01 Do You Believe in Magic - The Children of Merlin

by Susan Squires

  When the worst was over, Tris sat up and helped Maggie to sit. The yard was lit by the burning house in a hellish glare. “You okay?” He knew he was shouting, but his voice sounded far away. He examined her frantically, unable to wait for a dazed response.

  She looked awful up close. The bastard had beaten her, and from the state of her clothes, probably worse. Fury almost choked him. Fury at the Firestarter for what he’d done, at Elroy for failing her, at himself for ditto. Why hadn’t he realized sooner that she’d be in danger? She was bare from the waist up and she clutched the rags of her jeans over her belly. They’d been cut with a knife and he could see cuts on her body as well, maybe from the glass, maybe from the knife. He slapped an ember off her jeans.

  “I’m okay.” He saw her mouth say it more than heard the words. She brushed something off his shoulder. “You’re bleeding.”

  The broken glass. “Doesn’t matter.” He slipped out of his tattered shirt and slid it around her shoulders, then gathered her into his chest. He’d failed to keep her from harm, and that hurt worse than his leg, worse than his blistered hand or the cuts on his body. But she was safe now. That was all that mattered. They turned and looked at the only home she’d ever had being consumed by fire flapping in a rage against the night.

  A figure staggered out of the flames, burning. Maggie screamed.

  “He’s a dead man.” Tris held her head to his chest. “He can’t hurt you now.”

  The flames engulfing the Firestarter flickered out, leaving his skin untouched. He bellowed a laugh. “You think fire can kill a Firestarter?” He picked up a rusted axle from the yard and started for them. “Fire belongs to me. It burns what I say it burns.” He lifted his other hand, already beginning to glow.

  “Run, Maggie,” Tris yelled.

  “I’m not leaving you,” she screamed back as she pulled away and looked around for a weapon. It was going to take some weapon to kill this guy.

  Tris blinked. He had the very one. Maybe.

  No time to reach the old truck. This time he’d have to send the energy. Could you do that? God, he hoped so. He put his palms to the earth. They heated instantly as power flowed through them looking for an outlet. He clenched his muscles. Nothing. The Firestarter’s hand was bright red now. He must be tired, or they’d already be toast. Tris clenched his mind and pushed the power rising from the earth out toward the truck, groaning with the effort.

  The derelict’s engine roared. Its wheel rims spewed sandy earth. The Firestarter jerked around toward the noise, transforming a Palo Verde tree into an imitation of the burning bush. Each push of power twisted Tris’s body with pain. Definitely harder than touching the machine to power it. His legs gave out and he fell to his knees. Still he pushed power out.

  The old truck leaped toward the Firestarter. The guy managed one step backward before the truck hit him head-on, making him jerk like a shaken doll. Tris could imagine the sound of snapping bones. The guy clawed at the rusted hood, but the truck just kept going until the guy was sandwiched up against the propane tank.

  Tris hung his head. Just a little bit more. This guy had to be dead dead, dead as dead could be. Tris’s groan turned into a yell as he squeezed power toward the truck. Blood burbled from the Firestarter’s mouth. The truck’s motor revved, crushing him against the tank.

  Tris gasped as the power faded, slipping down through his body and into the earth. The truck settled back onto its axles as the motor died.

  The Firestarter slumped to the ground. He had to be dead after that. Better make sure. Tris pushed to his feet, feeling like an old man, and limped slowly to where the Firestarter lay. There was still a light in his eyes. His breath gurgled and blood bubbles welled at the corners of his mouth. His chest was concave. The guy was drowning in his own blood.

  “Are there more of you?” Tris asked. The Firestarter’s mouth moved, but no sound emerged. Tris knelt beside him. “Tell me,” he shouted, shaking the guy by his collar. “Where? How many?” The light in the guy’s eyes died. Blood quit bubbling from his mouth. “How many?” Tris asked again, his voice cracking. At this point he was only talking to himself.

  Maggie came up beside him. “What was that?”

  “What?” He felt shell-shocked. She still sounded far away.

  “That truck hasn’t run since about 1960. You want to tell me what that was?”

