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"Just found out myself, good buddy. Got the updated instructions an hour ago. The clients are very specific about both drivers being present for the final exchange."

"That changes things," Bullseye muttered. "If we both have to be there..."

"We'll make it work," Snowman's voice was reassuring. "But we need to move fast. Every hour we spend dodging these witch patrols is an hour we can't afford to lose."

"Roger that. Send me the route coordinates when you can."

"Will do. Oh, and Bullseye? You might want to find yourselves a real secure place to spend the night. Word is, these witch covens don't give up easy, and they've got resources most folks can only dream about."

The radio went silent, leaving them alone with the implications of Snowman's warning.

"Eight hours," Hazel said quietly. "That's assuming we don't run into any more trouble."

"There's always more trouble," Bullseye replied. "Question is, are you still up for this? Because things are about to get a lot more dangerous."

"Are you kidding?" Hopper piped up. "She's having the time of her life. Look at her aura—it's practically sparkling with excitement."

Hazel's laugh was shaky but determined. "After this morning, dangerous is starting to feel normal." She paused, then looked at him seriously. "Besides, I'm not going anywhere. We're in this together now, remember?"

"Together," he repeated, liking the sound of it more than he should.

"Together," she confirmed. "Though I have to say, for people just getting to know each other, we have some pretty intense chemistry."

That was putting it mildly. Even now, with witch covens hunting them and federal agents on their trail, all Bullseye could think about was how good it had felt to hold her, how right it had seemed when she'd kissed him.

"Hazel," he started, but she held up a hand.

"I know. Bad timing, dangerous situation, barely know each other, et cetera.

But Bullseye..." She reached out and touched his cheek, her fingers warm against his skin.

"I've never felt anything like this before.

This connection between us—it's not just attraction.

It's like our magic recognizes each other. "

He caught her hand in his, pressing her palm flat against his face. "I feel it too. It's like you complete something in me I didn't even know was missing."

"So what do we do about it?"

"Oh, for the love of lily pads," Hopper groaned. "Can we save the magical bonding session until after we're not being hunted by half the supernatural community? Some of us would like to live long enough to see tomorrow."

Before Bullseye could answer, another sound echoed across the desert—helicopter rotors, and getting closer.

"Right now?" Bullseye said, starting the engine, "we run. Again."

They pulled back onto the highway just as a sleek helicopter appeared over the ridge, moving fast and low.

"That's not law enforcement," Hazel said, watching it through the rear window.

"No, it's not." Bullseye pushed the Trans Am harder, the speedometer climbing past ninety as they raced along the empty highway. "Corporate security. High-end, expensive, and probably armed with more than harsh language."

But the helicopter couldn't match the Trans Am's ground speed on the open highway, and within minutes they'd left it behind in the distance.

"And you know this how?"

"I've run this route before. Different cargo, similar level of people trying to kill me."

"Well, that's comforting," Hopper muttered. "Remind me to update my will when we get back to civilization."

Hazel stared at him. "How often do people try to kill you?"

"More often than I'd like, less often than you'd think." He navigated around a boulder that had apparently decided the middle of the trail was a good place for a nap. "Occupational hazard of the transportation business."

"Remind me to ask you more about your occupation," Hazel said, bracing herself as they hit a particularly rough patch. "Assuming we survive long enough for casual conversation."

"We'll survive," Bullseye said with more confidence than he felt. "Though I should probably mention, the tunnel we're heading for has some quirks."

"What kind of quirks?"

"The magical kind. Something about the mineral deposits in the rock. Electronics don't work too well in there, and magic gets... unpredictable."

"Unpredictable how?"

"Hard to say. Last time I went through, my CB radio started picking up conversations from 1952, and the truck's air freshener gained sentience and tried to redecorate the interior."

Hazel laughed despite their situation. "That's either the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, or the most terrifying."

"Why not both?" Hopper added cheerfully.

They reached the tunnel entrance just as the helicopter appeared overhead again, having finally navigated around the canyon. The tunnel mouth yawned before them like the entrance to an underground cave, which it basically was.

