Enduring the blows, the inspector focused on the vine until he sawed through it and could jump upright again. He grabbed Bolin and lifted the knife. Shit.
I released the werewolf and ran over to help my intern. A surge of power came from Bolin, flaring like a sun to my senses, and he leaped back quickly enough to avoid the knife swipe. At the same time, another vine snaked out from under the truck. It rose into the air and swatted the inspector’s hand with a hard smack. He dropped the multitool and saw me coming. Cursing, he ran around the back of the truck and sprinted to his van.
The werewolf, red marks around his neck, glanced at me, then also rushed to the van.
“Did they get into my truck?” I crouched, planning to charge after them if they had, but the doors were shut, the locks engaged.
“My bag!” Bolin held it up, waving it to emphasize the severed strap.
A familiar hatchback rolled down our lane of the parking lot, and he jerked it down, not complaining further. That was Jasmine’s car.
Even as she headed toward us, the van drove straight toward her.
I sprinted after it, but what could I do to stop a van? Even as a werewolf, I didn’t have the strength to halt a two-ton automobile.
Jasmine saw the threat and swerved to the side, but there wasn’t enough room for her car to squeeze past the van. It would hit her before I reached it.
Scant feet ahead of me, a vine sprouted from the pavement. As thick as my wrist, it shot out and wrapped around the van’s back fender. The vehicle halted, tires squealing as it tried and failed to continue forward. The engine revved, the driver glancing in a side mirror.
Behind me, Bolin had stepped into the lane and stood, fists clenched, his face full of concentration. The vine stretched but didn’t snap, didn’t give in the least.
Jasmine had time to back her hatchback out of the lane and into another, one well out of the van’s path. Sweat rolled down the side of Bolin’s face.
I started toward the driver’s side of the van, intending to yank the inspector out, but the vine released abruptly. It disappeared into the pavement as fast as it had appeared.
Released from its druidic imprisonment, the van rolled over a curb, thunked down, then zipped away. It peeled out of the parking lot with impressive speed, leaving the scent of burning rubber in the air.
Window rolling down, the inspector stuck his arm out the window as he drove away, aiming a middle finger back in my direction. As if the situation were allmyfault. I wasn’t the thief here.
“I can’t believe I told that ass about the downspout overflow problem,” I muttered.
18
After the inspector’svan was out of sight, Jasmine stepped out from between two cars. She peered warily up and down our lane before walking fully into it.
“I almost changed right in the driver’s seat,” she told me as she walked up. “Not likethatwould have helped if an entire van smashed into the front of my car.”
“Jasmine,” Bolin blurted, dusting off his clothes.
I eyed the parking lot for signs of lingering vines but didn’t see any. Had he done that with potions or bath bombs? With the one I’d witnessed close up, it had looked like he’d used sheer power to make it sprout.
“Hi, Bolin. Were you the one to stop the van?” Jasmine tilted her head and smiled at him. “I thought I saw… things.”
“I, uhm.” He looked helplessly at me.
Torn between wanting her to know he’d helped and his natural inclination to hide his power?
“He did stop the van,” I said firmly. Jasmine already knew about his druidic tendencies. What was there to hide? “He’s been developing his abilities and is turning into a strong ally.”
I didn’t mention the screaming over the slashed strap of the man purse. With luck, Jasmine had arrivedafterall that.
“Yes.” Bolin nodded. “It’s, uhm, good to see you.” He brushed off his clothes again, though they appeared fine to me.
Jasmine looked down the lane to where her car had almost been flattened. “The help was well timed.”
“Yes,” Bolin said.
For a spelling-bee champion who knew a few bazillion words, he could get laconic at times.
