01 Do You Believe in Magic - The Children of Merlin

by Susan Squires

  The guy’s grin deepened. “Funny, they all say that.” To her horror, he drew her in against his body. He hadn’t changed his clothes in a couple of days. “We got some time now though, for you to show just how useful you’d like to be.” His dipped his head.

  Don’t struggle, she told herself fiercely. You’re a survivor. This is about surviving.

  The feel of his wet lips on hers made her want to gag.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Tris could feel Maggie again in his head, in the throb of the engine between his legs. His sense of her had been growing for the last few minutes, from a whisper in his brain to something more primal in his gut. It wound through him, mixing with the smell of gas and blood. That feeling meant she was alive. He wasn’t too late yet.

  Tris blinked and the desert night popped into focus. He might have been losing it. He had definitely spaced out. He felt light-headed, distant from himself. The sagebrush wasn’t flashing by anymore. Everything moved in slow motion. The whole scene felt like a dream.

  He shook his head to clear it. No. No dream. The Ducati was slowing....

  The engine sputtered.

  Damn. He couldn’t have bike problems now. Not when Maggie needed him. The Ducati coasted to the shoulder of the road. What could it be? He swung his leg over the bike and staggered off it. Dizziness drenched him as he kicked out the stand. He hadn’t realized he’d lost that much blood. In the light from the Ducati’s headlamp, he cast his eyes over the bike.

  Stupid. Stupid idiot! A clear bullet hole near the bottom of the gas tank. That was why he’d been smelling gasoline.

  He was fucking out of gas.

  The horror of it, the irony, the guilt swept over him. If he’d realized.... If he’d stopped and plugged the hole with a torn-off piece of shirt, he might have made it to Austin. He could have been of some use to Maggie.

  Now.... Now he was fulfilling his destiny. Day late. Dollar short. He had people to disappoint and missions on which to fail.

  His head snapped to the side. He felt the blow that hit Maggie just as if he’d been hit himself. She needed him now. And he was out in the middle of nowhere with no way to power his bike, no way to get to her. And a hole in his leg that probably made him useless anyway.

  “No!” he yelled, holding his head. He stumbled off the road, sputtering curses and kicking at the sand. She deserved someone better. He should have sent Kemble to save her when he realized she was in danger. Kemble wouldn’t have fucked up Maggie’s chances.

  Tris sank to his knees in the sand and bellowed into the night: no words, just some primal roar of rage and pain. He felt the veins pop up in his neck and his nails cut into his fisted palms.

  He fell forward, his scream draining away into a sob. His bleeding palms hit the sand. Tears plopped onto the backs of his hands as he hung his head, gasping for breath. Big, bad Tris Tremaine. Six-four of useless, sobbing wreck right when the woman you love needs you.

  Yeah. He loved Maggie. Had loved her probably since he laid eyes on her in the diner.

  His palms began to burn. Heat warmed his knees through his jeans. Even his toes through his boots felt the heat. Energy surged up from his bare palms into his veins. He could feel them bulge in his forearms.

  “What the hell?”

  He jerked his palms off the desert floor. His knees were really burning now. The feeling of an electric surge up the arteries in his thighs was unmistakable. He pushed up to his feet, ignoring the searing pain from the hole in his thigh. No lightning in the sky to create this effect. Not even any clouds. Just the stark desert stars, cold and uncaring. Shit. He could feel the heat through the soles of his boots. He scrambled back to the road.

  Didn’t help. Even through the asphalt he could feel energy surging up through him, like he was a conduit or something. He looked around. Nothing. Not even any power poles that might have a line down. A surge rocked him and he almost lost his balance. He put a hand out to his useless bike to steady himself.

  The motor roared to life.

  Tris jumped back. The engine was loud against the desert quiet. The bike settled into an eager growl. Tris looked around. That tank had been dry. He’d have sworn it. And you’d have to turn the ignition anyway....

  His feet weren’t burning anymore but they were still warm. He took a cautious step forward and rapped his knuckles on the gas tank. It thudded hollowly.

