenger side.

With one last look around, Westvane moved the seat back, folded almost in two, and crammed his frame inside. “I think I should drive.”

“Do you know how?” she asked, yanking wires from under the steering column.

“I’ve seen you do it,” he said, closing his door quietly to keep from alerting the neighborhood. “Couldn’t do much worse.”

She grinned. “The person who steals the car gets to drive it.”

“Is that an Earth Realm rule?”

“Totally,” she said, lying to keep him out of the driver’s seat.

He threw her a disbelieving look, but left it alone. Thank God. Letting him drive would be a disaster. He’d no doubt run over whatever got in his way, people included.

Fiddling beneath the steering column, Truly twisted two wires together. The big V6 rumbled. She hummed in satisfaction. Never let be said Montrose hadn’t taught her anything useful. “Where to first?”

“Downtown,” Westvane said, dipping his head down to look through the windshield. “Where the riot is taking place.”

Right in the thick of it.

Earl’s intel jived with the news stations. Three straight nights of chaos in downtown Philly. Some people protested police brutality. Some governmental over-reach and systematic abuse. Others looted, breaking glass store fronts, starting fires, clashing with protestors. Now, what started as mostly peaceful marches had grown into a full-blown riot. One that continued to spiral out from the downtown core to engulf entire neighborhoods. Stood to reason. Made perfect sense. Wherever the Wendigo went, rage, hatred, and violence erupted.

She’d learned more about the Wendigo in the last hour than she ever wanted to know. Earl had regaled her during supper, informing her the assassination of the Austrian Archduke Franz Ferdinand — an event that started the sharp downward spiral into WWI — just one example of the kind of chaos the Wendigo was capable of unleashing.

Pulling onto the street, Truly glanced at Westvane. “Will you be able to capture it?”

“Need to find it first.”

“But when we do —”

Westvane cut her off with a glance.

The intensity in his gaze said it all — fierce, brutal, unbridled violence unhidden. Yes. He’d be able to cage the Wendigo before sending it howling back to Azlandia. But as Truly turned out of the neighborhood, worry swept through her. Westvane’s abilities might not be in question, but the amount of carnage he left in his wake was a serious concern. So, the question needed to be asked — how far was too far? How many innocent people would be hurt before the night ended?

“Okay, so…”

“What?”

Mentally girding herself, she buckled her seatbelt in place. “We need a game plan.”

“I have one,” Westvane said, ignoring his own seatbelt.

“And that would be?”

“For you to stay out of my way.”

“Westvane — "

“When I need you, princess, I’ll let you know.”

His tone brooked no argument.

Truly didn’t like it, but tamped down her counter-argument. He was focused, on mission, an Assenta warrior with one thing on his mind — thehunt.

She wouldn’t be able to shift his strategy. Not now. When he had a job to do.