Cinnamon’s ears pricked up. “You gots tarps in the backs of your mobiles?”

“What?” McGough asked blankly.

“Tarps, covers, blankets, anything,” Cinnamon said, tugging at her collar and grimacing. “And poles. We makes a tent, keeps the sun off him long enough to get him free of that crap!”

The officers remained frozen, and then McGough spoke. “Rand,” he said calmly. “Could you have your boys check their cruisers for tarps, blankets-”

“I’ll get on it,” he said. “Dakota, deal with the vines.”

“Sure,” I said. Yeah, right-dump the magical problem in the lap of the magician. I know I’d gotten a reputation for fighting other magicians after taking on the serial killer that had kidnapped Cinnamon, but “ Deal with the vines?” Fuck. How was I gonna do that?

I stepped forward, and the graffiti tag convulsed. Revenance groaned, then opened cloudy eyes in a face cracked like burnt paper. I recoiled. Scattered ultraviolet had to be killing him.

And while I was noticing all that, a tendril of barbed wire snapped out like a whip, nailing me in the temple. Only a last second flinch saved my eye, and I threw myself back into a crouch, hands raised, tails of my vestcoat whapping out around me. I was actually a bit surprised at my own reaction, I guessed a product of my recent training. Apparently karate works.

“Girl’s got moves,” said a voice, and after a glance at the vines, I looked over to see a crewcutted black officer stepping up-Gibbs, one of Rand’s friends. “You OK, Dakota?”

“Yes,” I said, touching my temple, fingers coming back with blood. “Where’s Horscht?”

“Your kid has him running to the grounds shed,” Gibbs said. His clothes and face were scratched too, worse than the others, and one eye was darn near swollen shut. I had been lucky. “Looking for wood to prop up a tent around your fang there.”