  “Not overmuch.” He still didn’t know what to think about it himself. “Did he...?”

  She swallowed, her eyes flickering with haunted memories. She shook her head. “He was having too much fun with the foreplay.”

  Tris slammed his fist into the sandy dirt. Too bad the guy was dead. He’d like to have made him pay for the look in Maggie’s eyes. She put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Don’t. Not worth the energy.”

  He got to his feet, longing to take her into his arms again, not sure she’d welcome that in her fragile state. She couldn’t meet his gaze.

  Frowning, about to say something, her gaze brushed his leg. “You’re wounded.”

  “Doesn’t matter. We gotta get outta here.” There might be more of them.

  “Can’t leave the horses.” His hearing must be coming back. Her voice sounded tired.

  “I’ll check to be sure they’re okay. Then we go.” The heat from the flaming house warmed his back, but his nipples puckered from the cool air on his chest.

  She clutched his shirt across her bare breasts and nodded her thanks. “I’m coming with you.” She nudged under his arm. It felt so right to have her this close. He never wanted her out of his sight again. In fact, he never wanted to let her out of his arms.

  In the light of the fires, they limped around to the corrals. The horses were wheeling and pacing in their corrals, neighing frantically. “They’re far enough away from the fire. They’ll be all right,” he said. “They’re just scared.”

  “I can take care of that.” Maggie managed a lopsided smile. “Better back away. I’m not too good at aiming this thing. I might put you to sleep.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  She gave him a speculating look. “Will you?” Then she turned to the horses, and ramped up the calm until they were standing quietly.

  “Now can we get outta here?” he sighed.

  “You need a doctor.” She began to fret. “No ER in Austin. Maybe old doc Riley....”

  “I just need some sleep.”

  She started to protest but thought better of it. “Let’s hope Shady Pines isn’t full up.”

  Wait. What was he thinking? “We got one more thing to do.” The people trying to kill them weren’t the only enemies. “Police are going to find this at some point.” He looked around. “That Elroy?” He pointed to the scattered bones and ashes.

  She nodded.

  “Looks like a home invasion to me. Fire was an accident. Killed Elroy, who ran out of the house. Leapt to the cars and the tree.” That worked, maybe.

  “What about the guy crushed by a truck that doesn’t have a working engine?”

  Good point. There was only one answer to that. He glanced to the house. About to collapse. He didn’t have much time. He started off at a lopsided trot to the body, managed a fireman’s carry to get it over his shoulder. He staggered back to the house.

  “You can’t go in there!” Maggie shouted.

  “There’s still a way in through the door. Just need a minute,” he gasped.

  “Screw the sheriff,” she said, angry, walking beside him. “If you kill yourself now I’ll never forgive you, Tris Tremaine.”

  “Noted.” He staggered up the steps. He wasn’t going to have the police blaming Maggie for this. The porch roof cracked above him and showered down pieces of burning shingle. This would have to do. He heaved the body forward. It flopped down on its back. He staggered down the steps as the roof cracked again, louder. Maggie screamed. Tris leaped out.

  Which was a good thing, because the whole porch roof caved in, sending spirals of sparks into the air.
Then Maggie was by his side, pulling him up. He scrambled forward and collapsed in time to see the whole shack cave in on itself.

  Burning legs stuck out from the porch. “Like the Wicked Witch of the West,” Maggie said.

  He couldn’t let Maggie watch that. “Okay,” he said, managing to push himself up. Not many reserves now. “It’ll look like the timbers crushed him. That’s your story.”

  “I can do that.” She pulled his arm around her shoulders.

  As they passed the rusted truck, Tris patted its hood. “Job well done, Grandpa. Thanks.”

  Maggie looked up at him and gave him a smile. God, he loved her smiles. It was a little one, but it was... tender. He couldn’t think straight right now. Tender might actually be a bad thing. But it made him smile back. He couldn’t help it. Together they limped toward the Ducati.

  Which was still out of gas. “Damn.” He heaved the bike upright and staggered. His remaining strength seemed to be fading with his adrenalin rush.

