The Arizona sun was nearly at its peak, and Rowan wished his last resurrection had come with free sunglasses. He was still a few miles from the more urban parts of Marana, and farm fields were occasionally separated by buildings and homes. So far, his pursuers hadn’t shot at him. He wasn’t sure if they were unwilling to hurt Sofia or reluctant to risk law enforcement’s involvement.

Rowan glanced in his rearview mirror, judging the distance between himself and the Mercedes. They were close enough to see into the car but not close enough to run him off the road. He’d been taking turns at random whenever they tried to pull up alongside him.

His ability to manipulate luck was a magic he mostly avoided, as the consequences almost always were worse than the benefits. Shapeshifting was Rowan’s go-to magic, but he had a second power he relied on when an animal form wasn’t enough: illusion.

Miguel and Sofia sat perfectly still in the backseat. They weren’t real people; they were three-dimensional stationary figments. Their resemblance to the actual people was only cursory. After all, Rowan had seen them for only a few minutes, mainly from a distance. His best view of them had been when Gretta flashed a photo around, and she’d been most of the way across the diner.

With some effort, he might make the illusions move and seem life-like; it was taxing, though, and his only goal was to let his pursuers see the illusions and think that they were following the right car. Every minute they were following him, the further the real Miguel and Sofia were from harm.

A female voice in his mind spoke. I want to thank you.

“Whoa!” Rowan nearly went off the road.

The voice was now familiar, but he still didn’t know who that voice belonged to. Part of him wondered if his mind was fragmenting. He recovered and pulled the vehicle back between the lines.

“Don’t scare me! I know I make this look easy, but I’ve spent most of the past twenty-five years as a coyote, and even before that, I didn’t drive much.”

You seem to be doing fine.

“Um. Thanks?” Rowan glanced around. “Assuming I haven’t lost my mind and am not talking to myself, how do you watch me? It’s kind of creepy.”

The voice chuckled. That would be a secret. I can assure you, though, that you aren’t losing your mind.

“Okay,” Rowan said. “So, who are you if you aren’t me?”

That is also a secret. At least for now.

Rowan rolled his eyes. “That convoluted enough to sound like something I’d say to me if I was losing my mind.”

The SUV’s engine revved as it lurched forward and attempted to run into Rowan. He swerved off the paved road and onto a small dirt road used by tractors to service farm fields.

The car jostled and bucked as Rowan took the dirt road at top speed. He spotted the SUV trying to cut across the field, but it was having a worse time.

“So, why reach out to me now when I’m being chased?” Rowan asked.

He could somehow hear a smile in the voice. I can only contact you to ask for a divine favor or to thank you; I can’t give you advice.

Rowan swerved back onto hard pavement. “Oh, so you have advice?”

I do.

“Okay, will you please share that advice?” Rowan glanced back over his shoulder, partly to make sure the illusions of Miguel and Sofia hadn’t dissipated and partly to make sure the Mercedes was still following him.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The voice was silent for a moment. And despite Rowan’s desperate attempts to keep the car from getting stuck or hit, he was eager to hear what the voice would say.

Maybe I could phrase it as a favor.

Rowan’s grip on the steering wheel was so tight that his hands hurt. “Are you saying something is preventing you from spitting it out?”

Rowan pulled out the GPS tracking device he had removed from Gretta’s car while she was playing house kitten with Miguel. He rolled down his window and tossed it into the ditch. He would need to leave the car soon, and there was no reason to make the device easy for his pursuers to recover their property.

The voice was clear and deliberate. I want to ask you for a favor. If Sophia is ever offered to the Warlord, there will be a ritual. I’d like you to disrupt that ritual.

“Believe it or not, I didn’t actually study magic. I mostly goofed off and left that to Abby and Ellie. I don’t know the first thing about disrupting rituals, but I do know that you can kill everybody in the circle if you aren't careful.”

Will you do this favor for me?

“I am willing to do the favor if you explain how,” Rowan said.

Ah, it seems that I’m allowed to explain if it is in payment! Very well. For a person to offer themselves up to become an avatar, it typically requires a circle with a symbol of the god you are contacting to be repeatedly placed around the inside of the circle. It’s similar to making a prayer circle, except the symbols for a prayer are on the outside of the circle. Make sense?

“I’m following.” Rowan took an abrupt right-hand turn. “It’s just a form of prayer, but you allow that god inside the circle.”

It is, but it takes two connected circles to offer somebody else’s unwilling body as an avatar. The symbols would be on the outside of that second connected circle, protecting the person contacting the god from inadvertently becoming the host.

“Very interesting and academic.” Rowan saw the sign he was looking for: The Cat Adoption Center. He swerved into the parking lot, which was shared with an outlet mall. “You realize that I’m an immortal who, in a really weird way, is his own avatar and have no idea how to use this sort of information to disrupt a ritual without killing Sofia and the person who initiated the ritual.”

Rowan hopped out of the car and let the illusion of Sofia and Rowan dissolve. He ran back to the trunk and grabbed the backpack with the laptop in it. The SUV entered the lot as Rowan sprinted for the outlet mall, which was a collection of buildings with shops facing winding walking paths. Interspersed between the shops were signs, advertisements, and kiosks selling snacks.

If you can’t stop the lord of destruction’s disciple, you might be able to trick her.

Rowan grumbled and then whispered between heaving breaths as he jogged. “Trick her? How?”

The voice was gone again. He could sense the absence.

Rowan let out a shout of frustration and a garble of curse words. “You are making this way more difficult than it needs to be!”

The two men from the Mercedes glanced into the empty Honda Civic that Rowan had left behind and began running toward him. Both men wore dark suits with white button-up shirts and black ties. Both men had sunglasses, which made Rowan jealous. Running around the desert as a human without sunglasses was absurd. Neither man openly carried a weapon, but Rowan expected them to be armed with spells and concealed guns.

He paused long enough to look at the signs that pointed him to the food court and then took off at a full sprint.

He wove between clumps of people.

He noticed two distinct groups: teenagers and retired adults. The teenagers seemed to move in small packs from shop to shop, whereas the retired adults moved in singles or pairs as they meandered from food kiosk to food kiosk. The stench of fried foods, sunscreen, and candy hung heavy in the air.

When Rowan reached the food court, he pushed through the doors and into the air conditioning, glanced around for the restrooms, and then took off again. Moments later, he was pushing into the last stall of the men’s room.

He stood on the toilet, pushed aside a ceiling tile, and slid Gretta’s backpack onto a supporting beam. He then carefully let the tile fall back into place.

Right as he was about to get down, he heard the bathroom door burst open. Still standing on the toilet, he crouched down and, with an effort of will, wove an illusion big enough to hide his crouched form.

The first stall door slammed open with a bang. After a moment, the next stall door slammed open. Rowan heard footsteps as two men stood outside the stall he was in.

The door slammed open.

Using his best Southern California accent, he said, “Dude! I’m kinda busy here.”

The two thugs in suits stood frozen for a second, taking in the image of a rather robust man sitting on a toilet with his hands strategically placed. Then, the thug in the lead quickly grabbed the door and shut it.

“I don’t think I can unsee that,” the first thug said.

“That’s on you, dude,” Rowan said, keeping up the accent and the illusion.

The other spoke up. “Maybe he went into the women’s restroom?”

Thug one sighed. “Let’s wait outside for him. There’s nowhere to go.”