Priceless

mineshaft, the soft light picked up the blood more effectively than if we saw it under the bright light of the day. Even to me, it seemed surreal, and I was used to the weird and supernatural side of the world.
    They shoved me into an armoured transport vehicle, two FBI agents in with me, their guns visible and their hatred of me, a cop killer in their eyes, obvious. I didn’t care. At that point, all I wanted was to sleep, and I knew a jail would be as safe, or safer, than any place I could find. The one bright side was that I knew O’Shea and Milly would get the two kids to safety, and with that thought tumbling through my mind, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.

~26~
    G etting the kids to the hospital was the first priority; a close second was getting Adamson back to the human side of whatever the hell she’d crossed over.
    O’Shea drove, careening into the hospital parking lot, all the while wondering at why Milly had insisted they leave. Once India was settled and Jake was rushed off into the emergency room, the witch grabbed him by the arm and dragged him outside, finally answering the question he’d asked what felt like a hundred times on the drive to the hospital.
    “You don’t get it, Agent; we can’t get her back from that route, we have to go to where the two of you came in. If it’s still open, she has a chance.” Her eyes flashed bright green at him.
    He nodded. “Okay, but then we’re going to have to hurry.”
    A shuffle behind them, one of the nurses that had admitted the kids, cleared her throat. “Excuse me, are you Agent O’Shea?”
    Surprised, he started to say yes, but thought about the belief that he was a cop killer, and the word froze on his lips.
    He needn’t have worried, the witch ratted him out.
    “Yes, he is,” she said.
    “There’s a phone call, urgent. Agent Valley, he said his name was.” She beckoned them inside.
    O’Shea’s surprise turned to shock. Valley was second in the bureau only to Jessop Darlington. O’Shea took a breath, knowing the phone call was either going to be very good, or very, very bad.
    He just didn’t know which one.
    *-*-*-*
    Jail wasn’t so bad. Not if you overlooked the smell of urine and vomit under the pine-scented cleaner that had been used. I was in my own cell, a single hard bed with no mattress, a toilet and a sink. Of course, it wasn’t a jail, not really. I was in the holding cells below the Bismarck police department. I had a couple of neighbours, but they were both sleeping off the party from the night before by the sounds of it, though I suspected they’d added to the smell I couldn’t get away from. Pacing, I mulled over my options.
    Sleep hadn’t come as easy as I’d hoped. My mind had been unable to let go of the fear and inability to fight back that man, vampire, whatever he was. Then there was O’Shea. I kept checking in with him, and the emotions were freaking me out a bit. Surprise, pleasure, happiness. Had he slept with Milly? It wouldn’t surprise me, not when it came to my best friend. But then, why was there a sudden stab of anger that rode shotgun to that thought?
    Nope, not going there.
    Footsteps sounded down the long hallway that was the only way in or out. My heart clenched; what if it was the vampire? There was no way I could get away from him, not here. It was the middle of the night and totally plausible that he could walk right in and snatch me.
    Two black suits came into view, mirrored glasses and an almost comical resemblance to
Men in Black
.
    “So, which one of you was played by Will Smith?” I leaned a hip against the bars. “I mean, you’re both white, so . . . .”“ I lifted an eyebrow at them.
    “You need to come with us, Ma’am.” They opened the door, cuffed me, and escorted me down the long hallway, up the stairs and out the front door into a waiting black van. Just like the ones that had been chasing us. The Arcane division was not something I wanted anything to do with. I hadn’t even had a chance to read through the papers I had on them yet.
    Slumping backwards, I leaned against their hands. “I think I’d rather stay in jail, to be honest; black vans and I just don’t look good together.”
    They said nothing, just picked me up, opened the door, and tossed me in. The back of the van was dark, only splashes of light from the street lamps peeked in through cracks near the back door. They drove for close to three hours, long enough to get us well out of town, long