Awesome erotica for awesome adults only
Meet Selena and Crow in a rough draft of chapter 1 of a currently untitled novel
“Come on, Selena, stay with me,” I almost yell. “Don’t you die on me, girl.”
Her green eyes are faded to the color of green tea, murky and unfocused. I drop the gear shift and my STi’s screams at me. Screw you, car, we need to move. As soon as I finish the shift, my hand finds hers and she grips it weakly.
The blood is slowly pooling her lap. Pooling blood is never a good sign. Shift up and accelerate, dodging cars on the crowded freeway. It’s like a video game, you know, except if I’m too slow Selena Reed will bleed out in my front seat. Crash in this game and it’s lights out for both of us.
At least we’d go together.
“We’re gonna make, baby, just hold on,” I tell her as I dodge some old lady going 55 on the freeway. No time right to shoot her the bird so I glare and keep going.
“Minerva,” Selena says quietly.
“What’s that?” I ask, paying more attention to the road than I am to the young witch slowly dying next to me.
“No hospital, get me to Minerva,” she says.
“Who the fuck is Minerva?”
Selena’s hand reaches out and touches the LCD screen on my car. She’s shaking, barely able to hold her arm up, but she manages to find and eventually push the voice input. A little flashing icon of a microphone appears.
She mumbles something, but I can’t quite make it out. Subaru’s engineers must have foreseen exactly this situation, though, because the mic picked it up. The map zooms out and a red line appears, directions to someplace up in the Heights.
Selena points at the screen and says, “Minerva.”
Minerva it is, I guess. I would have preferred taking her to a hospital, but witches have their own ideas about medical care.
Minerva, whoever or whatever that is, is about five miles from here. Five miles of heavy morning traffic and zoned out cops.
“In one kilometer, exit the freeway and turn left onto Eubank,” the GPS unit says.
“I can read a map!” I yell at the thing.
“I didn’t understand that command,” the woman’s voice says over the car speakers. “Would you like to load a map?”
“No!” I yell and shut up before I wind up losing my directions.
We hit the off ramp going about 90, brake hard to make the corner, and the all-wheel-drive holds us in on the road as I accelerate through. Some soccer mom in a Suburban honks and flips us off. A cop watches idly, his eyes unfocused like he’s trying to process what he just saw.
I swear, ever since the Simms building went down and something crawled out of the rubble, the cops around here are in a world of their own. Oh, well. Having them walking around half asleep has been great for me and mine.
Eubank is a blur at 100 miles per hour. I have to focus so we don’t run smack into some asshole. One hand on the wheel, the other on the gear shift. A quick glance every now and then tells me Selena’s still alive but fading fast.
“In four hundred meters, turn right,” the GPS informs me.
I drift around the corner at Menaul, leaving lines of burned rubber on the asphalt, and punch it hard. The road goes from three lanes to two across from White’s old car wash. I don’t know who’s bright idea that was, but at least I was ready for it. The light was red, but fuck it. We didn’t get T-boned so maybe some god or goddess is still on my side somewhere.
Menaul takes us in a straight line up toward the Heights. This part of Albuquerque used to be the chic place to live before all the rich assholes decided High Desert was better. It’s still nicer than my one room apartment, but I’ll bet these guys never get to watch knife fights in the parking lot like I do.
“In two hundred meters, turn left.”
I nearly missed that one. Two hundred meters is probably enough when you’re going the speed limit. At 95 I have to brake hard. My right hand darts out to hold Selena in place. She whimpers when I hit her.
“Sorry, doll face,” I say. “Didn’t want to you to go through the windshield.”
She mumbles something that sounds like it could be “okay” or “goodbye.”
“You’re not leaving me,” I tell her as I punch it around the corner. “Stay with me, Selena. We’re almost there. Just stay with me.”
I don’t know this part of town at all, so I keep an eye on the map and listen closely for the instructions that come rapid fire now.
“In 100 meters, turn right.”
Thank God for anti-lock brakes. Turn, hit it, swerve to avoid a kid on his bicycle. The kid flips me off.
“In 100 meters, turn left.”
I drift through the corner and catch a glimpse of a cloud of burnt rubber behind us. Hope no one had their windows open; that smell is impossible to get rid of.
“In 50 meters, you will arrive at your destination.”
There are two flashing dots on the GPS unit, getting closer to each other at a phenomenal rate. I hit the brakes, put my arm to hold Selena in place and say a silent prayer that I’m not too late.
“You have arrived at your destination.”
Thanks, GPS. I’ll never doubt you again.