  Christ. Could it be? He was panting, but not from fatigue. He felt great. Better than he’d ever felt in his life. He was panting because he didn’t want to admit what was happening here.

  And it didn’t matter whether he admitted it or not. What mattered was that the cycle was running. He was going after Maggie. He pulled off his leather jacket and tossed it into the desert. He ripped his shirt from his body, buttons popping, and tore off a strip and then another, tied them together, and bound up his thigh. Whatever blood he had left, he had to conserve.

  He put what was left of his shirt back on. Then he straddled the bike, seized the handlebar grips, and picked up his feet. The power flowed up from the earth through the bike, cycled through his veins and back down into the engine.

  He didn’t need gasoline. He could power the engine directly.

  His mother had been right after all. He grinned and gunned the engine. The tires shrieked against the asphalt as the bike leapt forward.

  Now, if Maggie could only hold out ’til he got there.

  Maggie flopped down on the bed where the Firestarter pushed her.

  “No need to get rough,” she said. “I made my choice.” He loomed between her and the door. Could she do this? Her stomach felt like she was going to heave. Get a grip. Women do this every day. You’ll live.

  The guy was unbuckling his belt, unzipping. “What if I like it rough?” She could see his erect penis in the open vee of his jeans.

  No way. Just no way she was going to let this happen.

  Like there was a choice here. Unless she liked extra crispy.

  She had to do something. Okay. What if a guy was really, really calm? Could he get it up then? He grabbed a fistful of her shirt. The snaps popped open as he ripped it away. She closed her eyes and felt for the calm.

  “Rough it is,” she said, in her horse-calming voice. “Whatever you want.”

  He blinked, towering above her as he straightened.

  “We got all night here.” Her voice ramped up the calm another notch. She reached up and touched him. The calm seemed to burst out of her like a fountain, drenching the Firestarter. His eyelids drooped. “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Prentice.” The guy’s voice was a whisper. He got a little, sappy smile on his face.

  “Well, Prentice, why don’t you go sit down where you can relax? I’ll get us something to drink.” She sat up cautiously.

  “Yeah,” Prentice said. “That’s good.” He wandered over to the sagging couch in the living room, his pants still gaping.

  Now what to do? If she bolted for the front door, would the calm last? Did it need her to continue feeding the fountain? Her horses didn’t revert to wild. Bolt for the door it is.

  She peered out into the living room. Prentice was lounging on the couch, head all but lolling. Maybe she shouldn’t bolt. Just walk quietly to the door. She started across the room.

  “Hey, where you going?”

  Maggie stopped, not looking back at him. “Just out to the horses. I’ll be right back.”

  “Can’t ... can’t do that.” She heard the couch creak. Getting up? Sitting forward? “Old woman wants you.” Uh-oh. Note of fear in the voice. Fear does not equal calm.

  She sprinted for the door, jerked it open. She was out into the night, but Prentice’s heavy boots thudded behind her. She pounded past the derelict truck toward Tris’s pickup and the fancy truck the Firestarter must have come in. She tripped over a darker pile in the night. Elroy. The smoking bones of what had been his hand caught the moonlight. She gasped as she righted herself and struggled toward the truck
. She could do it. She was maybe ten feet from the door handle when the truck exploded into flame.

  She shrieked and staggered back, then looked around wildly. Out in back, horses screamed in fear. Elroy’s station wagon? Even as she thought that, it too burst into flame and the Firestarter’s own truck immediately afterwards. A meaty hand grabbed her shoulder and jerked her around to face one very angry Firestarter. In the light of the flames from the engulfed vehicles, he looked demonic. He backhanded her so hard she lost her footing and fell.

  “Good trick, that calm stuff. You may be useful after all,” Prentice grunted. He was breathing hard. But using his power had brought the erection back. He jerked her to her feet then gripped the back of her neck in one hand and marched her back to the house.

  “Now where were we?”

  *****

  Tris felt Maggie’s fear. He could practically hear her scream. The bike was going more than a hundred. He could see the lights of Austin. Eight miles to her place on that little road. Couldn’t do a hundred there.

