Page 104 of The Rut in the Road

“I like the fact that nobody can throw a brick this high,” Vi remarked, shooting me a look.

I sighed, but Ward smiled. “I can’t argue with that.”

All three ofus were exhausted by the time we hit two a.m. and the contract officially ended, although it was almost three before we managed to pack everything up and get ourselves into the elevator down to the garage where I’d parked Mason’s truck, which he’d insisted I use again.

I was carrying one big bin, and Vi had the other one. Ward had a big tote that had been filled with three big boxes of leftover food, three small boxes of leftover cake, and some small bags of party favors that David, the very personable and friendly client, had insisted we take with us in addition to the check for a ridiculous amount of money.

I wasn’t going to complain about having these leftovers.

Vi and I loaded the bins into the back of the truck, then Vi took the bag and climbed in the back seat while I helped Ward into the passenger seat, then loaded his chair with the bins and closed the tailgate.

“Everybody good?” I asked, then started the truck upon receiving assent from both of them.

I wasn’t prepared for the massive crowd of people waiting outside the parking ramp.

The police and a private security firm had cordoned off the building’s drop-off zone for the wealthy clientèle, but nobody’d put security back here, and the protestors had figured out that it was the only place they’d be able to encounter people coming from the party—specifically, the peopleworkingthe party.

So us.

The wait staff were still cleaning—they had much more work than we did—so we were likely the first car to pull out since the party started.

“Oh, shit,” Vi hissed as something impacted the passenger window behind me. I agreed, but concentrated on pushing the truck forward without actually hitting anybody, although they weren’t making it easy.

I wondered if they knew who we were, specifically, or if they were happy to throw various objects, including at least one apple, trash like balled-up flyers or newspapers or empty coffee cups, smallish rocks, and a half-eaten candy bar that left a streak of something on the windshield before I used the wipers to dislodge it.

They were shouting insults about Arcanids, Arc-humans, and people who sympathized with them, as well as magic and magic use in general. I tried to tune out the specifics, focusing on just getting through them.

Ward had pulled out his phone. “Hey, Dan. Are you downtown? Yeah, the plaza. We’re trying to get out of the ramp.” A pause, and I could hear the tinny sound of Detective Maza’s voice yelling through the phone, although, again, I couldn’t make out the specifics. “Yeah, thanks.” Another pause. “Okay.” He kept the phone up, although it didn’t seem like anyone was speaking.

I suppose Maza had asked him to keep the phone on, just in case, until someone got over to us.

The whoop of a siren sounded as a patrol car pulled up, an officer getting out of the passenger side, yelling, one hand on the butt of his weapon. More people approached, most in ordinary clothes, which made me think they were likely more protestors.

“Yeah,” Ward said into the phone. “There’s a car, but it’s just the car and one other guy. Not sure that’s enough.” A pause. “Okay.”

More people were approaching from around the side of the building, but they were carrying flashlights and wearing uniform clothing—the promised police. “Dan? They’re here. We should be good. Thanks.” He hung up.

I noted grimly that these new police only seemed to do the very bare minimum of shooing the protestors away, not really stopping them from throwing things and definitely not discouraging them from shouting.

But they did clear enough of a path that I was able to get through the crowd, and as soon as I was clear, I sped up, heading away from downtown and toward Ward and Mason’s house on the south side of the river, where I’d left my car when I’d traded it out for Mason’s truck that afternoon.

“Ugh,” Violette grumbled from the back, letting out a relieved sigh. “I hate those people.”

“I think the feeling is probably mutual,” Ward replied, his tone dark.

I textedRaj as soon as I got home and put my leftovers in the fridge.

I’m home safe.

There was just enough of a pause that I’d managed to get into the bathroom before it buzzed back at me.

You okay? Is everyone else?

We’re all fine, I sent back.No injuries.

Was the protest still there when you left?

I frowned. I didn’t want to have to tell him that, but I also didn’t want to lie to him.Yes,I typed.But nobody got hurt or attacked.Throwing an apple and half a candy bar did not, in my mind, constitute an ‘attack.’ Raj might not have seen it that way, but if the protestors had genuinely meant to hurt us, they absolutely would have.