Lucia’s house feels like a distant memory just a few minutes later. The van, at least, has padded benches inside it, both facing one another, so I get a full view of Astrid as she sits there with her eyes closed and arms folded. Morgan is beside me, smoking a cigarette that she keeps passing to May, who’s in the driver’s seat. Juniper has a small torch shaped like a flower held close to the pages of her Grimoire, this large red tome of a book with golden bindings on her lap, hunched over as she scans each line, muttering under her breath in a language I can’t understand. Victoria is up front, arm on the window and looking out at the strip ahead of us. Cars. Girls. Money and casinos. Parties and drag races, cops yelling at people, and even now, a car rockets passed the van, soon followed by blaring cop cars.

  “Hell-Riders,” Morgan mutters, blowing smoke through her teeth. “Fuckin’ A.”

  “Some kind of gang?” I ask her.

  She shakes her head and steps on the dead cigarette. “Magi-tech. Custom built hotrods and motorbikes. A few of ‘em traffic parts from across the Wastes, sometimes weapons as well, but most of them just like going fast. May used to be one of their mechs a long time ago, if she ain’t lying.” May holds up a middle finger from the front and glances into the rearview mirror, smiling. “But Crafts like that cost you a fortune, and I’m stuck in a sardine can on wheels, so I think that answers why I’m in here instead of out there.” She sits back. “Just how life is, I guess.”

  “You’ll get your rocket car one day, Morg,” Victoria mutters. “I need your eye on the prize tonight.”

  “Should be telling that to your First Sword,” Morgan mumbles.

  Astrid remains quiet, but her brow furrows.

  I lean in between the front seats and say, “You never really told me what we’re doing tonight, FYI.”

  “I don’t talk about this stuff when Lucia is around,” she says, still staring out the window, and I can’t blame her, it’s an orgy of colors and sounds, bodies and multicolored smoke on the streets. It’s like a Unicorn just got itself blown up and smeared all over the dry concrete and the tall, dancing palm trees. “If a cop comes asking her questions, she can say she doesn’t know. Made sure to keep everything spick and span in that house, ‘cause without it, we’d be homeless and fucked.” She looks at me, half her mouth pulled into a smile. “Gotta protect your nest, Kace, because your nest is really all you’ve got to hope for, you know?” Trust me, I know. “Turn left up here.”

  “But since we’re out of the house, can I get some kind of debrief?” I ask.

  “Astrid,” Victoria says. “Fill Kacey in on what’s going down. Gotta make a call.” She motions for May to pull over on the side of the street in front of an armor store, where chest plates and helms are being sold at stupid prices and you can custom paint them anything you want. Vick gets out of the van and takes out a satellite phone, one hand hitched on her folded overalls (that we’re now all wearing, like we’re some kind of cleaning company), and walks away from the truck, just about far away enough to not be able to hear what she’s saying into the phone.

  I settle into my seat and wait, but Astrid doesn’t seem in that much of a rush to continue. May turns up the radio in response to her silence, and it’s everyone’s favorite bombastic blonde bombshell, Belle Starr. Her theme song plays for a while, enough time for us all to perk up when Vicky loudly curses and kicks a trash can onto the ground, spooking both a cat and a homeless man when garbage suddenly spills onto the street. Then Belle comes on air, loud and proud: “Today is a sweet, sweet day, ain’t it, New America?” Belle says, maybe a little too loudly. “Sun’s been out and another Rift didn’t split America in two halves and dunk the rest of the world right into a nearly eternal, smoldering abyss of darkness and destruction! So if you crashed your car, got mugged, got stabbed, and maybe even got evicted, it really could be worse!” I glance at Morgan, who shrugs and jerks her chin at May, who’s paying the most attention to the crazy lady who somehow managed to get herself a national radio hour.

  What’s even weirder is that she’s been around since even before I was born, sounding exactly the same. I’ve only ever seen cartoon doodles of her in a cowboy hat, large red bandana around her neck, and most of her tits mostly out of her button-up blouse, six-shooter in one hand and microphone in the other, like she’s some bandit.

  “Turn it down,” Astrid mutters.

  “Shhh,” May says, turning it up a little. “This is the best part of her broadcast hour.”

  “Now, before we start cycling through today’s greatest hits—at least, the ones I bought for a sack of gold, a scalp, ‘n’ a kiss—here’s the scoop on this month’s latest, greatest Mage prospects heading into the prelim rounds for this year’s Mageforge.” Suddenly, I’m very interested, and suddenly…prelims? That’s a lot earlier than I thought it would be, isn’t it? Fuck, must’ve lost a or two month somewhere along the line. For a while, Belle reads under her breath, then says, “Goddamn, these kids are all no-name brats that got pissed out of their dad’s sack. Thank the Gods I don’t have any sponsors, or ones that care, because believe me when I say I’d be off the air in a heartbeat if they ever hear me say this: if you want a shot at getting into the Five Guilds, this year is probably your best chance in decades. Competition is as stiff as a dead snake. Cream of the crop nepo-babies. So someone, anyone, please come save us this time around and hit the jackpot, and if you are gonna win, come from the utter Dreggs, because we all love a good underdog story, don’t we? Besides, I can’t remember a time when one of us stole the crown.”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “I said turn it down,” Astrid says louder.