"THERE!" the loudspeaker boomed. "THEY'RE HEADING FOR THE MINING TUNNEL!"

"Too late," Bullseye said with satisfaction, plunging into the darkness.

The moment they crossed the threshold, every electronic device in the car went haywire. The radio started playing what sounded like a 1940s jazz orchestra, the GPS began giving directions in what might have been ancient Elvish, and the air conditioning started blowing glitter instead of cold air.

"This is..." Hazel began, then stopped as her magical aura began to shift colors like a psychedelic light show. "Oh. Oh, this is interesting."

"Interesting good or interesting bad?"

"I'm not sure yet. My magic feels... enhanced. Like the tunnel is amplifying everything." She held up her hand, and sparks danced between her fingers in colors that definitely weren't found in nature. "I think I could levitate the car again, if we needed to."

"Let's keep that as a backup plan."

"Great," Hopper croaked, his color shifting from green to a rather alarming shade of purple. "Now I'm a rainbow frog. This day just keeps getting better."

They drove through the tunnel surrounded by the strange harmonics of whatever magical field permeated the rock. The jazz orchestra on the radio was actually pretty good, and the glitter from the air conditioning made everything sparkle like they were driving through a fairy tale.

"You know," Hazel said thoughtfully, "for a day that started with me running from my own wedding, this is turning out pretty well."

"Even with the witch covens and federal manhunt?"

"Especially with the witch covens and federal manhunt." She smiled at him, and in the tunnel's strange light, she looked absolutely ethereal. "When's the last time you did something just because it felt right, instead of because it was safe or sensible?"

Bullseye considered the question. "About twelve hours ago, when I decided to help a witch who literally fell out of the sky onto my car."

"And how's that working out for you?"

He looked at her—really looked at her—taking in the way the magical light played across her features, the spark of adventure in her green eyes, the small smile that suggested she was thinking about things that definitely weren't safe or sensible.

"Better than I ever expected," he said honestly.

The tunnel began to brighten ahead of them, indicating they were approaching the other end. Behind them, the jazz orchestra was fading, replaced by the more familiar crackle of CB radio chatter.

"—anybody seen Bullseye and his lady? Got some folks real anxious to locate them."

"This is Moondog. Negative on visual, but I heard they were headed east on the back roads."

"Copy that. Keep your eyes peeled, and let 'em know they've got friends out here if they need 'em."

Bullseye grabbed the radio as they emerged from the tunnel into late afternoon sunlight. "This is Bullseye. We copy, Moondog, and we appreciate the support."

"Well, I'll be damned! Where y'all been? Half the trucker network's been looking for you."

"Taking the scenic route. How's the situation out there?"

"Complicated. Got witch covens setting up checkpoints, Smokies running random stops, and word is there's some federal task force that just got activated. You two sure know how to make friends."

"It's a gift," Hazel said dryly.

"That your lady I hear?" Moondog's voice carried obvious amusement. "She sounds like trouble."

"The best kind," Bullseye replied, and meant it.

"Roger that. Y'all be careful out there. This thing's bigger than just a simple smuggling run now."

They drove in comfortable silence for a while, the desert landscape rolling past outside the windows. The radio chatter continued—truckers reporting checkpoint locations, warning about suspicious vehicles, and generally keeping an eye out for their fellow drivers.

"They're really looking out for us," Hazel observed. "People they've never met."

"That's the brotherhood," Bullseye explained. "When you're living on the margins, you look out for each other. Today it's me and you. Tomorrow it might be them who need help."

"I like that. The idea of people having each other's backs just because it's the right thing to do."

"Not something you got a lot of in the witching community?"

Hazel's laugh was bitter. "The Three Counties United Witches Society is more about social climbing and whose garden produces the most potent herbs than any real support network.

When I got engaged to Smokie, half of them congratulated me on 'marrying up' and the other half started plotting to steal the wedding planning contract. "

"Sounds awful."

"It was. But this..." She gestured between them, then at the radio where truckers were still coordinating their informal protection network. "This feels real. Like maybe I've finally found where I belong."

Bullseye's heart did something complicated in his chest. "Hazel..."