Crossroads by Stephen Kenson Read Free Book Online Page B

her the ignition code and she punched it into the car’s keypad, bringing the engine humming to life. She opened the small panel to the right of the steering column and pulled out a length of optical cable terminating in a connector, which she plugged into the chrome-lipped jack behind her ear. It gave her access and control over the car’s auto-pilot and other systems. I didn’t use it all that much, myself. Despite the hardware in my head, I preferred to do most things the old-fashioned way.
    “It’s not rigged.” I said, though she already knew that. I didn’t have the complex cyber riggers used to make themselves nearly one with the machines they operated. Aside from the fact that it would probably cripple my magic, the whole idea kind of frightened me. Merging that much with a machine just wasn’t natural, if you asked me.
    She nodded. “That’s chill. I’m not wired for it.” She threw the car into reverse and pulled out of the space. “But I think I can manage.”
    We moved out of the lot with the headlights off. When we reached the street, I directed her to turn right, then hit the lights when we had gone about a block. A Ford Americar appeared around a corner about three blocks behind us. “Should we try and lose them?”
    “Just a tick.” I closed my eyes and traced a symbol in the air with my index finger like I had in my apartment. A strong impression of danger filled my mind.
    “Gun it.” I said. She hit the accelerator and we shot ahead, but the driver of the Americar compensated quickly and gave chase. Suddenly the chatter of automatic gunfire split the night, and the rounds sparked off the pavement as we took a corner.
    I crouched down in my seat as a shot blew out the rear window. Damn, now they were getting me mad. My doss was one thing, but nobody was going to shoot up my car! I focused my attention on the astral plane and spoke a short phrase as we took another corner. Go get ’em! I thought.
    I was slammed against my safety harness as we screeched to a halt. I looked up and saw that the narrow side street we had turned into ended in a tall chain-link fence.
    “Oh, frag.” muttered the mystery woman. The Americar rounded the corner, and she reached for her gun, but I grabbed her wrist.
    “What the frag are you . . .” she was starting to say when a hellish yellowish light flared in the alleyway. The windscreen of the Ford shattered as it careened out of control and skidded onto the sidewalk, crashing into the side of the building, sending loose bricks flying. Smoke and flames poured out of the broken windows for a moment, then the Ford went off like a bomb. An orange fireball boiled up to the sky in a cloud of black smoke as bits of car rained down over the area, pinging off the roof and hood of my Westwind.
    She sat in stunned silence for a moment, staring at the flaming wreckage, then finally found her voice. “What. . . what the frag happened? Did you do that?”
    I shrugged and tried not to look too smug. “I've had a fire elemental tagging along in astral space ever since we left the parking lot. I told it to get them off our backs. Fire elementals tend toward overkill sometimes.”
    She just looked at me for a moment, then back at the flaming wreck of the Americar, then back at me. “No drek.” she said quietly. “By the way, we haven’t really been introduced. I’m Ariel, but my friends call me Trouble and . . . what’s so funny?”
    I shook my head. I couldn’t help but laugh.
    Extending my hand to take the one she offered, I said, “M'lady, I knew you were trouble the moment I saw you.”

4
    After we drove around for a bit to make sure no one else was following, I asked Trouble to pull over into a darkened side street not far from the glowing neolux sign of a Stuffer Shack. It was getting late, and there was little traffic on the road. As we pulled over I popped my seat belt and opened my door.
    “I think I should take it from here.” I said. Trouble made no