And that’s where his arm was now. He yanked me against him as the world roared back.

Not more than a yard away, an enormous black shape fell from the underbelly of the bridge. When it hit the ground, it sounded like a bomb exploding. My bones rattled. Teeth clacked together. An enormous cloud of dust and dirt shot into the air. A tidal wave. Lon shoved my face into his chest and covered me with his body.

We coughed up dust. It stung my eyes, coated my lips. And after a few moments, when it began to settle and clear, I was able to see what caused it all: a thick plate of steel, maybe twenty feet long, five feet high, lay across the creek bed, crushing one of the tents and two lawn chairs, whose bent pipe legs jutted out from beneath it like the legs of a dead roach under a boot.

I shielded my eyes with my hand and looked up. A huge section of the outer girder lining the railroad bridge was missing. That telekinetic asshole had used his magically enhanced knack to somehow pull the side of the bridge loose.

I surveyed the area. No sign of Telly. He’d pulled a tidy smash-and-run. If I wasn’t hacking up dirt, I might’ve cried in frustration. But then I smelled something burnt and glanced down at my hand. Scorched from my Heka unload and streaked with a line of red paint, his bionic-juice-filled backpack dangled from a strap looped around my wrist.

In the distance, a couple of people were gravitating toward the bridge, looking for the source of the horrific crash that had echoed around the dying neighborhood. We took the backpack and hustled back to where we parked. For a moment, I freaked out when a dark sedan sped past us. The windows were too dark to make out anything inside; it could’ve been anyone. I was being paranoid. No one was following me. I couldn’t start suspecting every dark car I saw or I’d go insane.

Once we got back to the SUV, we slammed the doors shut and stared at each other.

“I’ll tell you what,” Lon said, “the boy who wasn’t able to get a safe through the Diablo Market counter a few days ago has sure acquired some strength.”

“No joke.”

“You okay?” He’d already asked me that twice. “You’re shaking.”

“Electrocution by Heka can’t be good for my heart. Almost worse than being struck by lightning.”

He swiped his thumb over my eyebrow, brushing dirt away. I patted dirt out of his hair. And after we’d cleaned each other like monkeys, I rifled through the backpack. Inside, I found: a single bottle of red liquid, a box of sugar cubes, a glass dropper, a high school chemistry book, and a zip top bag filled with quarters. I wouldn’t have been surprised if they were quarters from Tambuku’s register. But of course there was no identification. Nothing of interest but the medicinal.

We took turns holding it up to the light, peering through the glass.

Lon said, “I wonder if the kid was taking multiples doses to increase his knack to that point, or if one dose is progressive?”

“In my experience, a dose is just going to wear off. My bet is that Telly’s been dosing regularly to build his strength.”

“Ever seen a medicinal this color?”

“Can’t say I have. Probably a few books back at my place I could thumb through, see if I could cross-reference it. But, you know, if I’d seen a recipe for ‘Bionic Knack Juice,’ I think I might’ve remembered.”

“I probably have all the same books in my library,” he mumbled, shaking the liquid around.

No doubt. I glanced out the window, warily watching the street. “Telly said his supply of the potion was running out, so maybe his strength will start waning and he won’t be so out of control.”

“If this bottle is all he’s got, he’ll try to get it back from you.”

Oh. I hadn’t considered this.

“He knows who you are,” Lon said. “He knows the bar. He’s killed someone already. Would’ve damn well killed us if we were a standing a few feet north.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing the bar’s closed.”

“When is your artist coming to repaint the binding triangles?”

“She’s in Colorado for the holidays, so not until after New Year’s. I thought about opening for a few days before then, but maybe that’s not smart. If it were just me—”

“But it’s not just you. You need to think about the rest of your staff. Customers.” He handed the potion back to me and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “What’s your best guess on how long the potion lasts?”

“Most of my medicinals only last a few hours—a day, max. Never seen anything that stretched beyond that.”

“So he’ll be looking for more,” Lon said.

“He said there are only two sources of this: one big, one small.”

Lon nodded. “The maker and the distributor.”

“Would make sense. And if Telly needs money to break into the maker’s stash—”

“He might rethink his plans and go for the smaller source after all,” Lon finished.

“The nosey neighbor said Telly didn’t live here in the city—said he might be from La Sirena or somewhere on the coast. If that’s true, the distributor might be, too. After all, Merrimoth got it from someone.”

“But the crime spree’s been happening here,” Lon countered. “And Telly couldn’t have committed every robbery. Too many of them happening the same night, too many different knacks.”

I nodded. “More dealers in Morella.”