They flew toward the Marin hills looking for a place to land, heading for forest and unlit areas. Here small, gnarled oak trees were thick between dark bare hills glimmering with a country road or a lone house here or there. The griffin cruised low, searching for a good landing spot as they passed the shimmering lights of Sausalito and headed northward.

  “Up there,” Charis pointed to the hilltops once miles of city were behind them. It was a dark spot between towns, near enough that they could walk to civilization in a few minutes. It looked like a field above a marshy wilderness preserve off one side of a small creek that drained into the bay. She could see a few cows sleeping.

  Heavily the griffin came in for a landing. He lowered his back legs and slowed their forward flight, huge wings whispering in the cool night breeze. With a thump and the ripping sound of claws in grass they were down. The griffin went to his knees in limp exhaustion to allow them all to climb off.

  Dusty slid down the tail with a quiet, “Man, that was something.”

  Scott wobbled as he tried to swing his leg over the back of the bird-lion and fell off the back, his balance gone. “Whoa!” He crashed into some small bushes and cursed until he struggled free, picking leaves out of his hair.

  Charis climbed up onto a little hillock nearby, turning a full circle as she tried to estimate their whereabouts. From the air it had looked like their best bet was to continue north, hit the next town, and vanish using the public transportation system before the San Francisco cops could get the Marin cops to cooperate and call a manhunt. They had to move quick because the police around here were good at this, with San Quentin — a big maximum security prison — only a few miles away. They’d had lots of practice at manhunts here. Helicopters would be everywhere in minutes.

  They made a bedraggled group in the moonlight; she was wearing nothing but her Popsicle nightclothes with no socks, a pair of flats, her long brown suede coat, and her purse. Dave was half naked in his new black pants, no shirt or socks, with a pack of cigarettes in his pocket. Scott was fully dressed except for his precious red leather jacket, which had been left behind. He now scowled in the moonlight, hunched in a white hotel robe instead. Miradon had his clothes in a bundle clutched in one claw, and Dusty had somehow managed to bring everything including his beloved ever-present skateboard. But then again, his species rarely ever slept and Charis had never seen Dusty change clothes (or even wash them) in all the years they’d worked together.

  “Great. Now where the hell are we?” Scott asked as they began walking through the long dry grass, sore that he’d lost his blow-dryer and luggage. He was sensitive about his wardrobe. “Shit. My wallet was in my jacket.” He patted his robe. “So were my sunglasses. Shit. Charis, tell the base that they have my ID.”

  “Crap,” she grumbled, dialing the base again with her ever-ready cellphone. She spoke as soon as it picked up. “Yah. This is Charis. Let me talk to Sam.” She chewed on one newly painted nail as she waited to be transferred to the agent handling their case.

  In the bushes left behind, Miradon began the process of transforming and getting himself dressed.

  “Do the cops think I had something to do with James disappearing?” Dave wondered aloud.

  “Wow. I’ve never been a wanted criminal before,” Dusty sounded happy, skateboard tucked under one arm and thumbs hooked in his baggy pockets. The diminutive white-haired fellow grinned at everyone in the moonlight, the pure white glow of his eyes just visible to Veil sight. In the moonlight he looked more Elbron than during the day, his true heritage showing through the illusion.

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  “Maybe the cops made James disappear, too. Maybe it’s a government conspiracy. Maybe they experimented on my brain with drugs and that’s what drove me insane, and now they want to capture me to clean up their mess.”

  That. Was. It. She couldn’t handle Dave Tolin’s psychobabble any more tonight. Charis turned on him in a whirl of annoyance and yelled, “Everything is not about YOU, okay?”

  “You’re the Id. You’re supposed to be all about me. If someone’s going to lecture me about this not being about me, it should be snot-nose over there.” He pointed at Scott.

  “Of all the people I had to be stuck with, why did it have to be the Amazing Ego-Man?” Scott muttered to himself.

  Dave scowled at the ground as he limped along over the sharp rocks and prickly, brittle dry field grass, shivering. He bent over to pick up some dirt, sniffed his fingers, poked himself with a sharp rock. “It feels so real.”

  “That’s because it IS real, you nut job!” Scott yelled, irritated.

  “Would you both keep it down? You’ll startle the cows,” Charis told them, listening to the ‘hold’ music play on her phone.

  Dave turned around and calmly tried to punch Scott. Immediately there was a scuffle as they fought, two frazzled tempers flaring suddenly to life.

  “Whoa!” Dusty laughed, dancing out of the way of the two staggering, windmilling men.

  “I’ve always wanted to do this,” Dave grunted, trying to land a good one. After some wild flailing of fists he managed to get the smaller Scott into a vague wrestling lock, grunting and snarling wordlessly as the two young men tried to pummel one another.

  “Grrrrrrr!” yelled a frustrated Scott, unable to get the upper hand. Dave was just bigger than him, and appeared older (although in truth Scott was nearly thirty).

  “NO! I don’t have time for this right now!” Charis yelled at the boys, but just then Sam came on the phone. To her frustration she had to turn away from the fight to report to the head of Frisco Base. “We’re up in Marin county. Somewhere north of… I don’t know what town… Tiburon somewhere. We’re in a field, and two of my team members are trying to kill one another. Actually one of them is trying to beat the crap out of the Asset.”

  ‘You’re team leader on this, Charis, need I remind you…’

  She ignored the scolding. “Have you found out why the police jumped us? I mean, the real reason they jumped us, not their bullshit fake charges?”

  ‘Not yet, but we have to assume that San Francisco base is compromised. Until we find out what the enemy wants and which faction exactly is after you, I suggest you head north. Can you get to Seattle?’

  She winced. “We can try…”

  Finally Scott tripped and went down. Dave straddled him and tried to beat him soundly, well on his way toward winning.

  “That’s IT!” Scott yelled, enraged. He pulled out of his pants pocket a small glowing red stone, and Charis cut her conversation on the phone off by shouting, “NO! Not fair! No powers!”

  She leapt toward David and yanked him away from the homicidal Scott. “Sorry,” she said into the phone, Dave in one hand and phone in the other, “what was that you were saying?”

  Scott scrambled to his feet, all tousled hair and rumpled dignity. “I know how to take care of this right now,” he wiped a tiny bit of blood off of his lip. “I’ll just kill him, and we can harvest the Mantle. Problem solved.”

  “I want to hit him!” David said, clutched in Charis’s grip.

  “You did hit him, are you satisfied?”

  “Not yet,” he growled, grabbed her in a passionate embrace and kissed her like a man who has nothing left to lose. She made alarmed but interested sounds for a moment, then forgot about the phone still clutched in one hand and the anxious Base Commander who was asking what was happening.

  “Oh God,” Scott said in disgust, defeated. He couldn’t watch. He turned and walked as fast as he could manage for the city lights, leaving the others behind.

  Dusty stood and watched with a smile, approving with a calm wisdom that betrayed his multiple centuries of age.

  Miradon finally caught up to the group now fully dressed, with a practiced swirl settling his cloak around his shoulders. “What, did I miss something?” He saw the kiss and offered a faintly kooky smile. “Well. Isn’t that lovely.”