Centaur of the Crime: Book One of 'Fantasy and Forensics' (Fantasy & Forensics 1) (27 page)

I backed the Ford Expedition down the driveway and swung it into the street with a screech. The sky had gone black by now. Thick clouds that played hide and seek with the rising moon.

In the streetlamp’s glow, Esteban nearly spilled his coffee in surprise. I rolled my window down. Looked across the way as Esteban glared back at me.

“What the hell’s gotten into you, Dayna?” he demanded. “Don’t tell me that you’ve forgotten what ‘house arrest’ means!”

“I know, believe me, I know. But something more important just came up.”

“More important?” he sputtered, “McClatchy will have my head if I let you go!”

“Alanzo,” I said, and even at this juncture, I saw a twitch of a smile as he heard me use his first name. “I’m sorry, okay? I don’t have time to give you a full-on effing explanation right now!”

I didn’t wait for his response. I rolled my window back up and stomped on the accelerator. Rubber shrieked on asphalt as the SUV lurched forward like a racehorse from the starting gate.

“Sorry, guys,” I said, as I saw Esteban begin a three-point turn to follow us. “I need to get some distance between us and Officer Friendly there.”

“He doth not appear to be all that friendly,” Shaw remarked.

I jerked the steering wheel around to make a sharp right. For a split second, I saw a flash in my rearview mirror. Thought I saw the red and blue lights of a police cruiser. Too quick to tell if it was a black-and-white Crown Vic or an unmarked patrol car.

The lights vanished as I pulled up the entrance ramp to the southbound 101. The wheel’s leather rim felt warm, alive in my hands. Only light evening traffic dotting the lanes now.

My mind raced along with the SUV. Dammit, why hadn’t I put the pieces together before? Not only had Thea clued me in to the berries, there’d even been a rotting bundle of juniper sitting out on Kajari’s desk. The answer came back to me in a heartbeat. My own voice floated out of the darkness, mocking me.

You didn’t put the pieces together because you liked him, Dayna. You liked Kajari—that is, you liked
Magnus
—as a man. If you didn’t have Esteban kicking around in the back of your mind, who knows what would have happened?

And why didn’t Magnus kill me when he had the chance? When he had me alone in his quarters? The same voice echoed in my head.

Because he liked you, as well.

I shuddered a little at that. But I forced myself to ask one more question. One that popped into my head when Galen revealed the centaur wizard’s name.

“Galen,” I said, as I powered the SUV around a clump of slow-moving traffic, “what was Duke Kajari’s full name?”

“His full name?” Galen looked puzzled, and then stated, “I believe it was ‘Thade’. His full name was Thade Rythalla Kajari.”

If I needed any proof that Magnus liked me, I just got it. I’d made him slip up, tell me his true name. And in a way that a centaur would do it. Just as ‘Sturmgalen’ went by ‘Galen’ in the human world, so did ‘Killshevan’ default to ‘Evan’.

I bit my lip. Tried to keep my expression neutral. I don’t think it worked all that well. Galen watched me, his expression one of gentle concern.

“Dayna, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I lied, and I thanked the powers that be as I saw our exit ramp coming up. Only a couple more miles to downtown Hollywood, and to end the entire saga right here and now.

My rearview mirror lit up as, in the distance, I saw Esteban’s car barreling down the freeway in hot pursuit of our SUV. He didn’t have his siren on, but his grille-mounted light bar pulsed a jangle of blue and red. Cars to either side of him gave him a wide berth as he came on.

I floored the accelerator again. We all but flew off the exit ramp and onto Highland boulevard. Heading south, down a long slope and to the right. The squeal of our tires echoed off the concrete walls of the highway underpass.

I managed to time the lights at the next three intersections just right. I swung us onto a side street just as Esteban came screeching around the wide curve of the exit ramp. I stood on the gas pedal again.

Galen gasped. I swapped the gas for the brake. Acrid smoke, the smell of burnt rubber on dirty asphalt, wafted through the vents.

Shaw’s bulk slammed into the backs of the seats. Springs creaked loudly in protest. I coughed, inhaled burning brake fumes. The SUV shimmied like a drunken bar girl doing a hula. The brake pedal pulsed under my foot, as if trying to squirm free, but I held it down.

We came to a smoking, jittery stop, not ten feet from the bright orange sign.

“This cannot be good,” Galen remarked.

Just my rotten luck.

Chapter Thirty-Two

I sat frozen in the driver’s seat, mind racing. Next to me, Galen stared at the bright orange and black sign that sat ten feet in front of the SUV’s hood. Out of curiosity, Shaw poked his eagle’s head between us to scan the outside. He made a leonine snort.

“Impressive,” Shaw observed. “The deeds this ‘Oscar’ hath performed must have been worthy of a hero’s veneration.”

“Agreed,” Galen said, “he was famous indeed, if his festival can close off a city of this size in his honor.”

Sure enough, a profile shot of the little golden statuette adorned the sign. Next to the smug-looking visage of the Academy Award trophy were words done up in an art-deco font and punched up by no less than a triple exclamation point:
Oscar Rocks Hollywood Tonight @ The Classic Film Festival!!!

That wasn’t what bothered me. It was the fact that the sign adorned a set of concrete blocks placed out in the middle of the street as a traffic block. The kind thoughtfully provided by the California Department of Transportation.

And on the blocked street beyond? Vendors finishing the setup of their booths in the new traffic-free zone. Pop music blared from overhead speakers. Aromas of hot dogs, French fries, and Mexican churros made the entire area smell like a cross between a Dodger’s game and the county fair.