  “Is that a hole in the gas tank?”

  “Yeah. Met a guy on the road who could cloak his car. Same one that drove the semi.”

  She looked shocked. “That’s why the semi disappeared in my rearview mirror! Jesus, Mary and Joseph, the driver had one of those powers.”

  He nodded dumbly. Was there any way he had enough strength to syphon off energy from the earth one more time and power the Ducati?

  They didn’t say anything for a minute. The flames flapped at the last of the shack. The only wall standing collapsed inward, startling them both. Then Maggie asked, in a small voice he could barely hear, “Where’d you run out of gas?”

  Shit. But he wouldn’t lie to her. “Forty, fifty miles out.”

  Silence for another minute. They might stand here staring at the Ducati all night at this rate. “You came into your magic, didn’t you?”

  “How... how did you know about magic?”

  “Your mother. I thought it was bullshit, even though I finally realized she’d healed you. Maybe I wanted to believe it was bullshit, because of what happened out at the kids’ camp. But now....” She looked around at the blaze that was once her home. “So answer my question.”

  She deserved a straight answer. “Looks like I can draw energy from the earth or something. I’m not quite sure. I can power machines.”

  It was her turn to nod thoughtfully. “It had to be something like that, didn’t it?” She sighed, looking over at the old truck, now frozen again, no more looking like it could run than that it could fly. Hell, maybe he could make it fly. Who knew?

  “I can try to make the bike run,” he said doubtfully.

  “Save your strength. I got a gas can in the tool shed, if you can plug that hole with a strip off this shirt.”

  *****

  Maggie had her arms around Tris, clinging to him like a starfish or something. He was warm and solid and he’d gotten his power. She couldn’t think what that meant right now.

  “I’m gonna rev the engine. When we start moving, you put your feet up around my waist onto the gas tank between my legs.” Tris’s voice sounded bone weary.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Racing bike. Doesn’t have passenger footrests.”

  In for a penny, in for a pound. That meant something more than just riding a cycle.

  He revved the engine. She swung her legs up and rested her heels on the gas tank. Her core was pressed into his butt, her arms around his bare ribs and muscled abdomen. The throb of the engine was... interesting. She gave a little yip of surprise.

  “You okay?” he said, looking back with a worried frown.

  “Yeah. I never rode a cycle before.”

  He chuckled. “Wait ’til you feel a Harley. Women say it’s like sitting on a washing machine. In a good way.”

  She smiled. Yeah. Even though she was beat up, orphaned, and almost raped, Tris Tremaine could make her smile.

  That was something you just couldn’t throw away, could you?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Maggie couldn’t get the image of Elroy, burning like a dried-out Christmas tree, out of her head. And the feel of Prentice’s wet mouth on hers, his hands on her body.... She clenched her eyes shut and blurted, “Don’t we need to report that you were shot?”

  Tris was eating steak with single-minded purpose. Jake had been heading to his car when Maggie and Tris pulled into the Shady Pines lot next door to the diner. Jake hurried over in concern. She told him about Elroy and the shack. Did a pretty good job of hewing to the story line, too. Whether anybody would believe the home invasion story, she didn’t know. The shack didn’t scream “valuables here for the taking.” Ethel delivered two steak dinners and a bag of clothes half an hour later. Maggie was drowning in the shirt and jeans but at least she was decent.

  She tossed the french fry she’d been toying with onto the plate. The best distraction from the events of tonight was Tris. He sat on one of the double beds in his boxers, hair wet from his shower, his leg propped up and a towel pad tied around it with a strip of sheet. He was leaving red rosettes on the pillows from the cuts on his body. They’d owe Tom some replacement linens. She hoped he could wait until tomorrow to get to a doctor. She’d have to borrow a car if he couldn’t drive the Ducati. She sure couldn’t drive it.

  Tris couldn’t help that he didn’t currently own a viable shirt and the one Jake brought was about three sizes too small. The fact that the muscles moving under his tattoo were driving her crazy was her fault, not his. His single-minded zeal in attacking his dinner made Maggie wonder if it was an effort to avoid talking about other things.