  He had no idea what he’d be facing at the shack. The Cloaker was many miles from here. But whoever was at Elroy’s would have some magic power. Just like Tris himself did. It had all been true all along. And Maggie was the one who raised his magic. The feeling he’d felt growing over the last week wasn’t just love. The realization struck him like the bullet had. He knew he loved her. But the “one true love”? The one he didn’t think he’d ever have? She was his destiny.

  He felt the blow that hit her. It rocked him, shocked him. Panic rose. He’d better hope he had enough strength left to take out whoever was hurting her. He felt for the gun at his waist.

  Maybe he could do a hundred on the road out to Elroy’s.

  *****

  Maggie screeched and clawed at Prentice. She could feel Tris like a pressure in her chest. He wasn’t far away. She might have resented that connection earlier, but she was sure glad to feel it now. She could have cried except there was no time. She had to last until Tris could get here. Though what he’d do against a guy who could make things burst into flame, she had no idea. Maybe she was drawing Tris to his death. But it wasn’t like she could break the connection. Prentice slapped her until her head rang. He was pulling down her jeans, shoving her knees wide with his thighs. She blinked. What was he saying? Something about getting his due for all that waiting in the pass into California. She flashed on the pickup burning by the side of the road with two bodies in it. The pickup had looked like her truck. Those people had died because he thought they were her and Tris.

  Then all she could see was that erection, and how big it was.

  *****

  Tris let the bike slide out from under him in a shower of sand. Maggie’s distress wound down his spine. It was all he could do not to run up onto the porch and break in the door. But he had to be smarter than that. Three vehicles were still ablaze in the yard, though the flames were dying down. He recognized the hulk at the side of the house as the truck he’d bought in Fallon. The one in the driveway might have been Elroy’s station wagon. The other one must belong to whoever was hitting Maggie.

  There was a heap of charcoal in the middle of the yard that still had shards of bones in it.

  Not Maggie! he told himself as his insides quivered. She’s inside. You can feel her.

  And at least one someone with some unknown magic power would be with her. Looked like that power might have to do with starting fires. Okay. He couldn’t just burst in there shooting or he and Maggie might both end up like whoever that pile of charcoal had been.

  Had they heard his bike? No one appeared at the windows. The door remained shut. Good. He could use some surprise on his side. And a major diversion.

  He looked around and saw the rusting hulk of the ’40s truck sitting up on its blocks, no tires, no windows, over next to the always nearly empty propane tank. Inside, he felt Maggie’s fear and her struggle. He cursed the limp that slowed him as he hobbled to the truck.

  You’re no good to her if you get burnt to a crisp, he told himself. You need a distraction. So let’s see what this new power thing can do. He stood next to the truck. He could feel the engine, its rust, the ancient sludge of oil in its metal veins. He wouldn’t think about how impossible this was. Gotta get outta bed one more time, Grandpa.

  His boots began to warm. Maggie screamed. Tris felt his belly clench, but he held himself still. His blood heated. The veins stood out on his forearms below his rolled sleeves. He put both palms on the hood of the battered truck.

  The flow of energy through his body was like fire. Burn me. I need all the power I can get. Better he burn from inside than by the hand of whoever or whatever was in the shack with Maggie. Comin’ darlin’. Fast as I can. He shut out the whimper he heard in his mind. He hoped she could feel him out here the way he felt her.

  The old truck’s engine turned over once, sputtered, and died. Tris wanted to scream. Instead he concentrated on being the perfect conduit of the energy that poured through him. I know you got shitty oil, old man, but you gotta do it anyway. As if the truck could hear him. Go out in a blaze of glory rather than rusting to death. It was an unfair proposition. But Maggie was running out of time. His only chance was to do the unexpected and get the guy while he was focused elsewhere. More power! His back arched as it shot through him. The night evaporated, replaced by an aurora borealis of energy and pain. He might have been yelling. Somebody was.

  Tris felt the motor roar to life under his hands, clanking and grinding. The old truck rocked on its blocks, tire-less wheels spinning. Tris went round behind it and put his shoulder against the bumper. It took him two shoves before the blocks tipped and the truck landed in the yard, its rims churning up sand. One distraction, coming up.