I kept going through the road system in my head. This wasn’t the normal route I took to work—but I was pretty familiar with the streets here. Grauman’s Chinese Theatre pretty much lay at the center of ‘Old Hollywood’. No back way in. No side alleys to get around.

I
really
didn’t like the remaining option.

With the tinny sound of hot tires on asphalt, Esteban’s unmarked police cruiser, lights flashing, came around the corner, several blocks back.

Looked like the decision had been made for me.

“Okay, guys,” I said, as I flexed my hands on the warm leather of the steering wheel. “Hang on!”

I threw the Ford into reverse for a second, cutting around to the right. I braked hard. The transmission howled in protest like a whipped dog as I slammed it back into drive.

Floored the gas again. Smell of burning rubber as the rear wheels fought for purchase. Sound of talons scraping metal came from the back as Shaw dug in, trying to avoid sliding around in the cargo area.

With a
whump
, I took us over the curb. Around the side of the roadblock. Startled looks from the pedestrians as they saw me muscle the huge black SUV onto the sidewalk.

I leaned into the curve, smacked my hand on the horn button in the center of the wheel. A dull pain worked its way up my forearm, but I ignored it and held the button down. The horn blared into the evening, echoing off the sides of the buildings over the roar of the engine.

Galen gripped the armrests of his seat.

“Dayna, are you sure that this is a good–”

“No, I’m not!”

People scattered out of the way as the SUV bore down the sidewalk. My palms turned wet with perspiration when an elderly couple barely made it inside a doorway as we went past. Too dangerous. A slower couple, or a jogger wearing headphones—I’d plow them into next week.

I did my best to aim for a clear spot I saw up ahead, to get back on the street. Just beyond a cluster of booths selling movie photos. Set of lampposts coming up on the other side, decked out with a hanging planter and shiny vinyl poster of Humphrey Bogart smoking his trademark cigarette.

I jerked the wheel to the side. Tight fit. Too tight for the extra-wide bulk of the SUV. Crash of splintering wood as the bumper on Galen’s side took a chunk out of the vendor’s booth.

The metal bar of the hanging planter scraped along the driver’s side. The rearmost window made a ‘pop’ and shattered. Shaw let out an outraged squawk.

“Shaw, you all right?”

“Trouble yourself not,” he replied.

I risked a quick glance over my shoulder as I got us back into the middle of the street. The griffin shook his head, shrugging off stray glass shards, and then stuck his head out the new opening. Wind ruffled his feathers as he looked into the direction of travel.

“Thy mode of travel suits me better now,” Shaw announced happily.

I swerved around another cluster of vendors, horn blaring. One more turn, skidding my way onto Hollywood Avenue. Giant batteries of klieg lights lit up the sides of buildings with floods of yellow and green.

Posters and advertisements touting classic and upcoming films hung from every lamp post down the way. They swung in the evening breeze like the snapping pennons of Benedict’s palace. People continued to scatter as the SUV barreled down the neon and klieg lit street.

I looked in the side mirror. I didn’t see Esteban’s car. But I did notice people doing a double-take as they spotted Shaw’s huge eagle’s head sticking out the window.

So much for keeping a low profile now.

We passed the vintage theatres on either side of the road. Up ahead on the right, I spotted the steep-sided roof shingles of Grauman’s. The curb had been blocked off by a line of orange traffic cones. Too bad for whoever wanted the spot, though.

I staked my claim by simply running over the cones with the bulk of the SUV. They made a series of sad-sounding little
thunks
as they went under the vehicle. The brakes protested with a grinding squeal as I brought us to a stop in front of Grauman’s.

The smell of popcorn and hot asphalt shoved its way into my consciousness as I shut off the motor. I pried my fingers from where they held the steering wheel in a death grip. Galen let out a shuddering sigh of relief.

“Mercifully, that is over and done with,” he said.

“That part is, yeah.”

“Do you not think this entrance is a little ‘public’ for our needs?”

“Not much choice.” I pointed at the building next to Grauman’s, a six-story brownstone trimmed with jade green glass. “Lobby entrance on the left side. We go in through there. Can you follow up on Liam’s tracing?”

He pulled out the medallion he’d taken back from Shaw. A dim blue glow shone from it.

“At this distance, there should not be a problem.”

“Good.” I spoke over my shoulder as I added, “Both of you, shield your eyes from the camera flashes. They’re harmless, but they’ll blind you.”

The coral-red columns of the theatre’s main pavilion, flanked by a pair of Chinese dog statues, sheltered a crowd of tourists to our front and right. The iconic cement flooring with the footprints of the stars had been holding everyone’s attention. At least until now.

Everyone looked excitedly in our direction as I slipped out of my seat. At least I could duck behind the SUV as I ran around to the rear hatch. Galen, on the passenger side, held up his forearm to protect his eyes. A veritable sea of flashbulbs winked on and off as he got out.

I keyed the rear hatch open and stood back. Shaw stepped out onto Hollywood boulevard, his fur and feathers slightly disheveled from the rough ride. He flexed his wings with a vast furling and unfurling, and then raised his proud eagle’s head like the majestic creature he was.

The crowd saw the griffin’s muscular lion’s body. The mighty paws with their sharp talons. The stern eagle eyes and the jackhammer-chisel of his black beak.

As one, they let out a scream.

That’s when they up and ran.

Towards us.

The crowd rushed forward towards us like the storm surge on a sandy beach. Galen and I came around to shield our companion from the onrush. For a split second, I caught the look in Shaw’s golden eagle eyes.