  And why not? What was there to say? Had anything changed?

  Well, he’d dashed more than five hundred miles on a motorcycle to get here and gotten shot along the way. And he came into a power. If Mrs. Tremaine was right, that meant true love. Unbelievable, but Maggie was the only current candidate for causing that transformation.

  Tris Tremaine might love her.

  That scared her shitless. She loved him, of course. Loved him so much it hurt, deep inside her. But if he loved her, would it make a difference in his wandering ways? Did a leopard ever really change its spots?

  “We’ll pretend I wasn’t here...,” he said, answering a question she’d forgotten she asked.

  “Tom won’t blab. That’s how he stays in business. But Ethel isn’t known for discretion.”

  He sighed. His knife hovered above his steak, uncertainly.

  “Why... why did you come all the way out here?” She should not be asking that question unless she wanted to let herself in for a world of hurt.

  His lips turned down even as his brows drew together. “Because my father, who is way smarter than I am, figured out you might be in danger.” He sounded defeated.

  He’d come all this way just because she was in trouble. “Guess I haven’t said thanks.”

  “You don’t have to say anything,” he said gruffly. He cleared his throat. Would he...? Then he looked away.

  That was it. Maggie’s heart clenched. He might love her but he wasn’t going to do anything about it. Bring a cowgirl into the Tremaine family? Not hardly. Get tied down to her, have kids, make a family...? It almost made her laugh. If she stayed with him because she loved him more than living itself, which was about how much it felt like right now, being as it was about to kill her, then she’d end up watching him screw everything in sight. And what about her? She was probably genetically wired to leave him if the going got tough. Just like her mother.

  So it was time to move on. He was all the heartache she knew he’d be and more. She just hadn’t been smart enough not to get caught. She set aside her plate and got up briskly without any idea where she wanted to go. She paced to the door and then... paced back. “Well, we’ll just say you happened by to visit and the guy shot you, of course. Elroy got blasted by the explosion. Nothing simpler.” Back to the door.

  “Bullet in me won’t match the Firestarter’s gun.”

 
; “Oh.” Back to the bed. “Well, maybe they’ll never check. They’ll just assume.”

  “Maybe.” He was watching her. There was something in his eyes. She looked away. Back toward the door. Just keep pacing.

  Until what? Until she could crawl in bed alone and drive herself crazy thinking about him? Until she could leave tomorrow? Where would she go? Her steps slowed. Pain struck her head, her joints.

  “You gonna be okay?”

  She sat abruptly in the chair with the faded upholstery. No, she was not going to be okay. But she couldn’t tell him why. “Place still has a mortgage.”

  “Insurance?”

  She shook her head.

  Then it hit her. She was wrong. Her mother hadn’t left her. She’d stayed, in spite of being unhappy with Elroy. Had she ever even had an affair with the propane delivery guy? Or was that in Elroy’s imagination too? It didn’t matter. Maggie wasn’t what Elroy had always told her she was. Tris wasn’t what his family assumed either. She wasn’t doomed to leave him, and maybe he wasn’t doomed to leave her either. They’d both spent their lives thinking they were disappointments, not worth loving and caring for. In fact, her genes predisposed her to be something pretty damned special. So did his. She didn’t relish taking a chance that he’d leave her. But she was stronger than she’d ever given herself credit for. Look how hard she’d worked to have no connection to anyone. What if she worked that hard at loving Tris? And anyway, leaving without even fighting for what she wanted was letting Elroy win in some strange way.

  *****

  The look on Maggie’s face was meant to be strong, but it must be covering up forlorn. She didn’t have enough money to rebuild. The urge to protect her was so strong it made Tris’s stomach tighten. He had money enough to rebuild whatever she wanted. But how would he ever get proud Maggie O’Brian to accept it from him? Selfish bastard. He really only wanted her for himself. He never wanted to let her go. He wanted to take care of her, better than he had tonight, and make love to her and see her face transformed from forlorn acceptance into passionate release because he’d made everything right. He wanted to wipe that fuck Phil from her memory.