Daybreak by Ellen Connor Page B

driver.”
    “We don’t want him to crash.”
    She grinned. “Not my first time. He’ll just . . . forget to keep his foot on the accelerator.”
    “Nice trick, witch.” Tru frowned. “Shots carry . . . the lead truck will hear them.”
    “I have knives.”
    “You skilled?”
    “Wouldn’t bring them up if I weren’t.”
    “Even after a spell?”
    “Four or five seconds.”
    Something flickered in his eyes as he assessed her, quickly but more deeply than before. She felt as if he’d finally looked past her body and her promise. “But you’re a healer.”
    And a killer.
    They didn’t have time for issues of conscience or specters from her past. Instead she blew him off. “So many questions, Truman. Don’t tell me you give a shit.”
    “Whatever,” he said tersely. “You distract the driver. I go lion. We take them as quietly as we can.”
    Adrian tugged on Tru’s sleeve. “And me?”
    “Stay put. Do me that favor, kid. I don’t want to split my concentration.”
    “But I want to help.”
    “Later. I’ll teach you how. Promise. Got it?”
    He waited until Adrian nodded before he stood. The artificial thunder of the ancient engine was almost upon them. “Afterward, I’ll stay lion and go hunting. You two keep the meat from this morning. I’ll feed myself and catch up.”
    “We’ll head east,” she said. “Then take the first road north along the coast. At nightfall, we’ll make camp. I’m sure you’ll be able to find us.”
    Tru appeared to run the numbers, mentally charting where she and Adrian should end up. Then the human part of him vanished. His transformation charged the air with a sticky sort of energy, as if individual flickers of bygone electricity had been slowed to half speed. The golden-wheat glow of his aura surrounded him, blazing with intensity. Although Adrian wouldn’t be able to see that indicator of magic, he still stared, openmouthed.
    Pen turned her back as Tru gave himself over to his animal incarnation. She had work to do, too.
    On her knees, she edged toward the side of the road. Just enough to see the oncoming driver. Not enough to be seen herself. Pressing her palms together at chest height, she bowed once before angling her face toward the sky. Her ritual was necessary. Not only did it channel her powers, it kept her from yielding to the impetuousness that could get her friends killed. For their sake, she would never alter her routine.
    Eyes closed, she recited a thanks to her mothers—Angela Sheehan, the woman who had given her life; Jenna Mason, who had worked hard to keep her safe and raise her well; and to the earth and heavens and all the mystery in the layers between. “Thank you, Mothers, for all the days I’ve breathed and for all the breaths I’ve yet to take. I entrust my body and my soul to your care.”
    Thanking them meant acknowledging them. And by acknowledging them so overtly, she found the key to tap into their strength. Like unlocking a door she couldn’t see or touch. In her own mind. In her cells or her blood. That strength compounded until she no longer lived in her own skin. She was part of the trees and the sky, although her body never left that damp patch of weeds.
    Eyes open, seeing with so much more than her physical abilities, she located the driver behind a filthy windshield. A spiderweb of cracks laced the glass. Heavy beard. Mole on his left cheek. And finally, a glimpse of his eyes.
    Pen bore down, as if gritting against a punch to the gut. Muscles tight. Tendons cramped into knots. All the power she’d been hoarding burst out in a rush. She felt it but saw nothing. The only visible effect of that effort was the gradual, inevitable slowing of the small truck.
    The driver shook his head, but it was too late.
    Tru bounded past in a blur of golden fur. She stared as the rush of her spell wore off. He took out the nearest guard with a single leap, as he had done in the back of the slave truck. Just a pounce and the