  “In other news, rangers,” Belle continues, “there’s been rumblings, underground movers and shakers stirring up all kinds of trouble right along the coastline, from Ridgeway, to River City, San Fraccuros, all the way to Oceanica in everyone’s favorite Megacity, New Salem. Somethin’ is happening, folks. So go to bed early and turn off your lights, because this comin’ summer sounds like it’ll be hot. Gunslingers, Monster Hunters, Magpies and Bounty Hunters galore in the next few months, so if your neighbor suddenly has a new Caddy, keep yer mouth shut!” I smile a little, because her energy is infectious in all honesty. Just never really had the time to listen to her. “All honesty, y’all stay safe out there. Them streets are wet and red; don’t need any of you in a morgue, ‘cause anyone who listens to me is for sure not paying for any After-Death Insurance! Live long, cowboy! Live proud!”

  “She’s a hillbilly who’s martyred herself into being the voice of the people, and a false one at that. If you want to listen to the radio, put something that isn’t actively dulling my brain,” Astrid says. “So turn it off, May.”

  May sighs, mutters, and switches the radio off completely.

  But it’s pretty hard to focus when my stomach is in a coil of cold knots.

  “I heard,” Juniper says quietly, “that they’re all betting on one guy this time for Mageforge champion.”

  “What’s his name?” I ask her. Better to know the competition before I get there.

  “Can’t really—”

  “Luke something-or-other,” May says, turning around in her seat. “Such a hunk. Jawline you can use to cut up strips of wild horse meat. Apparently he’s the son of some Europa Duchess or whatever, so he’s also real royalty.”

  “Sounds like a bunch of nonsense to me,” Morgan says, then looks at me. “You know it’s scripted, right?”

  “It’s real,” Myself, Juniper, and May say at the same time. I continue: “Realer than anything.”

  She throws her hands up defensively. “Didn’t know I was dealing with a gang of crazy people.”

  “You’re in a van full of girls with weapons, getting ready to commit Class A felonies, so…” May shrugs.

  “Circling back to that,” I say, then nudge Astrid’s foot. “Mind telling me what’s happening tonight?”

  “In simple terms, we’re collecting some cash that we’re owed,” she says. “In more complex terms, it’s from a group of people who don’t particularly enjoy having their things taken from them. Whatever else is found is free game, be that any money you find lying around, expensive tech, anything, but it cannot be kept around the house. We bag it and give it to May, who’ll check what it’s worth, then we sell it and divvy up the haul. Our goal is to get their top man and hold him ransom until the rest of what we’re owed is paid. If the money we get in their hideout is enough, then we let the guy go. It’s a show of peace, but also a warning not to step on our toes again afterward.” She reaches into her overalls pocket and hands me a neatly folded picture. “That’s our guy. Remember the face, and if you see him, alert everyone else. The thugs aren’t our problem either. It’s getting close to the Elf and grabbing him.”

  “By any chance,” I say, handing the paper back. “What if I fragg the guy accidentally?”

  Her eyes narrow. “Let’s hope you don’t, because there would be hell to pay.”

  I nudge Morgan. “She’s hot when she gets all stern and corny.”

  “I think she just looks a little stupid.”

  Juniper giggles, then stops when Astrid glares at her.

  Victoria gets back into the van, making the suspension squeal a little as she slams her door shut and bites her thumb. We all watch her, the mood in the van simmering out, just like the stink of Morgan’s old cigarette. She doesn’t speak for a solid minute, staring out of the front of the van, until she looks at May, then over her shoulder at the rest of us. She blinks, then says, “Are you all waiting for something? If you want ice cream, I’m flat broke.”

  “Did your phone call go well?” Astrid asks. “You seem perturbed by something.”

  Who speaks like that?

  Victoria waves her hand. “Bad network, didn’t really get through to them. Put this old girl in reverse, May, because we don’t have all night long, and we’ve got about an hour before our fat little Elf heads off into the ocean.”

  “Ocean?” I ask her. “I thought there’s all kinds of Leviathans lurking around down there now.”

  What I’ve heard (from my brother, so take it with a truck of salt) is most stuff has to come in through air freight now, not sea. What does come through the sea are PTSD riddled sailors, Mermaids looking to make it big in the shiny cities that end up at SeaWorld, or almost nothing at all, unless you’re lucky as all hell. Even just going on a cruise is a deadly affair, but I’ll be honest, there’s just something about that deep blue expanse of nothingness that doesn’t sit right with me. I mean, all that land, and someone decided to fill it with a liquid that can squeeze all of your insides right out of your mouth if you get too deep? No thank you. I’ll stay on land, where I can die faster and not have my lungs burst open because they’re filled with something meant to keep me alive. I don’t even know how to swim, actually, because I’ve mastered the craft of controlled flapping and squirming and holding onto anything to make sure my head doesn’t go under. Nobody’s ever taught me, and I think a pool is the deepest I’ve ever gone.

  So I’m going to do my best to make sure I don’t even see this guy’s yacht or whatever.

  “When you’re as rich as he is,” Vicky says, “danger is just the word next to your alcohol percentage.”

  “Must be nice,” I mutter, rubbing my bicep.

  “And it’ll be ours,” she says, grinning in the rearview mirror. “Look alive, girls. Let’s make an Elf beg.”