  “Make me a hole,” Tris yelled. He pointed to the left side with the kitchen.

  The ancient rusted truck ground across the yard, right over the pile of charcoal and bones toward the kitchen, Tris scrambling in its wake. He could feel Maggie in the back bedroom. If the truck took out the kitchen, she’d escape injury. More injury, he corrected. Anger welled up. This guy better have some magic. Tris needed a fight, bad.

  The truck crashed through the thin walls of the shack like they were made of balsa, shards poking every which way. Distraction accomplished. Tris slid in through the front door.

  Inside, the smoke and dust billowed. Tris smelled the rotten egg aroma of leaking propane. Not good around a guy who could start fires. The truck revved its engine and backed out over the porch. Tris pulled his gun. He better be damned sure he didn’t shoot Maggie.

  “Tris!” Maggie coughed. “Watch out.”

  He couldn’t see anything. Then a shadow loomed from his right. Too big for Maggie.

  “Bring it on, asshole,” Tris snarled. “What you got?”

  “Firestarter,” Maggie gasped in warning. Tris caught sight of her sagging against the bedroom doorway from the corner of his eye.

  “What she said,” the guy ahead of him chuckled. As he emerged from the dust he stuck out his hand. It began to glow. Tris raised his gun. He couldn’t miss at this range, but the thing flared into blistering heat. He dropped it, cursing, his hand blistering.

  The guy started to laugh. Tris did the only thing he could. He charged him, low, under the reddening hand. His shoulder hit the guy’s midsection. The Firestarter rocked back. Flame sprayed like an orange rainbow across the dining room wall, igniting the drapes and the tablecloth. Tris followed the guy down, punching into his gut. Those blows should have brought the guy to a halt. But no. Tris realized how weak he’d gotten. The best he could do was pin the guy down. The flame in the Firestarter’s hand went out as they scrabbled for advantage.

  He has to concentrate to make fire, Tris thought. Like the Cloaker. Better keep him busy. With the way the fire was spreading, there wasn’t much time.

  “Maggie,” he yelled. “Go now.” No response. Tris landed a couple of punches, but he was fading almost before the fight began.
“You hear me?” he shouted over the flapping crackle of the flames. “Get out of the house now.” The guy landed a real haymaker. Tris stumbled back, shaking his head and breathing hard. The guy’s hand jerked up, glowing.

  Uh-oh. Tris dived, just as he heard a yell.

  “Get off me, you bitch. Ow!”

  Fire danced up the bedroom wall. Tris came up swinging and caught the guy on the chin as the Firestarter threw a clawing, mostly naked Maggie onto the couch. Smoke was now everywhere. Still, Tris could see Maggie’s bruised face.

  “Damn you,” he growled. If he was going to get this done, it better get done soon. He mustered what strength he had and landed a right into the guy’s gut and followed with a left uppercut. He meant to aim for the jaw but he caught the guy’s temple instead. The Firestarter staggered, just as Maggie hit him with a lamp.

  Tris seized the opportunity to reach around the huge man and grab Maggie’s hand. Let the fire take care of this guy. He had to get Maggie out now. He pulled her toward the hole the truck had made. The whole place was practically engulfed in flames. Through the smoke he saw the fire shoot a finger of flame across the kitchen floor toward the stove. Not that way. The Firestarter was rolling to his knees between them and the front door.

  The Firestarter recovered enough to lunge for them. Tris kicked him in the groin and dragged Maggie into his own body. Picking up the rickety end table by one leg, he swung it through the window beside the couch.

  “Now!” he yelled over shattering glass. He dove through the jagged hole, covering Maggie’s body as much as he could. They crashed onto the porch. His leg gave way and he went down. But Maggie was a fighter. She staggered up and pulled at him. They stumbled off the porch and across the yard, past the now silent, rusted pickup. Not far enough....

  The house exploded behind them, sending both of them skidding into the sandy dirt. The world went oddly silent as Tris threw himself over Maggie. A fireball roared into the sky. Shards of wood and embers like angry orange insects showered the yard.