Page 31 of Gray Dawn

Asa, Colby, and I returned to the SUV, where Colby gave him directions to the nearest suitable location.

As per usual, Dad preferred flight to modern conveyances, and tracked us from the sky.

The remote print job took only a minute or two, and I rushed in to pay for the copies.

By the time I reached the SUV, I had collected four medium rocks and used them to secure the printout to the hood of the vehicle. Dad landed with the leather thong of his pendant wrapped around his hand.

When I glanced back, I found Mom holding Colby on her palm, cooing at her, and falling into babytalk. There was an infinite amount of patience on Colby’s face, but when she cut her eyes toward me, I experienced a phantom twinge in the vicinity of my wallet. Something told me this was going to cost me later.

“They’re in a car or on a plane,” Dad informed us a few minutes later. “They’re moving fast.”

The most likely scenario was Clay playing chauffeur in a rental, allowing the director to travel incognito. He was bland enough, but it was hard to miss Clay. Even without his vast array of wigs, he was a big man who took up a lot of space, which was in short supply on a plane. Passengers who required entire rows for their broad shoulders tended to stick out in people’s minds.

Whether he was the cat or the mouse in this scenario, he wouldn’t want word of his movements leaked.

Itching to get moving, I pressed for more details. “Where are they now?”

“According to the map, in the vicinity of Shreveport, Louisiana.”

Less than a minute later, Colby had opened a new tab and pulled up maps.

“That tracks,” she confirmed. “It’s along I-20 West. That’s the quickest route to Dallas from Charlotte.”

With all the other players on the move, we had to roll out or risk missing out soon.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Golem

Master is not happy.

The golem is not sure…

…why.

But.

He is not happy. Either.

The moth girl. Is gone. Down the drain.

The golem shouldn’t. Care.

Doesn’tcare.

Can’t.

But that name—Clay—echoes. In his head. Sometimes. Like someone calling out. For him. But he can’t answer.

The phone rings. In the car that smells like fresh leather. Master tells him to answer.

So.

He.

Does.

Whatever Master says.